was the only one who felt there was a competition between them. He was trying to make the best of an awkward situation. She should be mature enough—confident enough—to do the same. She pulled her ponytail from the collar of her coat and tossed it down the middle of her back, busying her hands for a moment to calm her nerves. “Yeah, well, it was bound to happen. I mean, you’re back from leave, and I’m…always here, apparently.”
With something like a sigh of relief, Kincaid’s smile returned. “Captain Cutler said you were a bit of a workaholic.”
Guilty as charged. “I like the rush of the job, I guess. I feel useful. I’m in my element.”
“I know what you mean. I love being home with my wife and the baby, but I’m anxious to get back to it.”
Great. So she and Holden Kincaid were kindred spirits with similar talents. They might have been friends under other circumstances—if he wasn’t gunning for her job; if she hadn’t taken his in the first place.
She glanced around the nearly deserted garage and tried to make an exit again. “Well, um…Merry Christmas.”
“Murdock.” This time Miranda kept walking. “Look, I just wanted to say this isn’t how I wanted it to happen.”
She opened her truck door, but stopped at the odd remark. “Wanted what to happen?”
Her cell phone rang in her pocket, but she was more concerned about deciphering the apology stamped on Holden’s expression.
He nodded toward her coat pocket. “You’d better take that.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your phone. It may be Captain Cutler.” He started backing away. “If so, it’s important.”
“How do you know…?” An ingrained sense of duty pushed aside the ominous vibe that this chance meeting with Holden Kincaid had nothing to do with coincidence. Too many phone calls in her life meant a summons to an emergency, and seeing Michael Cutler’s name on the screen of her phone indicated this was a call she couldn’t ignore. She climbed into her truck, closing the door as she hit the answer button. “Yes, sir?”
With a “Merry Christmas, Murdock,” Kincaid turned and jogged down the ramp and disappeared around the garage’s front gate into the night.
“I didn’t catch you in the middle of dinner, did I?” her commanding officer asked. The friendly greeting told her this wasn’t an emergency.
So Miranda took the time to start her truck and get the heater running before answering. “This is a good time to talk. What’s up?”
“We’ve had a situation develop over the course of the day at Gallagher Security Systems that requires your…unique expertise.”
“A situation?”
With a muffled curse, the captain cut the chitchat and got straight to the details. “I talked to Sergeant Wheeler about your schedule this week. She said you volunteered to take some extra patrol shifts over the holidays so that some other officers could spend more time with their families.”
He was calling her on Christmas Eve over this? “I’ve already cleared it with the desk sergeant. It won’t count as overtime. I’m just trading my vacation days for another time.”
“It’s an admirable gesture, but I took the liberty of clearing your schedule for the next week. I’ve already talked to Holden Kincaid, and he’ll take the shifts you were going to cover so no one else has to change their plans. The team is on On Call status this week—if something comes up, he’ll fill in for you.”
A bolt of icy electricity rippled down Miranda’s spine and her gaze shot to the black pickup in her rear-view mirror. This isn’t how I wanted it to happen. Kincaid’s words made sense now. He’d already known he was replacing her—not on SWAT 1, not yet—but that was what the preemptive apology was about. Cutler had already made the arrangements to get her out of the picture.
The gray dog sat in the back of the truck, watching her. He’d probably known his master was here to take her place, too.
She