Deadly Games

by Karen Rock

  A shiver raced along Katherine’s skin. Robby’s mother had been a monster, but hearing his unvarnished hatred took her aback.

  “Still. I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Robby shrugged, shoulders hunched, and she hurried to change the painful subject.

  “This is almost too pretty to open.” She toyed with the elaborately curled ribbons. They engulfed the small box like a feeding octopus.

  Robby nodded. “I hope you like it.”

  “I’m sure I will.” She had to scrape past several layers of tape to rip off the paper and open the black velvet box. Inside gleamed a silver necklace, simple and delicate, just her taste.

  “It’s beautiful,” she breathed. He still knew her well enough to guess what she’d like.

  Robby’s smile flashed, and he scooted from his chair to fasten it around her neck. The touch of his soft fingers made her shift away for no discernable reason. It was instinctive, as automatic as blinking when sand flew in your eye. Why?

  What was she sensing?

  Or were the effects of this roller-coaster investigation colliding with her past, turning her instincts topsy-turvy?

  Luckily, he was already stepping back and didn’t notice. “You look beautiful,” he said, his voice hoarse.

  She fingered the necklace, self-conscious under his intense stare. “Thank you.”

  “Do you like it?” He ducked his face.

  “I love it,” she said firmly, and he lifted his head smiling.

  He stared at the necklace so long she almost cracked a joke.

  Hey, buddy. My eyes are up here…

  Only the air in the room had hardened somehow, scraping at her like sandpaper.

  “So—uh—tell me more about your business.”

  Robby backed into his seat without dragging his eyes away from her neck. “I’ve had an eight-figure offer for a buyout.”

  “What? That’s amazing!”

  “I do homes, too.” He’d stopped staring at the necklace, and his gaze darted around her small apartment. “My house is practically a fortress, everything controlled with voice recognition, right down to feeding my cat, Muggle.”

  “Muggle? You always were a Potterhead.”

  He shrugged. “Once a geek, always a geek.”

  “A rich geek. You should roll up to our next class reunion in some fancy car.”

  “You’ll have to help me pick one out. Besides the Cobra, I’ve got a white Alfa Romeo and a red California Spyder, to name a couple.”

  “You own a GT 250 Ferrari?”

  “1961. I’ll take you for a ride sometime.”

  “I’d love it.” Yet the edge of her consciousness prickled, sounding a faint alarm, as if trying to remind her of something important she’d forgotten.

  Something she should know.

  “I could wire your apartment if you like. I’ll even give you a friends and family discount,” he joked, one side of his mouth lifting as his eyes dropped again to her necklace.

  She struggled to laugh. “I’ll think about it.” Her phone vibrated with an incoming call. “That’s work. Robby. I’m sorry. I’d better take this and head back. Can I wrap up the rest of your sandwich?”

  “Don’t take it off.”

  Her hands froze at the clasp behind her neck.

  “Wear it to work,” Robby insisted. “Maybe it’ll give you good luck.”

  “I need the luck.” She’d started over this morning, reviewing the cases from the beginning, searching for anything she might have missed, but so far nothing jumped out at her. At last, after a couple tries, the heavy-duty lobster clasp opened. “They weren’t messing around with this fastener.”

  “It’s meant to stay with its rightful owner.”

  Something about his tone had her head snapping up. “It’s not that I don’t like it. I just don’t wear necklaces at work since they get caught on my vest.”

  He nodded, waited while she dumped the dishes, collected her keys and bag, then followed her outside. They paused by her sedan. “Will I see you again soon?” he asked.

  “After I find Brittany Reins. Promise.”

  His lips curled slightly in the corners, and his gaze fell to his shuffling feet. “Then hopefully that will be very soon.”

  She found herself staring after him, shivering despite the humidity, long after he’d turned on his heel and strode away.

  At last, she’d finally reconnected with Robby and gotten everything off her chest.

  So why did the heaviness inside her press harder than ever?

  Chapter Seventeen

  Nash slowly swam to consciousness in Katherine’s bed, his arms tightening around her, his body hungry for her. When he brushed a kiss over her silky hair, his lips encountered air instead. His arms fell, and his fingers blindly groped the cool, empty sheets. Where was she? Had she gotten cold feet again and fled?

  He cracked open one eye, then the other. After another marathon night of lovemaking, they’d fallen asleep to the faint twittering of waking birds. Now full morning light slanted through her blinds, and he blearily brought the digital numbers on Katherine’s bedside alarm clock into focus.

  Eight-fifteen.

  His gaze roamed the bedroom and stopped on Katherine. He released a held breath. What a beauty. Inside and out. She stood before her closet wearing an oversized T-shirt that showed off her toned legs, and her long hair was tousled in a way that prompted reflexive thoughts of the previous night. He lay there, enjoying the brief flashback, before he threw off the covers and joined her.

  “Morning, beautiful.” He buried his head in the soft hollow of her throat and inhaled the milky scent of her sleep-warm skin.

  She tipped her head back and closed her eyes. “Mmm…. You feel good.” Then she pushed him away. “Too good. I was almost late yesterday.”

  “Meaning you were only five minutes early?”

  “Exactly!” She tossed a gray suit and white blouse on the bed then disappeared into her bathroom.

  “Want some pancakes?” he shouted above her pelting shower. Steam curled over the curtain rod and fogged the sink mirror.

  “No time!”

  “Toast then.”

  He didn’t wait for her answer. Before she left for work, he’d get some food in her. He pulled on a pair of jeans and his rumpled shirt, then made her bed before ambling to her galley kitchen, humming beneath his breath. Life was good. He’d passed yesterday’s civil service entrance exam with a high score and received a request for an interview.

  His stomach knotted. Would he pass the one-on-one meeting? Sure, he had some recent law enforcement experience to talk about, but it wasn’t like he’d ever successfully solved a real case. And if he was talking turkey, which he would be, his background was catching cheating spouses, not criminals.

  He dropped a couple pieces of bread in the toaster and pushed down the lever. When he opened the fridge to grab butter, he lingered, letting the cool air bathe his flushed skin. He scooped up a bottle of jam and a carton of juice, shut the door, and slumped back to the counter.

  What if he failed again? Katherine promised to be supportive either way, but still, he worried. If he didn’t get into the academy, she’d see him as a failure.

  And so would he.

  The toaster dinged, and he pulled the hot bread from the slots and deposited the slices on a plate.

  Technically, she’d never directly answered his question about whether she wanted marriage and kids. After being cheated on, how could she feel secure in a relationship with a man surrounded by fawning women? And he’d never want her to feel insecure. She deserved better, he thought, slathering butter over the toast.

  He had to catch the Last Call Killer to earn a spot on the force and win the woman of his dreams.

  No pressure.

  Nash squeezed a glob of grap
e jelly on one slice, then returned the butter and jam to the fridge.

  So, who was the killer?

  He smeared the preserves over the toast, then reached into the spice rack for sugar and cinnamon. Yesterday, he’d gone back over every case, contacting the families, conducting more interviews, and sifting through evidence, searching for…for anything that’d point them in a direction they hadn’t already considered. His mind hummed along as he spooned sugar over the melted butter. Every passing minute increased the likelihood of Brittany’s murder, and it burned his gut to think of her suffering while they spun their wheels.

  They needed a break in the case.

  Badly.

  He sneezed as he sprinkled cinnamon over the sugar.

  “God bless you.” Katherine slipped her hands around his waist, kissed his cheek, then grabbed a slice of the cinnamon-sugar toast.

  “Yummm,” she moaned through a bite. “So good.”

  “Glad you like—” He cut himself off as something silver caught his eye. He reached out and fingered her necklace. “Where did you get this?”

  She shrugged, mouth full and chewing. “It was a present from Robby. I don’t usually wear jewelry to work, but he said it might bring me luck, and I need some after getting nowhere yesterday, so…”

  “Take it off,” he choked out, his thoughts whirling, veering in too many directions for him to get his bearings.

  “What? Why? It’s a birthday present. There’s no other meaning behind it. We’re just friends.”

  “It was your birthday?”

  Her brows met above her nose, and her forehead creased. “I would have mentioned it, but I forgot myself until Robby reminded me when he came to lunch yesterday. I didn’t want to make a big deal with everything going on.”

  “You had lunch with Robby?”

  “I mentioned it to you. Are you jealous?” She draped her arms around his neck and grinned playfully.

  “Yes. No. I mean—that’s not what’s concerning me.”

  He peeled her hands away and stepped back to study the necklace. “That looks like Layla’s necklace.”

  Katherine’s mouth dropped open. “Layla Pierce?” She touched the silver chain.

  “She was wearing one just like it the night she disappeared.”

  “But the Last Call Killer took it as a trophy. This can’t be Layla’s.”

  Every pore in Nash’s body prickled. When he ran his hands over his head, his hair didn’t feel like it belonged to him. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t tell if this hunch was desperation to solve the case, his jealousy rising to a nuclear level, or the obvious slapping him in the face. “Unless…”

  “Unless, what?” Her chin jutted, her voice rising slightly, defensive. “Robby’s my serial killer? Please. He’s the nicest guy I know. And I know people. It’s my job. One I’m damn good at.”

  He winced at her unspoken insinuation. She was the law enforcement expert, not him. He was just a stripper/wannabe cop who didn’t know his place. It echoed every word whispered about him growing up…a poor, fatherless, troubled boy who’d never amount to much.

  “What about bias?” he insisted, sure he was on to something. “Maybe you’re letting your personal feelings stop you from thinking objectively.”

  Her nostrils flared. “Are you saying I can’t be rational? Objective? You know, I never pegged you for the sexist type—”

  “I’m not.”

  “Talk about bias,” she muttered, snatching up her purse and marching to the door. “Maybe your jealousy is clouding your judgment. You’ve never liked Robby.”

  “Katherine, wait!” She stopped and whirled. “Hear me out. You’re right. I’ve never liked him. Something about him always seemed off. The way he stared at you…”

  “Jealousy…”

  “No. It’s not that. Maybe a little, I’ll admit, at first, but the more I’ve watched him, at the club, during the ground search, he seemed—off.”

  “He is ‘off.’” She made finger quotes. “He had a tough childhood. No father and an addict mother. He is socially awkward, and he’s been teased for it all his life.” Despite her defensive tone, he sensed a growing discomfort. Was he starting to get through to her? God, he hoped so.

  “By women.”

  “Yes, by women.”

  “Young women, too…like at your school. The cool girls.”

  Her grip on her purse strap tightened. “Yes.”

  “Like the Last Call Killer’s victims.”

  “Victimology is only one piece of the puzzle.” She spoke through her teeth. “Besides, Robby’s the one who rescued me, remember? And he’s never acted violently in his life.”

  “That you know of,” Nash said darkly. When Katherine opened her mouth to object, he held up a hand. “Remember how he hit the helicopter sound effect at the club? That could have been intentional—to torture you with your phobia.”

  “Now you’re reaching.”

  “And he drives a vintage car. That’s part of your profile. You said the killer was a collector. Does Robby have more than one older-model vehicle?”

  She nodded, a jerky movement, as if her head was pulled by strings.

  “And you said the killer likes autonomy, could own his own business—like Robby does. He’s Caucasian, has blue eyes like the song, is in his early thirties, tech-savvy, and he has an excuse to be downtown to keep him from standing out on anyone’s radar.”

  A huff of breath pushed past her flattened lips. “Fine. I see your point.”

  “But you don’t agree with it.”

  “No.”

  The mad stirring in his blood made his skin itch. Crawl. Adrenaline spiking. “I need to see the necklace’s clasp.”

  She turned the chain around. “Why?”

  “Because Mrs. Pierce said she recently replaced it with a…” They stared down at the fastener. “Bronze lobster clasp.”

  Katherine’s head snapped up. “There are a million plain silver chains like this. And lobster clasps are common.”

  “But a bronze one…and given to you by a guy who was in the same location as Brittany the night she disappeared? And didn’t we see Robert’s business logo in the clubs where the other victims were last seen?”

  They stared at each other for a long moment.

  Katherine grabbed her keys. “I’m going over to his home.”

  “Not alone, you’re not.”

  Katherine shook her head. “If what you’re saying is true—which it’s not—your absence at work might only tip him off. Today’s his last day at Dallas Heat, right?”

  Nash nodded.

  “I’ll drive by his house and give it a once-over while he’s away. But don’t get your hopes up. I know how much you want to solve this, but our break is somewhere in the case files. We just have to dig deeper.”

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “No. If you don’t show up at work, Robby might sense something’s afoot. I don’t want him tipped off. If he thinks I suspect him, he’ll be crushed. Let me handle this. I’ll drive by his house to check things out, and you keep an eye on him at the club.”

  Nash kept his expression neutral, concealing the sting of her dismissal. She might as well have said, “Let the professionals handle this—something you’re not.”

  She unclasped the necklace, dropped it in a plastic bag, and handed it to Nash. “Show this to Deena. We need her take on it before jumping to conclusions.”

  His fingers curled around the bag.

  Damn it, he knew he was right about Robert. He trusted his gut, and his gut never lied. But if Nash kept Robert in his sights, Katherine would be in no danger. Even so, he’d follow her if not for the pain in her eyes and the tremble of her lips. He was dredging up bad memories, and he didn’t want to push her.

  “I’ll call you later,” she said, th
en bolted outside without a good-bye kiss.

  “Happy birthday,” he called, full of misgiving as she peeled out of the parking lot. While she scoped out Robert’s empty house, he’d talk to the asshole and find out what he could. Katherine said they needed to dig deeper, and Nash knew exactly where to start.

  He didn’t believe in coincidences.

  Was he making a huge mistake in letting her go?

  Chapter Eighteen

  Katherine gripped her steering wheel and peered through swishing windshield wipers as she raced to Robby’s house. The sunny morning had grown gray in minutes. Heavy-bellied clouds descended, opening up when she turned off I45 to Robby’s subdivision.

  Robby was not the Last Call Killer.

  Their shared history and what she knew of him went against the possibility that he could be a murderer.

  Her teeth chewed her bottom lip.

  It was understandable why Nash might think so. He didn’t know Robby like she did. And she was a terrible person for even checking up on him, but she had promised Nash and would keep her word. Yet every mile her wheels churned only intensified her guilt.

  She swiped her fogging windshield, flipped on the dehumidifier, and popped a mint in her mouth. The cool flavor did nothing to settle her burning gut.

  Why couldn’t she just brush off Nash’s opinion?

  Because you believe in him. Know he’s a good detective.

  But he was wrong about this.

  He had to be.

  She forced her attention back on the slick road. The wind was pulling nasty tricks, dying down just long enough to let her relax, then slamming into the car like a shoulder-tackle, throwing gritty rain at the windows. It slowed the light traffic, everyone hitting their brakes too often and hesitating at turns.

  “Arriving at destination,” announced her GPS.

  Katherine yanked her car to the side of a tree-lined street. She killed the engine and craned her neck to inspect Robby’s house.

  Wow.

  He’d been too modest about his success. He was rich. When he’d called his home a fortress, she’d thought he’d meant it metaphorically. Peering at the imposing two-story brick building through a wrought-iron gate, the structure surrounded by a matching brick wall, it looked impregnable. He even parked his cars underground, it seemed, given the small dip down to a garage door.