Brains and brawn. A lethal combination where her heart was concerned.
Nine
After Laura left, Mike grabbed his laptop and searched for the latest news on that morning’s murder investigation. One killing influenced by his game was a tragedy. Two killings sent a definite message. And yeah, the publicity and the notoriety were gold—sales of Vegas Noir had doubled in just the last week alone.
But the continued scrutiny on his private life? Not so much.
The Chronicle’s website was the first he checked, but he found nothing new. Laura’s probing questions, however, suggested she had more information. Which meant his little reporter had sources within the police department. Mike smiled. Smart girl. Always resourceful. She was like a cat that always seemed to land on her feet, a quirk that kept him both fascinated and wary.
He wondered how long she’d keep up her documentary filmmaker ruse. Longer than he was able to keep his own truths hidden? Either way, his nerves zinged with anticipation.
The security buzzer screeched loudly again in the quiet penthouse, and Mike scowled. He wasn’t expecting anyone else today. With a sigh, he set his laptop aside then walked over to the small screen. The faces of the same two detectives who’d interviewed him a few days earlier appeared. Great. Local law enforcement had proved slow in their investigation but not stupid. Not yet anyway. “Yes?”
“Mr. McQuade, Detectives Hopkins and Ruiz from LVPD. We have a few more questions we’d like to ask you. May we come up?”
Refusing would only make them more suspicious, so Mike acquiesced. He waited until they boarded the elevator then typed in the code to bring them to the top floor. Seconds later, a ding chirped and the doors opened. Both men gazed around his place, eyes wide and expressions appreciative. He’d bought the place to impress. Good thing he was getting his money’s worth.
Mike led them into the living room and offered them drinks then took a seat across from them when they declined. “How can I help you gentleman today?”
“Where were you at two a.m. this morning, Mr. McQuade?”
“Uh.” He frowned. “Here. In bed. Sleeping.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.” Mike leaned back in his seat as the cop sat forward.
“How well did you know Ben Sanders?”
He’d not asked if he knew Ben Sanders but how well. They’d obviously done their homework. “Was Mr. Sanders the victim?”
“Yep,” Hopkins, the bulkier of the two detectives, said. “And you knew the first victim as well. So, tell us about Ben.”
With a sigh, Mike sat forward again, ignoring the unease trickling through his blood. “There’s not much to tell, honestly. I didn’t know him. He worked for one of the catering companies we used for a holiday party a while back. I might have said hello to him in passing a few times. That’s all I have to tell. Am I a suspect?”
“The killer dressed him in vintage clothes and staged the scene like another level from your game, Vegas Noir. This makes two victims with the same MO. Could signal a serial situation.”
Hopkins hadn’t answered his question, not really. “I still don’t see how this relates to me. Millions of copies of that game have sold all over the world. It’s one of the top ten RPGs played of all time. Anyone could’ve gone off the deep end with it. Not my fault, and hardly grounds to make me a suspect.”
The detectives exchanged a look that Mike didn’t miss.
“Right.” Ruiz spoke up this time. “Well, can you explain why you didn’t mention the incident with the first victim’s husband during our first conversation?”
“I didn’t think it was relevant.” Mike gave them a pointed stare. “Is it?”
“Maybe.” Ruiz shrugged. “There was an investigation into those circumstances too, correct?”
“Yes, but his death was ruled an accident.” He rubbed a hand over his face and struggled to relax his tense shoulders. “Have you found something to suggest otherwise?”
“Not necessarily.” Hopkins flipped the small notepad in his hand shut then stood. Ruiz did the same. “Seems strange, though, that both partners in that marriage died so violently.”
“Yeah, it’s unfortunate.” Mike pushed to his feet and followed the cops back out into the foyer. “But—”
“Unfortunate.” Ruiz snorted. “That’s one way to put it.”
Hopkins pushed the button, and the elevator doors slid open once more. Mike stood several feet back and watched them, arms crossed. He hated being defensive, but he couldn’t help it. Their questions had struck far too close to home. “We’ll be in touch, Mr. McQuade.”
“You never did answer me. Am I a suspect?” The words physically hurt him to say, but he needed to know so he could act appropriately. “Do I need an attorney?”
“Not yet.” Ruiz gave him a chilly little smile. “We’ll be in touch.”
Fan-fucking-tastic.
Pulse racing, Mike stood his ground until the doors closed then rushed back to open his laptop once more. This time he typed in the name of victim number two, Ben Sanders. The personal record search listed facts he already knew—twenty-four, part-time college student, full-time waiter for Fantastic Functions Catering. They worked all of M Cubed Gaming’s parties. He’d told the cops the truth. The party gig really was his only concrete tie to the victim. Still, it was one tie too many for Mike’s comfort. He liked to keep things neat and clean and simple.
The kid’s picture mocked him from the screen. Ben had been just starting out in life and had his whole future ahead of him. God, what a waste. And the cops had made the connection to Barbara’s husband sooner than he’d expected too.
Dammit.
Mike sat back and stared at the ceiling.
There was another possible tie, one that hadn’t occurred to him until now.
Felicia.
Mike had gotten that restraining order because her tactics to get closer to him had taken a decided turn toward crazy. The constant emails and phone calls and stalking had been bad enough. But when she’d switched to harassing his staff in order to gain access to his life, that’s where he drew the line. She’d even gone so far as to flirt with the catering staff at his last big event to try and sneak into the party.
Had Sanders been one of those flirtations?
Determined to find out, he stalked into his bedroom and pulled a new disposable phone from his well-stocked cabinet. After setting it up with a fake ID, he called in a quick, anonymous tip to the automated police department hotline indicating they should question Felicia Gomez in regard to Sanders’s death.
Then he crushed the device beneath his booted foot and tossed the remains in the trash before stepping out onto the balcony of the penthouse, hoping some fresh air might chase away his lingering doubts. He used to come out here all the time when he’d first moved here, loving the freedom. Now, after what had happened…
No. Mike shook off the brutal memories and stared into the blue expanse of the sky. He’d done his good deed for the day by calling in the tip, though he doubted it would be enough to remove the black marks on this soul. In fact, as the dry desert wind smacked him in the face, he doubted there were enough good deeds in the universe to erase them all.
Pacing back into his penthouse, he stared at the door the police had so recently exited through. The way Ruiz had said they’d be in touch scared the crap out of him. The last thing he needed was the cops taking an interest in him and digging deeper. Because if they found out what had happened in his past, it would not bode well for his future.
Ten
“So, a new murder investigation, huh?” Not exactly subtle, but Laura had put off asking for info as long as she could. She snuck a side glance at Troy and saw him shake his head, his expression incredulous.
“Seriously? I just bought you the best Cadillac burger in Vegas and all you want to talk about is the dead guy?” He bumped shoulders with her. “Not much for building a guy’s ego, are you?”
“What? I said the food was good.” She grinned. “Ok
ay. It was really, really good. And thank you.” They stopped at the corner a block from her apartment and waited for the light to change. Laura did her best not to fidget. She liked Troy. She did. He was nice, smart, had a good job and all his hair and teeth. A major step up from her recent adventures in dating land. But there was something missing. Not with him, with her. They laughed and talked and had a great time at lunch. But for her, at least, there’d been no spark, no chemistry. Not like there had been with Mike. “What was the guy’s name?”
Troy sighed. “You just don’t give up, do you?”
“Not unless I’m forced.”
He leaned in like he was going to kiss her and she took a step away. He met her gaze and his friendly smile slowly faded. “Ben Sanders. Is that the only reason you agreed to come with me today?”
The blunt question threw her off balance for a second. Yes. “No.”
“I see.” A tiny muscle twitched near the corner of Troy’s blue eyes, and she got the distinct impression what he saw was directly through her bullshit. “I, uh, should actually get back to the station.”
“Don’t you want to come up for a sec?”
“Nah.” He backed away, hands in his pockets. “Got tons of paperwork to get through.”
“Oh. All right.” The light turned green and tourists jostled around them. Laura bit her lower lip, remorse flooding her system. Troy was a fabulous guy, just not her fabulous guy. She’d not meant to hurt him. “Well, okay then. Guess I’ll see you later.”
“Yeah.” He exhaled. “See you later.”
Laura continued to her apartment alone, eager to put the awkward scene with Troy behind her and dig into researching the newest victim. Only problem was when she opened her door, she wasn’t alone.
“Do you ever clean around here?” Liv asked, holding a pair of crumpled socks in one hand and a dirty plate in the other. “I swear these were in the exact same spot the last time I came over.”
Great. Just what she needed to top off her afternoon of regrets—the Queen of Tidy. Her frustration came out as snark. “Do you ever call before arriving?”
“I’m family. No call required.” Liv cleared two seats on the sofa then took one and patted the other. “Now come over here so we can talk.”
“Talk?” Laura shrugged out of her coat and tossed it over the back of the nearest chair before taking her place beside her sister. “How long have you been here?”
“Long enough.” She smoothed a hand down her perfectly pressed houndstooth trousers then straightened her matching blazer. “I saw you coming down the street. Who’s the new hottie?”
“He’s not a hottie.” Liv raised an incredulous brow, and Laura relented. “Okay, fine, maybe he is a hottie, but he’s just a friend. He works for the police department.”
“Friend, huh? Wish I could find me some friends like that.”
Laura nudged her with her elbow. “Seriously. Troy’s a detective with the homicide division. He helps me out with information for my stories sometimes.”
“Right. So that’s what they’re calling it these days?” Liv snickered.
“Shut up. There’s honestly nothing between us. At least for me. No spark. Not like…”
“Like?”
“Nobody.” She fiddled with the edge of the cushion. When Liv remained silent, Laura finally glanced over to find her sister waiting patiently. Her family always did know the right buttons to push, dammit. “Fine. Mike McQuade, okay? We might have kissed the other night, and I might have enjoyed it. Way more than I should, actually.”
“Wait a minute.” Liv’s smile morphed into a frown. “You’re telling me you’re attracted to a guy who may or may not be a murderer. That’ll go over well at the next family dinner.”
“I know.” Laura tossed up her hands, exasperated. “It’s so wrong, I can’t even fathom where to begin or why it happened. All I know is that it felt so right. Like everything just clicked between us, you know?”
“Blake is not going to be happy when he finds out.”
“Oh, God.” Laura groaned. “Please promise you won’t say anything to him. I mean, there’s no concrete proof Mike’s even involved in any of this mess. I mean, whoever’s doing it is using his game in their sick backdrops, but that doesn’t prove anything, right?” She covered her face with her hands, knowing how lame her arguments sounded. “God, I don’t even know what I mean anymore. This is so totally not like me. Not at all. But I can’t seem to help myself when he’s around.”
“What do your instincts tell you about him?”
Laura rested her head against the back of the sofa. “That he didn’t do it. That he’s innocent.”
“Got any facts to support that conclusion?”
“A few. There’s at least one other viable suspect. The crazy fan Davis mentioned in his article. Felecia Gomez. She’s unhinged enough to give her a good motive.”
“Ha! Dog Turd Davis to the rescue again.” Liv chuckled, and the somber mood in the room lightened. “At least that lying bastard’s good for something, right?”
“Right.” Laura shook her head. “What am I going to do, Sis?”
“Well, I think you need to get to the bottom of this, one way or another. If Mike is someone you think you want in your life, you better make damned sure he’s one of the good guys. Otherwise Blake will skin him alive.”
“I can do that.”
“Good.” Liv pushed to her feet and grabbed her purse. “Now I better go. I stopped to see if you wanted to get a late lunch, but since you already ate, I’ll just grab something and take it back to the office with me. I’ve got a bunch of month-end reports to catch up on anyway.”
“Sounds good.” She followed Liv to the door. They hugged and Liv gave her a short wave before heading out. “I’ll call you.”
“No, you won’t.”
“No, I probably won’t.” Liv grinned. “See ya.”
“See ya.”
Laura waited until her sister disappeared into the elevator before closing the door. She returned to the sofa and opened her laptop, typing the name of the second victim into her browser. Telling Liv about Mike had somehow made the whole situation seem more real. She didn't know where this thing with Mike would go. Maybe nowhere. But with the body count rising and each clue more strongly pointing the finger in Mike’s direction, it was more crucial than ever for her to dig into the evidence to find the truth. She just hoped that whatever evidence she found would help clear Mike's name ... and not help prove him guilty.
* * *
An hour later, Laura walked into the aging Regency Apartments a few blocks from her building. According to what she’d found on the Internet, this was the last known residence of Ben Sanders. The fact he’d lived so close to her made Laura feel slightly unsettled. There was a good chance they’d passed on the street a time or two, maybe even greeted each other. Years as a reporter had given her a tougher skin than most, but still.
This story hit home on far more fronts than she wanted to admit.
She double-checked the address then climbed the stairs to the fourth floor. The linoleum in the hallway peeled slightly around the edges, and the air smelled musty and stale. Brown water stains clung to the crumbling ceiling tiles, and billowing square exhaust vents blew stray cobwebs in the artificial breeze.
Laura squinted at the gold numbers tacked to the brown painted doors, counting down to the one she wanted—406. She knocked once then checked her watch. Three twenty. Most likely no one home. Perfect. After a glance in both directions, she reached into the pocket of her jacket for the lock picks she always kept on hand for such occasions. She’d just started to pull out the small black leather pouch when the door creaked open.
Her breath caught and her eyes widened.
Felicia Gomez.
The last person she expected to see in this particular location on this particular day was dressed in a man’s wrinkled dress shirt, her hair mussed and her eyes red and puffy. She looked like she’d just crawled out of bed. H
er voice sounded groggy and rough. “Can I help you?”
“What are you doing here?”
Nose wrinkled, Felicia blinked at her. “I live here. What are you doing here?”
So, Felicia and Ben Sanders were a couple. One more connection between the crazy stalker fan and one less tie between Mike and the murders. Maybe this day would be good for something after all. Still, Felicia seemed awfully unfazed for a woman whose boyfriend had just been killed. Odd. Then again, maybe the police hadn’t informed her yet. Laura decided to play cool and see how much she knew. “I, uh, came to see Ben.”
A shadow crossed Felicia’s pretty features, her stoic expression dissolving into a sorrowful scowl, her voice breaking over the words. “Ben’s dead.”
“Oh, I—”
The rickety elevators to her right dinged and two men stepped off, Troy and another detective—Hopkins, maybe? Laura couldn’t remember the guy’s name now. Her gaze darted between the cops and Felicia. Now, at least, she appeared upset enough about her boyfriend’s demise, but there were still no tears. Why no tears? Most victims’ families cried and wailed in their grief, at least in her experience, but not Felicia. She was either still in shock or a very good actress.
Laura was betting on the latter.
Troy immediately stepped in beside Laura. “What the hell are you doing here?”
The other detective showed his badge to Felicia. “I’m Detective Hopkins, LVPD. Are you Felicia Gomez?”
Felicia nodded, scratching her head and looking completely lost and forlorn. Laura almost felt sorry for her. Almost.
“We have some questions for you, Ms. Gomez,” Hopkins said, his tone neutral despite the half-naked woman before him. Laura glanced over at Troy, only to find him staring dutifully at his toes, avoiding Felicia’s performance and appearance altogether.
They must teach them that at the academy, she supposed.
Suspect Shunning 101.
“Okay.” Felicia stepped aside to open the door wider. “Come in.”
“No.” Hopkins clasped his hands in front of him. “Down at the station, ma’am. You’ll need to get dressed and come with us.”
Fatal Games (The Rockford Security Series Book 2) Page 9