Fatal Games (The Rockford Security Series Book 2)

by Jones, Lee Anne

  Seconds later, Laura stormed off the elevator in his foyer, doing her best not to stare at his broad, naked chest or the way his boxers clung lovingly to his hips. “How can we possibly have a serious relationship if you don’t tell me the truth?”

  He scratched his chin and rubbed his eyes. “We’re having a serious relationship?”

  “Pay attention.” She tossed her bag into the living room then stood before him, hands on her hips. “Did you kill Barbara Newton?”

  “What?” He scrunched his nose. “No! How can you even say that?”

  “Because I saw all those disposable phones in your bedroom, and the police found one just like it at the first crime scene. They said they can connect it to you.”

  “Seriously? A cheap burner phone is what makes you think I’m a murderer?” He cursed and turned away. “Jesus, Laura. Millions of people use those same phones. I use them because crazy fans keep hacking into my computers and my Internet lines and figuring out my phone number. If I didn’t use disposable phones, I’d have no privacy at all.”

  Damn. His explanation sounded completely rational, and the stricken look on his face made her want to hold him and tell him everything would be fine. But she couldn’t do that.

  Not yet.

  “What about Lyle Kennedy?”

  Mike’s attention snapped to her. “Excuse me?”

  “Troy, my detective friend. He mentioned him to me earlier. Said you were accused of murdering him, too.”

  “Shit, Laura.” A vein near his temple pulsed. “I can’t talk about that.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” She waited, tapping her toe against the tile, but he didn’t answer. “Fine. That’s fine, Mike.” Grabbing her bag, Laura stalked back to the elevator and jabbed the button with an angry finger. “You know what? Forget it. Keep your damned secrets and forget about me, okay?”

  She stepped aboard and the doors started to close, but Mike thrust his hand inside. “Laura, wait. I—”

  Furious and hurt, she pressed the lobby button over and over ignoring him until he removed his hand and the doors slid shut. She should’ve known better than to let her heart lead over her head. Arms crossed, she blinked back tears. To think she’d thought they’d had something special. She’d even considered inviting Mike over to Blake’s for the next Rockford family dinner. Thank God that hadn’t happened. She could just imagine the look on her brothers’ faces when she introduced her latest boyfriend and he turned out to be a murderer. She’d never had the best luck with men, but at least none of her previous dates had a body count.

  Downstairs, she charged out of the Turnberry and brushed the tears off her cheeks.

  Maybe this was all for the best anyway. She didn’t need a relationship. Now she could concentrate on her career, get that big scoop she’d dreamed of, move on to bigger and better journalism. Best of all, she’d gotten away from Mike before she’d become his next victim, murderous or otherwise.

  * * *

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  Mike pounded his fist into the wall beside the elevator. He should have told Laura everything, he should’ve told her the truth, he should’ve run after her and begged her to come back.

  Only problem was, it wasn’t his truth to tell.

  Exhaling loud, he stalked back in the dark living room and fisted his hands in his hair. Figures. He finally met a woman he saw a future with and she left him over the one thing he couldn’t change.

  His past.

  Fuck.

  He grabbed his phone and dialed Reba’s number. This late, she was probably in bed, as he’d been before Laura showed up again and accused him of murder. Again. A familiar ache cramped his chest, the ache he got whenever he was apart from Laura these days.

  Dammit. He couldn’t lose her, not over a lie.

  His sister’s voicemail picked up on the fourth ring, and he left a brief message about needing to see her the next day. After he ended the call, Mike sank down onto the chaise lounge and stared out his pristine windows, over the pool where his best friend had perished, into the twinkling light of Vegas beyond. The day before, he and Laura had made love. If he closed his eyes, he could still hear her soft, sweet moans, taste the flavor of her kisses on his lips, feel the warmth of her pressed against him.

  Now, she was gone, perhaps forever.

  No. He shook his head and inhaled sharply, squeezing the cheap phone in his hand so tightly the plastic cracked. He couldn’t carry this burden. Not anymore.

  It’s time.

  Time to come clean.

  Come clean with Laura and deal with the ramifications of his past sins, for better or worse.

  Seventeen

  Early the next morning, Laura opened her apartment door to grab her daily edition of the Chronicle and instead discovered a beautiful bouquet of red roses. Roses were her favorite. Probably from Mike, she supposed, as she picked up the crystal vase and stepped back inside.

  Surrounded by the heady fragrance of fresh flowers, she shut the door with her hip then studied the arrangement. Velvety red blooms, pristine white baby’s breath, lush green leaves. Gorgeous. The guy probably felt guilty for being such a lying schmuck, as he should.

  As if a floral arrangement would make her forgive him. Or would it? Maybe she had overreacted about Lyle Kennedy? She and Mike had only known each other a short time, and she couldn’t expect him to tell her everything about his past. Yet Troy had said Mike had been accused of killing Kennedy. Murder? Shouldn’t he have mentioned that?

  But he couldn’t be guilty. Something deep inside her told her Mike was no murderer, and besides, he was still walking the streets, so he hadn’t been convicted of killing Kennedy. Her instincts about people were usually spot on, and they’d told her Mike was a good man. Not a killer. She never would have slept with a killer ... unless her overactive hormones had put the kibosh on all her warning signals.

  She sighed and searched through the blooms for a card. Her fingers brushed against something solid and soft inside the fragrant flowers, and Laura frowned.

  Not a card. Definitely not a card.

  She pulled out the object and gasped. A small black velvet box. She creaked open the lid and discovered a diamond engagement ring nestled on a tiny bed of black satin. Hands trembling, she set the flowers on the counter and peered more closely at the ring. No jeweler’s mark she could find in the tiny box, which meant most likely it was a fake, but still. After their argument last night, no way would Mike send her an engagement ring. And even if they hadn’t fought, they’d only known each other a few weeks. Hell, he hadn’t even met her family yet, or she his.

  Images from the previous night flashed back into her mind. The feeling of being watched, the shadowy figure in the hoodie ducking into the shadows, the claustrophobic feeling of having nowhere to run…

  A knock sounded on the door, and she jumped.

  It wasn’t even seven yet, and she wasn’t expecting anyone. Her phone buzzed on the counter again, and she swallowed hard. Mike must’ve sent her at least twenty voicemails and texts since she’d stormed out of his place. She hadn’t answered any of them, and she sure as hell wasn’t about to start now.

  All she wanted was for this whole damned fiasco to be over so she could move on.

  The pounding on her door grew more insistent, and her heart tumbled, her pulse pounding loud in her head. What if she did have a stalker? And what if it was him or her outside her door? What if….

  “Laura, if you’re in there, please open up.”

  Mike.

  Laura wasn’t sure if she should be relieved or terrified. He’d never been to her apartment, though he knew where she lived. Hell, with all his Internet skills, he probably knew how many fillings she had in her teeth and what size gym shoe she wore in the fifth grade.

  Squaring her shoulders, she clicked the small black box closed and shoved it into a nearby kitchen drawer. Time to put her big girl panties on and deal with the situation. Liv had taught her well. If Mike tried something with he
r today, she’d kick his ass into next week.

  Simple.

  Except when she opened the door and saw him there, looking thoroughly disheveled and sleepy and stubbly from lack of shaving, all she wanted to do was pull him into her arms and ease the lines of tension around his beautiful eyes and mouth.

  No. She forced her warm fuzzy thoughts to the wayside. Mike had an uncanny knack for showing up wherever she happened to be. Too uncanny, in her opinion. Which meant he was either a psychic, which she doubted, or he was following her. Stalking her, to be more precise.

  Careful.

  She pulled open the door a few inches, keeping her privacy chain intact. Teeth clenched, she forewent polite greetings. “What are you doing here?”

  “Why haven’t you returned my messages?”

  “Maybe because it’s six in the damned morning?” She met his stony glare with one of her own. “And maybe I don’t want to talk to you anymore. Pretty sure I made that clear last night.”

  “Too bad.” Mike’s narrowed gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips. “We need to talk.”

  “Why? So you can lie to me again? No thanks.” She started to close the door, but he shoved his arm inside.

  “Please, Laura. Don’t do this. We had something special happening between us.” His tone turned plaintive, and her heart pinched. “At least I thought we did. Please just listen to me. I promise I’ll tell you everything this time.”

  Part of her wanted to listen, so badly it hurt. But the other part of her, the part that had been kicked to the curb one too many times in the past, urged caution. “You said you’d tell me everything last time too. You didn’t.”

  “Look, please. There are things that—”

  “If you tell me once more there are things I don’t understand, I will hurt you. Be warned.”

  “Fine.” He sighed. “I just… I don’t want to lose you, Laura. Can I at least come in?”

  She glanced down at her rumpled PJs then around her messy living quarters. Not exactly the perfectly maintained penthouse he lived in, but who cared. Wasn’t like she was trying to impress the guy anymore anyway. “Fine.”

  Laura unchained the door and stepped aside.

  Mike walked in and glanced around. “Thanks, for uh, talking to me.”

  She crossed her arms and scowled. “Hurry up. I’ve got to get ready for work. Some of us are trying to build a career here.”

  “I know all about building a career, Laura. I built M Cubed from the ground up, remember? But there’s more to life than just work.” His attention caught on the bouquet on the kitchen counter. “Nice flowers.”

  “Thanks. You would think so, since you sent them.”

  “Me?” He wrinkled his nose. “While I’d like to take credit, it wasn’t me.”

  “Really? And I suppose you didn’t send the ring either, huh?” She stalked into the kitchen and yanked the small box out of the drawer, on a roll now. “You know, that really takes some balls, mister. Especially considering I cut you loose last night.”

  “Ring? What the hell are you talking about, Laura? I mean, I like you a lot. More than a lot, but I don’t think we’re quite there yet, do you?”

  “Well, somebody thinks so.” She opened the little box and thrust it in front of him. “It’s not even real.”

  He took it from her and studied it closely. “This didn’t come from me. When I give you a ring, it will be one hundred percent real. And bigger. Much bigger than this. You deserve only the best, Laura.”

  “Stop it.” She snatched the box back from him and tossed it on the counter. “We are not together anymore, and I think it’s time we both accept that and move the hell on.”

  “You really have no idea who sent that ring or those flowers?”

  “I thought I did.” She gave him a pointed stare. “Still not convinced it wasn’t you.”

  “Not me, I swear.” He crossed his heart for emphasis. “Have you gotten anything else weird like that?”

  “No.” She crossed her arms again. Like she’d tell him anyway. Wasn’t any of his business. He was probably jealous, trying to scope out her other dating options. “Why?”

  “Unfortunately, I’ve had plenty of experience with stalkers, Laura. You might want to mention something to the police. You said you have friends on the force, right?”

  She nodded.

  “They can’t do much with just some flowers and a ring, but at least they can take a report. That way you’ll have something on record if it happens again.”

  The last thing she wanted this morning was to stand here discussing the do’s and don’ts of stalking etiquette in her PJs, hair a mess, no makeup, with the man she was still half in love with despite the fact she’d broken up with him the night before. Her irritation won out over common sense, and she said the first hateful words that came to mind, knowing there was no proof they were true, knowing they’d hurt him. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Maybe get another notch on your killer bedpost, huh? Do all those police reports against you up your street cred, Mike?”

  He opened his mouth. Closed it. “You know what, forget it. Forget I came here today. Forget I tried to help you, protect you. Goodbye, Laura.” He yanked the door open and walked out, not bothering to close it behind him.

  Pissed, she leaned out into the hall and yelled at his retreating back. “Goodbye, Mike. And I mean it this time.”

  He didn’t turn around.

  She slammed the door behind her then leaned against it, sliding down to the hardwood floor. She felt worse than she had before, if that were possible. Mike was well and truly gone. The one man she’d fallen for so hard and so fast. Gone.

  The roses mocked her from the kitchen counter.

  Mike said he hadn’t sent the flowers, but he was likely a liar and possibly a murderer. On the other hand, if he wasn’t and they really weren’t from him, then who were they from?

  Needing something to distract her from the black hole that had swallowed her heart and threatened to engulf her whole world, she pushed to her feet and padded back into the open galley kitchen. There had to be something, some identifying mark on the bouquet somewhere. She pulled the flowers apart and finally found a small sticker stuck on the back of the iridescent ribbon tied around the vase in a pretty bow. Riegler’s Florists, Henderson, Nevada.

  Henderson.

  That’s where Barbara Newton and her kids had lived.

  She closed her eyes and pictured that day at their house. The room, somewhat untidy from two teenagers living there basically alone. The somber tone. The bouquet, the same as this one, sitting on a table against the wall.

  Oh, shit.

  Her eyes flew open, and Laura gripped the counter tight.

  The flowers and the ring were from the killer.

  * * *

  Mike took the stairs down to the first floor, needing the time and exercise to get his shit together. The fact Laura had dismissed him from her life, again, was bad enough. Then there was the small detail that she thought he was some psycho serial killer.

  Fuck.

  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

  Maybe there was a reason he was thirty-three and still single. Maybe he didn’t date because it was a hell of a lot safer to have your heart locked away than to get it pulverized by people you loved who didn’t love you back.

  Loved?

  His footsteps faltered, and he stopped somewhere between the third and second floors, gripping the railing tight. Love Laura? He couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her, even when he was working, which never happened. He couldn’t seem to keep from hoping she was okay, that she was happy, that she might be thinking about him, too. But love?

  He continued down the stairs, his pace slower. A strange heaviness pinched his chest. She hadn’t even let him explain, let him tell her his big secret.

  And then those stupid flowers and that ring…

  If someone was stalking her, then that was cause for alarm.

  Fierce protective urges conquered his self-pi
ty, and he charged out into the lobby, intent on doing some digging on Laura’s behalf. Though considering how stubborn she was and how pissed she was at him, he doubted she’d take his advice at this point.

  With his attention firmly fixed on his phone, he headed for the doors, not really looking where he was going. He collided with someone near the entrance and glanced up to see a guy wearing a dark-colored hoodie similar to his. Distracted, he mumbled an apology and continued out into the bright sunny morning.

  Laura might not want his help, but dammit, he refused to give up now.

  Not when it meant keeping the woman he loved safe.

  Eighteen

  “I need to know everything you’ve got on Mike McQuade.” Laura charged into Blake’s office at Rockford Security two hours later. The plaque on his door might’ve said CEO, but he was still her big brother, and she needed information. “It’s urgent.”

  “Nice to see you too, Sis.” Blake swiveled his chair to face her, his expression clearly unfazed by her apparent emergency. “What’s up?”

  “You sent me to a killer, that’s what’s up.”

  “Killer?” He folded his hands calmly on the desk. Growing up with two younger females had made him unflappable. Probably why he was so good at his job. “Explain, please.”

  “Mike McQuade. You knew he’d been accused of murder, and you didn’t say one word to me. Not one damned word.” She yanked off her jacket with more force than was necessary and jammed it onto the chair beside her messenger bag. “Then he goes and lies about it and I find out from the cops. The cops, dear brother. Do you know how embarrassing that is? When the cops know more than I do about the guy I’m…” She caught herself before revealing that she and Mike were lovers, thankfully. “The guy I’m writing a story about.”

  Blake blinked at her, his expression stoic. “I assume you’re referring to the Lyle Kennedy case, yes?”

  Laura crossed her arms and scowled. How could he be so calm about all this? She felt raw, exposed. Betrayed. “Hell yes, I’m talking about Lyle Kennedy.”