Blake raised a brow along with his hands. “Language, please. I realize you don’t see it as such, but this is a place of business.”
“Yeah, watch your fucking mouth, Sis,” her brother Logan called from out in the workroom. Snickers abounded. She got up and flipped them off before closing Blake’s office door.
“Seriously, Blake? He could’ve killed me, too.”
“Sit down, Laura.” Blake came around the desk to lean his hips against it. “Mike’s not a killer.”
“That’s funny,” she said, flopping back into her seat. “Because Detective Troy Atkins with the LVPD seems to think he is.”
“Then Detective Atkins is mistaken.” Blake narrowed his famous glare on her. People hadn’t nicknamed it The Hurt for nothing. She shifted in her seat, feeling more like an errant school kid than a grown-ass woman. “I investigated that case myself. It was an accident. What exactly did Troy say?”
“He said that Mike has big secrets he’s not telling me.”
“And big secrets equal murder, huh?” Blake’s expression finally shifted to something other than benign interest. Disappointment. Ugh. She wished he would’ve stayed benign. “I expected more from an accomplished journalist.”
“I don’t like being lied to.”
Blake inhaled deeply and nodded. “Fine. I’ll tell you what I know about Mike McQuade if you promise to calm down and stop acting like a two-year-old. And no interruptions.”
“Okay. But I—”
He raised an imperious brow at her.
“Fine.”
“Fine.” He tapped his fingers against the edge of his desk and stared at the floor. “Mike McQuade first hit my radar about eight years ago. There was an altercation involving his younger sister, Reba. Her boyfriend, Lyle Kennedy, was an abuser. His mistreatment landed her in the hospital several times before she finally fought back. We got called out to break up another domestic situation, but before we got there she shot him, killed him. Then she panicked and tried to make it look like an accident. Mike helped her stage it.” Blake shrugged. “At first there was suspicion of murder, but we discovered what had really happened soon enough. Wasn’t hard. Reba’s boyfriend had a rap sheet a mile long. He deserved what he got. The judge ruled it self-defense. Pure and simple. Mike was just trying to protect his little sister. I’d do the same for you in that situation, Laura. You can’t hold that against him.”
Dammit. Had she been wrong? She hated being wrong about as much as she hated being lied to. A mental picture of Mike, standing in her kitchen earlier looking earnest and sad and entirely too cute for his own good, crossed her frazzled brain. Nope. Not letting him off the hook that easily. “What about the cell phone deal?”
“What cell phone deal?”
“They found a disposable phone at the first crime scene, and Troy said they were trying to trace it back to Mike.”
“And that’s your proof that Mike McQuade killed two, almost three people?” Blake laughed out loud this time, the sound both astonishing—because of its rarity these days—and thoroughly annoying. “Sis, you know as well as I do those phones are like Kleenex. Millions of people use them every day.”
“But I saw a whole stash in the bedroom at his penthouse.”
“Okay.” Blake straightened slightly. “First off, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that you’ve been in his penthouse, since I’m pretty sure I told you specifically not to go there when we started this whole debacle. And second, what the hell were you doing in his bedroom?”
“I…” Heat flooded her cheeks, and she lowered her eyes. “It doesn’t matter. I saw them, and there were lots. I’m worried, Blake. What if Mike had something to do with these game-related killings?”
After several silent seconds, Blake cursed under his breath. “Look, I don’t know about what the police are investigating or anything about this phone being connected, but I can tell you that Mike couldn’t have committed the widow’s murder.”
“How do you know?”
He gestured for her to follow him behind his desk. Blake took a seat and fired up his computer, clicking several keys until the now familiar security feeds from Turnberry appeared on his screen, showing Mike at the elevator in the lobby. It was time and date stamped for ten p.m. on the night of Barbara Newton’s murder. The next video showed him entering his penthouse a few moments later. The third clip didn’t show him emerging again until five the next morning.
Blake hit Pause and turned to face her. “The M.E. pinpointed time of death for Barbara Newton at around three a.m.”
A smidge of doubt still lingered in Laura’s heart. “What about the cameras? Maybe someone messed with the time. Mike’s a guru when it comes to all things tech. Troy said it’s happened before with the cameras at the El Cortez.”
“The El Cortez isn’t a Rockford property.” He looked slightly offended by her suggestion. “Nobody messes with my cameras. Nobody.”
Well, damn.
Laura walked back around the desk and collapsed into her seat, her face in her hands. What a jerk she’d been earlier. Mike had come all the way over to make sure she was okay, even after she’d reamed him a new one the night before, and she’d done nothing but act like an idiot.
“You didn’t really think I’d let my little sister get anywhere near a killer, did you?” Blake asked, his gaze far too perceptive for her taste.
She rubbed her eyes then dropped her hands into her lap. “I don’t know what to think anymore. There was something else, too. This morning. Someone sent me red roses and a fake engagement ring. At first I thought they were from Mike, but he denied it when I confronted him.”
“I think this Vintage Vegas Killer case is getting to you, that’s what I think. Those items could’ve come from anyone. What about that kid you interviewed a few days ago? The one with the asteroids. You said yourself he was pretty enamored with you, right?”
Yeah, she had said that. That kid practically had stars in his eyes and wedding bells playing in the background when she’d left. Never mind the fact she was twelve years his senior. Maybe Blake was right, anybody could have sent those flowers and that ring. Didn’t have to be the killer or anything even related to that damned murder case.
Her thoughts drifted to Troy. Troy had been outside her apartment last night, and he’d made it clear he wanted more than a professional relationship. Plus the way he’d been insisting she stay away from Mike ...
No, that was crazy. Troy wouldn’t send flowers and a ring like that. Would he?
“I can check it out, though, if you want,” Blake was saying.
“No.” She felt stupid now. “I can clean up my own messes.”
“Okay.” Blake gave her a once-over, and she did her best not to fidget. “But you’re obviously stressed out. I think that once this thing is over and Mike’s in the clear, you and he should take a vacation together. Get away from all this and spend some time together.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” He smiled, all big-brother confidence. “I got to know Mike McQuade pretty well during that investigation years ago. I think the two of you would make a good couple. Why else do you think I sent you there?”
“Seriously? Who died and made you matchmaker?” She cringed, regretting the words almost immediately. Her brother’s wife, his partner on the force and the love of his life, that’s who. God, she really was verbally incontinent these days. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“I know.” Pain flickered across his intense, icy-blue eyes before he hid it behind his usual wall of stoicism. “But still, you shouldn’t throw away something good with Mike over a misunderstanding. Trust me, life is far too short.”
“Right.” She took a deep breath then stood. “I think I owe someone an apology.”
“Really?” He pulled out a pen and scribbled something on the calendar on his desk.
“What are you doing?”
“Marking this momentous occasion. Laura Rockford admits she’s wrong.”
She flipped him off for good measure, too, as she left his office.
Laura headed back out to the parking lot. Her stomach rumbled, but she ignored it. She’d be stuffed full of humble pie and crow soon enough. She pulled out and headed back to her apartment, feeling for the first time since she’d started this whole investigation that maybe, just maybe, things might turn out all right after all.
She pulled into a spot half a block from her building and climbed out, texting Mike as she walked toward her entrance. Hopefully he was working from home again today, and hopefully he would answer her message.
At the stoop, she turned, the nape of her neck prickling again.
Someone was still watching her, but there wasn’t anyone suspicious around. Only tourists and joggers and a couple walking a cute little dog in a pink sweater. Nope. Blake was right. She had let this crazy case get to her. Definitely time for some R and R after this whole thing was over, if Mike would forgive her and take her back and…
She went to press Send on her phone, but a hand now clamped across her mouth stopped her.
Laura tried to scream, tried to fight back, but her attacker was too strong, and whatever drug soaked the cloth pressed to her face smelled awful and her head felt fuzzy and her vision had gone funny and the last thing she remembered before darkness descended was the overwhelming urge to see Mike once more and tell him how sorry she was, how much she loved him.
* * *
Mike typed another search into his browser, looking for anything that might connect those flowers, that ring to the murders. He had a bad feeling, had even tried going back to Laura’s apartment a short time ago, but she’d been gone. So he’d come home to continue his research. She might not want him around, but he’d do everything in his power to protect her.
He pulled up the information on each of the victims again, connecting them all back to the party where Jim had died. The only people he’d invited that night were industry professionals and people from his own company. A quick review of the guest list showed no one living in the immediate vicinity of the crimes or even in Vegas proper.
Which left his own employees.
An unexpected stab of pain sliced through him. He considered his staff part of his family. The possibility that one of their own would do something like this seemed almost impossible. Still, he owed it to Laura to investigate all avenues.
Laura. My Laura.
What he wouldn’t give to have her here beside him. She’d know what to do with all this information, all these clues. She’d hit it big one day, the national news or whatever she wanted. He was sure of it. Her instincts and her skills were that good. He just hoped he’d be around to see it, to celebrate the accomplishment with her.
He tried calling her phone again, but there was no answer. Went straight to voicemail.
He didn’t leave a message.
Instead, Mike focused on the computer screen. No. The best way to help Laura and get back in her good graces was to prove his innocence. So Barbara Newton and Ben Sanders, both dead. Steven Price, attacked but alive. No ties among any of them, except his company.
Why them?
He tried searching through the police reports and the news stories for fresh leads but found none. Dammit. He rubbed an exasperated hand over his face and sighed, slumping back in his seat. Picked up his phone again. The tracer was still on Laura’s phone. He could just take a peek, see where she was, make sure she was okay.
He tossed the phone aside. That would make him just as bad as the weirdo who’d sent her those flowers this morning. He wanted to be her friend, her lover, more if she’d let him. To prove his point, he grabbed the phone again and pressed down on the tracker app then held, waiting for it to quiver. He’d erase the whole program from his phone and be done with it. No more secrets between them.
His finger found the delete button.
Ding.
Mike frowned down at the incoming message. It was from Laura’s number but full of odd 1940s jargon:
NO COPPERS SEE?
UPLOAD THE FILE TO THE VEGAS NOIR HOMEPAGE OR THE DAME GETS THE BIG SLEEP.
Before he could react to the first message, a second one came in. A photo. Laura, dressed in a vintage wedding gown, her hair in Victory rolls and her makeup done pin-up girl style. From what he could see, she’d been tied to a chair and a gun pointed at her temple.
Fuck.
Frantic, Mike pushed to his feet. He needed to find her, he had to save her.
But first he had to figure out where in the hell she was.
Nineteen
Laura blinked open heavy-lidded eyes. Everything hurt, her head throbbed, and her mouth ached with dryness. She tried to moan and failed, squinted at the blurriness surrounding her then focused on her lap. White. White fabric everywhere. As far as she could remember, she’d worn jeans that day. Jeans and a navy-blue sweater, not white…
She attempted to reach for the fabric but found her hands secured behind her back. Tried to move her legs, too. Nope. Tied as well.
Shit.
Despite her pounding head, she did her best to concentrate. She’d been at her building, ready to text Mike, then…
Oh God.
Her attacker must’ve drugged her, that was it. The acrid stench of whatever substance he’d used still lingered in her nose and throat, making her stomach riot. She dry-swallowed and took a deep breath to steady her racing pulse. Calm. She had to stay calm. That’s what Liv had taught her. Assailants counted on their victims getting stupid with fear, doing irrational things to escape. By staying calm, she could keep the upper hand, buy herself some precious time, stay in control.
A voice filtered into her hazy reality, male and tense and vaguely familiar.
“Dammit. Why doesn’t he upload the file?”
She raised her head slightly, hoping to still appear unconscious while she scoped out her location, her enemy. From the stained glass and altar before her, it appeared she was being held in some kind of chapel or church. Rows of long pews stretched out before her, a lone man sitting in the front one, dressed in a black hoodie.
As if sensing her gaze, he turned fast and caught her staring. “Oh, you’re awake. Good. Guess your boyfriend doesn’t care enough to save you.”
Ted? Mike’s twitchy right-hand man?
She exhaled and stared at her lap again, noticed the beading and intricate stitch work. A wedding dress? In a wedding chapel? At least the fake engagement ring made sense now. The Wedding at the Little Church of the West was the highest level in Vegas Noir. She wasn’t good enough at the game to have gotten there yet, but she’d seen it on the fan sites. She shook her head slightly, then winced as her world went cockeyed again.
Guess I should’ve seen this one coming.
Laura gripped the ropes around her wrists tighter and jerked hard, testing their strength. Her movement caused the chair to scrape against the floor, and Ted stood, gun in hand.
“Don’t even think about trying to escape. You won’t make it.”
“Why are you doing this?” Her voice creaked out like an old floorboard. “Mike’s your friend, your mentor. Why would you want to destroy him?”
“Right.” He gave a derisive snort. “If that’s what you think then you’re not the brilliant reporter you like to think you are. No wonder they give you nothing but fluff to cover.”
A twinge of anger coursed through her regardless of the fact she was tied to a chair with a literal gun to her head. She might be covering fluff, but she wouldn’t be forever, dammit. Especially after tonight. “What makes you think you can get away with this? Mike’s a genius when it comes to tech.”
“No.” Ted stepped closer, his dour expression deepening with fury. “He was a genius. Not anymore. Especially not now. Not with you around. All he thinks about anymore is you. It’s pathetic.”
Her heart leapt at his words despite the situation. Mike thought about her all the time? Mike was distracted by her? She was certainly guilty of the same where h
e was concerned, but he was so secretive and hard to read, and now she might die and never know if he might care about her as much as she cared about him and…
Fresh adrenaline surged through her bloodstream.
Keep calm. Get a grip. Keep him talking while you figure out a plan…
Liv’s voice, her sister’s voice, kept ringing through her head, cutting through her hysteria-fueled bullshit and setting her back on course. Get out, get free, get safe. Then worry about Mike. Seemed like a great idea, until Ted’s next words crash landed her resolve.
“Besides, Mike’s already taken the fall. I’ve been feeding clues to the police. Now all he has to do is upload the file to the homepage of the M Cubed website like I asked and it’s done. If not, then I’ll have to go with my Plan B.”
“Plan B?”
He raised the gun and mock pulled the trigger at her, his wide smile chilling.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Keep him talking, keep him talking, keep him talking…
“So, uh, what file?”
“The one connecting all the final dots for the cops. Showing Mike at the first crime scene touching the body. Showing Mike going to that café, the one right next door to where the second victim was found. Showing Mike schmoozing with the gal in accounting and linking victim number three to him and his company. I emailed it to him and now all he has to do is upload the file replacing the M Cubed homepage with the incriminating photos. I'd do it myself but he's got that file locked for access. Only he can upload it.”
Mike was at the first crime scene?
“What are you talking about? Mike didn’t kill Barbara Newton.”
“No, but he couldn’t resist responding to my text luring him to the crime scene. Couldn’t resist bending over the poor widow. The added bonus was that he also couldn’t resist playing the good guy. Had to be the hero and call 9-1-1 on that disposable phone. I saw the cops put it in an evidence bag, and with any luck they’ll be able to trace it to him. Another nail in his coffin.” He shrugged. “Then, of course, I’ll add in you. Can’t forget his little obsession with his favorite reporter.”
Fatal Games (The Rockford Security Series Book 2) Page 16