by Dobbs, L. A.
Sympathy joined the curiosity bubbling inside her.
She handed the phone back to her sister fast. Nope. Not going there. Her integrity as a journalist required her to remain impartial. If she wanted this story to work, she could not develop feelings for this Mike McQuade, no matter how innocent.
“Seen enough, huh?” Liv took the phone back, the look in her green eyes far too perceptive for Laura’s liking. “He’s cute. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be cautious. Ted Bundy was cute, too.”
“I’m always cautious.” Laura pushed to her feet and took their empty plates to the kitchen. “And I doubt this guy is another Ted Bundy. All I know is that Blake said he met him at a release party a couple years ago and that he seemed nice. I just want to find out what he might know about the woman this morning.”
“How did Blake connect the two again?” Liv called from the living room.
Laura glanced over to see her sister once again engrossed in her emails. Rockford gene indeed. “The clothes the woman was wearing. She was dressed all in vintage. Nineteen forties–era stuff.”
“Interesting.” Liv’s attention remained on her phone screen. “So you think this has something to do with the game we just played?”
“Apparently. Maybe.” Laura finished rinsing their plates then stuck them in the dishwasher. “From what I could see, there was certainly a noir vibe to how the scene was staged, and it happened at the El Cortez, one of the oldest casinos in the city.” Finished with the dishes, she took a seat next to Liv again and signed back into her computer, then plugged her phone into the port and downloaded the video she’d shot earlier. “Here. See?” She pointed to the body while Liv squinted at the screen. “Look at the dress and the hair. That looks just like some of the characters we encountered in the game, right?”
Liv scrunched her nose. “You’re no Spielberg, are you?”
“Just shut up and look, okay?”
“Yeah, all right,” Liv said, leaning in closer and squinting. “I guess I can see a connection.”
Laura minimized the game and brought up Google again. This time she typed Vegas Noir into her browser and scanned the pages of results. “Looks like it’s still pretty popular, even though it’s been around a while.”
“Click on that one,” Liv said, pointing to a link for a gamer forum. “Looks like it’s full of juicy gossip.”
They huddled together and stared at the different topics and chat rooms that popped up onscreen, many for other, more recent M Cubed games—everything from Undead Apocalypse to Valhalla Vengeance.
“Wow.” Laura clicked on one thread titled Take That Festering Flesh Fucker. “Who knew people loved blowing up zombies that much?”
“Or battling Vikings.”
Laura laughed. “Those characters do look pretty hot in their horns and fur.”
“Got that right, sista.” Liv pointed to a small picture near the bottom of the screen. “Looks like there’s a separate page for Vegas Noir.”
“Yeah.” Laura tapped the thumbnail, and a separate area opened up—a completed virtual world of old buildings and cars and men in fedoras with femme fatales draped on each arm. Glenn Miller’s “In the Mood” played in the background of the fan-created realm. “This is pretty cool.”
“Really detailed. Those people look almost real, don’t they?”
“Kind of creepy, actually.”
“Yeah, it is.” Liv stretched then checked her watch and stood, shoving her phone back into her purse. “I need to get back to the office.”
“And I need to get over to Turnberry Place.”
“That’s where he lives?”
“Yeah. The penthouse, according to Blake.” Laura dug through her kitchen drawers, looking for the keycard she’d stolen from the place while covering a previous story. “It’s gated. I had a lead over there a couple of years ago and accidentally kept the entry pass they gave me.”
“Accidentally, huh?” Liv raised a brow at her, her expression skeptical.
“Okay. Maybe not an accident.” Coming up empty, Laura tried a different drawer near the fridge. In the far corner, she spotted the dark navy plastic card. She shoved it into the outside pocket of her messenger bag. “Ready?”
“Always.” Liv hooked her arm through Laura’s, and they walked out the door together. Then she locked up while Liv pushed the button for the elevator. “Please promise me you won’t put yourself in any danger.”
Laura scoffed. “You know me.”
“Yeah, I do.” The elevator dinged, and they climbed in. “That’s why I’m saying it.”
They rode to the lobby in silence, but once the doors opened again, Laura turned to Liv and gave her a big hug. “I’ll be careful. I promise. Don’t work too hard, okay?”
“Too late. And look who’s talking.” Liv squeezed her tight then let her go. “See you Wednesday?”
“Sounds great.” Laura waved as Liv headed out the entrance on the other side of the lobby and she headed out to her Impala parked along the curb. As she slid in behind the wheel and started the engine, images of the game popped back into her head, followed in short order by pictures of the man who’d invented it. Mike McQuade caused all sorts of unwanted feelings inside of her, none of which was danger.
4
Laura parked about a block from Turnberry Place and double-checked her makeup and hair in the rearview mirror before grabbing her messenger bag and exiting the vehicle. With luck, the same male security guard still worked here. He’d developed quite a crush on her during her visits for her last story, and he might just let her squeak past the gates, even though technically she didn’t belong there.
No such luck, however, she noticed as she approached. Some big burly guy sat squished inside the tiny booth, looking sweaty and tired and completely undercompensated by the minimum-wage salary they probably paid the poor schmuck.
Ever resourceful, Laura spotted a drugstore on the other side of the street.
Ten minutes later, she was back with a plastic bag in her hand. She strolled up to the guard station with her best flirty smile in place. Sunglasses pushed up to the top of her head, she leaned into the drive-through window of the tiny booth. “Hello, kind sir.”
“Ma’am.” The guard dipped the bill of his policeman-style hat, his expression stoic. “May I help you?”
“Silly me. I’m supposed to meet my friend at his apartment for dinner. I don’t suppose you could let me in.”
“Sorry, ma’am. No keycard, no entry.”
“Oh, you mean this?” She pulled out the old keycard from her pocket and held it in front of his face.
“That’s way old. They issue new ones every year. Got to have a current one.”
“Damn.” She winced and let her shoulders slump slightly. “He’s going to be so mad.”
“What’s his name, ma’am? I can call and have him come down to get you here.”
“Oh, no.” The last thing she needed was this guy tipping off hermit McQuade that someone was looking for him. “Don’t need him thinking I’m any dumber than he probably already does.”
The guard gave her a side glance, his flat expression faltering. “He doesn’t sound very nice if he thinks you’re dumb.”
Laura bit back a small smile. Maybe her flirting would pay off after all. “Oh, he’s very nice. He’s just really, really smart.”
“Huh.” The guard swiped a handkerchief across his sweaty forehead. “Whatever you say.”
“You look pretty hot in there. No air conditioning?”
“None.” The guy shook his head mournfully. “It’s gotta be close to a hundred out today.”
“Maybe this will come in handy.” She raised the bag and pulled out a small desktop fan. “You want to use it?”
He started to reach for it then stopped. “What’s the catch?”
“No catch.” She smiled again. “You get the fan and while you’re plugging it in, you might not notice me slipping inside the gates.”
His dark gaze na
rrowed.
“Or.” She shoved the fan back into the bag. “I’ll just return this on my way home.”
A bead of perspiration trickled down his temple, and he cursed under his breath. “Fine. But if you get caught, you’re on your own, lady.”
“Works for me.” She handed him the bag then hustled through the small opening in the gates behind him, feeling inordinately proud of herself. She’d not only gotten what she wanted, she’d helped a guy in need. Win-win.
She strolled past the lovely fountain in the center of the plaza and wondered which building might be his. She didn’t have to search long for the answer, spying two police cars parked outside the tallest building to her right. Bingo.
Slipping inside the marble lobby of the place, she stuck close to the walls to be as unobtrusive as possible. The chilly air conditioning blasted citrus-scented air through the massive space, and she located four officers, two in uniforms and two detectives, talking over by the long concierge desk. Ahead were the elevators, but without a keycard she didn’t think she’d get far, and it wasn’t like she could just waltz up to the desk and ask for a new one.
Against one wall she found a resident directory and scanned it fast to confirm her intel. McQuade. Penthouse.
She would’ve guessed the penthouse anyway, even without Blake’s help, given McQuade’s financial status and penchant for privacy. Great. Now all she had to do was figure out how to get up there. Maybe she could exit on one of the lower floors and take the stairs up to the top. She walked to the elevators and pressed the Up button, tapping her toes to dispel some nervous energy while she waited.
“Thank you, ma’am,” one of the detectives said behind her. Footsteps echoed on the marble floors headed in her direction.
Shit.
Laura ducked her head and turned, feigning deep interest in the potted plant in front of her as the detectives headed toward the elevators. The uniformed officers still stood near the entrance. She inched closer to the two men nearest her, hoping she might garner some tidbits of their conversation.
“You got a hot date this weekend?” one guy said.
“Nah. Going out with Gigi from the Tropicana again. You?”
“My wife’s in charge of all my hot dates now, man.”
“Right.”
The elevator dinged and a man stepped out, stopping abruptly as the two officers stepped in front of him. “Mr. McQuade?”
Laura glanced over and caught the man’s gaze—intelligent, guarded, sexy as hell.
She looked away fast, heat storming her cheeks. He didn’t know her from Adam, yet she got the distinct impression he saw right through her, saw that she didn’t belong here. Her pulse thudded loud in her ears, blocking out the voices around her. She needed to hear what they were saying, needed to get her lead, get her story.
Calm down, idiot.
After a deep, steadying breath, Laura eased closer still to the small group of men.
“I’m Detective Hopkins and this is Detective Ruiz. We’re from the Metro homicide division, and we’d like to ask you some questions, if you have a few moments.”
“What’s happened?” McQuade asked, his voice deeper, rougher than she’d imagined. Velvet over gravel. Definitely not geeky gamer. “Have I done something wrong?”
“No, no, Mr. McQuade.” One of the detectives gestured toward a small seating area to Laura’s left. “We just have a few questions for you regarding one of the video games your company produces.”
“Oh.”
Through her lashes, she watched McQuade shove his hands deeper into the pockets of his navy blue hoodie and nod. He walked toward the seating area and caught her eye once more. A spark passed between them before vanishing so fast she wondered if it had even happened at all.
Laura looked from him to the elevator and saw the doors still open, waiting, as if beckoning her forward. Behind her, the men took a seat.
“This morning, Mr. McQuade,” Detective Hopkins said, “we found the body of a Barbara Newton in the pool at the El Cortez Hotel.”
Barbara Newton.
Now she had a name to go with the corpse she’d seen earlier. She could get the rest from Troy later. Right now she had a penthouse to investigate, and with McQuade's back to the elevators and his attention on the cops, this was a perfect opportunity. Fists clenched, she walked over and stepped inside the elevator. As soon as she pressed the P button for penthouse, the doors slid closed, and her tense shoulders relaxed slightly.
Okay, Laura. You’ve got this.
She swiped the old keycard through the slot near the penthouse button and waited, hoping maybe they changed cards but not codes.
Nothing.
Tried again.
No movement.
One more swipe.
Nada.
Dammit. She shoved the card back into her pocket as the doors slid open again then she stepped off, only to find herself face to face with Mike McQuade himself—all dark stubble and even darker secrets. Her heartbeat doubled as she fought to remain calm.
A slight quirk crossed his full lips, not quite a smile and not quite a frown, but about halfway between, if that were possible. A fresh wave of adrenaline sizzled through her veins. Whatever that look was on his face, it suggested he knew exactly what she was up to.
Laura lifted her chin slightly and attempted to step around him. Except he stepped the same way and they collided again, his hard-muscled chest pressing into her. She swallowed hard, mumbled an apology and stepped the other way. He did the same.
Finally, she looked up to see him grinning down at her as if he knew something she didn’t. Which, if he were the killer, he probably did. She cleared the sudden constriction from her throat and forced words past her tight vocal cords. “Sorry.”
He stared at her. “Can I help you?”
More than you know.
“I’m on my way out.” She sidled around him again, but he caught her arm.
“You new to this building?”
Crap.
“I’ve been staying with friends.”
“Oh. Been here long, then?”
“Long enough.” She tried to pull free but couldn’t. “Why?”
His previously friendly grin turned frigid. “Because I’d like to know what the hell you’re doing on this elevator.”
* * *
Groupie, had to be.
Except this one didn’t look like his typical fangirl—she was far prettier than most, with an intelligent gleam in her gorgeous hazel eyes. Still, as intriguing as this little sneak was, that didn’t mean he’d let his guard down any time soon. He’d been obsessively stalked one too many times to let that happen.
When she didn’t respond, Mike looked her up and down, squeezing her arm a tad tighter—not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to let her know he meant business. “I’ll ask you one more time, then I’ll hail one of those detectives if I don’t like your answer. What are you doing in this elevator? It's private for the condos on the top three floors and I think I'd remember if you were a regular visitor to any of my neighbors.”
Her gaze narrowed slightly, and the pink in her creamy cheeks blossomed higher. Feisty. And if there was one thing he dug in a woman, it was feistiness. He might live like a paranoid monk these days, but that didn’t mean he didn’t notice an attractive woman.
“Look, Mr. McQuade, this isn’t what you think,” she said, her voice a tad huskier. With tension or attraction, he wasn’t sure. Either way, it didn’t much matter. He steered clear of most all relationships these days, romantic or otherwise. Some called him cutthroat, some called him secretive. They were both wrong. What he had was a plan for his future success, and it didn’t involve socializing. Socializing led to entanglements, and entanglements led to people getting too close and getting hurt. He couldn’t allow that to happen again. These days, it was up to him to control the hurt.
He waited for her to continue.
She kept her gaze locked with his, an odd mix of confidence and ob
vious fluster. Quick on her feet, too. He’d have to be careful with this one. She gestured with her free hand toward the seating area he’d just vacated. “It looked like you were having a private conversation and I didn’t want to intrude, so I thought I’d wait for you upstairs, but I don’t have the right keycard.”
Wait for me upstairs?
Mike exhaled and did his best to keep his expression stoic despite the kick in his pulse. His agenda was free this afternoon. No appointments. No meetings. And no one from the guards’ station had contacted him to clear her presence. Which meant she must’ve conned them somehow. He added crafty to her growing list of attributes. Mike decided to play along just for the pleasure of seeing her talk her way out of it. “So you’re here to see me, huh? Why? I thought you said you were staying with friends.”
“I’m Laura Rockford.” She extended her free hand toward him. “I’m…uh…doing a documentary featuring icons of the gaming world. My assistant was supposed to contact you, but based on this conversation, I’m assuming he didn’t. Sorry about that whole business about staying with friends. I didn’t realize that was you, just figured you were some creep.”
He frowned. That name sounded familiar. “Rockford? As in Rockford Security?”
“Yes. My older brother Blake runs the company.” She smiled politely. “He mentioned meeting you at a release party for one of your games a couple of years ago.”
“Did he?” Seems half the people in Vegas had met him at some such party or another over the years, but he really had met Blake. Used him for security, in fact. Still, the connection between the woman in front of him and his security firm did little to ease his anxiety or his suspicions.
As if sensing his discomfort with her disclosure, Laura was quick to add, “But that’s my brother. I’m not involved in his company at all. I strictly make documentaries.”
“Name some of your work.”
Her eyes widened slightly, and she glanced away. Most people might not have noticed her gestures, at least on a conscious level, but Mike wasn’t most people. He’d spent years studying human interactions and physiological cues to make the characters in his games as realistic as possible. Based on her actions, she was definitely hiding something.