A Game Of Kill: Rockford Security Mystery Series

by Dobbs, L. A.

  “Exactly.” Logan stood as well. “Chase will be a good addition to the team around here. Like a new member of the family.”

  “Yeah.” Garrett directed his attention to Laura once more. “Speaking of additions to the family, who’s this Mike McQuade guy?”

  She gave him and Liv both a deadly glare then grabbed her stuff and sprinted for the door like a cheetah on speed. She wasn’t ready to talk about Mike with her family. Hell, she’d barely had time to think about this new thing with him herself and had no idea if it would even go anywhere. The last thing she wanted was the third degree from her siblings, good-natured though it was. “Got to go. Deadline.”

  “Right. Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do!” Her brothers called in unison as she fled down the hall to the exit.

  She smiled all the way back to the Impala.

  Doing anything with Mike suddenly sounded like the best idea in the world.

  13

  Fifteen minutes later, Laura pressed the Call button in the lobby of the Turnberry. She’d not intended to come back here again so soon. She’d intended to head home, change into her PJs, maybe do a final revision on her article for her editor J.J., then go to bed early. She wanted to get a good night’s sleep before confronting her editor the next day about giving her the byline for her story. She’d earned it, dammit.

  It was her time to shine, not do all the legwork for Dog Turd Davis.

  Yet here she stood, eight-thirty at night, no guarantee Mike was even home, her pulse racing.

  Maybe she should just leave, just forget about all of this, just chalk up this whole crazy attraction between them to exhaustion and bad decisions and move the hell on. Maybe she should just…

  “Yes?” Mike’s voice, low and slightly rough, oozed through the speaker. “Laura? What are you doing back here?”

  She raised her hands to show the coffee and brownies she’d picked up at the 1020. “My meeting ended earlier, so I thought if you were free…”

  He mumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a curse, and her heart tripped. Perhaps he wasn’t alone. She hadn’t considered the possibility before, but they’d never really discussed those areas of his life.

  “Okay, fine.” He buzzed her in, and the elevator doors swished open. “But I wasn’t really prepared for guests tonight.”

  “Okay, no prob. I won’t stay long, promise.” She stepped in, and her stomach nosedived as the car lurched skyward. Considering the state of her own living quarters, she had no room to talk about anyone else’s mess. Besides, the guy’s place always looked pretty impeccable, at least from what she’d observed. How bad could things be?

  The elevator dinged and the doors slid open, and she stepped off, fully prepared to assure him that the penthouse looked great, as always. Except, what she saw didn’t look great. It looked…well, it looked incredible.

  He cringed slightly at her speechless state and took the tray of coffee and food from her motionless hands. “Sorry. I warned you I wasn’t prepared for guests.”

  Right.

  What it appeared he was ready for was bed. He stood before her in nothing but a pair of plaid pajama pants and white tee-shirt. The tee-shirt was worn and a bit tight revealing his taut abs and muscled chest.

  Her stomach clenched.

  He set the coffee aside then lifted the same hand to scratch his fingers through his messy hair. In the other hand he held a toothbrush. “Uh, have a seat,” he said, indicating the living room once more. “I’ll just finish up in the bathroom. Be right back.”

  “Sure.” She set her bag aside and shrugged out of her jacket then walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows lining one wall. The lights of the Strip twinkled like jewels in the black-velvet night, and she took a deep breath before turning back to face the room.

  Mike now stood on the other side of the room, sans toothbrush, watching her, his arms crossed. He padded back into the room and pulled a coffee from the tray. “Probably shouldn’t be drinking this so late at night. I’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”

  “Me too.” She walked over and pulled her cup out too. “I’ve got an interview with a one-hundred-five-year-old woman in the morning. She says video games have changed her life.”

  “Changed her life, huh?” He chuckled. “Did she lose her retirement savings buying them for her grandkids or something?”

  “No.” She smacked him on the arm then pulled away fast, her fingertips tingling from the brief contact. “She plays them herself. Won a few tourneys, too, from what her bio said.”

  “Seriously?” His eyes twinkled over the rim of his cup.

  “Seriously.” She shook her head and gave him a disparaging look. “Aren’t you the one who’s always touting how they’re for players of all ages?”

  “Yeah. I guess I am.” A flicker of heat sparked through his warm brown gaze. “Want to sit?”

  “Um.” She glanced behind her at the couch, the scene of their earlier make out session, and moved toward the armchair instead. “Okay.”

  “Coward,” he mumbled, so quietly she would’ve missed it if she wasn’t so totally aware of him.

  “I’m sorry?” Laura asked as she settled into her seat. “I didn’t hear what you said.”

  “Nothing.” His lips quirked into that sexy little half smile again. “Not important.”

  “All righty then.” She leaned forward and grabbed one of the small plastic containers. “Brownie?”

  “Sure. I never turn down chocolate.” He passed her a napkin and fork, his fingers lingering against hers a tad longer than necessary. “Best baked goods ever.”

  “I know, right?” She opened her box and took a bite, but she could’ve been chewing on cardboard for all the attention she paid. All she could concentrate on was the way the sleek muscles of Mike’s throat worked when he swallowed, the way he bit his lower lip as he relished the deep cocoa goodness of the brownie, the tiny crumb that clung to the corner of his mouth.

  “You okay?” he asked, his tone laced with amusement. His gaze narrowed on her, the knowing look in his eyes far too perceptive.

  “I’m fine.” She stuffed another large bite of brownie into her mouth before she did something stupid, like melt into a puddle of goo at his feet. Would’ve worked, too, if she hadn’t inhaled some of the powdered sugar sprinkled on top and started choking. Doubled over and eyes watering, she hacked her head off.

  Way to be a lady, Laura.

  Mike rushed to her side and pounded on her back. “Are you okay?”

  She tried to talk, but her coughing interrupted.

  Finally, she caught her breath and raised a hand to signal she was still alive, tears streaming down her face. Mike continued to rub her back as he crouched by her side. Even in her discombobulated state, the heat of him warmed her from the inside out.

  “Laura?” he asked, pushing the hair away from her face and cupping her cheek. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  She was many things at the moment—embarrassed, excited, enchanted—but okay wasn’t one of them. She swallowed hard and nodded slowly, swiping the back of her hand over her wet cheek. Her answer croaked out of her abraded throat, bullfrog deep. “Yes.”

  “Yeah?” There it was again, that sexy smile. Was it her imagination or had he leaned in just a bit closer. “You sure?”

  Her gaze dropped to his lips, to the way his tongue swept out to slick over his full bottom lip, the crumb still lingering on his skin. Without thought, she reached out and traced her finger over it, brushing away the crumb. “Positive.”

  “I do like a woman who’s positive.” He closed the small space between them and kissed her deeply.Irresistible.

  Like she had it in her to resist. For once, she didn’t even try.

  * * *

  Laura woke alone in an unfamiliar bed to light streaming through the window. What time was it?

  She rubbed her eyes and sat up, glancing at the clock. Ten a.m.

  Shit.

  Her interview wa
s at noon.

  The sound of the shower drifted in from her left, and she figured that’s where Mike had gone. Pulling the sheet tighter around her, she got up and went in search of her clothes. Found her jeans and panties wadded up near the end of the bed then ventured out to the living room for her shirt and bra. She’d just made it back to the bedroom when Mike exited the bathroom, wearing a wet towel slung low around his hips and nothing else.

  “Morning, Princess.” He kissed her deeply then walked over to his dresser. “You might want to get dressed. Ted’s due over here any second to work. You probably have time for a quick shower, though, if you want.”

  “Oh.” She frowned. “Right. No. It’s fine. I need to get home anyway. I’ve got my interview in a few hours.”

  “Granny gamer?” He chuckled.

  “Yeah.” Laura took a seat on the edge of the bed to pull on her panties and jeans, then stood to slip into her bra and shirt. At least things weren’t as awkward between them this morning. One-nighters weren’t her usual thing, but with Mike she couldn’t resist.

  From the other room, the elevator dinged. Now, she just needed to find her shoes and she’d be all set.

  “I’m here,” Ted called from the living room.

  “Great.” Mike yelled back to him then winked at Laura. He pulled open another drawer and yanked a fresh black T-shirt out of it. Before he closed it, she noticed a pile of disposable cell phones stuffed in one half of the space.

  That was odd. Same brand as the one she’d seen in Troy’s photo last week, too.

  Then again, it was a popular brand. Millions of people probably used them.

  Brushing off a slight niggle of concern, she searched the room for her socks and shoes then headed out into the living room again. Ted looked up from the open kitchen and caught her eyes, his expression surprised.

  “Uh, hey,” he said.

  “Hey.” Bingo. Shoes and socks located. She sat in the armchair to pull them on then gathered her bag and jacket as Mike walked into the room—shirt untucked, feet bare. “Well, I need to get going.”

  “Talk to you later?” Mike escorted her out to the elevators.

  “Sure. You’ve got my number, right?”

  “Always.” He pressed the button then pulled her into his arms. “Last night really was amazing.”

  “Yeah, it kind of was, wasn’t it?”

  The elevator dinged and the door slid open, and he kissed her hard and fast. “Now go. Or else you won’t be going anywhere for a long time, Princess.”

  She gave him a little wave then slumped against the back wall of the elevator as the doors slid closed. He waved back, one of those stupid burner phones clutched in his hand.

  Nothing. The phone was nothing, she repeated to herself all the way back to her car. Didn’t matter that her instincts were rioting inside her.

  Felicia was in police custody and Mike was innocent. Case closed.

  No matter if her stupid reporter’s gut told her something was still amiss.

  14

  Two days later, an irritating buzz woke Laura in the middle of the night. Okay, it was closer to seven in the morning, but still. This was the first time she’d slept in her own bed since the big night with Mike, and she was catching up on lost snooze.

  She fumbled for her cell phone and answered it without checking the caller ID, her hair ratted and hanging in front of her face. “Hello?”

  “I know you’ll find out anyway and be a huge pain in my ass, so I figured I’d save us both the time and tell you. There’s been a third victim.”

  Laura blew the hair out of her face and sat up. “Troy?”

  “No. Killers R Us.” His smartass response was followed up with a snort. “Who else would it be?”

  “So there’s another one?” She rubbed her eyes and yawned. “Where are they?”

  “The Las Vegas Police Station.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh my God. Someone staged a murder at the police station?”

  “No.” Troy sighed. “You haven’t had your coffee yet, have you?”

  “I haven’t even brushed my teeth yet.”

  “Nice.” She could hear the smile in his tone. “This one’s still alive.”

  “Alive?” Laura straightened, her eyes wide, fully alert now. “That means you can question them and I can get an interview.”

  “Whoa there, cowgirl. One step at a time. Why don’t you get up, get dressed, and get your cute butt down here first, then we’ll see. And bring coffee with you. It’s been a long night. Oh, and for the love of all things holy, brush your teeth.”

  She ignored his snide remarks and ended the call. After rushing through a quick shower and yes, brushing her teeth, she threw on a clean pair of jeans and a sweater, called the office to let them know she’d be in later than usual due to a lead, then hustled to the café then the police station.

  Upon her arrival, Troy checked his watch then grabbed his drink from the tray. “One hour. I’m impressed, Rockford.”

  “Your approval is what I live for.” Laura gave him a simpering fake smile then cocked her chin toward his blackened left eye. “Make another new friend?”

  “Haha. No. Arresting a perp. My face happened to get in the way of his fist.”

  Laura winced. It did look painful, all puffy and fifty shades of purple, red and yellowish green. Somehow, though, it only made him better looking, sort of rakish and rumpled. Too bad her affections were firmly fixed elsewhere these days. Troy Atkins would make some lucky woman quite happy someday. “So, tell me about this new victim.”

  Troy raised the hand holding his coffee and pointed with his index finger through a blind-covered window across from them. “His name’s Steven Price. Thirty-eight.”

  “Huh.” She moved closer to peer in at the guy. He sat in one of the smaller interrogation rooms, huddled beneath a blanket. Even though his shoulders were hunched, he looked like a linebacker—big and broad. His dark hair was slicked back in a similar hairstyle to that of the last victim at the Mob Museum and topped with a vintage fedora. She couldn’t see the rest of his attire because of the blanket, but she’d bet his clothes were 1940s style, too. “Was he hurt?”

  “Drugged, but otherwise unharmed. He’s still a bit groggy, but the paramedics said whatever the attacker gave him should wear off completely in another hour or so. We questioned him already, but didn't get much.”

  “Can I talk to him?”

  Troy took another long swig of coffee, watching her over the rim. Finally, he set his empty cup aside and stretched. “You know what? I’m feeling a little groggy myself. Think I’ll take a stroll around the block to clear my head.” He grabbed his jacket and headed for the door, turning toward her one last time. “So far Price hasn’t declined questioning, but if he shows any resistance, please respect his decision.”

  “Got it. I won’t push.” She bit her lower lip. “Thanks, Troy.”

  He watched the tiny movement and frowned, his expression hovering between yearning and disappointment. “Yeah. You got thirty minutes, Rockford.”

  Once he left, Laura slipped into the interrogation room and closed the door behind her. She set the third coffee she’d picked up on the table in front of Price. He stared at it but didn’t touch it.

  She smiled and took a seat beside him, setting her messenger bag aside, then reaching into her pocket. “It’s better than the sludge they have here. And there’s some cream and sugar, if you take it.”

  Steven wrapped his beefy fingers around the cardboard cup. He didn’t drink it, though he pulled it closer. His movements were slightly shaky. From the drugs or fear, she wasn’t sure.

  “Are you the sketch artist?” he asked. His rough voice sounded surprisingly small in the quiet room. “I told Detective Atkins I don’t remember much about the attack. When I came to, everything was sort of blurry. Then I popped the guy in the nose and got the hell out of there.”

  Laura’s ears perked. “A man? Are you sure the attacker was male?”

 
; Steven nodded and gave a short laugh. “Yeah. He might’ve screamed like a girl when I punched him, but he was a guy.”

  “Did you see his face?” She pulled out her trusty notebook and a pen, grinning. “Before you punched him, of course. Good job, there.”

  “Thanks.” He toyed with the cup in his hands, turning it one way then the other, still unopened. “And no. I didn’t see his face.”

  “What about other physical characteristics? Was he tall? Short? Fat? Thin?”

  “On the thin side, I guess. A little shorter than me. It was hard to tell since I was either running away or on the ground.”

  “Where were you when you woke up?”

  “Outside the Las Vegas Academy.”

  “Great.” She scribbled her notes down. “And have you seen anybody following you lately? Anyone suspicious hanging around?”

  “No.” He scrunched his nose. “What does that have to do with you making a sketch?”

  “Oh, nothing. Just trying to get some background to help set the scene.”

  “Listen, lady.” He took off the fedora with a trembling hand, then stared at it like he hadn’t been aware it was on his head. With a look of disgust, he tossed it aside. “I already told Detective Atkins this stuff. Can’t you just ask him so I don’t have to relive it all again?”

  “Yeah, sure. Absolutely.” She closed her notebook and pushed to her feet, snagging her messenger bag on the way to the door. “Thanks so much for your time, Mr. Price. Enjoy your coffee.”

  He grunted in response, his focus steadfast on the table.

  Back in the hallway, Laura went in search of Troy and found him in his cubicle once more. She plopped down in the chair in front of his desk. “The perp’s a man.”

  “Yep. That’s what Price told me, too.” He sighed and shook his head. “Damn. I really thought we had this one in the bag. But Felicia’s been in our custody since yesterday, so we know she didn’t do it.”

  “Maybe she did.” She toyed with the end of her still-damp ponytail, eyes narrowed. “What if she has a partner?”