A Game Of Kill: Rockford Security Mystery Series

by Dobbs, L. A.

  “Right. A partner like Mike McQuade.”

  “What?” Laura straightened, affronted on Mike’s behalf. “No. He didn’t do it.”

  “Really? How do you know?” He scowled and stared at her. She blushed and looked away. “That’s quite a one eighty, Rockford. The other day you were ready to have me arrest him. What’s the story there?”

  “Nothing.” She shifted in her seat and crossed her legs, her cheeks prickling with heat. “I’ve just talked to the guy a couple of times since then, and I don’t think it’s him.”

  “Because of your special reporter ‘Spidey senses,’ huh?” He gave her an irritated look. “Well, that guy’s bad news, and I’d suggest you stay away from him.”

  “Yeah, ‘cause you’re so unbiased where I’m concerned.” Laura crossed her arms. “Bad news how?”

  “Bad news as in some…questionable things in his background.”

  “Questionable?”

  He crooked a finger, inviting her over to his side of the desk. Once she moved in behind him, Troy clicked a few keys on his computer and brought up a video feed. “I shouldn’t be showing you this, but…”

  “Hey.” Laura leaned closer. “That’s footage from the foyer of Mike’s penthouse, isn’t it? How’d you get it?” Her brain raced through all the moments she and Mike had spent in that foyer, seeking any embarrassing behavior. The worst she could remember were a few heated kisses, thank goodness. The last thing she needed right now was the whole LVPD watching her and Mike’s X-rated activities for shits and giggles. “Are you spying on him?”

  “No. All legally obtained. I’m surprised you didn’t know.”

  “Didn’t know what?”

  “Blake’s company does all the security for McQuade. All I had to do was send a subpoena, and he turned it over to me.”

  Well, shit. At least that explained her oldest brother’s odd look at her during the board meeting. She gave Troy some serious side eye then pointed at the screen again. “Isn’t that the widow? Barbara Newton?”

  “Yep.” He tapped another key to play the video. “Watch this.”

  Barbara and Mike were in front of the elevator. Barbara appeared flustered, her hands flying about wildly as she said, “I think there’s someone following me. I keep seeing the same figure—at work, at my house. My kids have seen him, too.”

  The camera was behind Mike, so she couldn’t see his face, but he had his usual distracted tone, the one that drove Laura crazy. “Calm down,” he said to Barbara, taking her arms. “Who do you think it might be?”

  “I don’t know.” Barbara stared at the center of Mike’s chest, her pretty face etched with sorrow. “Jim’s death was an accident, right?”

  “Of course it was.” Mike rubbed the widow’s arms affectionately, and Laura couldn’t suppress a niggle of jealousy. Troubled, she clenched the back of Troy’s chair tighter. This was stupid. Ridiculous. She was jealous of a dead woman. Still, she couldn’t keep the thoughts of her meeting with Barbara’s kids out of her head. Had Mike and Barbara been lovers? The way he touched her on the video suggested a familiarity beyond platonic, but…

  Shaking off her doubts, she concentrated on the footage again. If she had questions, she’d just ask him later. After all, they were spending a lot of time together lately. That afforded her some privileges where his past was concerned.

  Onscreen, Barbara continued questioning Mike, her panic evident in her voice. “But what if it wasn’t? What if someone killed my Jim and now they’re coming for me?”

  Before Mike answered, another figure appeared in the frame: Ted, his posture hunched and his eyes twitchy. Mike looked irritated at the interruption, startled almost. Maybe he didn’t want any witnesses to his conversation with Barbara?

  Ted stood to the side of Mike and Barbara, pointing off screen to what Laura knew was the living room. “I, uh, finished that, uh, coding, boss. If you, uh, want to take a look…”

  Mike gave the guy a dismissive nod then waited for him to leave before turning his attention back to Barbara. “Listen, I know the anniversary of Jim’s death is coming up. I can’t imagine how hard that must be for you and the kids, and I’m sorry you have to go through that, but I really think you’re letting your imagination get the better of you.” He wrapped his arm around Barbara’s shoulders and pressed the button for the elevator. From his now visible expression—flat, slightly annoyed—Laura would almost think he was blowing the widow’s concerns off. But why would he do that to someone he obviously cared about?

  It made no sense.

  The elevator doors slid open, and he helped Barbara in, his polite smile the polar opposite of his tense tone. “Promise me you’ll find a way to relax. No one will hurt you. I promise.”

  Troy hit another key on his keyboard, and the computer screen went black as he swiveled his chair to face her. “I rest my case.”

  Laura scoffed. “That video doesn’t prove anything.”

  “Hmm.” Troy leaned back and clasped his hands over his flat stomach. “Proves you haven’t told me the complete truth. This isn’t the only tape we got from your brother. Turns out you’re in quite a few of them.”

  “My association with Mike McQuade is private.”

  “Not around here it isn’t. Or at least it won’t be, if one of the other officers gets ahold of these tapes. For now, I’ve managed to keep a lid on them. Can’t guarantee that will always be the case, though.”

  Her anger rose at his veiled threat. “What exactly are you suggesting, Detective Atkins?”

  “What I’m suggesting, Ms. Rockford, is that you stop hanging around with McQuade.” His cool smile made her blood boil. If they weren’t there, in the middle of the station, she’d show him just how much he’d pissed her off with a nice kick in the pants. She’d thought Troy was her friend, a nice guy she’d perhaps go on a date with sometime. Except nice guys didn’t blackmail their friends. She wondered what other secrets golden-boy Troy might have hidden under his slick, cover-model persona.

  He continued, seemingly unfazed by her growing fury. “Mike McQuade is bad news. That video proves there’s more to his relationship with Barbara Newton. Not to mention the incidents in his past that—”

  “Hey, Atkins,” another detective called from across the room. “Can we let Price go home now?”

  Troy stood and brushed past Laura, then leaned closer to whisper in her ear. “Stay away from him, Rockford. Or else.”

  Livid, Laura waited until he’d gone back into the interrogation room before she grabbed her stuff and left. Or else what? He’d show those tapes to his buddies on the force and make her look like a lying slut in front of the whole police department? He’d ruin her reputation and her sources in Vegas? What an asshole. She pushed outside and headed for her Impala.

  After shoving her bag onto the passenger seat, Laura climbed in behind the wheel and cranked the engine. Why the hell was Troy digging into Mike’s past so hard anyway? It was almost like he wanted to find something wrong, like he didn’t want to shine the spotlight elsewhere, like maybe Troy might have something to do with it all…

  Her breath hitched. Oh, God. Where had that come from? But as she backed out of her parking spot and thought about it more, it kind of made sense. Troy would certainly have the access, being a cop and all. Not to mention the fact he seemed to have some personal vendetta against Mike McQuade all of a sudden.

  Distracted, she headed back downtown toward the Turnberry, wondering about Troy’s last crack concerning incidents in Mike’s past.

  She’d come clean to Mike about her documentary ruse. Now it was his turn. Time for him to tell her the truth about his past.

  15

  By ten-fifteen, Laura stood in the Turnberry’s lobby once more, buzzing Mike’s penthouse. Incensed, she stepped back and stared up into the little security camera on the wall, tapping her toe while she waited for him to answer.

  “Yeah?” The deep timbre of Mike’s voice over the intercom reminded her of lazy Sunday
mornings in bed, but she refused to be distracted. “Who’s there?”

  “It’s me.” She stepped into the camera’s range. “Can I come up?”

  Mike chuckled. “Of course.” Then, perhaps reading her mood, his tone sobered. “Something wrong?”

  “We need to talk.”

  She rode up, muscles tense and mind stewing. By the time the doors slid open and Mike pulled her into a hug, she’d worked herself into a fine snit. Laura remained stiff in his embrace, and he pulled back, frowning down at her. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She blinked up at him then pushed him away. “No bruises.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “No one’s punched you in the face. That’s good.”

  “I like to think so.” He followed her into the living room, looking as confused as she felt. She started to sit on the sofa, then decided at the last minute not to—she didn’t want him to sit too close.

  In the end she stood in front of the windows, having dismissed sitting altogether. It was a better tactical move anyway. If he did turn out to be the murderer after all, or if he said something she didn’t like, being on her feet already made for easier bolting.

  Mike stood off to the side, watching her entire performance with amusement. “So, what do we need to talk about?”

  “I was at the police station earlier. They had video. Of you. And the first victim, the widow, Barbara Newton. Here, in your penthouse. Things looked rather…cozy.”

  “Cozy?” He stood perfectly still, inscrutable as always.

  “Yeah. She told you she thought someone was following her, but you didn’t believe her. Why?”

  “I don’t remember.” His warm brown eyes narrowed. “It was a long time ago.”

  “But you do remember her?”

  “Of course I remember her. Her husband used to work for me. What’s not to remember?”

  “You’re hiding something.” Laura compressed her lips, refusing to look away from him. “I know it.”

  “What exactly is happening here, Laura?” He moved closer to her. “What exactly are you accusing me of?”

  “I’m not sure yet.”

  “I see.” He stood before her now at the windows, hands on his hips, lips tight. “I didn’t kill Jim, if that’s what you’re getting at. It was an accident. I’ve never killed anyone, actually. Though it sounds like that’s what you think happened.”

  “I don’t know what to think, Mike. You don’t tell me anything.”

  He exhaled, scowling at the floor for a moment before taking her arm and guiding her over to a long chaise lounge next to the far wall. “Sit down and I’ll tell you everything that’s in my power to tell, okay? Let me just make us some coffee first. I haven’t had any yet today, and you know how I am without my caffeine fix.”

  “Right. So you can slip some poison in there or something? No thanks.” The taunt sounded childish even to her, but dammit. He made her so mad with all his hidden facets and dark secrets. It was her job to read people, to learn their worst, but he defied all of her rules.

  “Seriously?” He gave her an aggravated, slightly pained look. “Look, if I wanted to do you in, I sure as hell wouldn’t use poison. Too traceable. And why would I do it here? In my house? Do you know how much blood removal costs these days?”

  “No, I don’t, but apparently you do, huh? And are you saying you do want to do me in, just by different methods?” She crossed her arms again, her expression mulish. “Nice. Tell me, what exactly is the going rate for blood removal?”

  “It was a joke.” Finally, she’d gotten a rise out of him. Laura sighed. “Just make the damned coffee.”

  “Fine.” He stomped from the room.

  “Fine,” she yelled at his retreating back, to get the last word. Alone in the living room, she plunked her bag down at her feet then stared at her toes. A series of bangs and curses issued from the direction of the kitchen, and her curiosity got the better of her. She couldn’t resist investigating. With a shoulder propped against the door frame, she watched Mike fumble around for the ingredients. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing?”

  “No.”

  Exhaling loudly, she pushed him out of the way and took the pack of filters from his hand. “Let me do it.”

  He glowered at her while she shoved a filter into the basket then scooped in some coffee. As she filled the carafe with water, she couldn’t take his stony silence anymore. “So, tell me how this Jim Newton died.”

  He ran a hand through his disheveled hair and leaned his hip against the counter. “He was my head programmer. We were all here, at the penthouse, for the release party for Vegas Noir. It was M Cubed’s first game and kind of a big deal. I don’t know exactly what took place, but Jim went out on the balcony for some air. Next thing I knew, he was floating face down in the pool, dead.” He closed his eyes and shook his head. “The police report said he’d had too much to drink and fell in. Drowned. The coroner’s report corroborated those findings. They ruled it an accident. Some celebration, huh?”

  Despite her wariness, Mike looked like someone had kicked his puppy, and Laura couldn’t stop herself from comforting him. She pushed Start on the coffee machine then laid a hand on his forearm. “I’m sorry.”

  He stared at the floor. “He was my best friend. We were going to build this company together.”

  Troy’s warnings from earlier came back to her mind, along with the widow’s panicked statement. “Is there any reason to suspect it wasn’t an accident?”

  “I don’t know anymore. It was five years ago, Laura.” Mike sighed. “With all these new murders happening, I don’t know what to think.”

  Not wanting to take advantage of his vulnerable state but not wanting to back off either, Laura pushed a bit more. “When I went out to talk to Barbara Newton’s kids, they told me you gave their mother money every month.”

  Silence. His only movement was a muscle twitching near his clenched jaw.

  If Mike had been involved with Jim’s widow sexually, she needed to know. She might be lonely and like him more than she cared to admit, but she sure as hell wouldn’t climb in bed with a man who’d just lost his lover, possibly by his own hand. “Want to tell me why you’d do that?”

  Seconds ticked by with agonizing slowness. At last, Mike cursed under his breath and stared out the window over the sink. “Jim’s life insurance only covered the funeral expenses. I’m godfather to those kids. I couldn’t leave them with nothing. I know what that’s like, growing up poor, always wanting, always having to work and prove yourself for every damned thing. They deserved better.” His brow furrowed, and his bare toes curled on the tile floor. “Besides, if it wasn’t for me throwing that stupid party, Jim might still be alive.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Mike.” Laura inched closer. “You can’t blame yourself.”

  “Yeah.” He laughed, hollow and unpleasant. “I’ve been telling myself that for five fucking years. Maybe someday I’ll believe it.”

  “Mike, I—”

  The coffee maker beeped, severing her speech. She located two mugs in a cupboard he indicated. After she poured them each a cup and handed him one, they made their way back to the living room and settled on the chaise again. “That must’ve been what Troy meant about your dark past.”

  “My what?” He took a sip from his mug then wrinkled his nose. “And who’s Troy?”

  “A homicide detective on the force.”

  “Ah. Blake investigated Jim’s case, you know.”

  Laura frowned. Blake hadn’t mentioned that.

  “No, I didn’t know that. But that timeline makes sense.” She took a sip of her own coffee and gagged. “God, this stuff tastes like crap.”

  “Yeah.” He tried another gulp and cringed. “Definitely not your best work. Maybe you’re trying to poison me, huh?”

  Laura laughed then set the cup aside. “Maybe. Sorry. So why don’t you have your usual brew from 1020 today?”

  Mike placed his mug next to Laura
’s on the table. “Ted usually does the morning coffee run on his way in, but he called in sick today.”

  “Oh.” She looked around, realizing, not for the first time, just how adorable he looked in the morning, all rumpled and sleepy. “Guess that means he won’t be popping in to disturb us like he usually does, huh?”

  Mike traced his hand up her back to cup the nape of her neck and draw her closer. “Nope. No disturbances today.”

  * * *

  Laura had been all Mike could think of since the last time they’d been together. They’d both tried to pretend it was casual, a one-time thing, but Mike knew it wasn’t that way for him. Laura was different than the other women who’d previously graced his bed. She was smart and funny and quirky, not to mention unbelievably hot. He couldn’t seem to get enough of her and now that she was in his arms, he didn’t want to let her go.

  She looked up at him, her hazel eyes half closed. “No more secrets between us, Mike.”

  “No more secrets.” He kissed her gently. “No more.”

  A niggling urge to check the clock gripped him, but he brushed it aside. For once, the world could survive without him. He pulled Laura closer, trying not to think about the promise still echoing in the air.

  So, his princess had investigated him, and she’d returned to him anyway. His hopes for a future between them flared brighter. Hell, today he’d come right out and told her what a crappy human being he was, and yet she’d stayed. A pang of guilt shot through him, but he kissed her until it dissolved. He’d promised no more secrets, but there was one thing he could never tell her—one secret he’d have to keep. He pushed the thought aside. That secret had no bearing on what was happening now.

  For once, he had everything he needed right here.

  For once, he held goodness in his arms and felt like maybe he actually deserved it.

  16

  The next afternoon, Mike was going over the latest game configurations with Ted at the penthouse when the security buzzer rang.