Fatal Games (The Rockford Security Series Book 2)

by Jones, Lee Anne

  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.

  “Well.” She shuffled from foot to foot and bit her full lower lip. Mike clenched his hand to keep from reaching out and rubbing the pad of his thumb over the abraded area. “This will be my first big feature. I just graduated from NYU last year.” She glanced up at him as if gauging his reaction. “But I promise, this is all legit and will be handled with the utmost care and professionalism.”

  The doors to his elevator remained open, and across the hall, the two detectives still lingered, glancing in his direction every so often like they expected him to start climbing the walls, superhero-style or something.

  He let Laura’s arm go and crossed his instead. Her tale had gotten so elaborate, he wondered how she’d be able to keep all the strings of her deceit web straight, but it was like watching a horrific train crash. He couldn’t look away. And he couldn’t stop. Not yet. “Tell me more.”

  A slow smile spread across her pretty face, and Mike’s blood pulsed thick in his veins. She was dangerous, in more ways than just her snooping. He still had to contend with that body from this morning. Still, he knew Blake Rockford and, more importantly, he trusted him. A rare and valuable commodity in his world. If this was his sister, then perhaps he could trust her as well, to a certain extent. He’d know more after he ran a background search on her later. “My plan is to expose the true genius behind today’s bestselling video games.”

  “I don’t do interviews.” The less his fans knew about the kind of man he really was, the better. “Sorry.”

  “This isn’t your typical interview, I swear. And it won’t take long at all. Having you as part of my film could make it a real contender at next year’s Sundance Festival. Please.” She placed a hand on his forearm and blinked up at him with her soulful, Disney-princess eyes, and Mike felt his stalwart barriers fracturing.

  Dammit. He couldn’t deal with this. Not today. But now that she’d met him and knew where he lived, he doubted she’d give up so easily. Maybe it would be to his advantage to play along, at least for a little while longer. That way he could keep control of her and the situation. “I don’t have time right now.”

  “That’s fine. I’ve got another appointment too. How about I come back tomorrow at this same time? Would that work for you, Mr. McQuade?”

  “Fine.” He stepped back inside his elevator, and she stepped out into the lobby. Mike swiped his keycard through the slot then jabbed the button for his penthouse before stuffing the thing back into the pocket of his favorite navy hoodie. “See you tomorrow, then.”

  The doors shut on her smiling face, and his heart sank as the elevator rose.

  Keeping Laura Rockford close would be either a brilliant idea or a spectacular failure. Between her lies and his reactions, one thing was for sure. His well-controlled life had just become a hell of a lot more chaotic. And interesting.

  Five

  Laura arrived back at Turnberry Place the following day promptly at four p.m. The heavy gear bag made her arm ache as she waited at the front guard station while they called in her arrival to Mike McQuade. She hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, instead staying up far too late playing Vegas Noir to discover all the intricacies of his imaginary world. At least, that’s what she told herself. Truth was, the game was fun. And addictive.

  So, bleary eyed and irritable, she’d spent her morning in her small cubicle at the Chronicle offices, taking care of weekly paperwork and doing a bit of research into Barbara Newton, the murder victim from the day before. Unfortunately, there were what seemed like a million Barbara Newtons on Facebook, and without anything more to go on but a name, she had no idea which one was correct.

  Afterward, she’d dug out an old camcorder and tripod from one of the newspaper’s supply closets. She stuffed them into a dusty duffle bag she’d found alongside and headed back to the police station, hoping Troy might feed her a bit more information about the evidence found at the El Cortez.

  But he hadn’t had much to tell her either, even though she’d bribed him with yet another double espresso and triple-fudge brownie. He’d been going over the security footage, or lack thereof, from the historic hotel from the time of the murder. The footage had been a bust. Nothing but blank tape, due to the ancient cameras at the El Cortez, Troy assured her. Not tampering. The only thing of value she’d discovered had been that the victim had been stabbed. Once. Through the heart. Just like in level three of Mike’s game. The police were still searching for the weapon used.

  So here she was now, again trouncing through the gates of the Turnberry with what seemed like a thousand pounds of gear and untruths weighing her down. She didn’t like to lie. Truth was in her nature. But when it came to getting what she knew could be a career-making story from a guy who never gave interviews, Laura did what was necessary.

  Even if it meant fibbing a bit in the name of justice. And a massage. Oh yeah. A full-body, hot-stone massage at one of the Strip’s fancy spas would definitely be necessary after today.

  This time when she entered the spacious marble lobby of Mike’s building, she walked directly up to the concierge desk as she’d been instructed by the guard at the station outside and was handed a green plastic keycard by the gal behind the counter. “You’ll find the elevators right over there, Ms. Rockford. Just swipe the card in the slot beneath the button and press P for penthouse.”

  “Thanks.” Laura hoisted her heavy bag higher in her grip and headed for the site of her run-in with Mike McQuade the day before. He was far from what she’d expected—much more handsome and closed off in person. He’d be a tough nut to crack, but she’d broken tougher.

  The doors dinged open, and she stepped aboard the elevator then swiped the card. Soon, the car jerked upward toward the top floor of the building. She wondered what kind of lifestyle a guy like McQuade preferred. He was young—only three years older than her—richer than King Midas and smart as sin. Hell, his place probably looked like a set straight out of the Matrix.

  She chuckled as the car bumped to a halt and the doors opened once more, this time revealing a bright, airy lobby with floor-to-ceiling windows on one side displaying fantastic views of the Strip beyond. There was also a man waiting for her—shorter, unassuming, painfully awkward.

  Not Mike. And definitely not the Matrix either.

  Unsure what to say, she gave the man a polite smile. “Um, hi. My name’s Laura Rockford. I have a four o’clock meeting with Mr. McQuade.”

  “Hi,” the man said curtly and gestured for her to follow him into the penthouse proper. He was dressed similar to the way Mike had been the day before in a T-shirt, hoodie, and jeans. The embroidered horse logo on the front of the sweatshirt told her his apparel wasn’t inexpensive, as did his top-of-the-line sneakers.

  “Are you a friend of Mr. McQuade?” she asked.

  “Mike should be out in a minute.” He pointed to one of the armchairs in the sprawling living room in what she assumed was a gesture for her to sit and wait.

  All righty then. Laura took a seat and continued to watch the guy from beneath her lashes. He moved around the place like he was comfortable being there, so maybe he was part of the cleaning crew or a personal assistant? The latter seemed more likely, given his wardrobe. Or…

  She eyed the man closer. Maybe Mike McQuade wasn’t into women.

  Just because she’d felt definite flutters the previous day didn’t mean he had. And this apparently mute guy who’d escorted her in seemed fine walking into another room beyond and settling in behind what appeared to be a wall of computer monitors and equipment. Far too comfortable for a mere personal assistant.

  “Ah, Miss Rockford.” Mike entered the living room through yet another door on
the other side of the room. From what she could see, his penthouse took up the entire top floor of the building, meaning it was massive. “Security said you were on your way up.” He walked past the guy on his computer system in the other room without a glance, instead riffling through some papers in his hand. “You’re on time. I like people who don’t waste mine.”

  She bit back the snarky retort hovering on her tongue at his pompous tone and pasted on an accommodating smile instead.

  Get the story. Get the story. Get the story.

  The story was the most important thing here, not the fact McQuade spoke to her with the same level of enthusiasm normally reserved for unpleasant things found stuck on bottoms of shoes.

  “Thanks for inviting me here today.” Laura glanced over at the guy in the room again. “Your friend was kind enough to let me in.”

  “Oh, uh. Yeah. Excuse me a sec.” A small muscle ticced near McQuade’s tight jaw as he leaned into the other room, tossing the papers in his hand to the guy. “Hey, Ted. The idea of having those combo accelerators for experienced players is good, but I don’t want to shut out first-time or casual players who don’t have as much skill either. What if we made a tutorial or journal entry for the combos so anyone who wanted to study them could figure it out? And how about we make them less of a necessity to beat the bosses and more of a bonus? Extra XP or a buff to health or reduced cooldown times?”

  From what Laura could see, the other guy didn’t look happy about the suggested changes. In fact, given his gloomy expression, he looked downright pissed. So this guy wasn’t an assistant or a lover. He was one of Mike’s programmers. Laura filed the information, along with the guy’s name, in her mental databanks.

  After a few tense seconds, Ted gave Mike a grim nod then turned back to his screens, shoulders hunched. Apparently all was not sunshine and rainbows in Mike’s little tech world.

  Mike closed the door on the guy and faced Laura once more. “Shall we get started? I’ve got a lot of work to get done yet tonight.”

  “Oh, sure.” She set her messenger bag aside and started setting up the tripod and camcorder while he pulled out his phone. “Do you work from home a lot?”

  “Sometimes.” Mike seemed completely absorbed by whatever he was doing on his device and didn’t bother to look at her as he answered. “Depends on the day.”

  The door to the room beyond opened and Ted slumped out, head down, his voice low as his gaze darted between the two of them. “I’ll finish up at Corporate, if that’s okay.”

  “Okay, see ya.” Mike waved him off, his attention still focused on his phone.

  Laura finished loading a small tape into the camera then took a seat on the chair and waited for Mike to notice her again. She took the opportunity to get a feel for his personal style. Everything in his home was crisp and clean, the décor in neutral shades of beige and off-white. Not exactly the post-apocalyptic gloom and doom she’d been expecting. The furniture was mainly leather or microfiber and overstuffed, giving the place a comfortable vibe. At least the parts she could see.

  Curiosity piqued but not comfortable asking for a full tour, she relied on the next best thing. “Um, I’m a little thirsty after lugging all this gear from my car. Could I maybe have a glass of water or something?”

  “Kitchen’s through there.” He hiked his chin toward the far corner of the room. Again, no eye contact. “Glasses are in the cabinet by the sink.”

  “Thanks.” She stood and walked into a spacious chef’s kitchen, done in warm granite and gleaming stainless steel. This place would’ve been Martha Stewart’s wet dream. She chuckled as she headed toward the cabinet he’d indicated and reached inside for a large tumbler. After filling it with cold water from the tap, she leaned her hips against the countertop, surveying the rest of the space. No clutter, no dirty dishes, the complete opposite of her place. A large island stood in the center of the space, with a second built-in sink and storage space underneath. She spotted a manila folder lying near one corner.

  One quick peek couldn’t hurt anything. After a quick glance to ensure Mike was still occupied with whatever he was doing on his phone, Laura pulled the file closer with one finger. Flipped the cover open and covered her mouth as her breath caught in her chest. Good thing she hadn’t taken another drink, because it would’ve spewed over everything.

  Inside were photos—various shots from the Vegas Noir video game, all of the same victim and death scene at the El Cortez. They were the same caliber of shots the police investigators usually got, extreme close-ups, lots of details. A small logo marked one corner of each photo. FG and a copyright mark. On the back was stamped a name—Felicia Gomez.

  Holy shit.

  “You find everything okay?” Mike asked, walking in then stopping abruptly. His expression darkened to a scowl, and his brown gaze hardened as he took in the open folder and the papers in her hand. “Yeah. I can see you have.”

  Stunned, both by what she’d just seen and by the fact she’d gotten caught, Laura remained silent as he stalked over and snatched the folder and its contents from her then tossed them in a nearby trash can. “Forget these. One of my more crazed fans sent them over. Are you ready for the interview?”

  Hands shaky, she set her glass down and nodded. “Doesn’t receiving graphic stuff like that bother you?”

  “Occupational hazard,” he mumbled as he led her back out into the sunny living room. They took seats across from each other, and she pulled her trusty notebook from her messenger bag, glad for the distraction of the questions she’d prepared in advance. Her sister’s words from the day before rang through her head.

  You can’t just walk into a killer’s home and accuse him of murder…

  Maybe not, but she could at least gather some more intel on the elusive Mike McQuade. Her instincts told her he knew more about those damned pictures she’d found than he was letting on, and she had every intention of finding out exactly what.

  But first she had to get him to relax, open up, trust her. Okay, maybe the last one was a long shot, but a girl had to try. She pressed Record on the camera and ran a finger down the list in front of her. “Thanks so much for agreeing to speak with me, Mr. McQuade. Why don’t we start off with you telling me a little bit about yourself?”

  He exhaled, long and slow, as if he were facing a firing squad not a video camera. “My name’s Mike McQuade. I’m the president and CEO of M Cubed Games. We’ve been in business for ten years, and we are the premier developer, marketer, publisher, and distributor of video RPGs in the United States.”

  His somewhat stodgy demeanor lightened a bit as he discussed his business, a flicker of passion and pride glowing in his soft brown eyes. For a moment, Laura couldn’t help wondering what other activities might elicit that same response. Dinner? A good movie? Making love? She shook her head to clear the fuzzy, erotic images of her and Mike in bed together and forced herself to focus on the task at hand. “Are you from Las Vegas originally?”

  “Yep, I’m a Sin City boy, born and bred.”

  “Do you have family here?”

  He clasped his hands across his flat stomach and smiled—a rare sight that nearly stole her breath—all sweetness and pure affection. “Three siblings. Two older, Sean and Jenna, and my youngest sister, Reba. And my parents, of course.”

  She couldn’t help grinning along with him. Family was everything. “You sound pretty close.”

  “Yeah. My oldest brother is in programming too. He’s a software developer in Silicon Valley, God help him. Not that the distance stops him from trying to oversee all of our lives.” He snorted and shook his head. “And my older sister’s also in California, but she’s getting her PhD in law from Stanford. So now it’s just Reba and me left here. She’s the baby of our group and quite a handful, but I do the best I can.”

  “Right.” Laura laughed, all too familiar with nosy older brothers and their interfering ways. “Your oldest sounds like Blake. Talk about mother hen syndrome.”

  “I kn
ow, right?” He tilted his head and narrowed his gaze. “What about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “You’ve got a pretty big clan yourself, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, there’s six of us Rockford kids, plus Mom and Dad.”

  “Must get pretty crazy around the holidays.”

  “You have no idea.”

  They laughed, and for the first time in a long time, Laura felt completely comfortable with a man who wasn’t a member of her family. She leaned forward in her chair. “Where’d you graduate high school?”

  He scoffed and leaned forward as well. “Las Vegas High. Go Wildcats!”

  “Me too.”

  “It’s the only place to go.”

  “Totally.” She sat back and noticed his coffee cup on the table. “You like 1020 Café too? Over by the Mob Museum on Stewart Street?”

  “Love it.” He picked up the cup and turned it to gaze at the logo. “Not sure why they picked that location though. But I’m officially addicted to their espresso. Get one almost every morning. Can’t think straight without it. Why?”

  “I’m surprised I haven’t seen you in there since I’m a regular too.”

  “Huh.” He checked his watch. “Damn. I’m really sorry, but I’ve got another meeting shortly.”

  “Oh. Sure. No problem.” Laura reached over and switched off the camera then started to gather her things. It didn’t even occur to her until she was taking down the tripod that she hadn’t asked him anything about the victim or those disturbing pictures she’d found in his kitchen. “Hey, I’ve, uh, actually played Vegas Noir a couple of times as research for this interview. Those pictures in the kitchen reminded me of your game.”

  “Yeah.” Mike ran a hand through his short, thick brown hair. One errant curl fell over his forehead, and she battled the urge to stroke it back into place. “There are some real sickos out there. I hate that someone would use my creations for something so heinous, but crazy people do crazy things, I guess. Forget those pictures. They’re not a big deal.”