“What are you, a cop or something?”
“Or something.” Laura took off toward the door, calling out over her shoulder. “Watch yourself, Ms. Gomez. I will be.”
She pushed out into the warm night and walked several feet away from the door before leaning against the wall to catch her breath. One more suspect down and a boatload of unanswered questions. At least she knew Mike hadn’t commissioned those god-awful shots. Somehow that made her feel better, even though she knew her growing attraction to him was a definite no-no. Hardcore journalists did not fall for their subjects, and they sure as hell didn’t sleep with them, no matter how appealing the idea might sound.
After a deep breath, she stepped away from the gallery and headed back to her car. Laura had almost reached the corner when she stopped in her tracks. A silhouette stood beneath the streetlight near her Impala—tall, broad shoulders, navy hoodie. Her heart stumbled before racing ahead in triple time.
Mike.
Shit.
Nervous butterflies tickled through her stomach at the sight of him. She tried to flip her hair over her shoulder in the same confident way Liv did and tripped over her own feet in the process.
Smooth move, dumbass.
Laura recovered her balance and glanced away from Mike’s direct stare. He hadn’t looked away from her once in what seemed like her long journey to reach him, although it couldn’t have been more than a dozen steps. His full lips were compressed into a thin, white line, and his expression appeared decidedly stern.
“I thought you were going home after our interview.” His words emerged more growl than speech.
“And I thought you had a lot of work to do tonight.” She clicked the button on her key fob to unlock the Impala then opened the passenger side and tossed her messenger bag onto the seat. “Since when are my plans any of your business, Mr. McQuade?”
“Since you’re nosing around in places where you shouldn’t be, Ms. Rockford.” He yanked the car door from her grasp and slammed it shut then leaned against it so she couldn’t open it again. “You shouldn’t be down here.”
“Why not? Last time I checked, it was still a free country.” She started to walk toward the driver’s side, but he grabbed her arm and stopped her. She gave him a pointed stare, dropping her gaze to his grip then looking back to his eyes. “Take your hands off me.”
“Or what?”
“Or I’ll make sure you walk funny for a week.”
His tense shoulders relaxed a bit, and a small smile now played around his firm lips. She briefly wondered if said lips would feel as soft as they looked before shoving the crazy notion aside. She had no business thinking about his lips. None.
He released her. “Fine.”
“Fine.” She crossed her arms and held her ground despite the fact she stood close enough to him now to feel his heat through her thin cotton top, to smell his scent—cedar and musk and something else, something indefinably him. A breeze had kicked up tonight, and though the temperatures were still high, a slight shiver ran through her. He raised a speculative brow, as if he knew damned well the effect he had on her. To distract herself from her thudding pulse, she concentrated on business. “Why shouldn’t I be down here?”
“Did you see Felicia?”
Well, then. So much for subtlety. “Maybe.”
“Don’t lie to me. I saw you come out of her gallery.”
“Why’d you bother asking me then?” She leaned her hip against the car as well. “Seems you have all the answers, don’t you Mr. McQuade?”
“Mike.”
“What?”
“After the interview this afternoon, I think we should be on a first-name basis. Call me Mike.”
Better than the alternative, she supposed, which wasn’t nice or even printable. The guy riled her up without even trying, in ways she didn’t even want to think about. If any danger lurked for her down here, it was him. Still, he’d made the slight gesture of friendship, and she needed to stay on his good side, at least until she had this story in the bag. “I guess you can call me Laura.”
“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it? Now tell me why you went to see Felicia when I specifically remember telling you not to.”
“Hmm.” She tapped her index finger against her chin in a show of pure sarcasm. “Besides the fact that you’re not the boss of me, I wanted to find out more about those photos in your kitchen.”
“I see.” His shoulders tensed as she watched him beneath her lashes. He seemed fascinated with the toes of his shoes all of a sudden, his attention never leaving them as he spoke. “You really should forget about her. She’s nothing but a crazy fan, and I’d rather not add more fuel to that fire by putting her in your documentary.”
“Who says it was for my documentary?”
He looked up at her then, his gaze wary. “What else would it be for?”
Dammit. She scrambled fast to cover her blunder. “Maybe I just wanted to get to know you better, see why you’re so secretive and reclusive all the time.” Her foot brushed against his on the sidewalk before she pulled away fast. “She said you took out a restraining order on her because of photos like the ones in your kitchen.”
Mike inhaled sharply before relaxing back against the car and staring up into the starry sky above. “Yeah, I did. Not just over photos though. She kept coming around to all of my company’s events, trying to flirt with the security, the vendors. Hell, even the caterers. The last straw was when I found out she was schmoozing my programmers to worm her way into parties. I had no choice. She’d made such a nuisance of herself.” He shook his head and looked over at Laura. “You’re digging into things you know nothing about.”
Their feet brushed again, but this time she didn’t pull away. Instead, she faced him, her shoulder inches away from his against the Impala. “So, enlighten me.”
Mike faced her as well, narrowing the gap between them. His warm, chocolate-brown gaze flickered to her lips before meeting hers again. “Felicia is dangerous. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“I can take care of myself.” Without thinking, she brushed a stray curl away from his forehead. Yep. His hair felt as silky as it looked. Her fingertips tingled from the brief contact, and her mouth dried as awareness buzzed within her. “But thanks for your concern.”
“Any time, Laura.” His voice lowered, grew huskier, his breath warm and minty as it ghosted over her cheeks. “Any time.”
Before she knew what was happening, his mouth was on hers, his lips velvet-soft and tentative, brushing over hers once, twice, before capturing her mouth in a breathtakingly passionate kiss. Laura gasped beneath his tender onslaught on her senses, and Mike took full advantage, slipping his tongue inside her mouth to taste her, stroke her, explore every inch of her. As if of their own volition, her hands clutched the material of his hoodie then trailed upward over the solid muscle of his chest to twine around his neck, her fingers tangling in the soft curls at the base of his neck.
Mike groaned deep in his throat and tugged her tighter to him, his strong arms coming around her waist to press her tighter against his body, his warmth igniting a fire inside her that threatened to consume her if she wasn’t careful.
Careful.
Panicked, Laura pushed him away and stepped back, her breath rasping. “I-I have to go.”
“Laura, wait. Please, let’s talk about this,” he called as she ran around the Impala and pulled open the driver’s-side door. “Laura, I—”
“No. This was a mistake.” She climbed behind the wheel and jammed the key into the ignition, gunning the engine and pulling away before he had a chance to stop her.
Mistake didn’t begin to cover what had happened back there. No matter how badly she wanted him, no matter how much she craved his touch, she couldn’t have him. Not until she figured out the truth behind the widow’s murder. Because if Mike McQuade was somehow involved, then her sleeping with a suspected murderer would be nothing short of career suicide.
* * *
&
nbsp; Mike watched the receding glow of Laura’s crimson taillights, berating himself the entire time for his own stupidity. He was a frigging tech genius, for Christ’s sake, yet he couldn’t seem to get a handle on his own damned libido.
Yes, she’d looked amazing and delectable under the soft yellow halo of the streetlamps. Yes, she’d tasted and felt like his every erotic fantasy come to life. Yes, she’d responded beautifully to his touch, making him want her all the more.
Hell no, he should never have indulged in that kiss.
As he made his way back around the corner to where his driver waited, he couldn’t stop reliving the painful breakups from his past. None of his relationships had ever lasted more than a few months at most, mainly because his girlfriends always complained he kept things from them, kept them at a safe emotional distance, never allowing them to get to know the real him.
They should’ve been grateful.
The real Mike McQuade was no prize.
Not by any definition.
He thanked the driver for holding the door, then climbed into the quiet interior of the sleek black limo and settled against the cool leather seat. He’d hurt far too many people on his road to success. Burned more bridges and massacred too many of his darlings to ever hope to make restitution.
No. Laura Rockford had definitely made the right choice when she’d run far and fast away from him. Better she find out now, discover exactly what kind of monster he was before either one of them got too involved.
Mike shifted in his seat and stared out the tinted window at the passing scenery, taking a deep breath to calm his still-pounding pulse. He licked his lips and still tasted her there, scrubbed his hand over his face and caught the scent of her lingering on his clothes—sweet floral perfume and warm, aroused woman.
Cursing, he clenched his fist against his thigh and closed his eyes.
I can’t be weak.
Seven
Capter 7
Late the next morning, Laura sat at her usual table in the corner of the 1020 café, scowling at the front page of the Chronicle. She wasn’t sure which was worse—that J.J. had handed her story about the widow’s murder and the byline over to Thad Davis, another staff reporter and her biggest rival, or that Davis had royally skewed the facts to support his opinion of what had happened.
According to him, Felicia Gomez was the murderer, and the case should be closed.
He’d even coined a cheesy tabloid name for the killing, the “Vintage Vegas Murders”.
Laura closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
It could have been worse, she supposed.
He could have fingered Mike for the killings.
Mike.
Ugh.
She covered her face with her hands and cringed. That kiss. God, that kiss. It had been heaven and hell all rolled into one. Divine because of the undeniable passion between them, the delicious things he evoked within her—desire, yearning. Wicked because Mike McQuade was the absolute last man on planet Earth she should be kissing. Not with an ongoing murder investigation in which he was involved—if not the new prime suspect—and the fact she was the reporter on his case.
Or at least she was. Until this morning.
Dammit. She refused to let J.J. and Davis steal her story. She’d keep working on it without them knowing. Especially after the way Davis had bungled everything. Yes, Felicia seemed to be an obvious choice for the widow’s death, but it all just seemed a bit too easy, a bit too cut and dried for Laura’s taste. Besides, her instincts told her there was more to this situation. And her instincts were never wrong.
“Hey, Sis.”
Laura jumped and looked up to see Liv standing before her little table for two, her grin large and her coffee even larger. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”
“It’s fine.” Laura gathered her newspaper together and shoved the jumbled mess into her messenger bag on the floor, then pointed to the chair across from her. “Sit.”
“What’s going on?” Liv slid into the seat with her usual cool grace, her appearance immaculate as always. Well, if you didn’t count those few stray white hairs on her sharp black suit. That was odd. Laura squinted, intrigued. Short and coarse, they appeared to be cat or maybe dog. Except her sister didn’t own any pets. Too messy, she’d always said.
Laura glanced up and caught Liv watching her, brow raised and expression expectant.
“I’m sorry.” She leaned back in her seat as her sister sat forward. “Can you repeat the question?”
“I said something’s obviously up with you. We meet here every Wednesday, same time, same table, and you still seemed shocked to see me. Don’t make me wrestle it out of you. You know I always win.”
“It’s nothing.” Laura gave a dismissive wave, pulling her own cup of cappuccino closer. “Just distracted.”
“Distracted, huh? What’s his name?”
“Funny.” Thanks to her sister, fresh visions of Mike and their kiss swamped her senses—the feel of his hard, muscled body pressed tight against her, the spicy cinnamon smell of his aftershave, the way he tasted of mint and coffee and her every erotic fantasy come to vivid life. Heat stormed her cheeks and she shifted in her seat, lowering her gaze. “You see the Chronicle this morning?”
“No. I had errands. Haven’t even had a chance to sit down until now.” Liv hooked her designer purse over the back of the chair. “Why?”
Laura pulled the newspaper from her bag and handed it over. “My editor gave the story I’ve been investigating on Mike McQuade to Thad Davis.”
“Shit.” Liv scanned the story then glanced at Laura over the top of the paper. “Want me to go kick his ass for you?”
“Tempting as that sounds, no. It’s my own fault for sending him all my research without a verbal consent he’d let me write it.”
“But it’s your work. Your research. He can’t just pass it off to some dickhead who doesn’t write half as well as you do.”
Laura gave a small smile. No matter what, her family would always have her back. “He screwed up the details too. The artist he mentions in there, Felicia Gomez? I went and talked to her last night. And yeah, her work eerily resembled that crime scene, but my gut tells me there’s more going on. It’s all just too neat and tidy, too easy.” She snorted. “Not that Davis would know. He’s got the journalistic chutzpah of a day-old dog turd.”
Liv chuckled. “Descriptive. See? That’s what I mean. You are so much better than this guy. Your editor must be a total idiot for not recognizing that.”
“I think J.J.’s just too swamped to care at this point. They laid off a bunch of his underlings a few months ago, so he’s taken on triple the workload. It’s not personal,” she sighed. “At least I don’t think it is. Just expedient. Besides, like I said, Davis got it all wrong. He made it all about Mike’s video game and that artist and left out important details that suggest there are other suspects the police are investigating.”
Like Mike, her subconscious supplied helpfully.
Laura pushed it aside. There was no direct evidence pointing to him.
Not yet anyway. Stupid subconscious.
“Mike, huh?” Liv stared at her, far too perceptive for Laura’s comfort. “Well, whatever. That should be your name on the byline, not Dog Turd Davis.”
This time, Laura laughed too. “Thanks. Now I’ll never be able to look at that guy again without having that nickname ringing in my head.”
“You’re welcome.” Liv grinned. “So, tell me what else is wrong.”
“Isn’t that enough?”
“Sure, but I’m your big sister. I know you, and I can tell when there’s trouble brewing. So spill it.”
The urge to tell someone about Mike and what had sparked between them on that darkened street corner was nearly overwhelming. The fact she and Liv had always confided in each other about their love lives, both good and bad, didn’t help either. But she held back. After all, what was she supposed to say? Oh, yeah. I kissed a really awesome guy last ni
ght and he jammed all my sex buttons, but he might also be a cold-blooded, homicidal maniac?
“Really, there’s nothing else.” She steered the conversation in a different direction, hoping to throw Liv off track. “It’s just I’ve worked so hard at that job, trying to get ahead, and then this.”
She traced a finger around the rim of her green-and-teal cardboard coffee cup. The rich chocolate color of the liquid inside reminded her of Mike’s warm brown gaze. Stop it. Stop thinking about him. Why can’t I stop thinking about him? “I’d almost consider quitting if I had another job to fall back on.”
Liv frowned. “You could always come back to Rockford Security.”
“Right. Because journalists and private security go so well together.”
“C’mon. You’re welcome to come back any time. You know that. Blake would be in seventh heaven to have all of us under his constant scrutiny again.”
“Yeah, I’m sure he would.” Her oldest brother meant well, but he took his role of eldest son and protector quite seriously. Too seriously for Laura’s taste. “Really, though, where would you put me? You’re in charge of operations, Garrett does the sales, Logan handles the money, and Blake…well Blake oversees the whole circus. There’s nothing for me to do.”
“Got the circus part right,” Liv chuckled. “But I’m telling you, if you want to come back, I’ll find you something. Trust me, there’s plenty of work to go around. And you’re a stakeholder in the company. You get priority status.”
“Priority status, huh? Sounds like a nice way of saying you’ll invent a job title for me.”
“Maybe we’ll start up a corporate espionage department. You could be our in-house cyber spy.”
“Great. Remember to set up a special budget line to bail me out of prison once they arrest me too. Hacking is illegal. You know that’s illegal, right?”
“Whatever. Like all your ‘research’ is completely on the up and up.” Liv used air quotes for emphasis. “You’ve got skills, Sis. We’ll make good use of them at Rockford.”
Fatal Games (The Rockford Security Series Book 2) Page 6
