A Game Of Kill: Rockford Security Mystery Series

by Dobbs, L. A.

  “Expecting someone?” Ted asked, his voice sounding more nasal than usual from the cold. Mike had wanted him to take more time off, but Ted had insisted on coming over today. Like Mike, Ted was a workaholic.

  “No. Wasn’t expecting anyone, actually.” Mike got up and walked over to the security panel in the foyer. His other staff worked at the main office, and Laura was off doing another one of her human-interest pieces, a kid who collected asteroids or something, she’d said. He pressed the button and did his best to keep his irritation from his tone. He hated most interruptions, and they really needed to get these games ready for production by the end of the week. “Yes?”

  “Hey, Big Bro.” Reba gave a little wave into the camera. “Got a minute?”

  Mike glanced back at Ted then sighed. “Come on up, but make it fast. I’m behind schedule.”

  “Whatever.”

  The elevator doors slid open moments later. His little sister stepped out and grabbed him in a tight hug, the top of her head several inches below his chin. They shared the same dark coloring, the same cautious personalities, the same secrets.

  “To what do I owe this honor?” he asked, pulling away.

  “I heard there was another attempted murder with a scene like your game.”

  “Yeah.” Mike wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her into the living room. “Ted, you remember my little sister Reba?”

  The guy gave a slight nod, then focused his attention right back on his paperwork.

  “C’mon.” Mike led Reba into the kitchen then took a seat beside her at the island. “I saw the story on the local news this morning. You want something to drink?”

  “Nah, I’m fine.” She tapped her fingers on the granite countertop. “It’s creepy, right?”

  “Yep, it’s disturbing. Not sure why anyone would do that.”

  Reba pursed her lips. “I’m worried.”

  “Why?” Mike took her hand, frowning as she trembled.

  She leaned closer, her voice low. “What if the police start digging into what happened with Lyle again?”

  “They won’t. Why would they? This is just some obsessed weirdo acting out. Besides, there’s nothing even connecting this last guy to me or the company. They won’t reopen Lyle’s case.”

  His sister gave him an incredulous look. “Uh, the latest victim is Steven Price.”

  “So?”

  “So he’s the boyfriend of Gloria Reyes.” When Mike still had no idea who the guy was, Reba swatted him hard on the arm. “From your accounting department.”

  “Oh.” The company had grown so fast over the last few years that he had a hard time keeping track of all the new faces, but yeah. Now that Reba mentioned accounting, he remembered the pretty Latina woman who balanced his books. “That’s her boyfriend, huh?”

  Ted walked in and headed straight for the coffee pot. “You guys talking about that new victim?”

  “Yeah,” Mike said, glancing at Reba. “Guess he dates some gal in our accounting office.”

  Ted gave him a disapproving look. “You don’t remember that? You used to remember everyone who worked for you.”

  “Things used to be a lot smaller and less complicated than they are now, too.” Mike rubbed his face. “Guess I need to start paying attention again.”

  “Guess maybe you do,” Ted said quietly before taking his coffee back into the other room.

  Mike shook his head to clear the feelings of guilt. Had he become one of those CEO's that didn't care about his people? He'd have to remedy that. He looked at Reba and smiled. “You want to take a walk or something?”

  “Can’t, sorry.” She hopped off her stool. “I’m meeting a friend in ten minutes for mani-pedis. I just wanted to make sure you knew about what was going on and to warn you to be careful. If they dig into that case, it might not be good for you. Promise me if you hear something about Lyle, you’ll let me know?”

  “Of course.” He walked her back to the elevator. “You sure you’re okay?”

  She rose on tiptoe and kissed his cheek then stepped into the elevator. “Yeah, I’m okay. See you around.”

  “See ya.” Mike kept the smile on his face as he watched the elevator door close on his little sister, but it faded as he turned back to his apartment. What had happened with Lyle Kennedy shouldn’t worry him. It was done. Over with. Case closed. But Reba had a point about the police digging into Lyle’s death again in light of these new murders. One never knew how the police were going to twist evidence to suit their agenda.

  * * *

  Late that night, Laura pulled into a spot one street over and several blocks from her building and exited the Impala. Normally, she parked closer, but everything was taken. Must be some special concert or something going on tonight. Oh, well. The weather was warm, and she needed the exercise anyway after sitting on her butt all morning interviewing that kid. The article had then taken way longer to write and edit than she’d expected, but at least it was done. With any luck, she wouldn’t have too many more of those human-interest pieces in her future.

  She waited at the light to cross the street, the area just as crowded at eleven thirty p.m. as it was at eleven thirty a.m. Tourists poured in and out of the casinos and nightclubs, and the neon signs cast a pretty rainbow glow on the pavement.

  Green light flashing, Laura continued on down the sidewalk and stepped aside to dodge what appeared to be a group of intoxicated women at a bachelorette party. One of the gals went crazy over a life-sized cutout of a male stripper from one of the nearby bars’ revues, and Laura chuckled.

  A block ahead, she turned the corner. One more block to her building. She’d thought about calling Mike to see if he wanted to come over, but she knew how busy he was with his new games getting ready for release. Besides, after the day she’d had, a night alone sounded pretty good right now. She stopped suddenly and rubbed the back of her neck. Her skin prickled, and she glanced behind her, the weight of a stare heavy on her shoulders, though she spotted no one other than the usual tourists.

  To be on the safe side, she reached into the side pocket of her messenger bag and gripped the small can of mace she always kept there. The streets of Vegas were fairly safe at any hour, but it never hurt to be prepared.

  As she got closer to her apartment, the crowds started to thin out. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her, following her. Laura pulled out her phone and clicked it on, then hesitated. Who would she call? Worse, what proof did she have? Just her gut instincts, which, accurate though they usually were, weren’t exactly hard evidence.

  Moonlight cast long shadows all around her, broken here and there by the orange glow of the streetlights. She looked behind her again and thought she spotted someone in a hoodie dart into a doorway.

  Mike always wears hoodies…

  Stop it.

  Mike wasn’t the killer. They’d shared everything the other night. She trusted him.

  It wasn’t Mike.

  She turned another corner, walked a few steps, and looked behind her.

  No one.

  Laura sighed. she was being ridiculous. Letting all the murders get to her. No one was behind her. Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling of someone watching her. Not behind her now, though, up ahead toward her apartment.

  The phone rested heavy in her palm. Maybe she could call Troy. There wasn’t anything the police could do without a credible threat of violence, but still. He’d probably at least do a friendly drive-by for her.

  Her apartment building loomed in the distance, still half a block ahead.

  No. She could handle this by herself. If someone approached, she’d bust out all the self-defense skills Liv had taught her. No big deal. Her thumb hovered over the keypad. Then again, there was always Mike. His penthouse was only a few blocks farther than her place. And he could be here sooner than Troy, if necessary.

  Cursing, she shoved the phone back into her pocket and quickened her steps. This was stupid. She was a grown, capa
ble woman. She didn’t need to run to a man to fix her problems, even one as cute and cuddly as her Mike.

  Her Mike?

  Distracted, she barged ahead and ran smack into a hard, muscled male chest.

  Laura blinked up into the face of the man she’d damned near mowed down and frowned. “Troy? What are you doing here? Are you following me?”

  “No.” He released her and stepped back, the bruise from his black eye looking dark in the streetlight. “I was coming from a crime scene.”

  “Another game-related victim?” Laura did her best to ignore the rush of panic those words created in her system. If there’d been another body found, this one was close to her home. Far too close for her comfort. Never a good sign. And if someone was stalking her… The widow had feared she’d had a stalker, too…

  “No.” Troy narrowed his gaze on her. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. You okay?”

  “I’m fine.” She took a deep breath. “Just stressed and tired.”

  “Bad day?”

  “Bingo.”

  He thrust his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “You want to grab a drink or something? I’m off duty now.”

  “No.” He raised his brows at her snippy tone and she winced. “Sorry. Don’t think I’d be very good company tonight. I’ll just head home and go to bed.”

  “Alone?”

  “Excuse me?” She bristled under his nosiness. “That’s none of your business.”

  Laura peered into the distance. She didn’t see any blinking lights or crime scene. Since when did cops walk to a crime scene? The thought briefly crossed her mind that Troy was the one watching her, then she dismissed it. Cops didn’t stalk people, did they?

  She started walking toward her apartment building again and he kept pace beside her. “As long as it isn’t McQuade, we’re good. I’m telling you, Laura, that guy is bad news.”

  “This from the guy who tried to blackmail me the other day.” She glared at him. “Sorry, but I think I’ll make my own decisions on who’s best for me.”

  “Hey, look. I’m sorry. I never meant to threaten you, Laura. It’s just…” He raked a hand through his thick blond hair and swore under his breath. “I care about you, okay? I don’t want to see you get hurt, and I know you’ve been back to see him.”

  “Are you spying on me now?” She gave him some serious side eye. “Because if you are, I’ll report you to your superiors, Atkins.”

  “No. The security feeds, remember? Blake’s still sending them over every night. I saw you on there again a few days ago.”

  “Where exactly are these cameras in Mike’s place?”

  “Main lobby and penthouse foyer.” He held up his hands in surrender. “That’s it. I swear.”

  “Better be.” They stopped in front of her apartment building. “Mike told me about what happened with the widow’s husband, Jim. He’s told me everything, and I’m okay with it, so just stop trying to interfere, all right?”

  Troy gave her a pointed stare. “He told you he’s been accused of murder before?”

  “The drowning at his penthouse was ruled an accident. I looked it up myself to confirm.”

  “I’m not talking about the drowning.”

  Dread congealed in the pit of her stomach. “What are you talking about?”

  “Lyle Kennedy.”

  “Never heard of him.”

  “It was a while ago, but you should look that one up too, Laura. Lot of people think he got away with killing that guy, just like he’s getting away with killing these people now.” He stepped closer to her and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “And we found something else, too.”

  She swallowed hard. “What?”

  “At the first crime scene. A disposable phone. We think it connects back to Mike.”

  “I need to go.” She rushed up the front stoop and opened the door. “Goodbye, Troy.”

  “Look up Kennedy, Laura. Make your own decision.”

  As she rode up to her apartment, Laura slumped against the wall of the elevator, more exhausted than she’d ever remembered. Mike had promised her no more secrets. Now this. Lyle Kennedy she could look up easily enough, but the cell phone? She’d seen Mike’s stash of phones firsthand and had made the connection herself that they were the same brand as the one in the picture on Troy’s desk right after the widow’s murder.

  Dammit.

  She was so sick of the men in her life running roughshod. Determined, she waited until the doors opened but didn’t exit. Instead, she pressed the button for the first floor again and rode back down to the lobby. Back outside, she turned and headed in the direction of the Turnberry.

  Ten minutes later, she stood in front of the security camera in Mike’s lobby, jamming the Call button.

  He answered on the fourth buzz. “What?”

  “I have some more questions for you, mister.”

  “Now?”

  “Hell yes, now.”

  Seconds later, Laura stormed off the elevator in his foyer, doing her best not to stare at his broad, naked chest or the way his boxers clung lovingly to his hips. “How can we possibly have a serious relationship if you don’t tell me the truth?”

  He scratched his chin and rubbed his eyes. “We’re having a serious relationship?”

  “Pay attention.” She tossed her bag into the living room then stood before him, hands on her hips. “Did you kill Barbara Newton?”

  “What?” He scrunched his nose. “No! How can you even say that?”

  “Because I saw all those disposable phones in your bedroom, and the police found one just like it at the first crime scene. They said they can connect it to you.”

  “Seriously? A cheap burner phone is what makes you think I’m a murderer?” He cursed and turned away. “Jesus, Laura. Millions of people use those same phones. I use them because crazy fans keep hacking into my computers and my Internet lines and figuring out my phone number. If I didn’t use disposable phones, I’d have no privacy at all.”

  Damn. His explanation sounded completely rational, and the stricken look on his face made her want to hold him and tell him everything would be fine. But she couldn’t do that.

  Not yet.

  “What about Lyle Kennedy?”

  Mike’s attention snapped to her. “Excuse me?”

  “Troy, my detective friend. He mentioned him to me earlier. Said you were accused of murdering him, too.”

  “Shit, Laura.” A vein near his temple pulsed. “I can’t talk about that.”

  “Can’t or won’t?” She waited, tapping her toe against the tile, but he didn’t answer. “Fine. That’s fine, Mike.” Grabbing her bag, Laura stalked back to the elevator and jabbed the button with an angry finger. “You know what? Forget it. Keep your damned secrets and forget about me, okay?”

  She stepped aboard and the doors started to close, but Mike thrust his hand inside. “Laura, wait. I—”

  Furious and hurt, she pressed the lobby button over and over ignoring him until he removed his hand and the doors slid shut. She should’ve known better than to let her heart lead over her head. Arms crossed, she blinked back tears. To think she’d thought they’d had something special. She’d even considered inviting Mike over to Blake’s for the next Rockford family dinner. Thank God that hadn’t happened. She could just imagine the look on her brothers’ faces when she introduced her latest boyfriend and he turned out to be a murderer. She’d never had the best luck with men, but at least none of her previous dates had a body count.

  Downstairs, she charged out of the Turnberry and brushed the tears off her cheeks.

  Maybe this was all for the best anyway. She didn’t need a relationship. Now she could concentrate on her career, get that big scoop she’d dreamed of, move on to bigger and better journalism. Best of all, she’d gotten away from Mike before she’d become his next victim, murderous or otherwise.

  * * *

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  Mike pounded his fist into th
e wall beside the elevator. He should have told Laura everything, he should’ve told her the truth, he should’ve run after her and begged her to come back.

  Only problem was, it wasn’t his truth to tell.

  Exhaling loud, he stalked back in the dark living room and fisted his hands in his hair. Figures. He finally met a woman he saw a future with and she left him over the one thing he couldn’t change.

  His past.

  Fuck.

  He grabbed his phone and dialed Reba’s number. This late, she was probably in bed, as he’d been before Laura showed up again and accused him of murder. Again. A familiar ache cramped his chest, the ache he got whenever he was apart from Laura these days.

  Dammit. He couldn’t lose her, not over a lie.

  His sister’s voicemail picked up on the fourth ring, and he left a brief message about needing to see her the next day. After he ended the call, Mike sank down onto the chaise lounge and stared out his pristine windows, over the pool where his best friend had perished, into the twinkling light of Vegas beyond. The day before, he and Laura had had something that might have lasted a lifetime.

  Now, she was gone, perhaps forever.

  No. He shook his head and inhaled sharply, squeezing the cheap phone in his hand so tightly the plastic cracked. He couldn’t carry this burden. Not anymore.

  It’s time.

  Time to come clean.

  Come clean with Laura and deal with the ramifications of his past sins, for better or worse.

  17

  Early the next morning, Laura opened her apartment door to grab her daily edition of the Chronicle and instead discovered a beautiful bouquet of red roses. Roses were her favorite. Probably from Mike, she supposed, as she picked up the crystal vase and stepped back inside.

  Surrounded by the heady fragrance of fresh flowers, she shut the door with her hip then studied the arrangement. Velvety red blooms, pristine white baby’s breath, lush green leaves. Gorgeous. The guy probably felt guilty for being such a lying schmuck, as he should.

  As if a floral arrangement would make her forgive him. Or would it? Maybe she had overreacted about Lyle Kennedy? She and Mike had only known each other a short time, and she couldn’t expect him to tell her everything about his past. Yet Troy had said Mike had been accused of killing Kennedy. Murder? Shouldn’t he have mentioned that?