by Dobbs, L. A.
But he couldn’t be guilty. Something deep inside her told her Mike was no murderer, and besides, he was still walking the streets, so he hadn’t been convicted of killing Kennedy. Her instincts about people were usually spot on, and they’d told her Mike was a good man. Not a killer. She never would have slept with a killer ... unless her overactive hormones had put the kibosh on all her warning signals.
She sighed and searched through the blooms for a card. Her fingers brushed against something solid and soft inside the fragrant flowers, and Laura frowned.
Not a card. Definitely not a card.
She pulled out the object and gasped. A small black velvet box. She creaked open the lid and discovered a diamond engagement ring nestled on a tiny bed of black satin. Hands trembling, she set the flowers on the counter and peered more closely at the ring. No jeweler’s mark she could find in the tiny box, which meant most likely it was a fake, but still. After their argument last night, no way would Mike send her an engagement ring. And even if they hadn’t fought, they’d only known each other a few weeks. Hell, he hadn’t even met her family yet, or she his.
Images from the previous night flashed back into her mind. The feeling of being watched, the shadowy figure in the hoodie ducking into the shadows, the claustrophobic feeling of having nowhere to run…
A knock sounded on the door, and she jumped.
It wasn’t even seven yet, and she wasn’t expecting anyone. Her phone buzzed on the counter again, and she swallowed hard. Mike must’ve sent her at least twenty voicemails and texts since she’d stormed out of his place. She hadn’t answered any of them, and she sure as hell wasn’t about to start now.
All she wanted was for this whole damned fiasco to be over so she could move on.
The pounding on her door grew more insistent, and her heart tumbled, her pulse pounding loud in her head. What if she did have a stalker? And what if it was him or her outside her door? What if….
“Laura, if you’re in there, please open up.”
Mike.
Laura wasn’t sure if she should be relieved or terrified. He’d never been to her apartment, though he knew where she lived. Hell, with all his Internet skills, he probably knew how many fillings she had in her teeth and what size gym shoe she wore in the fifth grade.
Squaring her shoulders, she clicked the small black box closed and shoved it into a nearby kitchen drawer. Time to put her big girl panties on and deal with the situation. Liv had taught her well. If Mike tried something with her today, she’d kick his ass into next week.
Simple.
Except when she opened the door and saw him there, looking thoroughly disheveled and sleepy and stubbly from lack of shaving, all she wanted to do was pull him into her arms and ease the lines of tension around his beautiful eyes and mouth.
No. She forced her warm fuzzy thoughts to the wayside. Mike had an uncanny knack for showing up wherever she happened to be. Too uncanny, in her opinion. Which meant he was either a psychic, which she doubted, or he was following her. Stalking her, to be more precise.
Careful.
She pulled open the door a few inches, keeping her privacy chain intact. Teeth clenched, she forewent polite greetings. “What are you doing here?”
“Why haven’t you returned my messages?”
“Maybe because it’s six in the damned morning?” She met his stony glare with one of her own. “And maybe I don’t want to talk to you anymore. Pretty sure I made that clear last night.”
“Too bad.” Mike’s narrowed gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips. “We need to talk.”
“Why? So you can lie to me again? No thanks.” She started to close the door, but he shoved his arm inside.
“Please, Laura. Don’t do this. We had something special happening between us.” His tone turned plaintive, and her heart pinched. “At least I thought we did. Please just listen to me. I promise I’ll tell you everything this time.”
Part of her wanted to listen, so badly it hurt. But the other part of her, the part that had been kicked to the curb one too many times in the past, urged caution. “You said you’d tell me everything last time too. You didn’t.”
“Look, please. There are things that—”
“If you tell me once more there are things I don’t understand, I will hurt you. Be warned.”
“Fine.” He sighed. “I just… I don’t want to lose you, Laura. Can I at least come in?”
She glanced down at her rumpled PJs then around her messy living quarters. Not exactly the perfectly maintained penthouse he lived in, but who cared. Wasn’t like she was trying to impress the guy anymore anyway. “Fine.”
Laura unchained the door and stepped aside.
Mike walked in and glanced around. “Thanks, for uh, talking to me.”
She crossed her arms and scowled. “Hurry up. I’ve got to get ready for work. Some of us are trying to build a career here.”
“I know all about building a career, Laura. I built M Cubed from the ground up, remember? But there’s more to life than just work.” His attention caught on the bouquet on the kitchen counter. “Nice flowers.”
“Thanks. You would think so, since you sent them.”
“Me?” He wrinkled his nose. “While I’d like to take credit, it wasn’t me.”
“Really? And I suppose you didn’t send the ring either, huh?” She stalked into the kitchen and yanked the small box out of the drawer, on a roll now. “You know, that really takes some balls, mister. Especially considering I cut you loose last night.”
“Ring? What the hell are you talking about, Laura? I mean, I like you a lot. More than a lot, but I don’t think we’re quite there yet, do you?”
“Well, somebody thinks so.” She opened the little box and thrust it in front of him. “It’s not even real.”
He took it from her and studied it closely. “This didn’t come from me. When I give you a ring, it will be one hundred percent real. And bigger. Much bigger than this. You deserve only the best, Laura.”
“Stop it.” She snatched the box back from him and tossed it on the counter. “We are not together anymore, and I think it’s time we both accept that and move the hell on.”
“You really have no idea who sent that ring or those flowers?”
“I thought I did.” She gave him a pointed stare. “Still not convinced it wasn’t you.”
“Not me, I swear.” He crossed his heart for emphasis. “Have you gotten anything else weird like that?”
“No.” She crossed her arms again. Like she’d tell him anyway. Wasn’t any of his business. He was probably jealous, trying to scope out her other dating options. “Why?”
“Unfortunately, I’ve had plenty of experience with stalkers, Laura. You might want to mention something to the police. You said you have friends on the force, right?”
She nodded.
“They can’t do much with just some flowers and a ring, but at least they can take a report. That way you’ll have something on record if it happens again.”
The last thing she wanted this morning was to stand here discussing the do’s and don’ts of stalking etiquette in her PJs, hair a mess, no makeup, with the man she was still half in love with despite the fact she’d broken up with him the night before. Her irritation won out over common sense, and she said the first hateful words that came to mind, knowing there was no proof they were true, knowing they’d hurt him. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Maybe get another notch on your killer bedpost, huh? Do all those police reports against you up your street cred, Mike?”
He opened his mouth. Closed it. “You know what, forget it. Forget I came here today. Forget I tried to help you, protect you. Goodbye, Laura.” He yanked the door open and walked out, not bothering to close it behind him.
Pissed, she leaned out into the hall and yelled at his retreating back. “Goodbye, Mike. And I mean it this time.”
He didn’t turn around.
She slammed the door behind her then leaned against it, slidi
ng down to the hardwood floor. She felt worse than she had before, if that were possible. Mike was well and truly gone. The one man she’d fallen for so hard and so fast. Gone.
The roses mocked her from the kitchen counter.
Mike said he hadn’t sent the flowers, but he was likely a liar and possibly a murderer. On the other hand, if he wasn’t and they really weren’t from him, then who were they from?
Needing something to distract her from the black hole that had swallowed her heart and threatened to engulf her whole world, she pushed to her feet and padded back into the open galley kitchen. There had to be something, some identifying mark on the bouquet somewhere. She pulled the flowers apart and finally found a small sticker stuck on the back of the iridescent ribbon tied around the vase in a pretty bow. Riegler’s Florists, Henderson, Nevada.
Henderson.
That’s where Barbara Newton and her kids had lived.
She closed her eyes and pictured that day at their house. The room, somewhat untidy from two teenagers living there basically alone. The somber tone. The bouquet, the same as this one, sitting on a table against the wall.
Oh, shit.
Her eyes flew open, and Laura gripped the counter tight.
The flowers and the ring were from the killer.
* * *
Mike took the stairs down to the first floor, needing the time and exercise to get his shit together. The fact Laura had dismissed him from her life, again, was bad enough. Then there was the small detail that she thought he was some psycho serial killer.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Maybe there was a reason he was thirty-three and still single. Maybe he didn’t date because it was a hell of a lot safer to have your heart locked away than to get it pulverized by people you loved who didn’t love you back.
Loved?
His footsteps faltered, and he stopped somewhere between the third and second floors, gripping the railing tight. Love Laura? He couldn’t seem to stop thinking about her, even when he was working, which never happened. He couldn’t seem to keep from hoping she was okay, that she was happy, that she might be thinking about him, too. But love?
He continued down the stairs, his pace slower. A strange heaviness pinched his chest. She hadn’t even let him explain, let him tell her his big secret.
And then those stupid flowers and that ring…
If someone was stalking her, then that was cause for alarm.
Fierce protective urges conquered his self-pity, and he charged out into the lobby, intent on doing some digging on Laura’s behalf. Though considering how stubborn she was and how pissed she was at him, he doubted she’d take his advice at this point.
With his attention firmly fixed on his phone, he headed for the doors, not really looking where he was going. He collided with someone near the entrance and glanced up to see a guy wearing a dark-colored hoodie similar to his. Distracted, he mumbled an apology and continued out into the bright sunny morning.
Laura might not want his help, but dammit, he refused to give up now.
Not when it meant keeping the woman he loved safe.
18
“I need to know everything you’ve got on Mike McQuade.” Laura charged into Blake’s office at Rockford Security two hours later. The plaque on his door might’ve said CEO, but he was still her big brother, and she needed information. “It’s urgent.”
“Nice to see you too, Sis.” Blake swiveled his chair to face her, his expression clearly unfazed by her apparent emergency. “What’s up?”
“You sent me to a killer, that’s what’s up.”
“Killer?” He folded his hands calmly on the desk. Growing up with two younger females had made him unflappable. Probably why he was so good at his job. “Explain, please.”
“Mike McQuade. You knew he’d been accused of murder, and you didn’t say one word to me. Not one damned word.” She yanked off her jacket with more force than was necessary and jammed it onto the chair beside her messenger bag. “Then he goes and lies about it and I find out from the cops. The cops, dear brother. Do you know how embarrassing that is? When the cops know more than I do about the guy I’m…” She caught herself before saying more, thankfully. “The guy I’m writing a story about.”
Blake blinked at her, his expression stoic. “I assume you’re referring to the Lyle Kennedy case, yes?”
Laura crossed her arms and scowled. How could he be so calm about all this? She felt raw, exposed. Betrayed. “Hell yes, I’m talking about Lyle Kennedy.”
Blake raised a brow along with his hands. “Language, please. I realize you don’t see it as such, but this is a place of business.”
“Seriously, Blake? He could’ve killed me, too.”
“Sit down, Laura.” Blake came around the desk to lean his hips against it. “Mike’s not a killer.”
“That’s funny,” she said, flopping back into her seat. “Because Detective Troy Atkins with the LVPD seems to think he is.”
“Then Detective Atkins is mistaken.” Blake narrowed his famous glare on her. People hadn’t nicknamed it The Hurt for nothing. She shifted in her seat, feeling more like an errant school kid than a grown-ass woman. “I investigated that case myself. It was an accident. What exactly did Troy say?”
“He said that Mike has big secrets he’s not telling me.”
“And big secrets equal murder, huh?” Blake’s expression finally shifted to something other than benign interest. Disappointment. Ugh. She wished he would’ve stayed benign. “I expected more from an accomplished journalist.”
“I don’t like being lied to.”
Blake inhaled deeply and nodded. “Fine. I’ll tell you what I know about Mike McQuade if you promise to calm down and stop acting like a two-year-old. And no interruptions.”
“Okay. But I—”
He raised an imperious brow at her.
“Fine.”
“Fine.” He tapped his fingers against the edge of his desk and stared at the floor. “Mike McQuade first hit my radar about eight years ago. There was an altercation involving his younger sister, Reba. Her boyfriend, Lyle Kennedy, was an abuser. His mistreatment landed her in the hospital several times before she finally fought back. We got called out to break up another domestic situation, but before we got there she shot him, killed him. Then she panicked and tried to make it look like an accident. Mike helped her stage it.” Blake shrugged. “At first there was suspicion of murder, but we discovered what had really happened soon enough. Wasn’t hard. Reba’s boyfriend had a rap sheet a mile long. He deserved what he got. The judge ruled it self-defense. Pure and simple. Mike was just trying to protect his little sister. I’d do the same for you in that situation, Laura. You can’t hold that against him.”
Dammit. Had she been wrong? She hated being wrong about as much as she hated being lied to. A mental picture of Mike, standing in her kitchen earlier looking earnest and sad and entirely too cute for his own good, crossed her frazzled brain. Nope. Not letting him off the hook that easily. “What about the cell phone deal?”
“What cell phone deal?”
“They found a disposable phone at the first crime scene, and Troy said they were trying to trace it back to Mike.”
“And that’s your proof that Mike McQuade killed two, almost three people?” Blake laughed out loud this time, the sound both astonishing—because of its rarity these days—and thoroughly annoying. “Sis, you know as well as I do those phones are like Kleenex. Millions of people use them every day.”
“But I saw a whole stash in the bedroom at his penthouse.”
“Okay.” Blake straightened slightly. “First off, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that you’ve been in his penthouse, since I’m pretty sure I told you specifically not to go there when we started this whole debacle. And second, what the hell were you doing in his bedroom?”
“I…” Heat flooded her cheeks, and she lowered her eyes. “It doesn’t matter. I saw them, and there were lots. I’m worrie
d, Blake. What if Mike had something to do with these game-related killings?”
After several silent seconds, Blake cursed under his breath. “Look, I don’t know about what the police are investigating or anything about this phone being connected, but I can tell you that Mike couldn’t have committed the widow’s murder.”
“How do you know?”
He gestured for her to follow him behind his desk. Blake took a seat and fired up his computer, clicking several keys until the now familiar security feeds from Turnberry appeared on his screen, showing Mike at the elevator in the lobby. It was time and date stamped for ten p.m. on the night of Barbara Newton’s murder. The next video showed him entering his penthouse a few moments later. The third clip didn’t show him emerging again until five the next morning.
Blake hit Pause and turned to face her. “The M.E. pinpointed time of death for Barbara Newton at around three a.m.”
A smidge of doubt still lingered in Laura’s heart. “What about the cameras? Maybe someone messed with the time. Mike’s a guru when it comes to all things tech. Troy said it’s happened before with the cameras at the El Cortez.”
“The El Cortez isn’t a Rockford property.” He looked slightly offended by her suggestion. “Nobody messes with my cameras. Nobody.”
Well, damn.
Laura walked back around the desk and collapsed into her seat, her face in her hands. What a jerk she’d been earlier. Mike had come all the way over to make sure she was okay, even after she’d reamed him a new one the night before, and she’d done nothing but act like an idiot.
“You didn’t really think I’d let my little sister get anywhere near a killer, did you?” Blake asked, his gaze far too perceptive for her taste.
She rubbed her eyes then dropped her hands into her lap. “I don’t know what to think anymore. There was something else, too. This morning. Someone sent me red roses and a fake engagement ring. At first I thought they were from Mike, but he denied it when I confronted him.”
