A Game Of Kill: Rockford Security Mystery Series

by Dobbs, L. A.

  “I think this Vintage Vegas Killer case is getting to you, that’s what I think. Those items could’ve come from anyone. What about that kid you interviewed a few days ago? The one with the asteroids. You said yourself he was pretty enamored with you, right?”

  Yeah, she had said that. That kid practically had stars in his eyes and wedding bells playing in the background when she’d left. Never mind the fact she was twelve years his senior. Maybe Blake was right, anybody could have sent those flowers and that ring. Didn’t have to be the killer or anything even related to that damned murder case. And the cheesy ring did seem like something a kid would send.

  Her thoughts drifted to Troy. Troy had been outside her apartment last night, and he’d made it clear he wanted more than a professional relationship. Plus the way he’d been insisting she stay away from Mike ...

  No, that was crazy. Troy wouldn’t send flowers and a ring like that. Would he?

  “I can check it out, though, if you want,” Blake was saying.

  “No.” She felt stupid now. “I can clean up my own messes.”

  “Okay.” Blake gave her a once-over, and she did her best not to fidget. “But you’re obviously stressed out. I think that once this thing is over and Mike’s in the clear, you and he should take a vacation together. Get away from all this and spend some time together.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me.” He smiled, all big-brother confidence. “I got to know Mike McQuade pretty well during that investigation years ago. I think the two of you would make a good couple. Why else do you think I sent you there?”

  “Seriously? Who died and made you matchmaker?” She cringed, regretting the words almost immediately. Her brother’s wife, his partner on the force and the love of his life, that’s who. God, she really was verbally incontinent these days. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”

  “I know.” Pain flickered across his intense, icy-blue eyes before he hid it behind his usual wall of stoicism. “But still, you shouldn’t throw away something good with Mike over a misunderstanding. Trust me, life is far too short.”

  “Right.” She took a deep breath then stood. “I think I owe someone an apology.”

  “Really?” He pulled out a pen and scribbled something on the calendar on his desk.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Marking this momentous occasion. Laura Rockford admits she’s wrong.”

  She rolled her eyes at him as she left. “Very funny, but thanks for the info.”

  Laura headed back out to the parking lot. Her stomach rumbled, but she ignored it. She’d be stuffed full of humble pie and crow soon enough. She pulled out and headed back to her apartment, feeling for the first time since she’d started this whole investigation that maybe, just maybe, things might turn out all right after all.

  She pulled into a spot half a block from her building and climbed out, texting Mike as she walked toward her entrance. Hopefully he was working from home again today, and hopefully he would answer her message.

  At the stoop, she turned, the nape of her neck prickling again.

  Someone was still watching her, but there wasn’t anyone suspicious around. Only tourists and joggers and a couple walking a cute little dog in a pink sweater. Nope. Blake was right. She had let this crazy case get to her. Definitely time for some R and R after this whole thing was over, if Mike would forgive her and take her back and…

  She went to press Send on her phone, but a hand now clamped across her mouth stopped her.

  Laura tried to scream, tried to fight back, but her attacker was too strong, and whatever drug soaked the cloth pressed to her face smelled awful and her head felt fuzzy and her vision had gone funny and the last thing she remembered before darkness descended was the overwhelming urge to see Mike once more and tell him how truly sorry she was.

  * * *

  Mike typed another search into his browser, looking for anything that might connect those flowers, that ring to the murders. He had a bad feeling, had even tried going back to Laura’s apartment a short time ago, but she’d been gone. So he’d come home to continue his research. She might not want him around, but he’d do everything in his power to protect her.

  He pulled up the information on each of the victims again, connecting them all back to the party where Jim had died. The only people he’d invited that night were industry professionals and people from his own company. A quick review of the guest list showed no one living in the immediate vicinity of the crimes or even in Vegas proper.

  Which left his own employees.

  An unexpected stab of pain sliced through him. He considered his staff part of his family. The possibility that one of their own would do something like this seemed almost impossible. Still, he owed it to Laura to investigate all avenues.

  What he wouldn’t give to have her here beside him. She’d know what to do with all this information, all these clues. She’d hit it big one day, the national news or whatever she wanted. He was sure of it. Her instincts and her skills were that good. He just hoped he’d be around to see it, to celebrate the accomplishment with her.

  He tried calling her phone again, but there was no answer. Went straight to voicemail.

  He didn’t leave a message.

  Instead, Mike focused on the computer screen. No. The best way to help Laura and get back in her good graces was to prove his innocence. So Barbara Newton and Ben Sanders, both dead. Steven Price, attacked but alive. No ties among any of them, except his company.

  Why them?

  He tried searching through the police reports and the news stories for fresh leads but found none. Dammit. He rubbed an exasperated hand over his face and sighed, slumping back in his seat. Picked up his phone again. The tracer was still on Laura’s phone. He could just take a peek, see where she was, make sure she was okay.

  He tossed the phone aside. That would make him just as bad as the weirdo who’d sent her those flowers this morning. He wanted to be her friend, more if she’d let him. To prove his point, he grabbed the phone again and pressed down on the tracker app then held, waiting for it to quiver. He’d erase the whole program from his phone and be done with it. No more secrets between them.

  His finger found the delete button.

  Ding.

  Mike frowned down at the incoming message. It was from Laura’s number but full of odd 1940s jargon:

  NO COPPERS SEE?

  UPLOAD THE FILE TO THE VEGAS NOIR HOMEPAGE OR THE DAME GETS THE BIG SLEEP.

  Before he could react to the first message, a second one came in. A photo. Laura, dressed in a vintage wedding gown, her hair in Victory rolls and her makeup done pin-up girl style. From what he could see, she’d been tied to a chair and a gun pointed at her temple.

  Fuck.

  Frantic, Mike pushed to his feet. He needed to find her, he had to save her.

  But first he had to figure out where in the hell she was.

  19

  Laura blinked open heavy-lidded eyes. Everything hurt, her head throbbed, and her mouth ached with dryness. She tried to moan and failed, squinted at the blurriness surrounding her then focused on her lap. White. White fabric everywhere. As far as she could remember, she’d worn jeans that day. Jeans and a navy-blue sweater, not white…

  She attempted to reach for the fabric but found her hands secured behind her back. Tried to move her legs, too. Nope. Tied as well.

  Shit.

  Despite her pounding head, she did her best to concentrate. She’d been at her building, ready to text Mike, then…

  Oh God.

  Her attacker must’ve drugged her, that was it. The acrid stench of whatever substance he’d used still lingered in her nose and throat, making her stomach riot. She dry-swallowed and took a deep breath to steady her racing pulse. Calm. She had to stay calm. That’s what Liv had taught her. Assailants counted on their victims getting stupid with fear, doing irrational things to escape. By staying calm, she could keep the upper hand, buy herself some precious time, st
ay in control.

  A voice filtered into her hazy reality, male and tense and vaguely familiar.

  “Dammit. Why doesn’t he upload the file?”

  She raised her head slightly, hoping to still appear unconscious while she scoped out her location, her enemy. From the stained glass and altar before her, it appeared she was being held in some kind of chapel or church. Rows of long pews stretched out before her, a lone man sitting in the front one, dressed in a black hoodie.

  As if sensing her gaze, he turned fast and caught her staring. “Oh, you’re awake. Good. Guess your boyfriend doesn’t care enough to save you.”

  Ted? Mike’s twitchy right-hand man?

  She exhaled and stared at her lap again, noticed the beading and intricate stitch work. A wedding dress? In a wedding chapel? At least the fake engagement ring made sense now. The Wedding at the Little Church of the West was the highest level in Vegas Noir. She wasn’t good enough at the game to have gotten there yet, but she’d seen it on the fan sites. She shook her head slightly, then winced as her world went cockeyed again.

  Guess I should’ve seen this one coming.

  Laura gripped the ropes around her wrists tighter and jerked hard, testing their strength. Her movement caused the chair to scrape against the floor, and Ted stood, gun in hand.

  “Don’t even think about trying to escape. You won’t make it.”

  “Why are you doing this?” Her voice creaked out like an old floorboard. “Mike’s your friend, your mentor. Why would you want to destroy him?”

  “Right.” He gave a derisive snort. “If that’s what you think then you’re not the brilliant reporter you like to think you are. No wonder they give you nothing but fluff to cover.”

  A twinge of anger coursed through her regardless of the fact she was tied to a chair with a literal gun to her head. She might be covering fluff, but she wouldn’t be forever, dammit. Especially after tonight. “What makes you think you can get away with this? Mike’s a genius when it comes to tech.”

  “No.” Ted stepped closer, his dour expression deepening with fury. “He was a genius. Not anymore. Especially not now. Not with you around. All he thinks about anymore is you. It’s pathetic.”

  Her heart leapt at his words despite the situation. Mike thought about her all the time? Mike was distracted by her? She was certainly guilty of the same where he was concerned, but he was so secretive and hard to read, and now she might die and never know if he might care about her as much as she cared about him and…

  Fresh adrenaline surged through her bloodstream.

  Keep calm. Get a grip. Keep him talking while you figure out a plan…

  Liv’s voice, her sister’s voice, kept ringing through her head, cutting through her hysteria-fueled bullshit and setting her back on course. Get out, get free, get safe. Then worry about Mike. Seemed like a great idea, until Ted’s next words crash landed her resolve.

  “Besides, Mike’s already taken the fall. I’ve been feeding clues to the police. Now all he has to do is upload the file to the homepage of the M Cubed website like I asked and it’s done. If not, then I’ll have to go with my Plan B.”

  “Plan B?”

  He raised the gun and mock pulled the trigger at her, his wide smile chilling.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  Keep him talking, keep him talking, keep him talking…

  “So, uh, what file?”

  “The one connecting all the final dots for the cops. Showing Mike at the first crime scene touching the body. Showing Mike going to that café, the one right next door to where the second victim was found. Showing Mike schmoozing with the gal in accounting and linking victim number three to him and his company. I emailed it to him and now all he has to do is upload the file replacing the M Cubed homepage with the incriminating photos. I'd do it myself but he's got that file locked for access. Only he can upload it.”

  Mike was at the first crime scene?

  “What are you talking about? Mike didn’t kill Barbara Newton.”

  “No, but he couldn’t resist responding to my text luring him to the crime scene. Couldn’t resist bending over the poor widow. The added bonus was that he also couldn’t resist playing the good guy. Had to be the hero and call 9-1-1 on that disposable phone. I saw the cops put it in an evidence bag, and with any luck they’ll be able to trace it to him. Another nail in his coffin.” He shrugged. “Then, of course, I’ll add in you. Can’t forget his little obsession with his favorite reporter.”

  “Obsession?”

  “Yeah. It’s what drove him to kill you, after all. Obsession can be a very motivating factor.”

  “Where’s Mike now?”

  “Don’t know, don’t care. That’s the beauty of it. Doesn’t matter where he is. I’ve already done the hard part, pointing all fingers toward him, including staging the first crime scene exactly like the pictures that crazy photographer sent him that the cops will find in his apartment. You were just the icing on the cake. Even if you did almost ruin everything by sticking your nose in where it didn’t belong. Then again, all your prying gives it an authenticity that was lacking before, makes Mike look even more unstable. And those flowers. A nice touch, if I do say so myself.”

  Ted turned away to check his laptop again, and Laura fiddled with the ropes once more. If she could just get a hand free, she could wriggle out and smack him over the head with her chair. In the background, Ted continued to grumble.

  “Such a damned control freak. All those dumbass firewalls. Have to have the right security to upload. No, Ted, you’re not good enough. No, Ted, only I can have access. Freaking moron.”

  Ted rubbed his nose, revealing a blackish-purple bruise beneath what must’ve been several layers of makeup. Details from her conversation with Steven Price trickled back into her fevered brain.

  He might’ve screamed like a girl when I punched him, but he was a guy…

  Ted hadn’t brought Mike’s coffee the next day, claiming illness, but he wasn’t sick, he was recovering from being punched by Steven Price.

  She’d like to punch Ted too, if she could just get out of these damned restraints.

  A thump sounded outside the double doors behind her.

  Maybe that was the police, maybe she’d get out of this alive after all. She silently rose up on the balls of her feet to move her chair a bit more to the side, away from the doors in case the cops burst through. She didn’t want to get trampled. Laura leaned her head back and discovered the chair had a high, wooden back. If worse came to worst, she might be able to jam it into her captor’s already damaged nose, gaining her precious time to kick his weapon away and get out.

  Ted set his laptop aside and moved toward her again. Just a couple more steps, one, two, and he’d be close enough she could bop him good with the back of the chair. If she hit him hard enough, maybe she could even force his septum up into his brain, killing him instantly. Liv had told her it was possible, though she’d never had reason to want to try it until now.

  C’mon. Just a little bit closer. C’mon…

  The door behind her opened, and she and Ted both turned in unison.

  “Mike!” Her exclamation echoed in the silent chapel.

  Ted aimed the gun at Mike’s chest. “Don’t come any closer, or I’ll end you. I swear I will.”

  “Ted, please. Put the gun down,” Mike said, his hands raised in surrender. “You don’t have to do this. There’s still a way out.”

  “Damn straight there is.” He pointed the weapon at Laura again. “You want her to live? Then upload that damn file and do exactly as I say. Otherwise I’ll blow her brains out.”

  “What exactly is in that file?” Mike inched closer to Laura with each word, his gaze meeting hers briefly before darting back to Ted.

  “The final piece of the puzzle the cops need to convict you. Those idiots could never compile the evidence, so I took the privilege of doing it for them. The widow, the caterer, Jim Newton.”

  “Jim?” Mike’s stoic façade
fractured. “That was an accident.”

  “Accident my ass. That drug I slipped in his drink worked better than I hoped. Made the alcohol that much more potent, and the coroner never even thought to look for it. Now Jim’s cremated and the evidence is long gone. Pretty damned genius, if you ask me. Besides, how else was I going to get his job, huh? You wouldn’t even give me the time of day back then.” Ted chuckled. “Of course, all the money we’ve made since then has changed your attitude, hasn’t it, boss? At least where my work is concerned.”

  Laura glanced sideways and saw Mike’s hands clenched at his sides, his knuckles white with the pressure.

  “Too bad about the widow, though,” Ted continued, oblivious. “Barbara was nice. If she hadn’t stirred things up, she wouldn’t have had to die. But then I walked in on your little conversation, and I knew what I had to do.”

  “You son of a bitch.”

  “Bailey. Son of a Bailey. My last name’s Bailey, but then you never really cared enough to notice, did you?”

  “That’s what this is all about? Recognition? You were going to get equal billing on the new game, you know that.”

  “Equal billing?” Ted scoffed. “Full billing, that’s what I deserved. I designed that whole thing, built that game from the ground up. All you did was critique and tweak. Then, of course, you took up with this new piece of ass, and then you didn’t even do that much.”

  “Leave Laura out of this.” Mike’s normally smooth tone turned lethal.

  “Well, see. That’s the thing, Mike.” Ted gave him a small, cold sneer. “I can’t do that. Not now. She’s digging into things that are none of her business. And honestly, she provides the one thing I couldn’t do on my own.”

  Mike moved closer, close enough for her to feel his heat against the chilled skin of her bare shoulder. She took strength from his warmth, his nearness. His fingers brushed her flesh, and she shuddered. He glanced down at her fast, concern and warning in his brown eyes, before he looked away. “What’s that, Ted?”