Designed for Murder (Killer Style 4)

His cock stirred. Damn. The need to watch her face as she came next time nearly edged out breathing on his priority list.

“I’d better show you what I can do, then.” He scooped her up into his arms, carrying her down the hall and to his bedroom, where he proceeded to do exactly that.

The next morning, Carlos woke up on a pillow that smelled like Mika’s rich, spicy perfume and the best sex of his life. Friday mornings were slow at Maltese Security. Maybe he could talk her into breakfast and a repeat performance. Then he had the weekend off, thanks to the Humbert case finishing up early. Really, the possibilities for all the trouble they could get up to during the next few days were endless.

A soft click sounded in his apartment. Still half asleep, he rolled over and reached out for her, but the only thing his fingers encountered was the cold sheet. He threw off the covers. His feet hit the icy floor in the next heartbeat and he spun around, searching for her boots, clothes, or any other

sign that she was still here. All he saw was a note on his dresser. He slipped on his boxers and padded over to it.

CARLOS, SORRY TO DASH WITHOUT SAYING GOOD-BYE BUT I HAVE AN EARLY MEETING. HOPE TO SEE YOU AT FEENY’S AGAIN. XOXO, MIKA

Hope to see you at Feeny’s again?

That hit him like a sucker punch to the nose. He crumpled the note up and shot it basketball style into the garbage can. It hit the rim and bounced out. He snorted.

Typical.

Mika leaving shouldn’t have stung. He couldn’t imagine Roscoe or Alex getting bent out of shape over a one-night stand dipping out at dawn. So why did he? Because he was a moron when it came to women—of course, at least this one hadn’t tried to poison him during a murder spree. That was a move in the right direction compared to the last woman in his life.

He crossed the room and picked up the wadded-up note. Oh, he might see her at Feeny’s again, but that would be it. He didn’t have time in his life for hot little numbers like Mika who were nothing but trouble. After Ivy, his rule was to never see the same woman twice. The fact that he’d even half considered following his impulse to spend a whole weekend with Mika told him just how much he needed to stay the hell away from her.

His life had one purpose only—to prove to the rest of the Maltese Security team that he wasn’t just the nerdy computer geek who played online role-playing games any more. That guy might have wanted more than a one-night stand, but not him. He compressed the note into an even tighter ball and dropped it in the bin.

Chapter Two

“Real style is never right or wrong. It’s a matter of being yourself on purpose.”

—G. Bruce Boyer

This wasn’t good. Not. At. All.

Mika straightened in her seat at the end of the conference table at Maltese Security and tried to ignore the fact that she was wearing yesterday’s clothes to a business meeting. A fact made harder because one of the men from last night’s testosterone table sat opposite her, grinning like he knew exactly what had happened when she’d left Feeny’s with his friend Carlos.

Her cheeks turned another shade of pink, and she fought to keep her hands in her lap instead of endlessly twirling the end of her fishtail braid like she normally did when she was so far out of her element. Dancing with a hot guy at the bar? Ordering her Magic Battledome troops into battle? Creating the perfect pattern on the ideal fabric to fit a fashion designer’s mental image? All of that fit nicely within her wheelhouse. Sitting across from two men so muscular they barely had necks? Yeah, not her jam.

“So four people you know have been mugged recently,” said Tony Falcon, Maltese Security’s owner.

“More than mugged—they were attacked,” Mika said. “Two of the guys only had a few bumps and bruises from getting smacked around. Chuck ended up with a broken wrist when he refused to give up his costume. He wouldn’t let go, lost his footing on the slick pavement, and stopped his fall with his wrist. Josh ended up with a badly sprained ankle when he fought back.”

“What makes you think it’s the same guy targeting your friends?” Tony asked.

“Everyone gives the same description. Tall guy, muscular, black ski mask. Plus all he wants is our costumes. It’s weird enough for one person to want our Magic Battledome costumes, but four different muggers? That wouldn’t make any sense.”

“What’s so special about these…” Tony looked down at the sheet of paper in front of him. “Halloween costumes?”

She blinked back the red creeping into her vision and inhaled a deep breath before she unleashed her frustration on Tony—something she’d failed to do with the cops when they interviewed her last week, if two minutes of bored uh-huhs could be called a police interview. Controlling her impulsive streak took practice and patience. Right now she was short on both, but she needed Maltese Security’s help. Giving Tony a snarky lesson in LARPing, like she’d done with the officers, wasn’t going to accomplish anything. She slowly let the air out of her lungs.

“Not Halloween costumes,” she said, proud her voice came out calm. “LARPing costumes.”

“What’s lurping?” asked the guy from the bar who’d introduced himself as Cam.

She swallowed her groan. Okay, she was going to have to start from scratch here. “With an A, L-A-R-P-ing. It stands for live-action role-playing.”

“Like at a Renaissance Faire?” Tony asked, his tone even and without the mocking judgment she was used to when she talked about her favorite hobby in front of non-players.

“Sort of,” she replied. “It’s a game based on the characters from the online version of Magic Battledome. You create a character, dress up like her, and then go out and physically act out the game according to a plot written by the game masters.”

“And the costumes? What’s so special about them?” Tony asked.