Forged in Desire

by Brenda Jackson

  He held her gaze. “If you happen to get one of those, then I’ll get off the line to give you the privacy you need.”

  He could tell from her mutinous expression she didn’t like it, so he said, “Relax. If Scotty calls you, I promise not to listen in.”

  Her frown deepened. “His name is Scott, and he won’t be calling me. I told him not to ever again.”

  Striker lifted a brow. “Oh? Is that the way it is? You accept his flowers but not his calls?” He shook his head. “Tsk-tsk. Margo, don’t you know that’s no way to treat a man?”

  Her eyes filled with anger. “How I treat Scott is no concern of yours,” she said in a loud voice.

  “I’ve warned you about my eardrums. And as far as your ex-boyfriend goes, if he decides to get dramatic, then it becomes my concern. Need I remind you that you’re the one who claims he has a tendency to get melodramatic? Okay, let’s move on. Next question.”

  She got quiet. For a minute he wondered if she would even bother asking him anything else since it was apparent that she was pissed off with him now. But he should have known her silence wouldn’t last. “I want to know about you, Striker.”

  He held her gaze. “All you need to know is that I am capable of protecting you.”

  She leaned in closer to him, her eyes still filled with anger. “You’re wrong. That’s not all I need to know. You will be here with me morning, noon and night. Underfoot. Listening to me breathe. Sharing meals with me. Risking your life for mine. So just knowing you’re capable of keeping me alive is not all I need to know.”

  She paused a minute and said, “Earlier you said you’d been incarcerated for manslaughter. I need to know who you killed and why.”

  As far as Striker was concerned, she didn’t need to know a damn thing. Drawing in a strained breath, he then decided that maybe she did. How would she handle it if he were to tell her? Well, he was about to find out. Still holding her gaze, he said, “I killed a cop.”

  He saw her throat move. Heard her stricken inhalation. “A cop?”

  “Yes, a cop.”

  He could see the question in the depths of her honey-brown eyes. Desperation to know why he’d done such a thing was gnawing at her. He could feel it and decided to help her out. “Go ahead and ask.”

  She nervously licked her lips and he tried not to concentrate on the movement of her tongue. Not just the movement of her tongue but her tongue, period. She took him up on his offer. Not that he’d thought she wouldn’t.

  “Why, Striker?”

  Hearing her question didn’t do him in as much as hearing her say his name. Breathing deeply, he said, “I killed him because he raped my sibling.”

  Margo’s stunned gasp filled the room, echoed off the walls. She threw her hand to her throat in disbelief and shock. “Oh my God! He raped your sister?”

  Pain from years ago resurfaced, began surrounding Striker in a degree of agony he hadn’t felt in some time. “I don’t have a sister. It was my baby brother. Wade was thirteen and the bastard raped him.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THROUGH THE FOG of her traumatized mind, Margo was aware of Striker gathering the plates from the table before walking into the kitchen. She sat there in a daze. Totally stunned. Horrified beyond belief.

  A police officer had raped Striker’s thirteen-year-old brother and Striker had killed him. Needing more answers and hoping he would give them to her, she slowly stood and strode after him.

  Margo found Striker putting the dishes in the sink. She stood in the doorway not saying anything but watching him. She knew she’d lived a pampered life with private schools, a household full of servants and chauffeurs to take her wherever she wanted to go. But she had a feeling Striker and his family hadn’t had such luxuries. She could only wonder about his childhood. His teen years. His life before he’d been sent to prison and the life he had now.

  He was moving around the kitchen as if he hadn’t unloaded all of that on her just moments ago. But he had. And then he had left the room. Was she supposed to act like he hadn’t told her anything? Fat chance of that happening. The enormity of what he’d shared with her had her head spinning. She might have lived a sheltered life, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t recognize an injustice when she heard one.

  After a minute he sensed her presence and glanced over at her. The expression on his face all but told her he wouldn’t be entertaining any more of her questions. But hadn’t her uncle always said that she didn’t know when to stop being a nuisance even when it was for her own good?

  She nervously bit her lower lip and then asked, “If the cop did that to your brother, then why were you sent to prison?”

  He continued to stare at her, and then, as if he knew she wouldn’t let up until he answered, he said, “Because the law felt I should not have taken matters into my own hands. I should have called the authorities.” He chuckled derisively. “Yeah, right, go to the cops. Honestly? Like another cop would go against one of their own. I got fifteen years instead of life, so I guess I should be grateful. Especially since I only had to do seven of those years.”

  She nodded. “And your brother? Wade?”

  Striker broke eye contact with Margo. He should have known that particular question was coming. Didn’t she know when enough was enough? But it was his fault for even answering any of her questions and for telling her anything about his past life in the first place. Why had he felt the need to unload? To cleanse his soul? And with her, of all people? He’d told himself he hadn’t wanted her to be afraid of him. Afraid that he was a mass murderer or something.

  “Striker?”

  And why did it do something to him whenever she said his name? That didn’t make sense. He hadn’t known her, hadn’t even heard of her, until today. Yet Margo Connelly was getting under his skin. Why? It wasn’t like he lacked female company. Far from it. Hell, he had been in Deidra McClure’s bed when he’d received that call from Roland to come to the hospital. Deidra was like every other woman he’d messed around with before; the only thing between them was sex.

  He turned and tried concentrating on Margo’s face and not her body. She looked so damn feminine standing there even when she was obviously upset. Upset on his behalf. That very thought was why he finally said in a firm voice, “Make this your last question, Margo. After this don’t ask me anything else about my life—past, present or future.” He paused for a moment and then asked, “Now, what do you want to know about Wade?”

  She nervously licked her lips again and the gesture made his stomach clench. “How is Wade? I know what happened was years ago, but how is he now?”

  Taking a calming breath, he tried dismissing the pain he always felt whenever he thought of Wade...no matter how much time had passed. “Wade was the defense’s star witness. It took a lot for him to get on the stand. His testimony about what that bastard did to him is why I got a lesser sentence. But Wade was just a kid and he needed extensive counseling after what happened to him. Unfortunately, there was no one there to make sure he got it.”

  Striker paused a moment and then said, “The day before I was to be transferred to Glenworth Penitentiary, I got word that Wade committed suicide by hanging himself. Mom found him when she went into his bedroom to wake him up for school. It was the day before his fourteenth birthday.”

  There. Now he’d told her all the gory details about his family. Well, not all of them. She didn’t need to know that his mom died a year later. With one son in jail and the other one dead, she’d gotten depressed and refused to eat and take her blood pressure medication. In the end, hypertension had done her in at the age of forty.

  Glancing over at Margo, he saw her expression had gone from shock to empathy. Hell, the last thing he wanted was to start a pity party. He didn’t need her or anyone’s sympathy. Although the first couple of years in prison had been the hardest, he had
survived. While locked up behind bars, he had met Sheppard Granger.

  Shep, as the other inmates called him, was a lot older than most of them and was serving time for murdering his wife. It didn’t take long for anyone who hung around Shep to know just what sort of man he was: a natural-born leader—a positive one. Before being sent to prison he was the CEO of a major corporation, Granger Aeronautics. While in prison Shep had become a father figure for most of the younger inmates, a mentor and confidant. He gained the respect and admiration of many. Instead of being resentful for being locked up for a crime he didn’t commit, Shep used his time in prison to the inmates’ advantage by implementing such programs as Toastmasters, Leaders of Tomorrow and both the GED and college programs. Because of Shep, Striker’s life had changed forever. Shep’s encouragement had given Striker a reason to become a better person in spite of all that he’d lost.

  The back door opened and Bruce and Bobby walked in. “Everything’s all set,” Bobby said, smiling. “I installed motion lights around the front and back of the house.”

  “And you’ll get a signal on your phone as well,” Bruce added. “So you won’t be caught off guard. I understand that Stonewall and the others are also monitoring the property from the office. And I took care of everything else you requested in here.”

  He nodded, giving Bruce the eye not to go into more detail. “Good. I’ll see you guys out.”

  Leaving Margo in the kitchen, he walked Bobby and Bruce to the door. He glanced to where she stood and could see her staring at them. He kept his eyes on her as he locked the front door behind the men and proceeded to set the alarm.

  “What are those other things you requested Bruce take care of?”

  He held up his hand. “Please, no more questions. You’ve asked too many already.” And I’ve told you more than I should have.

  She placed her hands on her hips. “I have a right to know.”

  Striker rolled his eyes. They were back to that again, were they? “Listen, Margo,” he said in a voice that indicated he’d all but lost his patience with her. “Instead of asking questions of any real significance pertaining to your situation, your questions involved getting into my business. Your nosiness cost you and I’m not answering any more of your questions.”

  Satisfied, he saw her anger escalating. An outraged Margo he could deal with. A compassionate one he could not. “And I need your schedule for tomorrow. I know about your appointment at ten with Claudine. What else is there?”

  She narrowed her gaze. “No more questions, Striker. You’ve asked too many of them already,” she echoed. And then she strutted to her workroom and slammed the door shut.

  Striker felt pressure seep into the back of his neck and he reached up to rub a knotted muscle there. Only for Roland would he put up with this kind of BS. If Margo thought she was calling the shots, then she was wrong.

  Deciding it was time she knew that, he went after her.

  * * *

  MARGO JERKED AROUND when her workroom door flew open. Striker stood there with a fierce frown on his face, his arms across his chest and his legs braced. He was mad. So what? That was his problem and not hers.

  “You have an issue with knocking?” She figured her words infuriated him even more, and from his expression, she saw they had.

  “You stormed off like a child,” he snapped.

  “Because you thought you could treat me like one,” she snapped back. “Do I look like a child to you?”

  His eyes slowly moved over her and she felt heat flare in every inch of her body. “Well, do I?” she all but yelled, thinking he had inspected her enough. Her heart was thumping so hard that she could actually hear it.

  “No. There’s nothing about you that resembles a child, but you’re certainly acting like one.”

  Margo refused to go tit for tat with this man. If he wanted to throw his weight around, fine. She would simply ignore him. Sitting down to her desk, she focused on her computer screen.

  Seconds ticked by and, out of the corner of her eye, she saw him watching her. She refused to look over at him for fear she would be tempted to check him out the way he’d checked her out moments ago.

  “Stay away from the window.”

  She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a response.

  “And I still need your schedule for tomorrow.”

  She’d lifted her head to tell him once again she didn’t intend to give him anything when her cell phone rang. She looked at it for a second.

  “Do you recognize the caller, Margo?”

  It was a local number. “No. But it could be a potential client.”

  “Do potential clients have your cell phone number?”

  Now that he’d asked, she shook her head.

  He nodded. “Go ahead and answer it,” he said, pulling his own phone out of his pocket and speed-dialing a number.

  Drawing in a deep breath, she clicked on her phone. “Yes?”

  She heard someone breathing, but no one said anything. “Hello,” she said.

  When the person still didn’t say anything, she looked over at Striker, who silently mouthed for her to hang up. A chill ran through her as she did so. “Wrong number, you think?” she asked.

  “Possibly,” he said, checking the caller’s number on his cell phone.

  Margo didn’t think Striker sounded convincing. “So who do you think it was?”

  Before Striker could answer her question, his cell phone went off. “Yes, Stonewall?”

  Margo wondered if that was the man’s real name or a code name or nickname, like Striker.

  “Okay. Thanks.” He then clicked off the phone.

  “Well?”

  He glanced over at her. “Well, I’ll leave you alone to do what you came in here to do. Remember not to go near the window.” He closed the door behind him.

  Striker walked over to the sofa and sat down. With his gaze holding steady on the closed workroom door, he speed-dialed Stonewall’s number. “Did you trace where the call came from?”

  “Yes. It came from one of those prepaid phones. And the caller was at the Leesburg Mall.”

  “And the name of the person who purchased the phone?”

  “Not sure we’ll be able to narrow that down since the phone was a burner, paid for with cash. But we’re still checking things out anyway. Don’t be surprised if it was a wrong number.”

  Striker drew in a deep breath. “Might have been, but for some reason, I don’t think so. Although we could hear the person breathing on the other end, they didn’t say anything.”

  “Could have been they were surprised to hear her voice since she was not the person they were calling. Not everyone has manners enough to apologize when they misdial a number.”

  Striker knew that was true, but there was something about the call that bothered him. The caller had held on too long for a miscall. “Still, let me know what you find out.”

  “I will. I understand Margo Connelly is a beauty.”

  Striker didn’t have to wonder where Stonewall had gotten his information. When Bobby had seen Margo he had smiled all over himself. “She is that,” he said, knowing Stonewall had been waiting for him to state his own opinion. “And she’s Roland’s niece.”

  Stonewall chuckled. “Are you reminding me or yourself of that?”

  Striker frowned. There was no way he could forget. “I thought I’d remind you just in case.” He knew Stonewall could appreciate a beautiful woman just as much as any man.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t forget. Besides, I’m still trying to get a date with Joy.”

  Striker shook his head. He’d been with Stonewall at that charity event the night Stonewall and Detective Joy Ingram had met. He had picked up on all that sexual chemistry between the two. But he just couldn’t imagine his friend dating a cop.
“Good luck with that.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “GOOD MORNING, STRIKER.”

  Striker raised a brow. He’d timed it so he was standing on the landing the moment Margo walked out of her bedroom. Was her greeting, which she had delivered with a smile, an indication that her attitude from yesterday had improved? “What has you in a good mood?”

  She proceeded down the stairs ahead of him. When she reached the bottom stair, she said over her shoulder, “I’m always in a good mood when I start work for a new client.”

  So that’s what has her all smiles? “I guess that means for you ten o’clock can’t get here fast enough,” he said, following her into the kitchen.

  “You’re right. And it also means we need to talk,” she said, moving to the counter to start the coffee.

  “About what? And, by the way, I ordered breakfast.”

  She turned to him, surprised. “What do you mean you ordered breakfast?”

  “First, what do we need to talk about?”

  Margo’s frown indicated her annoyance. “I like cooking my own breakfast whenever I’m in the mood to eat breakfast, which isn’t every day. Only when I’m hungry. This morning I’m not.”

  He nodded. “Well, I prefer not cooking my own, and I’m in the mood to eat breakfast every day. I happened to be hungry this morning, so if you’re not, I’ll eat yours.”

  She scowled before turning back to the coffeepot, and Striker wondered what had happened to that better-than-yesterday attitude she had earlier. Was it something he said? Surely she wouldn’t get upset because he’d ordered breakfast.

  She turned back, glowering at him. “How do you know what I’d want for breakfast? For all you know, I might be a cereal girl.”

  “Are you? A cereal girl?”

  “Sometimes.”

  “To each his own. I am not a cereal guy and ordered a little bit of everything. Eggs, sausage, bacon, pancakes, grits and biscuits.”

  “All of that?”