Forged in Desire

by Brenda Jackson

  * * *

  STRIKER DIDN’T UNDERSTAND why he couldn’t get enough of Margo’s kisses or her entire body, for that matter. It was as if he was in a Margo Zone. It was crazy but so damn pleasurable. While inside of her he’d felt all her muscles and had loved each and every time they had squeezed down on him.

  They needed to get out the shower, dry off and get dressed. He’d asked Quasar for a two-hour extension on breakfast and Quay was always on time. But for the life of him, Striker wanted to go another round with her. He reached up and turned off the water, thinking there would always be tonight. He knew this shower thing should be one and done, but he had a feeling it was just the beginning. And that wasn’t good.

  After opening the shower door, he grabbed the towels. His gaze roamed over Margo before settling between her legs. Studying the beauty of the curls covering her womanhood, he remembered how, last night, he’d parted her there, tasted her clitoris with his tongue.

  “Let me help dry you off,” Margo said.

  Striker didn’t have a problem with that, even though he was setting himself up for more torture. “Only if you let me return the favor,” he said, thinking of all the scenarios that could lead to.

  At that moment his phone rang. He picked it up off the vanity and saw he’d missed three calls from Stonewall. Damn, he hoped nothing had gone down while he was in the shower with Margo. He clicked on the phone. “Stonewall, what’s up?”

  “Your ass if you aren’t careful. I thought you were going to take a shower.”

  “I did. Just getting out.”

  “That was a damn long shower, Striker, and I can guess why. I suggest you hurry and get dressed. Quasar is on his way.”

  Striker had figured as much. “Okay, Quasar is on his way. Why the rush?”

  “Roland is following him over there.”

  “Shit. He shouldn’t be driving around while recovering from a damn gunshot wound.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I say. He showed up unexpectedly, coming straight from the physician’s office. His doctor restored his driving rights and, knowing Roland, I’m sure that means he plans to hang around here a lot. However, first on his agenda was to make sure Ms. Connelly is okay. I suggest the two of you get dressed and plaster innocent smiles on your faces when Roland arrives. I think you know why I say the word innocent.”

  He was tempted to tell Stonewall to go to hell but knew Margo was listening to his conversation and she probably wouldn’t like it. Besides, Stonewall was right. He needed to get dressed quickly. They both did. “Thanks for the call.”

  He clicked off the phone and turned to Margo, who was coming toward him with a towel. “Rain check,” he said, taking the thick velour towel from her. “We need to get dressed ASAP. Quasar is on his way and he has my boss with him.”

  “I thought you said your boss was just feeling under the weather. Why didn’t you tell me he’d gotten shot?”

  Striker shrugged. “At the time I didn’t want to go into detail.” No need to tell her the panic he’d gone through when Roland had been shot. The thought of almost losing him was something he didn’t want to think about. For Striker, Quasar and Stonewall, Roland was like an older brother. He’d been there for them when they had no one else. Shep, who’d been inside with them, had suggested that, after they’d gotten out of the slammer, they spend time with Reverend Luther Thomas, who dedicated his life to helping ex-cons get acclimated back into society as easily as possible with strong, positive influences. They had met Roland through Reverend Thomas.

  “I still want details,” Margo interrupted his thoughts to say. “So what happened?”

  He released a resigned sigh and then answered, “It was an attempted carjacking.”

  “Oh. Did the police catch the person?”

  “They haven’t yet. I guess they’re too busy trying to nab a hit man.”

  “Well, at least I’ll finally get to meet your boss,” she said as she continued to dry off.

  Striker wrapped the towel around his middle while wishing she could finally meet Roland another time. Now, as far as he was concerned, was lousy timing.

  * * *

  “DR. FULLER, WE’RE GLAD you decided to rejoin us.”

  Randi glanced around the room knowing Special Agent Felton did not mean what he’d said. But she knew without being told that he had come under fire for not taking her findings seriously before. Most of the people in this room had. And because of their disregard, more lives had been lost. Now they would work with the devil himself if it meant catching a demented killer.

  “So what additional clues do you have?” she asked Chief Harkins as she sat down at the table.

  “As you’ve heard, the assassin struck down two people. Another juror and one of our federal prosecutors. We need to stop him before he hits again.”

  She shook her head. “Too late. He already has.”

  “What!” Harkins said, and he was out of his seat in a flash and checking his phone. “We don’t know anything about another hit that has taken place. Are you sure?”

  She nodded sadly. “Yes. I got a mental flash of another victim the minute I entered this room.” She didn’t tell them of the physical signs—the cold chills that had gone through her body or the fiery feel of the blood rushing through her veins. Not surprisingly, most of the people in the room looked at her with skepticism all over their faces. They still didn’t want to believe her. They didn’t understand how anyone could possess the psychic abilities that she did. If only they knew how hard she had fought against the powers that she’d inherited from her paternal grandmother.

  At that moment both Special Agent Felton’s and Chief Harkins’s cell phones rang, and she could tell from the way the two men looked at her while they conversed that what she’d told them was being confirmed. Another person had been murdered.

  Both men disconnected, and it was Harkins who spoke in an angry and disgusted voice to everyone in the room. “A news reporter who was in the courtroom that day just got shot down. He’s dead.”

  He rubbed his face and then looked over at Randi. “You were right, Dr. Fuller. It seems the assassin struck again.”

  “So what do you need from us?” Felton asked in an annoyed voice.

  Randi stood. “The first thing I need is for someone to take me to the crime scene.”

  A woman stepped forward and offered Randi her hand. “I’m Detective Joy Ingram, and I’ve been assigned to assist you any way I can.”

  Randi took the woman’s hand, wondering about the strange vibes that suddenly passed through her. She forced a smile, deciding to analyze the strange aura later. “Thanks, Detective Ingram.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  MARGO WONDERED WHY Striker was so uptight about his boss arriving with Quasar. She could only assume the security firm had a no-fraternization policy. If they did, the last thing she wanted to do was get Striker in trouble, though what they’d done in the shower had been the kind of trouble she’d enjoyed. He definitely wasn’t out of the woods yet for spying on her. She would have to think of a way to make him pay. Her mind was suddenly filled with a number of ideas. All of them were simply scandalous and all of them made her smile.

  “What’s that smile for?”

  She glanced over at him as they entered the kitchen. “Want a list?” Before Striker could give her an answer, there was a knock at the back door. “Sounds like our food has arrived,” she said.

  She stepped aside, watched as he drew his gun in case her assumption was wrong. “Who is it?” He barked out the question.

  “Quasar and Roland.”

  Striker moved toward the door and she knew to remain back until he’d verified their visitors. Once he had, he slid his gun back into the holster. Quasar walked in and he shot her a friendly smile, which she returned. “Good morning, Quasar.”
<
br />   “Good morning, Margo.”

  She then looked at the man with Quasar, presumably Roland Summers. He was handsome in a rugged sort of way and immediately reminded her of someone. There was something about the shape of his eyes and mouth.

  Margo guessed he was in his late thirties or early forties. It was obvious he was the one in control, although Quasar and Striker seemed relaxed around him, making it quite obvious both men had a close working relationship with their boss.

  Striker glanced over at her and said, “Margo, I’d like you to meet Roland Summers.”

  Margo crossed the room. Was she imagining it or was he studying her with keen interest? There was nothing sexual about it, but it was as if he was trying to figure her out. She extended her hand. “Mr. Summers.”

  He took it and smiled. “Ms. Connelly. And please call me Roland. I take it Striker is doing a good job keeping you safe.”

  She smiled. “Yes. I have no complaints. He’s protecting me, and that’s what matters.”

  At that moment Striker’s phone went off. Margo was beginning to recognize the specific ringtones and knew it was Stonewall. The intense look that suddenly appeared on his face drew her attention.

  Margo’s heart began beating deep in her chest when he clicked off the line. “There’s been another shooting, hasn’t there?”

  Her question got everyone’s attention. Margo’s heart almost stopped when a grim-faced Striker nodded. “A news reporter who was at the courthouse that day has been killed.”

  * * *

  WRAPPING AN ARM around Margo, Striker led her over to the kitchen table to sit down. “You okay?” he asked, concern lacing his words.

  She patted his arm as if to assure him that she was. “Yes. I expected to hear what you said, but when you actually said it, I—”

  “You looked like you were about to pass out.” He would have understood if she had. Something had to be done. Somebody needed to make Erickson talk, make him call off his goon even if it meant hanging him up by the balls to do it.

  She glanced around. “Where are Roland and Quasar?”

  “Probably in your workroom. I believe Roland got a call from your uncle.”

  She threw up her hands in frustration. “That’s just great! No telling what Uncle Frazier is instructing him to do with me. He probably got the company jet fueled up and is ready to fly me heaven-knows-where.”

  Striker came close to saying that might not be such a bad idea. “And what if he has taken those steps, Margo? Will you go?”

  “Yes. Just as long as you’re protecting me.”

  Striker drew in a deep breath. For the first time in his life, he felt he had a personal stake in the individual he was protecting. Deciding not to say anything, for fear of saying something he shouldn’t, he sat down across from her and reached for the bags Quasar had placed on the table earlier. “Come on, let’s eat. Our food is getting cold.”

  “Okay.”

  Breakfast looked good. After taking a sip of his coffee, he looked around the room to make sure Roland and Quasar weren’t nearby and then leaned over to say, “I’m starving. You nearly wore me out in that shower.”

  A chuckle erupted from Margo. “I did not.”

  “You did too.”

  Smiling, she placed emphasis on each word. “I. Did. Not.”

  He thought the smile on her face was priceless, and he wished it could stay forever and that she never had to worry again about a threat on her life.

  “Hey, why not let us in on what you did or didn’t do.” Margo and Striker quickly turned to find Frazier Connelly standing beside Roland.

  “Uncle Frazier! What are you doing here?” Margo said, getting up from the table to give her uncle a hug.

  “I thought I was always welcome here.”

  “You know what I mean. I didn’t hear the doorbell.”

  “I didn’t use it. Roland was expecting me and met me at the front door.”

  “Oh,” she said, glancing at Roland. Then she asked, “And where’s Quasar?”

  “He left,” Roland said. “With all that’s happened, he might be needed back at the office.”

  Frazier rubbed the back of his neck in agitation and then said, “We need to talk, Margo. This situation has gotten real.”

  She looked taken aback by her uncle’s words. “I always thought it was real. You didn’t?”

  He bristled at her question. “Yes, of course I did, but I assumed the authorities would have caught the person by now.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, they haven’t.”

  “That is why we need to come up with another plan for you. I don’t think remaining here in this house is a good idea, and Roland agrees with me.”

  She looked past her uncle to Roland Summers and met his gaze. She knew her uncle’s ability to persuade people to his way of thinking...although that talent always failed when he tried it on her. For some reason, she believed it would fail on Roland as well. He didn’t come across as the type who would let her uncle—or anyone else, for that matter—sway him. If he agreed with her uncle, Roland must already be convinced.

  She looked back at her uncle. “So what’s the plan?”

  “Let’s sit down and talk.”

  Margo dropped her hands to her sides and sat back down at the table. “Fine. You all can join me and Striker for breakfast. I can’t speak for Striker, but I don’t mind sharing.”

  “Sorry,” Striker said, taking the last bite of his sandwich. “I have nothing left. I was hungry.”

  Margo tried not to smile about why he’d been hungry. And she was glad her uncle hadn’t pressed her about their back-and-forth banter.

  “Eating breakfast kind of late, aren’t you?” her uncle observed as he and Roland joined her and Striker at the table.

  Margo refused to look at Striker as she said something partly true. “I worked really late last night on the wedding gown I’m designing and wanted to sleep in this morning. I’m glad Striker didn’t have an issue with it.”

  “I understand that for safety measures the FBI wants to round up everyone who was in the courtroom that day and move them to an undisclosed location under protective custody,” Roland said.

  Margo nodded. “Why do I get the feeling that you don’t like that idea, Roland?”

  “Because I don’t,” Roland responded in a tight voice. “Something might go wrong and it would benefit the assassin if it does.”

  Margo arched a brow. “How so?”

  Roland leaned back in his chair while meeting her gaze. “I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that this assassin isn’t working alone. I believe there’s a mole somewhere. In that case, the police and FBI are the last people I’d want to know the whereabouts of every person on the assassin’s hit list.”

  Margo took a sip of her coffee and then said, “My uncle has this issue about trusting cops. It seems you do too.”

  “That I do,” Roland said.

  “Something the two of you have in common,” she said, looking from Roland to her uncle and then back to Roland. “So what do you suggest?”

  Roland rubbed his face. “I agree we need to get you out of here and to some place where no one knows where you are.”

  Margo nibbled on her bottom lip and then her gaze moved over to Striker. Although this was the first time she’d looked at him since the two men had sat down at the table, she knew he hadn’t taken his eyes off her. She had felt his gaze just like it had been a physical caress.

  “What are your thoughts about this, Striker? Since you’re the one who’ll be protecting me.” There, she’d let everyone know she expected Striker to remain her protector.

  He held her gaze long enough to convey he understood. “I agree with Roland’s plan, Margo.”

  She nodded. The
re was no sense asking how long her life would be disrupted because no one knew. It could be for a few days or a few weeks. Hopefully, the authorities would do their job and capture the guy. The only good thing was that since Claudine’s wedding wasn’t until September, she didn’t have to worry about not finishing her gown right away. But it did mean she would have to work through the summer instead of taking the time off like she’d planned.

  She glanced back at Roland. “And are you sure no one other than your people will know where I am?”

  “Yes, I can say that with certainty. And I believe you won’t have to stay hidden long. The authorities will be working around the clock, following up on leads. I also understand that psychic investigator is back to help work the case. Maybe this time they will believe what she tells them.”

  Margo drew in a deep breath. “Make the arrangements, and I’ll do what you suggest.”

  “Alright,” Roland said, getting ready to stand.

  “Wait,” she said quickly. “I’d like to discuss something with you and Uncle Frazier.” This should be a private conversation, but she had no problem with Striker hearing.

  “What is it?” her uncle asked.

  “Would one of you like to explain how you’re related?”

  * * *

  RANDI WALKED AROUND the crime scene as she tried to pick up any mental details. Something was different here; she could feel it but couldn’t decipher what that difference was. The coffee cup had been left behind like before, and the victim had been shot in the head. It had been an accurate shot with the same rifle used in the last two hits, according to Harkins.

  “Do you want to read the report on the victim?”

  She paused. For a minute she’d forgotten Detective Ingram was still with her. Randi shook her head. “No, I like putting the pieces of the puzzle together myself. He was young. Under thirty. Hadn’t been a reporter more than a couple of years. Got hired right out of college.”

  From the expression on Detective Ingram’s face, Randi knew she’d pretty much given the detective all the facts on the victim without reading his profile. “All that info is correct.”