On the tape Weaver had also stated how the assassin was tracking who’d been in the courtroom that day. Security had been stepped up due to the high-profile nature of the case, and additional screening procedures had been implemented. In addition to the standard metal detectors and X-rays, everyone’s hands were swabbed for traces of explosives.
“So, let me make sure I understand all of this,” Jules said, addressing everyone in her office. “They were actually using the swab to apply noninvasive, long-lasting tracking matter onto the person’s skin, specifically, the back of their hands?”
“Yes,” Marcel said, nodding his head. “It’s been rumored such a substance was in development at our headquarters in DC. If that’s true, I want to know how US Marshal Small got his hands on it.”
“If what Weaver said on that tape is true, and I have little doubt that it’s not,” police chief Harkins said, “that means the assassin knows the whereabouts of every single person who was in that courtroom, and probably within a pretty accurate longitude and latitude. So, in essence, it doesn’t matter that people are in hiding since the assassin has the ability to track their locations.”
“Is there no way to get this substance off their hands, since it’s obvious that regular soap and water won’t work?” Jules asked, leaning against her desk.
“I’ve already made a call to our lab to find that out,” Felton said. “I told them this is urgent. We have close to ten people from the courthouse that day who agreed to the private protection we offered. They are at an undisclosed location and are depending on us to keep them alive.”
“Not to mention those who refused police protection,” Detective Ingram tacked on.
“We need to get word out immediately,” Harkins said, pulling out his phone. “Unfortunately, we don’t even know where some of those people are. Some went into hiding and we can’t contact them to tell them the assassin knows their location.”
“The group under police custody is okay for now, since the assassin knows nothing about the package sent to Ms. Sweet,” Dr. Randi Fuller said, grabbing everyone’s attention. “Right now, his main focus is another member of the jury. A woman. She went into hiding, not realizing the assassin can find her.”
Everyone had gotten quiet as they thought about what Dr. Fuller had said. It was Harkins who finally asked, “Do you know who she is, Dr. Fuller?”
Randi shook her head. “No, my mind can’t outright identify her, but from the flashes I’m getting, she’s hiding somewhere in a cabin in the mountains, somewhere near Shenandoah.”
“Aw, hell!” Dalton Granger’s outburst had everyone shifting their gazes to him.
“What’s wrong, Dalton?” Jules asked her husband.
“My brother Jace owns a cabin in the mountains near Shenandoah, and I understand he loaned it out to someone, a bodyguard who’s protecting a woman who was on the jury.”
“We need to know if it’s the same woman, Dalton,” Marcel said. “I assume she’s being protected by one of Roland’s men.” He’d gotten to know Roland Summers and several of his bodyguards last year when Jules’s and Dalton’s lives had been in danger.
Dalton pulled his phone out his jacket. “I’ll find out from Roland right away.”
Marcel chimed in with, “I thought Roland was recuperating from a gunshot wound.”
“He’s supposed to be recuperating. If he’s not at the office, then Stonewall will answer.”
A few moments later Dalton clicked off the phone. “According to Stonewall, the woman being protected is Margo Connelly, and Striker Jennings is her bodyguard. Stonewall will get word to Striker immediately.”
“Margo Connelly?” Harkins asked, frowning. He looked over at Detective Ingram. “Didn’t we foil an intended kidnapping of her just yesterday?”
“Yes, sir, we did.”
“Kidnapping?” Jules asked, looking at Detective Ingram.
“Yes, she’s the Connelly heiress,” Detective Ingram answered. “We were informed of a blackmail plot against her. We used one of our female officers as a double. Turns out the threat of blackmail was a decoy, and they really intended to kidnap her and hold her for ransom. The kidnappers snatched the undercover officer, and when they took her to a warehouse, we made our move. The three men are in jail and a possible fourth has been picked up in New York for questioning. They’ve been turned over to your agency, Felton.”
“Sounds like this Margo Connelly is pretty popular these days,” Felton said, shaking his head while thinking that maybe it was time for him to retire after all. He had suspected something was going on with Weaver but had figured the man was having marital problems or something. Boy, had he been wrong.
At that moment, Felton’s cell phone rang. Expletives followed, alerting everyone that the news Felton was getting wasn’t good. He clenched the phone while staring up at the ceiling. Then he barked into the phone, “Don’t move any bodies. I’m on my way. Don’t notify the press of anything yet, and there better not be another leak to them.”
“Bodies?” Detective Ingram couldn’t help asking.
Felton glanced over at her as he headed for the door. “Yes. Small is dead. Looks like the assassin got to him before we did. But the worse of it is that Erickson was found dead in his cell.”
“What?! What happened?” Harkins asked, incensed.
“Prison records show Small paid him a visit, claiming it was official business, and he had documents to prove it, which I’m pretty sure will turn out to be fake. I’m not releasing any information to the press until I get there and see what happened for myself.” Then Felton was out the door.
“We’ll start warning the jurors we can contact to stay on guard, even if they’re in hiding. The assassin knows where everyone is. But, based on Dr. Fuller’s vision, the number one priority is Margo Connelly. This could be our chance to stop the bastard red-handed. We need to get our men out to that cabin immediately,” Harkins said, heading for the door as well. “Detective Ingram, you and Dr. Fuller can come with me. We’ll take a police chopper to the cabin.”
* * *
“DAMMIT, STRIKER, PICK UP the phone,” Stonewall snarled angrily, while rubbing the top of his head. “Where the hell are you?”
“You still can’t reach him?”
Stonewall looked up to find both Roland and Quasar standing in the doorway. “No, and it’s not like Striker not to answer. I need to let him know about the tracker on Margo.”
“Come on. We’ll keep trying to reach him in the chopper,” Roland said.
“What chopper?”
“The one owned by Connelly Enterprises,” Roland said, strapping his gun and holster to his shoulder. “It will get us to the cabin quicker.”
Quasar looked at Roland as he strapped on his own gun and holster. “I guess it won’t do us any good to ask you to stay behind and let us handle things, will it?”
“No. Not when Striker’s and Margo’s lives are in danger,” Roland said, looking from Quasar to Stonewall. “And by the way, Frazier Connelly will be our pilot.”
Quasar and Stonewall exchanged looks with each other but otherwise said nothing as they followed Roland out the door.
* * *
STRIKER WAS CONVINCED Margo was trying to drain every ounce of strength from his body. She was only supposed to dry him off, but instead she’d taken things a hell of a lot further. She had tortured him with her hands and mouth, and he’d become putty in them both.
One thing was for certain—they’d spent more time taking care of each other’s sexual needs than showering. They’d stayed in the shower for over an hour making love. It had been one orgasm followed by another. Each one more powerful than the one before. The moment he had stepped out the shower to grab a towel, she’d taken it from him and proceeded to practically lick him all over.
When he hadn’t been
able to take it anymore, he’d picked her up off her knees and carried her into the bedroom, dropping her in the center of the bed and joining her there, making love to her once again.
Striker knew he needed to screw his head back on, but the only thing he wanted to screw was her. Again. If that wasn’t fucked up, then what was? He glanced over at her, sprawled on the bed beside him as naked as he was. Never had any woman rocked his world like Margo was doing.
He looked at the clock on the nightstand and grimaced. It was eight o’clock at night already? That meant they’d spent the last two hours all into each other. Literally. “You are trouble, Margo Connelly. You do know that, right?”
She didn’t even try hiding her smile, which made her appear even sexier. He should hate it whenever she smiled like that because it always did something to him. Made him appreciative that he was the man getting it, and, damn, he got a tightening in his stomach whenever he did so.
“Only because you say so, Striker Jennings. Just keep in mind that before you came on the scene, my sexual experience was at an all-time low. I guess you can say I’m making up for lost time.”
“And trying to kill me in the process. We need to set some ground rules.”
“You said that over dinner.”
Yes, he had and he’d meant it at the time. This wasn’t a pleasure trip, although it seemed they’d turned it into one. The reality of the situation was that they were in hiding for her safety. A crazy man was out there and there was no telling who was next on his hit list. More than once Striker had let his guard down to enjoy his time with Margo, mainly because he knew at some point his job of protecting her would come to an end. He tried not to think about it. He refused to think about it. This had been three weeks he would never forget. Could never forget. He would remember every single time his mouth closed over hers, each time he stripped her naked, showered with her. And when he made love to her. That kind of pleasure was meant to stay with a person for a lifetime, and there was no doubt for him that it would.
But the bottom line was that Margo Connelly was not his future. She deserved more than someone who was mired in remorse and shame, still on a guilt trip that wouldn’t end. But a part of him wondered if perhaps the trip never came to an end because before now there had never been anyone in his life worth ending it for.
He noticed Margo had gotten quiet. Not surprisingly, she had drifted off to sleep. Just as well since he tended to get more done when she wasn’t awake. Margo did a good job of claiming his attention, intentionally or not, and he wasn’t sure just what he could do about it. He hadn’t known her for a long time, but she had gotten to him in a way no other woman had. Now he knew why and refused to deny it any longer—he loved her.
Striker rubbed his face but not in frustration. Only because he knew it was a do-or-die situation. He could no more deny loving her than he could refuse to take his next breath. He had never loved a woman. When he was younger, in his teens and a star football player, he’d assumed he had plenty of time to do so. Instead he had enjoyed playing the field. Then a few weeks after graduating high school, when he was looking forward to the fall and utilizing that football scholarship he’d gotten to Ohio State, his world as well as Wade’s had come to an end. It would be fair to say the world of the entire Jennings family seemed to end, given the physical and mental toll on his mom.
When he had been released from prison, getting seriously involved with any woman had been the last thing on his mind. Getting his life back together had been the top priority. Women had only entered the picture when sex was needed. He understood that and made sure they understood it. It should have been that way with Margo, but he could no longer think of what they’d been sharing as sex only. For him it was a lot more than that. And because of that, the job—protecting Margo—was more important than ever.
Striker needed to check in with Stonewall. He’d left his cell phone on the bathroom vanity before stepping into the shower. Easing away from Margo, he untangled their legs and stood, telling himself not to look at her or he’d never leave the bed. He slid into jeans and a T-shirt before strapping his gun and holster on his shoulder. He crossed the room to the bathroom. When he picked up his phone and tried dialing Stonewall, he discovered he couldn’t make a call. What the hell was going on? Somehow, reception was being blocked. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Something definitely wasn’t right.
He was about to check if any text messages had managed to get through, when suddenly there was an explosion.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
MARGO DID HER best to ignore the pain throbbing through her entire body as she tried lifting herself off the floor, only to fall back down again. What was going on? What had happened? There had been some sort of blast. She had been in the bed asleep and now she was naked on the floor. And where was Striker?
She tried saying his name but the sound lodged in her throat. He had been in the bed with her. Hadn’t he? With eyes stinging of smoke, she quickly looked around. From the moonlight shining in through the broken window, she could see the room was in total shambles. Dragging herself to her knees, she ignored the fact that she was stark naked and began feeling around on the floor. Striker had to be here somewhere. What if he was injured? Unconscious? Or even...
She fought back a wave of hysteria, refusing to consider it. Please let Striker be okay. The thought that he might not be okay made her heart seize. All was quiet as she crawled around on the floor in the darkness. Her stomach began to roil when she couldn’t find Striker anywhere. What if he was on the other side of the bed and—
Suddenly she was pulled into big strong arms. She would have fought if she hadn’t recognized those arms. His manly scent. “Striker!”
He quickly put his fingers to her lips. “Shh,” he whispered, drawing her even closer, while rubbing her naked skin with his big hands, as if he was trying to determine if she was all in one piece.
“I’m fine, Striker,” she said, softly. Unlike her he was clothed. When had he put on clothes? He must have dressed and left her sleeping. “What’s going on? What happened?” she asked, trying to talk above the loud security alarm that had begun blasting when the window had been blown out.
“Someone is firing missiles in here. We need to get someplace where there aren’t any windows,” he said, tugging on her arm.
“No,” she said, pulling back. “I’m not going anywhere naked.”
The next thing she knew, he was pulling something over her head. From the scent and warmth of the material, she knew he’d removed the T-shirt off his back to put on her. It barely covered her thighs, but she loved the way it felt against her skin.
“Where did you put your shoes?” he asked her.
“On this side of the bed somewhere,” she said, following his lead by speaking in a low voice. She could tell he was feeling around on the floor.
“Got them.” He proceeded to help her put them on.
“Where are we going? There are windows in every room in this house.”
“Underground. To the wine cellar. The bastard expects us to run outside just so he can use us as target practice.”
“It’s the assassin, isn’t it?” she asked.
“That’s my bet.”
Her head was spinning. “But how did he know where to find me? We made sure nobody followed us.”
“Evidently someone talked.”
“Who?”
“Don’t know, but I intend to find out. At least Stonewall and the team know something’s going on.”
“How do you know that?” she asked, hearing rather than seeing him doing something to his gun.
“The cell reception’s been blocked. Stonewall would have tried checking in with me by now, and when he couldn’t reach me, he’d know something was going on.”
“Do you think that whoever is firing those missiles is re
sponsible for blocking your phone?”
“Probably. I was about to check for any text messages when the explosion happened. I lost my balance, and my phone fell into the toilet. It’s no good to me now.”
“And I left my phone downstairs on the kitchen table,” she said. That was where they’d been, finishing up dinner, when he had swept her into his arms and carried her upstairs.
“What about the security alarm that’s going off? Won’t the police be notified and respond to that?” she asked.
“They should, but the assassin might have blocked that like he did the phones. We can’t wait for anyone to show up. Come on.”
He took a firm hold of her hand as they crawled toward the door.
* * *
FOR THE TIME BEING, Striker pushed to the back of his mind the realization that he’d literally fucked up. If he’d been alert, chances were he would have known what was about to go down. Instead of protecting Margo, the only thing he’d cared about was how it felt being between her legs. And now he had placed her life in danger.
But he was determined to get them out of this alive. Afterward, he would have plenty of time to call himself all kinds of fool for desiring her so much.
For falling in love with her so completely.
When they reached the door, he released her hand to grip his revolver. Based on what he could determine, the missile had been fired through the bedroom window. The bastard was probably using one of those illegal handheld missile launchers. Striker’s plan was to get Margo to the wine cellar, where she would be safe. Then he intended to find the bastard and make him regret ever making Margo a target.
Easing the door open, he could see the glow from the ceiling lights they’d left on in the kitchen and living room below. At least he’d had the damn good sense to keep the curtains drawn. Only once, when Margo had complained of not being able to see the beautiful view outside, had he given in and kept them open for a few hours. It had been against his better judgment, but it had been worth it to see the smile on her face.
Forged in Desire Page 27
