Forged in Desire

by Brenda Jackson

  “You’re young,” she said to Dr. Fuller, all but blurting it out.

  Dr. Fuller didn’t seem offended. Instead she chuckled. “There’s not too much difference in our ages, but I’ve been doing this awhile. Even when I didn’t want to acknowledge I had the ability to do so.”

  Margo wondered just how the woman knew her age and could only imagine how difficult it would be to live with psychic powers. “I’m surprised this place isn’t surrounded by news reporters,” she said.

  “Only because they haven’t been told what has happened yet. Since you were a juror on a federal case, your name had to be kept anonymous. We can’t guarantee it will remain that way with reporters swarming around, which I’m sure they will be doing soon enough,” Special Agent Hines said. “Even if they didn’t get wind of your name, there’s no way your face won’t be plastered on the front page of tomorrow’s paper. We don’t want that to happen. We still intend to keep your identity anonymous. All the reporters need to know is that the assassin attempted to kill his next victim and that her bodyguard took him out.”

  “My protector,” Margo corrected her, remembering the time Striker had set her straight.

  “He was definitely that,” Hines said. “When we pulled up, he was running back inside for you. I honestly didn’t think the two of you would make it out alive. The entire house was engulfed in flames.”

  “I held my breath the entire time until the two of you came out,” Detective Ingram tacked on. “And when Stonewall and Quasar Patterson ran into the building after Mr. Jennings, my heart nearly stopped beating.”

  Margo took note that Detective Ingram had referred to Stonewall by his first name, which led her to believe the two of them knew each other well. “How did you know what was happening here? The assassin blocked the phones so no calls could come in or go out.”

  “You can thank Dr. Fuller for knowing you were in danger,” Detective Ingram said. She then proceeded to tell Margo about the package FBI agent Weaver had delivered to a private investigator and how it exposed the fact that, without their knowledge, a tracking substance had been applied to the hands of everyone in the courtroom that day. That meant no one was safe from the assassin since he was aware of everyone’s location at all times. The mystery had been who he would target next.

  “Although Dr. Fuller couldn’t identify you per se, she knew the assassin was headed to a cabin near the Shenandoah Mountains,” Detective Ingram added.

  Margo turned to Dr. Fuller. “Thank you.”

  Dr. Fuller smiled. “Glad I was able to help. And it was really a team effort. Once I identified the location of the cabin, law enforcement didn’t waste time getting here with the use of several choppers. One of those choppers, I understand, belongs to your uncle, and the others to the Charlottesville Police Department.”

  “Now for those questions we need to ask you so we can return you to Mr. Jennings,” Special Agent Hines said, pulling out her notepad.

  While Special Agent Hines was taking Margo’s statement, Dr. Randi Fuller got the feeling she was being watched. Looking around, she saw a man crouching low on the ground, dressed in all black. Earlier, she’d heard one of the men call him Quasar Patterson. He was absolutely, spellbindingly gorgeous. With an intensity that made her stomach clench, his gaze was focused directly on her. To get control of the influx of emotions flooding her, she broke eye contact with him to glance over to where several police officers were taping off the crime scene. Temptation got the best of her, and Randi couldn’t help but look back and found him still staring at her. She knew at that precise moment that the man staring at her was destined to be a part of her future.

  That realization sent a shiver through her. She forced her gaze from his and tried to concentrate on the questions Special Agent Hines was asking Margo Connelly.

  * * *

  AN HOUR LATER, after law enforcement had finished their questions, three cars pulled up. Four men got out, and Striker recognized them. The Grangers. Sheppard Granger met Striker’s gaze and quickly walked toward him, followed by his sons, Jace, Caden and Dalton.

  Sheppard didn’t stop until he was standing close to Striker and Margo, who had rejoined him after giving her statement. “You okay, Striker?”

  Striker nodded. “Yes, Shep. I’m okay.”

  Striker glanced at one of the men by Shep’s side. “Sorry about your cabin, Jace.”

  Jace Granger shook his head. “Don’t be. The main thing is that the both of you are okay,” he said, switching his gaze to Margo and then returning it to Striker. “I can build another cabin, but you only have one life. Besides,” Jace said, as a smile touched his lips, “it was time I did something with the cabin to make it more childproof.”

  “You’re getting too good at saving lives, Striker,” Caden Granger said, shaking his head. Striker understood Caden’s comment. A year ago Striker had saved Caden’s life.

  Sheppard’s youngest son, Dalton, said with a grin, “Glad you’re in one piece. Hannah would have our asses if you weren’t.” Hannah, the housekeeper and cook at the Granger estate, had all but made it her business to adopt Striker, Quasar, Stonewall—and a few others—as Sheppard’s other sons.

  At that moment Chief Harkins came forward. “We kept this under wraps for as long as we could, but now the media are on their way. I suggest the two of you leave now. If we have any more questions, we know how to contact you.”

  “Come on, Margo, let me get you out of here,” Frazier said, quickly approaching his niece.

  Striker knew Margo was about to refuse to go with her uncle, so he said, “Go on with your uncle, Margo. I’ll drop by your place later to check on you.”

  She opened her mouth to say something and then, as if she thought better of it since they had an audience, she nodded. “Okay. I’ll see you in a little while, then.” Striker watched her walk away, knowing she was taking a piece of his heart with her.

  “Hey, man,” Quasar said, interrupting Striker’s thoughts. “The SUV is probably toasted since it was parked in the garage. You can ride back to Charlottesville with us.”

  He looked at Quasar and Stonewall. “You two aren’t going back on the chopper?”

  “No, the Grangers offered us one of their vehicles. And I believe Roland will be riding back to town with them. It’s bonding time for us,” Stonewall said.

  Striker knew that was their way of saying the three of them needed to do some serious talking.

  * * *

  “SO WHAT DO you guys want to talk about?” Striker asked a short while later, leaning this head against the headrest and stretching his long legs out in front of him. He would go home and clean up, soak his body in a tub of hot water. Then he would go check on Margo.

  “We think you know. Why did you send Margo home with her uncle, when it was obvious she wanted to be with you?” Quasar asked from the backseat.

  Striker frowned. “Doesn’t matter. She needed to go with him.” While I get my head screwed on right.

  “The two of you hooked up. That’s been obvious, but if there was any doubt in anyone’s mind, I think Margo laid it to rest tonight,” Stonewall said.

  Striker pulled in a deep breath. “I wish she hadn’t done that.”

  “Why?”

  He glanced over at Stonewall. “You honestly have to ask me that?”

  “Yes, he has to ask you that because I want to know as well,” Quasar said, leaning forward between the two front seats. “The two of you have been an item for a while. I picked up on it. All that sexual chemistry and shit. So what’s the problem?”

  Striker didn’t say anything for a minute. Finally, he said, “I could have lost her tonight, guys. If anything had happened to Margo, I don’t know how I would have survived. That’s why I’ve never allowed myself to get seriously attached to anyone. The thought of losing them the way I lost Wade an
d Mom is something I just couldn’t handle.” He knew they understood how he felt because he’d had similar conversations with them before. “And to be honest with you, I feel what went down could have been avoided. I should have been more on top of things tonight.”

  “You were on top of things, Striker. When we arrived, you were running into a burning house. You saved her life, man. You should be feeling good about that.”

  Well, he wasn’t. He shouldn’t have been caught off guard. “But had I known...”

  “There was no way you could have known. The bastard blocked the phones so I couldn’t get through. He still would have shot those missiles inside the house, even if you had known.”

  “How in the hell did the bastard track Margo here?”

  Stonewall spent the next few minutes telling Striker about the package Weaver had sent to Jules Bradford Granger. “But I heard it was that psychic who let it be known the next attempt would be on a woman hiding out near the Shenandoah Mountains.”

  “Thank God for that psychic,” Striker said.

  “Yes,” Quasar said. “She’s a beautiful woman.”

  Striker raised a brow. “You’ve seen her?”

  “Yes. Tonight. She was there.”

  “I didn’t know. There were a lot of people,” Striker said.

  “She was the one hanging with Stonewall’s detective,” Quasar said.

  “I don’t have a detective. We’ve talked a lot and met for drinks a few times, but we haven’t had what I consider a real date.”

  Quasar chuckled. “In other words, she hasn’t quite fallen under that Stonewall Courson spell.”

  When Stonewall didn’t refute what Quasar had said, Striker knew there must be some truth to it. But he knew Detective Ingram was on Stonewall’s radar, so it would only be a matter of time before the two hooked up.

  At that moment Stonewall’s phone went off. “What’s up, Roland?”

  A few minutes later he said, “Damn. I doubt he’ll be missed. Yes, I’m glad the nightmare is now over.”

  When Stonewall clicked off the phone, he said, “Roland got word that they found Erickson dead in his cell a few hours ago. The last person who saw him was that US marshal they found dead earlier tonight when we were on our way to help you.”

  “What US marshal?” Striker asked.

  “The one they believe is responsible for swabbing everyone with the tracking substance at the courthouse. His name was Leonard Small.”

  “Not that I have any complaints, but why kill Erickson?”

  “I can only assume that US Marshal Small decided to take him out because he felt betrayed,” Stonewall said.

  “So, are you going to drop in on Margo tonight?” Quasar asked. “You told her that you would.”

  “And I’ll keep my word,” Striker said, feeling somewhat annoyed. When he went to see her, it wouldn’t be for the reason they assumed.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  IT HAD TAKEN an hour-long soak in the tub with Margo’s favorite bubble bath to remove the stench of smoke from her body and hair. Now she felt clean, smelled good and, except for her eyes, which were still red, she thought she looked decent.

  Margo had dressed in one of her favorite caftans and loved the feel of the silky material against her skin. Trying not to notice the time was nearly four in the morning, she reasoned that just like she had to clean herself up, Striker would have to do the same before visiting. After all, he’d been in far worse shape than she had. When she thought of how he had come back into that burning building for her, saving her life, she couldn’t help but love him even more.

  She left her bedroom to head downstairs. What if Striker didn’t show up tonight? She shook her head, refusing to believe that he wouldn’t honor his word. But for a minute she’d thought she’d felt him trying to put distance between them. Why? He’d admitted she’d become more than just a job to him. Although that admission hadn’t equated to love, she wanted to think at least it was a beginning.

  Her foot had touched the bottom stair when her doorbell sounded. Her heart leaped in her chest as she quickly moved toward the door. After looking through the peephole, she disarmed her security system and opened the door.

  Striker stood there.

  She could tell he had showered and changed, but because of the brightness of the porch light, the bruises around his eyes and chin were even more visible. And to think he’d taken the blows to protect her.

  “I was beginning to wonder if you were coming,” she said, standing aside to let him come in. Hoping that she didn’t sound like the needy and desperate woman who she felt like at the moment.

  “I told you that I would,” he said, and when he passed by her she couldn’t help but breathe in the scent of man and aftershave. She’d always found his scent so intoxicating. “I wasn’t sure if your uncle had talked you into going home with him, to the Connelly estate.”

  “He tried, but I wanted to come here. To wait for you.”

  She closed the door and locked it, trying not to feel a little disappointed. Why had she hoped that the first thing he would do when he saw her was pull her into his arms? Was it because she so desperately needed to be held in his strong embrace? “I was about to make a pot of coffee. Want some?”

  “Yes. On the way over here I got a call from Detective Ingram. They got a positive ID on the assassin. He’s someone who’s been wanted by both the FBI and CIA for some time. With him and Erickson dead, maybe things will get back to normal around here.”

  Margo figured Roland must have called Striker just as he’d called her and Uncle Frazier about Erickson’s death. “Let’s hope so.”

  He didn’t say anything for a moment, just stood there staring at her. “We need to talk, Margo.”

  She preferred not talking. She wished he would just pull her into his arms and hold her for a minute. Then he could take her to bed, make love to her and help her forget about everything that had happened tonight. Besides, what did they need to talk about? From his too-serious expression, she had a feeling it would be a topic she’d rather not discuss but knew they would anyway. Besides, she needed to know what he was thinking.

  “Alright, let’s talk. Do you want to join me in the kitchen?” She led the way and he followed. They had made it halfway there when he reached out and took her hand, entwining their fingers. The moment he did, that all-familiar surge of desire swept over her.

  She stopped walking, turned to him and didn’t bother to ask what he wanted. Instead she just leaned close and lifted her mouth for his. She heard the low growl from his throat as his mouth lowered to hers. And then there it was. The wet-tongue, greedy-as-sin contact she wanted, needed and desired. The hunger she detected in his kiss was making her head spin. It definitely had her moaning.

  Then just as quickly as the kiss had begun, it ended and he stared down at her. Was that anger she saw in his eyes? If so, why? Why was he upset that they had kissed?

  “Go ahead and make the coffee so we can talk, Margo.”

  Nodding, she turned to continue on to the kitchen. Once there she prepared the coffee, fully aware he had sat down at the table and was quietly watching her. She’d discovered that Striker wasn’t a talker per se. He was a man of action, and for him, action spoke a lot louder than words. But those times when he did talk, she would listen.

  With the coffee brewing, she reached up into the cabinet to grab a couple of cups. When she turned back around, he was standing in front of her. Close. His body pressed hers against the counter. “Why do you have to be so sexy? So damn desirable?” he asked, and the question seemed to come out in a tortured groan.

  She looked up at him. “I could ask you the same thing.” Whether he knew it or not, sexy and desirable could be his middle names.

  And then he was kissing her again, this time with even more hunger
than the last. It was as if he had to convince himself that she was really here. Alive. And the fire hadn’t harmed her in any way. For her it was very much the same thing. But it wasn’t just that assurance driving her. For her there was also love.

  Suddenly, she felt herself being lifted in strong arms and carried from the kitchen while their tongues continued to duel and tangle. When she felt herself being placed on the sofa, she was glad he didn’t try taking her upstairs. She didn’t want them to waste that much time. For some reason, the sofa seemed fitting since the first time they’d made love had been here.

  She wasn’t sure how Striker removed her clothes so fast. All she knew was that he did with an expertise that nearly overwhelmed her. She watched through a haze of desire as he undressed himself. She could tell from the penetrating look in his gaze that he wanted her just as much as she wanted him. They would talk later. Evidently whatever he wanted to discuss could wait.

  When he had removed every stitch of his clothing, she grimaced to see his bandaged shoulder and recalled how he’d gotten the injury. Forcing those ugly thoughts to the back of her mind, she decided to concentrate on something else. Like how muscular his broad shoulders were and the thick firmness of his thighs. But what really got her attention was the massive erection that showed just how much he wanted her.

  As usual, the air surrounding them was filled with so many sexual undercurrents, to the point that she could feel her nipples hardening and the area between her legs get excruciatingly wet. He joined her on the sofa, straddling her body and giving her a kiss that actually curled her toes.

  She loved Striker’s kisses. The depth of them always managed to set her on fire. Make her hotter than she thought possible. At the same time, they managed to make every cell in her body feel rejuvenated. She heard herself groan as his kiss, slow and steady, suddenly took a turn to become deep and intense.