“Sounds like he’s more than that. I can tell that he’s someone you care about.”
Striker lifted a brow. She’d deciphered that after eavesdropping on his conversation? “Yes, he’s more than my boss. He’s a friend. A good friend.”
“What’s wrong with him? Is he ill or something?”
Taking a sip of his coffee, Striker felt his neck get warm. She was asking too many damn questions. “What makes you think that?”
“You told him to get some rest. What’s wrong with him?”
There was no way he would tell her that Roland was recuperating from a gunshot wound. Instead he said, “He’s a little under the weather.”
“In that case, why would he take the time to call? He doesn’t think you can handle this assignment?”
Striker frowned. “Roland knows I can handle things. Once in a while he likes to be kept in the loop. My goal is to keep you alive.”
She leaned over the table. Something flashed in her eyes he hadn’t seen before. Fear. “That’s it, isn’t it?” she asked him quietly. Almost too quietly, to the point he had to strain to hear her. “You know for certain I’m on the assassin’s list.”
He sighed. “You were in the courtroom that day, so you’ve always been on his list, Margo.”
She slanted him an annoyed look. “You know what I mean. You think I might be next.”
Striker wondered where in the hell she had gotten that idea. The last thing he wanted was for her to feel frightened. A frightened person had a tendency to let fear control them and the first thing to go was their common sense. A lack of common sense could bring on mistakes. Costly ones. What he wanted was for her to be alert and cautious.
“Hold on, Margo. All I know is that two jurors have lost their lives, but I don’t know anything about you being next. All I’m doing is taking precautions. Don’t start freaking out on me.”
She stiffened. “I won’t.”
“Good.” He checked his watch, deciding to change the subject. Hopefully Claudine would be on time and keep Margo occupied while he talked to Stonewall. He’d gotten his friend’s text request that he call. Had it been of major importance, Stonewall would have called him instead of texting, but Striker couldn’t help wondering what Stonewall wanted.
He moved over to the coffeepot to pour another cup. “So, Margo, since you’ve asked a lot of questions of me, I have a few for you.”
What on earth did he want to ask her? Margo wondered. She twisted in her chair and studied him while he poured his coffee. Even from the back the man was very impressive. She’d never been a woman who enjoyed checking out a man’s backside until now. He was definitely a hottie by any woman’s standards. Her heart nearly skipped a beat when he shifted to reach for the container of sugar. Heat she’d tried keeping at bay was now flooding her. All she could do was sit there, totally mesmerized by him. No man should be as handsome as Striker or as ornery. Or was it that she had the ability to bring out the touchiness in him?
Moments later he rejoined her at the table.
“Why would you want to ask me any questions?” she asked him.
“Trust me, I have my reasons.”
She couldn’t help wondering what those reasons were. There was only one way to find out. “So what are your questions?”
Margo couldn’t help staring into his eyes while thinking how gorgeous they were. Her gaze shifted from his eyes to his mouth. Not for the first time, she thought he had a pair of lips that were downright sensuous.
“It’s not that this isn’t a nice community, but you’re wealthy. Why not live in one of those pricey penthouses in Cumberland Landing? And why are you self-employed and not running one of your family’s foundations?”
Margo pushed her fingers through her hair while thinking it wouldn’t be the first time someone had asked her that. “I went to college to become a fashion designer and I enjoy what I do. I worked with a major designer in New York for a while, but all the politics it took to move ahead turned me off. I like being my own boss and answering to no one. I guess you can say I work better by myself.”
She took a sip of her coffee and continued, “And this house suits me just fine and is just what I need. It’s my belief that just because a person has money, there’s no reason to flaunt it or use it unnecessarily.” That was one of the reasons she’d canceled her memberships at several of the country clubs. She’d discovered that some people with money could be total snobs.
“And what did Scotty think of you being loaded?”
“Scott,” she said, placing emphasis on the name he was intentionally getting wrong, “didn’t think anything about it because he didn’t know. I never told him my financial worth. I saw no reason to do so. It wasn’t about my money but about me.” At least it should have been, she thought. However, with Scott, it was about his money and how appreciative she should be that he made so much of it.
“Do you think the two of you will get back together?”
Margo couldn’t help wondering why Striker would want to know if there was a chance she and Scott would get back together. But then, he might think he had a right to ask since she’d just finished delving into his personal life. “No. There’s no way Scott and I will ever get back together and he knows my position.” And he hadn’t liked it. Scott quit women. They didn’t quit him. His ego had gotten more than bruised, but, as far as she was concerned, that wasn’t her problem. She had refused to take any more of his chauvinistic ways. In addition to that, he had begun spending less and less time with her.
Margo was spared finding out what Striker’s next question would be when the doorbell rang. He quickly stood and eased into his jacket. At least with his jacket on it wouldn’t be so obvious that he was wearing a gun. “I’ll get that,” he said.
She was right on his heels. “I think I’m capable of opening my own door, Striker.”
He stopped walking and Margo almost ran into him. He glanced down at her with that deep, dark scowl. “Too dangerous for you to do that. Stay right here while I open the door. And I suggest you figure out how you intend to introduce me.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“HI, I’M CLAUDINE BERNARD and I have an appointment with Margo.”
“I know,” Striker said, looking at the young woman who stood on the doorstep with a perky smile on her face. “Come in. She’s expecting you,” he said, closing the door behind her.
Margo quickly materialized by his side. “Claudine, it’s good seeing you again.” And then she turned to him and smiled. “Thanks for opening the door for me.” To Claudine, she said, “I’d like you to meet my good friend Lamar.”
Striker fought back a frown when Margo deliberately introduced him as Lamar instead of Striker. He reached out and shook Claudine’s hand, ignoring the way the woman was looking at him. Margo might have introduced him as nothing more than a good friend, but he could clearly see the wheels turning in Claudine’s head.
“If you’ll follow me, Claudine, we can get started with those measurements.”
“Alright. It was nice meeting you, Lamar.”
“Same here.” He watched the women disappear into Margo’s workroom and close the door behind them. He couldn’t very well follow them in that room, not when Claudine would be undressing for measurements. But he could certainly make himself comfortable right here on the sofa where he had a good view of that door. He decided to use that time to call Stonewall.
His friend answered on the first ring. “What’s up?” Striker asked.
“Just need to bring you up to date on a few things. First, we still haven’t figured out who actually made that call last night. But we checked the phone records and it seems that Margo’s number is the only one that’s been made from that phone.”
“And when was the phone activated?” Striker asked.
“A couple
of days after Erickson was sentenced.”
Striker rubbed the back of his neck. There had to be a connection. “Is there anything else I need to know?” he asked.
“One other thing. I understand the FBI has asked for the assistance of one of the nation’s top psychic investigators to work on the case.”
“A psychic?”
“Yes. They’re hoping the person they’re bringing in will be able to assist them in some way. Right now the authorities don’t have a clue about anything. It’s obvious they’re up against a professional who seems to be one step ahead of them. They don’t even know if they’re looking for a man or woman. So far they haven’t received any good leads.”
Striker nodded. There was no doubt in his mind, and, he suspected, in a lot of other minds as well, that Erickson had people on the inside who were on his payroll. Spies. Traitors. Collaborators. Each hit was too tidy and tight for there not to be. “Thanks for the updates. Need I ask how you know so much?”
“No.”
Striker chuckled. Although Stonewall and Detective Joy Ingram might not have gone on their first date yet, evidently they were talking. It was obvious she’d become his unofficial contact in the police department.
After ending the call with Stonewall, Striker glanced at Margo’s closed office door and thought about all the questions he’d asked her before Claudine arrived. Mainly about her relationship with Scott Dylan. The one question he’d wanted to ask but had known better was when she’d last had some hot, mind-blowing sex.
He shook his head, knowing he had no right to even wonder about such a thing. But his curiosity would get the best of him each and every time he looked at her body, especially her mouth. The woman was pure sex on legs.
Suddenly he realized he didn’t hear any sound or movement behind Margo’s closed office door. He quickly pulled out his phone and speed-dialed the number connected to the audio monitoring device Bruce had installed in each room. Striker relaxed when he picked up conversation. That meant everything was okay.
Striker was about to click off the phone when he heard his name mentioned. He raised a brow. Since he was the topic of their conversation, part of him felt he had every right to listen in. But, then again, he knew that he didn’t. Doing so would be invading their privacy and crossing a line. It took everything he had to deny his curiosity, but he clicked off the phone.
* * *
MARGO PUT ASIDE her sketch pad. Every gown she designed was unique, and Claudine had given her full details as to what she wanted. Margo had offered Claudine advice on the best types of fabric to use to get the most stunning effect. That was the part of Margo’s job she enjoyed the most, when she would pull out her pad to make sketches based on her clients’ wants and desires. They’d gone through a number of them before Claudine selected one they thought would flatter the woman’s curvy figure, especially with the alençon lace she wanted. The only thing they hadn’t decided on was the material to use for the lining. Claudine wanted additional time to look around before making a decision.
“He’s hot.”
Margo raised a brow. “Who?”
“Your Lamar. Who else?” Claudine asked, laughing.
My Lamar? Margo thought. Now, that was truly a laugh, although she could see how Claudine thought Striker was hot. But hers? Not hardly.
“How did the two of you meet?”
Margo hadn’t expected the question and knew she had to come up with an answer quick. She decided to go with how she and Scott had met. “At a party.”
“Have the two of you been seeing each other long?”
“No, only a few months.”
“I can see the two of you getting married one day.”
Married? It was a good thing she was already sitting. Otherwise, Margo was certain she would have fallen flat on her face. “Trust me. Getting married is not anything I want to do.”
“Oh.”
Margo hoped she hadn’t offended Claudine since it was obvious that getting married was something Claudine wanted to do. “What I meant is that marriage isn’t for everyone.”
“Yes, but I’m sure you’d feel differently if someone like my Stan came along. He is simply wonderful.”
So she’d heard. Plenty of times today, Margo thought. The woman had been singing Stan’s praises since she arrived. It was Stan this and Stan that. It was apparent Claudine thought her fiancé was the perfect man. “Yes, you’re probably right.”
“I know I am. When I met Stan, marriage was the last thing on my mind as well. I bet in another month or so, you’ll begin thinking of marriage.”
Don’t hold your breath for that to happen, Margo thought, but to Claudine she said, “Maybe.”
Claudine laughed again. “No maybe about it. I have a feeling I’ll be hearing about your wedding by the end of the year. This is February, so you have ten months to work on him.”
It was apparent to Margo that Claudine was a romantic. Margo didn’t want to burst the woman’s bubble. Although she couldn’t speak for Striker, she could definitely speak for herself—she didn’t have a romantic bone in her body. At least that was what her boyfriend in college had claimed. Brock Ford had been the romantic one and loved watching television while holding her hand. And he would often text her sappy romantic messages during the day. She had fancied herself in love with Brock until she’d discovered his true reason for romancing her. He’d found out about her family’s wealth and decided marrying her would assure him part of that wealth. That was the main reason she’d never divulged anything about her family’s wealth to Scott.
Now she was back in Charlottesville and focusing on doing the things that made her happy. And she was determined never to forget the lessons she’d learned from both Brock and Scott. They were different but life-learning lessons just the same. She had dated a few times since returning home. Most of the men she considered nothing more than friends who were her escorts to various charity events for the Connelly Foundation. The last thing she wanted right now in her life was any serious involvement. She refused to ever get tangled up with a man who wanted her money or thought she wanted his. Until she met someone who truly knew the meaning of love and commitment, she’d rather not bother. If Claudine thought her Stan was such a man, then Margo was happy for her.
“I need to run,” Claudine said, interrupting Margo’s thoughts as she stood. “I’m meeting Stan for lunch and I don’t want to be late. That’s the one thing he’s a stickler about—timeliness.”
“Okay, I’ll see you out,” Margo said, standing as well.
“How long will it take to make my gown?”
“If everything goes as planned, your dress will be ready in twelve weeks. Maybe sooner. I only take on one client at a time, so your gown will get my full attention.”
“That’s great. I’ve hired this photographer who wants to take a ton of photographs of me before the wedding. I’m glad my dress will be ready for him to do so.”
When they opened the door, Striker was standing right there. Margo frowned up at him. “Yes, Lamar?”
“I started a fire in the fireplace and was about to knock to see if you wanted me to order lunch.”
“Oh, how thoughtful of him. Eating in front of the fireplace is so romantic,” she heard Claudine whisper behind her.
Whatever. “Thanks for getting the fire started and, yes, ordering lunch now is fine. Claudine is leaving and I was about to see her out.”
“I can do that,” he quickly said, offering Claudine his arm. “I’m sure you want to finalize your notes from today’s meeting, Margo.”
Margo tried keeping the glare from her eyes when she said, “Yes, of course, Lamar. Thanks for being so thoughtful.” Turning to Claudine, she said, “You’ll call and let me know if you come across any material you see that you like for your lining?”
“Yes, mos
t definitely.”
Margo then watched as Striker walked Claudine to the door.
* * *
“I’M GOING TO let you introducing me as Lamar slide.”
Margo glanced across the table at him as they ate lunch. “I assume that’s your name since it’s on your driver’s license. If you don’t like it, then change it.”
“Trust me. I would if I could.” He knew Margo was annoyed at him for how he’d handled Claudine. “You do know pouting won’t get you anywhere, don’t you?” he said, before taking a huge bite of his sandwich.
She narrowed her gaze. “You could have compromised my relationship with a client.”
“How?”
“You were wearing a gun.”
He rolled his eyes. “Since I was wearing my jacket, how was she supposed to know what I had underneath it...unless she copped a feel. Were you expecting her to do that?”
“Of course not.”
“Okay, then. You’re getting all worked up for nothing. You need to just chill.”
When she didn’t say anything, he shook his head. Getting up from the table, he stretched his body before tossing the trash into the garbage container. He then leaned a hip against the counter and watched her.
Striker let the silence stretch between them, knowing he wouldn’t have to wait too much longer. She jerked around and glared at him. “Just what are you staring at?”
“So, you can talk? For a minute there I thought that maybe you’d lost your voice.”
She clenched her teeth so hard he swore he could hear her doing so. Instead of their working relationship moving forward, it was going backward, real fast. “Look, Margo. Don’t you think at some point we need to reach an agreement to get along? You can’t keep fighting me at every turn. Whether you like me or not, whether you like the situation you’ve been placed in or not, I’m not going anywhere. My job is to protect you and I intend to do that, regardless of how you feel about it.”
“Fine. And you need to not be so unbending and show flexibility with some things. I’m aware of the danger I’m in, Striker, and I do appreciate you protecting me, but do you have to be so dogmatic?”
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