Forged in Desire (The Protectors #1)(38)

“That was Quasar. Dinner is on the way.”

“Alright.” She nervously rubbed the front of her jeans. “I guess I’ll get back to Claudine’s gown. Thanks for taking me to get that thread.”

When she made a move to walk away, he reached out and grabbed hold of her hand. Intense desire shot all the way up her spine with his touch. “You okay, Margo?” he asked her.

She nodded. “Yes. I’m fine. I got just what I wanted, Striker,” she said honestly.

Pulling her hand from his, she quickly walked toward her workroom.

*

ERICKSON LAY IN the bunk and stared up at the ceiling. The ultrabright fluorescent bulb nearly blinded him, but even that couldn’t stop the smile that touched his lips. Did those bastards think a maximum-security cell could stop him from making sure things went off as planned? And was that crap they called food supposed to torture him? If that was what the fucks thought, then they had a lot to learn about him. It would take a lot more to break him, and in the end, his retaliation would cost them all. It was already costing them. They were running scared now.

He had intentionally given them four days to assume they had the right man. He’d seen the smiles, the gloating, the we’ve-got-you-now-bastard looks. Now shit was all over their faces, and what was really pissing them off was that they had no idea who they could trust. It was now obvious that someone on the inside was part of his network. For all they knew, it could be more than one person. And they were right. They would be surprised to learn who his people were. They would find out in due time that he knew every single thing about what was going on. He liked seeing the bastards sweat.

Pretty soon they would give in to his demands and he would get out of here. He would be free but not without a purpose. He had a lot of people he had to settle a score with. Not just those in the courtroom that day, but those responsible for his arrest in the first place. Traitors. Those he thought he could trust. They could try to run, but they could never hide. He intended to teach each and every one who thought they could betray Murphy Erickson a lesson they wouldn’t forget. Ever.





CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“ARE YOU PLANNING on going to bed tonight?” Striker asked, leaning in the doorway of Margo’s workroom. Seeing her reminded him of the kiss they’d shared earlier and just how much he’d enjoyed it. Knowing that was the last thing he should be thinking about, he glanced around the room. Aside from the sofa, the room had a couple of rectangular tables holding bolts of fabric, and some kind of lacy material was draped over several mannequins.

Margo placed the scissors down. “What time is it?”

“Past midnight.”

She drew in a surprised breath and pushed a lock of hair away from her face. “I hadn’t realized it was so late.”

She’d kept herself busy. In a way, Striker saw that as a good thing. Margo was only human and, given the fact that two more people had lost their lives, he couldn’t help wondering how she was really doing. It had to be driving her crazy knowing someone right this moment could be planning an attempt on her life. At least she had him protecting her. According to Stonewall, all security agencies in the city were booked solid. People were freaking out, and a number were arming themselves. Off-duty cops had been called in to maintain order, and additional federal agents had been called in as well.

Striker and Margo had eaten the dinner Quasar delivered, and afterward she had quickly fled to her workroom and hadn’t been out since. He had taken a seat on the sofa that provided him a good view into her workroom while he was watching the news reports on the television.

Frazier had called earlier to talk to Margo. Roland had also called and would be talking to Stonewall about moving Margo to a safer location. Striker had warned Roland that would not go over well with his strong-willed niece.

Word had leaked to the press that the psychic investigator who had been brought in had warned the feds and local police days ago they had the wrong man, but they hadn’t listened.

Margo stood and stretched her body. Striker wished she hadn’t done that when he felt his body immediately respond. He couldn’t stop his eyes from roaming all over her; it was such a turn-on seeing a woman in a pair of skintight jeans and a tank top. Although she looked sexier than any woman had a right to look, she also appeared tired. He knew all her exhaustion wasn’t due to working on that wedding dress. Although she might not ever admit it, she had to be under stress. There was no doubt in his mind that she was using her laptop to keep abreast of what was going on around the city. Knowing her name might be on some hit man’s list had to be nerve-racking. A lot of women in her predicament would have caved under the pressure by now.

He couldn’t help but admire her spunk, strength and fortitude, though he wondered if perhaps the reason she was still up past midnight, when usually she was in bed by nine, was partly because she was afraid of sleeping alone tonight.

Okay, Striker, you would look for any reason, any poor-ass excuse to keep her in arm’s reach. He blamed it on the kiss he couldn’t forget about. At some point he had to get a firm grip on the situation between him and Margo. Never before had he gotten involved with a client because things could get messy. He knew that, yet he couldn’t get a handle on things when it came to her.

“Time for you to call it a night, don’t you think? It’s already another day,” he said gently, when she made no attempt to leave the room.