Forged in Desire (The Protectors #1)(86)
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.