Forged in Desire (The Protectors #1)(89)

It was obvious the woman wasn’t at the cabin alone. A hysterical female on her own would have run out of the cabin hollering and screaming and giving him a chance to get a good shot on her.

He checked his watch, thinking he’d given the people inside the cabin a good twenty minutes to ponder what they needed to do. It was time to give them another scare. If they still refused to come out, then he would shoot a flaming ball inside the cabin. He would either burn them out or burn them up. Either way was fine with him.

*

ADRENALINE SEEPED OUT OF Striker’s every pore as he crawled out the bathroom window. It had been a tight squeeze and he’d scraped his upper arm on a piece of glass. That scratch, along with the night’s chill, was an unwelcome reminder that he was shirtless. But the last thing he’d wanted was for Margo to be naked. Hell. The fact that she was wearing his T-shirt without a stitch of clothing underneath was bad enough and sure to raise a few brows when they were rescued. And he wanted to believe they would be. Like Striker had told Margo, Stonewall would have figured they were in danger by now. In the meantime, he would show the crazy assassin that, when warranted, he could be just as crazy.

He was glad Margo hadn’t given him any grief about staying locked in the wine cellar until he returned. He’d seen a degree of trust in her eyes and he didn’t intend to let her down. Her life depended on it. And because she was the love of his life, his life depended on it as well.

He managed to land on his feet, and the moment they hit solid ground he crouched down and looked around. The property was shrouded in darkness. The only light was from the stars and the moon overhead. He had no idea where the assassin was, and he’d taken a big chance in coming out on this side of the house. But based on the trajectory of the missile, the bastard was somewhere stationed on the other side of the house.

Suddenly a bright light whizzed overhead within twenty feet of him. Another missile, this one through the living room window. Damn. As long as Margo stayed put, she was safe. For now. At least he now knew where the missile had been launched. Crouching down with his Beretta drawn, he headed in that direction.

*

MARGO PACED THE CELLAR that was stocked with bottles of wine. As a child, she’d loved hiding in her parents’ basement and recalled a number of fond memories she had of being there. That space was a lot bigger than this one, and every once in a while her parents would join her when she hosted a tea party.

Those had been great times for her and now were great memories. Her parents had wanted more than one child, but after a couple of miscarriages they had decided she would be their only one. They had showered her with all their love and she thought about them often—a lot more than usual lately. Probably because, as she grew older, she wondered if they would be proud of the woman she’d become or disappointed that she hadn’t followed in her father’s footsteps by becoming involved in more of the day-to-day operations at Connelly Enterprises.

She drew in a deep breath, knowing her parents would have loved her enough to allow her to make her own decisions as to how she wanted to live her life. Murdock Connelly had been less of a traditionalist than her uncle Frazier. But her uncle had never tried pressuring her to take her father’s place at the company. She smiled, thinking he was probably glad she hadn’t. She loved her uncle immensely but could see how their opinions would clash.

She stopped pacing and sat on a stool. If she got thirsty, there was plenty to drink with all the water and wine stored in here. She tightened her arms around her body as nervous shivers passed through her. She hoped Striker was okay. She wished there was something she could do to help but knew as well as he did that she would be a hindrance.

Striker hadn’t left her a weapon, and she knew why. She’d made it clear she wasn’t a fan of guns and would injure herself if left with one. Her greatest weapon was her belief that Striker would come back for her. That he would stay safe. But she couldn’t discount the lunatic he was going up against. She hoped and prayed that the man she loved would come out the victor.

She was about to stand up when the ceiling overhead began to shake as if it was about to collapse on top of her. She quickly reached out to grab hold of a table as several wine bottles went crashing to the floor.

Margo knew the assassin had fired another missile into the cabin.





CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

DESPITE HIS DISCOMFORT, Striker darted between a number of low-hanging red oak trees, moving stealthily through the thickets. The temperature had dropped. Without a shirt he should have felt cold, but the anger radiating inside of him was keeping him warm.

He paused when he reached the area where he suspected the assassin was hiding. He was anxious but forced himself to wait, listening for any sounds. Time passed and he didn’t hear anything.

The cut on his shoulder was hurting like hell, but he would deal with it. Right now there were more important issues he had to handle. A crackle of lightning lit the sky and he looked up and frowned. The last thing he needed was a downpour. Cold and rain weren’t a good combination. Striker was about to move when he heard a click at the same time he felt the cold barrel of a gun pressed to the back of his head.

“Drop your weapon. Now!”

Striker did as he was told, dropping his Beretta while knowing he had backup with the knife in his boot.

“You fool. Did you not think I had all my bases covered?” a man’s hard voice taunted. “I knew the moment your feet hit the ground. Now I’m going to kill you and then I’ll find the woman and kill her too.”