Forged in Desire (The Protectors #1)(93)
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 and 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.