Brenda Jackson - Forged In Desire

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.