Randi pressed a finger to her temple. More senseless deaths. Anger spread through her. She’d tried warning the authorities, but they hadn’t listened. “And why are you calling me, Chief Harkins? I told you that you had the wrong man but you didn’t believe me. None of you even took my findings seriously.”
There was a pause on the line and then the chief of police said, “I apologize for that, and we will now, Dr. Fuller. As for what we need you to do, I’d like for you to consider returning to Charlottesville and working with us to apprehend the real killer. The feds have their way of doing things, and the Charlottesville Police Department has theirs. My main concern is keeping the people in this city safe.”
There was another pause and then he said, “Since news of those two killings hit the airwaves—after we had all but guaranteed the people we had the right guy in custody—this department and the feds are dealing with egg on our faces.”
“Serves you right,” Randi snapped.
“Yes, it does. So will you give us another chance and assist us?”
Randi nibbled on her bottom lip. Why should she assist them? It wasn’t like she owed the Charlottesville Police Department or the FBI anything. But she did owe it to the people living in fear, who would continue living that way until the real assassin was caught.
“Dr. Fuller?”
She sighed. “The only way I’ll consider helping is if I’m given a private office at police headquarters where I can work. That way I can concentrate solely on the case and everyone around me. Your people, doubters or otherwise, will see how I operate and gain more confidence in my abilities. I refuse to work out of a hotel room like before.”
“That won’t be a problem,” Harkins said quickly.
Randi didn’t tell him all the reasons she wanted to be located at police headquarters. She was convinced someone on the inside—probably more than one person—was working with Erickson and the only way she could expose those involved was to be in the thick of things.
“And another thing I want is to interview Erickson. He holds the key to everything. I need a guarantee that I’ll get the chance to speak directly with Erickson. Alone. I need to get into his head. He might send off vibes that will tell me something about the person he hired to carry out these killings.”
There was a pause. “I don’t know if I can guarantee that, Dr. Fuller.”
She frowned. “Then call me when you can. I’m at the Richmond International Airport and my plane leaves in less than twenty minutes. I intend to be on it unless you can assure me that I’ll get everything I’ve asked for.”
Harkins didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then he said, “Okay. I give you my word that you’ll get everything you’ve asked for...including a chance to talk to Erickson. Alone.”
“Then I’ll help.” She heard his sigh of relief.
“Thanks. I’ll send an unmarked police car to Richmond to pick you up from the airport.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“HERE, DRINK THIS.”
Striker watched as Margo accepted the glass from him with trembling hands. He wished he had something stronger to give her, but wine was the only alcoholic beverage she had in her house.
He recognized that look in her eyes. It was the same one he saw in others, those he’d been hired to protect, when it finally hit them that their lives were in danger. Oh, they’d known it all along, but it was only when the shit got real did they finally get it. Margo was having one of those I got it moments. She took a sip. “Thank you,” she said shakily, handing back the glass.
“No, keep it. You may want it later.”
She lifted a troubled brow. “Why? Is there more than what you’ve told me?”
As if that hadn’t been enough? “I haven’t heard anything. Those other calls were from your uncle Frazier and from Roland.”
She nodded. “Did you assure Uncle Frazier that I’m okay?”
Striker leaned back in the chair. “As best I could. He thinks you should move back home on his estate for a while.”
She looked intently at him. “And what do you think?”
“Not my decision to make,” he said, knowing how true that was. Her uncles, one known to her and the other unknown, would battle it out and decide. Striker knew from talking to Roland that he didn’t agree with Frazier’s suggestion. Striker agreed with Roland. Although Striker understood Frazier’s concerns, the man needed to let Roland and his men do their job.
Striker tapped his fingers on the table a few times before asking her, “Do you want to go live on your uncle’s estate?” He’d asked her that same question before and she’d been adamant she did not. He wondered if the recent series of events had given her a reason to change her mind.
“No. I’d rather stay here. I have work to do.”
While he appreciated her efforts to keep as much normalcy in her life as possible, there was something she needed to understand. “If things get too risky for us to remain here, Margo, we will leave. And if that time comes, I hope you’ll agree to put your life ahead of some wedding gown you were hired to make.”
When she didn’t say anything but merely took another sip of her wine, he felt the need to push the issue. When and if the time came, the last thing he’d put up with was any drama. “Margo,” he said in a tone that conveyed that he expected her response.
“Alright, alright, enough already,” she said with lips he noticed were trembling with anger. But he knew that anger was directed not at him but at the situation. It was ludicrous. He would agree with that. It was insane that the authorities had led everyone to believe they were safe after making that arrest. Someone’s head was going to roll over such a monumental screwup.
Margo stood and began pacing. Just like he understood her anger, he also understood her frustration. Of course she would have known the female juror since they’d been sequestered together for six weeks. From what he’d heard, she’d been shot down while leaving the grocery store. How had the assassin known where the woman was? Had he been watching her? Security cameras around the store had revealed nothing. The workers and other customers hadn’t noticed anything either, until they’d heard the shots fired. The assassin’s new weapon was a high-powered rifle. Would he use the same gun from here on out?
Once Striker had gotten word of what had gone down, he had driven Margo home in record time. It was only when she was safe inside that he’d told her the identity of the female juror who’d been gunned down. Visibly shaken, Margo had crumbled in a heap on her sofa. It had taken everything within him not to go to her, pull her trembling body into his arms and hold her, comfort her and assure her that everything would be alright.
He drew in a deep sigh, knowing he couldn’t go there and it wasn’t even wise to think it. The shit had just gotten real for both of them. Deep down, a part of him had hoped the authorities had arrested the right guy. If they had, his time with Margo would soon be over. As much as he’d dismissed the idea earlier, he had thought more than once of possibly continuing a relationship with her after this. But these two recent hits had been a mental wake-up call for him. They had to get away from the personal and back to the professional. In order to do his job effectively, he had to reinstate the client–protector relationship they’d had before.