“What!” Harkins said, and he was out of his seat in a flash and checking his phone. “We don’t know anything about another hit that has taken place. Are you sure?”
She nodded sadly. “Yes. I got a mental flash of another victim the minute I entered this room.” She didn’t tell them of the physical signs—the cold chills that had gone through her body or the fiery feel of the blood rushing through her veins. Not surprisingly, most of the people in the room looked at her with skepticism all over their faces. They still didn’t want to believe her. They didn’t understand how anyone could possess the psychic abilities that she did. If only they knew how hard she had fought against the powers that she’d inherited from her paternal grandmother.
At that moment both Special Agent Felton’s and Chief Harkins’s cell phones rang, and she could tell from the way the two men looked at her while they conversed that what she’d told them was being confirmed. Another person had been murdered.
Both men disconnected, and it was Harkins who spoke in an angry and disgusted voice to everyone in the room. “A news reporter who was in the courtroom that day just got shot down. He’s dead.”
He rubbed his face and then looked over at Randi. “You were right, Dr. Fuller. It seems the assassin struck again.”
“So what do you need from us?” Felton asked in an annoyed voice.
Randi stood. “The first thing I need is for someone to take me to the crime scene.”
A woman stepped forward and offered Randi her hand. “I’m Detective Joy Ingram, and I’ve been assigned to assist you any way I can.”
Randi took the woman’s hand, wondering about the strange vibes that suddenly passed through her. She forced a smile, deciding to analyze the strange aura later. “Thanks, Detective Ingram.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
MARGO WONDERED WHY Striker was so uptight about his boss arriving with Quasar. She could only assume the security firm had a no-fraternization policy. If they did, the last thing she wanted to do was get Striker in trouble, though what they’d done in the shower had been the kind of trouble she’d enjoyed. He definitely wasn’t out of the woods yet for spying on her. She would have to think of a way to make him pay. Her mind was suddenly filled with a number of ideas. All of them were simply scandalous and all of them made her smile.
“What’s that smile for?”
She glanced over at him as they entered the kitchen. “Want a list?” Before Striker could give her an answer, there was a knock at the back door. “Sounds like our food has arrived,” she said.
She stepped aside, watched as he drew his gun in case her assumption was wrong. “Who is it?” He barked out the question.
“Quasar and Roland.”
Striker moved toward the door and she knew to remain back until he’d verified their visitors. Once he had, he slid his gun back into the holster. Quasar walked in and he shot her a friendly smile, which she returned. “Good morning, Quasar.”
“Good morning, Margo.”
She then looked at the man with Quasar, presumably Roland Summers. He was handsome in a rugged sort of way and immediately reminded her of someone. There was something about the shape of his eyes and mouth.
Margo guessed he was in his late thirties or early forties. It was obvious he was the one in control, although Quasar and Striker seemed relaxed around him, making it quite obvious both men had a close working relationship with their boss.
Striker glanced over at her and said, “Margo, I’d like you to meet Roland Summers.”
Margo crossed the room. Was she imagining it or was he studying her with keen interest? There was nothing sexual about it, but it was as if he was trying to figure her out. She extended her hand. “Mr. Summers.”
He took it and smiled. “Ms. Connelly. And please call me Roland. I take it Striker is doing a good job keeping you safe.”
She smiled. “Yes. I have no complaints. He’s protecting me, and that’s what matters.”
At that moment Striker’s phone went off. Margo was beginning to recognize the specific ringtones and knew it was Stonewall. The intense look that suddenly appeared on his face drew her attention.
Margo’s heart began beating deep in her chest when he clicked off the line. “There’s been another shooting, hasn’t there?”
Her question got everyone’s attention. Margo’s heart almost stopped when a grim-faced Striker nodded. “A news reporter who was at the courthouse that day has been killed.”
*
WRAPPING AN ARM around Margo, Striker led her over to the kitchen table to sit down. “You okay?” he asked, concern lacing his words.
She patted his arm as if to assure him that she was. “Yes. I expected to hear what you said, but when you actually said it, I—”
“You looked like you were about to pass out.” He would have understood if she had. Something had to be done. Somebody needed to make Erickson talk, make him call off his goon even if it meant hanging him up by the balls to do it.
She glanced around. “Where are Roland and Quasar?”
“Probably in your workroom. I believe Roland got a call from your uncle.”
She threw up her hands in frustration. “That’s just great! No telling what Uncle Frazier is instructing him to do with me. He probably got the company jet fueled up and is ready to fly me heaven-knows-where.”
Striker came close to saying that might not be such a bad idea. “And what if he has taken those steps, Margo? Will you go?”
“Yes. Just as long as you’re protecting me.”
Striker drew in a deep breath. For the first time in his life, he felt he had a personal stake in the individual he was protecting. Deciding not to say anything, for fear of saying something he shouldn’t, he sat down across from her and reached for the bags Quasar had placed on the table earlier. “Come on, let’s eat. Our food is getting cold.”
“Okay.”
Breakfast looked good. After taking a sip of his coffee, he looked around the room to make sure Roland and Quasar weren’t nearby and then leaned over to say, “I’m starving. You nearly wore me out in that shower.”
A chuckle erupted from Margo. “I did not.”
“You did too.”
Smiling, she placed emphasis on each word. “I. Did. Not.”
He thought the smile on her face was priceless, and he wished it could stay forever and that she never had to worry again about a threat on her life.
“Hey, why not let us in on what you did or didn’t do.” Margo and Striker quickly turned to find Frazier Connelly standing beside Roland.
“Uncle Frazier! What are you doing here?” Margo said, getting up from the table to give her uncle a hug.
“I thought I was always welcome here.”
“You know what I mean. I didn’t hear the doorbell.”
“I didn’t use it. Roland was expecting me and met me at the front door.”
“Oh,” she said, glancing at Roland. Then she asked, “And where’s Quasar?”
“He left,” Roland said. “With all that’s happened, he might be needed back at the office.”
Frazier rubbed the back of his neck in agitation and then said, “We need to talk, Margo. This situation has gotten real.”
She looked taken aback by her uncle’s words. “I always thought it was real. You didn’t?”
He bristled at her question. “Yes, of course I did, but I assumed the authorities would have caught the person by now.”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, they haven’t.”
“That is why we need to come up with another plan for you. I don’t think remaining here in this house is a good idea, and Roland agrees with me.”
She looked past her uncle to Roland Summers and met his gaze. She knew her uncle’s ability to persuade people to his way of thinking...although that talent always failed when he tried it on her. For some reason, she believed it would fail on Roland as well. He didn’t come across as the type who would let her uncle—or anyone else, for that matter—sway him. If he agreed with her uncle, Roland must already be convinced.
She looked back at her uncle. “So what’s the plan?”
“Let’s sit down and talk.”