Margo dropped her hands to her sides and sat back down at the table. “Fine. You all can join me and Striker for breakfast. I can’t speak for Striker, but I don’t mind sharing.”
“Sorry,” Striker said, taking the last bite of his sandwich. “I have nothing left. I was hungry.”
Margo tried not to smile about why he’d been hungry. And she was glad her uncle hadn’t pressed her about their back-and-forth banter.
“Eating breakfast kind of late, aren’t you?” her uncle observed as he and Roland joined her and Striker at the table.
Margo refused to look at Striker as she said something partly true. “I worked really late last night on the wedding gown I’m designing and wanted to sleep in this morning. I’m glad Striker didn’t have an issue with it.”
“I understand that for safety measures the FBI wants to round up everyone who was in the courtroom that day and move them to an undisclosed location under protective custody,” Roland said.
Margo nodded. “Why do I get the feeling that you don’t like that idea, Roland?”
“Because I don’t,” Roland responded in a tight voice. “Something might go wrong and it would benefit the assassin if it does.”
Margo arched a brow. “How so?”
Roland leaned back in his chair while meeting her gaze. “I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that this assassin isn’t working alone. I believe there’s a mole somewhere. In that case, the police and FBI are the last people I’d want to know the whereabouts of every person on the assassin’s hit list.”
Margo took a sip of her coffee and then said, “My uncle has this issue about trusting cops. It seems you do too.”
“That I do,” Roland said.
“Something the two of you have in common,” she said, looking from Roland to her uncle and then back to Roland. “So what do you suggest?”
Roland rubbed his face. “I agree we need to get you out of here and to some place where no one knows where you are.”
Margo nibbled on her bottom lip and then her gaze moved over to Striker. Although this was the first time she’d looked at him since the two men had sat down at the table, she knew he hadn’t taken his eyes off her. She had felt his gaze just like it had been a physical caress.
“What are your thoughts about this, Striker? Since you’re the one who’ll be protecting me.” There, she’d let everyone know she expected Striker to remain her protector.
He held her gaze long enough to convey he understood. “I agree with Roland’s plan, Margo.”
She nodded. There was no sense asking how long her life would be disrupted because no one knew. It could be for a few days or a few weeks. Hopefully, the authorities would do their job and capture the guy. The only good thing was that since Claudine’s wedding wasn’t until September, she didn’t have to worry about not finishing her gown right away. But it did mean she would have to work through the summer instead of taking the time off like she’d planned.
She glanced back at Roland. “And are you sure no one other than your people will know where I am?”
“Yes, I can say that with certainty. And I believe you won’t have to stay hidden long. The authorities will be working around the clock, following up on leads. I also understand that psychic investigator is back to help work the case. Maybe this time they will believe what she tells them.”
Margo drew in a deep breath. “Make the arrangements, and I’ll do what you suggest.”
“Alright,” Roland said, getting ready to stand.
“Wait,” she said quickly. “I’d like to discuss something with you and Uncle Frazier.” This should be a private conversation, but she had no problem with Striker hearing.
“What is it?” her uncle asked.
“Would one of you like to explain how you’re related?”
*
RANDI WALKED AROUND the crime scene as she tried to pick up any mental details. Something was different here; she could feel it but couldn’t decipher what that difference was. The coffee cup had been left behind like before, and the victim had been shot in the head. It had been an accurate shot with the same rifle used in the last two hits, according to Harkins.
“Do you want to read the report on the victim?”
She paused. For a minute she’d forgotten Detective Ingram was still with her. Randi shook her head. “No, I like putting the pieces of the puzzle together myself. He was young. Under thirty. Hadn’t been a reporter more than a couple of years. Got hired right out of college.”
From the expression on Detective Ingram’s face, Randi knew she’d pretty much given the detective all the facts on the victim without reading his profile. “All that info is correct.”
Randi nodded. “The really sad thing is that he wasn’t supposed to be at the courtroom that day.”
Detective Ingram raised a surprised brow. “He wasn’t?”
“No, and I bet that isn’t in the report.”
“Then why was he there?” Detective Ingram asked, clearly perplexed.
“Last-minute change. The reporter who should have covered the trial called in sick.”
“Oh. And was he? Really sick?”
Randi chuckled lightly. It seemed the detective assumed Randi’s psychic powers could tell her practically anything. “Now, that I don’t know, but if he was, then being sick saved his life.” She continued walking around a minute and then she suddenly stopped and closed her eyes.
“Is something wrong, Dr. Fuller?”
She opened her eyes. “No, nothing is wrong,” she lied. Yes, something is wrong. She could feel it but decided not to say anything at the moment. However, there were a few things she would share with the detective. “The killer is definitely a male. Right-handed. Loner. Already he’s preparing to kill again.”
“Think you’ll solve this before he does?”
Randi looked over at her. “I never solve crimes, Detective Ingram. I use my psychic abilities to assist you guys. I’m merely an investigative instrument.”
“I guess that’s one way of looking at it.”
“As far as I’m concerned, that’s the only way to look at it.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
IT WAS QUITE obvious Margo’s question had caught Roland and Frazier Connelly by surprise. Striker studied the two men, noticing how quiet the room had gotten. He wondered how she’d figured things out and couldn’t wait for her to tell them. He took a sip of his coffee, thinking things were about to get interesting.
“Uncle Frazier?” she asked, when no one said anything.
Connelly looked uncomfortable and loosened his tie. “Why would you think we’re related?”
Margo smirked. “So, now you want to convince me you’re not?” She switched her gaze to Roland. “Would someone tell me something?”
“How about answering my question, Margo? Why would you think we’re related?” Frazier asked her.
Margo shook her head as a stilted laugh escaped her lips. “Have the two of you ever stood side by side and looked into the mirror?” Her statement made the two men glance at each other. Striker also took a good look.
When they didn’t say anything, she said, “When Roland walked in the house with Quasar, he immediately reminded me of someone. And when I saw the two of you standing together I realized who it was. He favors Dad. And then I knew there was no way the two of you weren’t related.”
When the silence continued, she asked, “So what’s going on? Is there some family secret that I don’t know about?”
Frazier drew in a slow breath before he finally said, “I’m embarrassed to say you’re right.”
Striker could tell Connelly’s comment didn’t sit well with Roland. Taking offense, Roland turned to Frazier and snapped, “Don’t make me tell you what you can do with your damn embarrassment.”
Roland got up from the table, but Frazier said, “Please sit back down, Roland. You misunderstood what I meant. I wasn’t saying you were an embarrassment but that my treatment of you has been.”