Randi stared at him. He was trying to use her own words against her. How could he talk about those people whose lives he’d help to end as nothing more than a means to an end? She wondered how one man could be so evil. The aura surrounding him was vile and full of dark forces. She could barely stand to be in the same room with him.
When had it all begun for him? Had it been when his mother’s live-in lover had sexually molested him at ten? Or when his mother had whored him out as a teen whenever she needed a fix? Both scenes flashed in Randi’s mind. She had to get past his upbringing since it was clouding the present.
“Why kill them? They didn’t do anything to you.”
Her words, as she’d known they would, put him on the defensive. “They did do something to me. I don’t care if some of them were no more than spectators in the courtroom. They were there to witness what they thought was my downfall. So I’m making sure it’s theirs.”
“Sounds so sinister.”
“Call it what you like.”
“You have inside help and they will be dealt with. You’re not working alone.”
A sudden thought of approval came into his mind, as if he was proud of the way he had pulled everything together, outsmarting both the FBI and local law enforcement. He would probably shield his mind if he knew just how easy he was to read. Normally, she would rely on the murdered victims to help her tune in psychically to their killers. In this case, she would use the one who masterminded these particular killings. She would tap into Erickson’s thoughts to determine how he’d put such an elaborate scheme together.
“I know what you’re doing,” he said, leaning back in the chair.
“And what exactly am I doing?”
“Trying to engage me in conversation, hoping that I’ll slip and tell you something.”
Randi smiled. “No, actually that’s not how I operate. I’m hoping your mind is trying so hard not to tell me anything that it does anyway. Telepathy, so to speak. But then, you don’t believe in all that mumbo jumbo.”
He was silent for a minute and then said, “I’m through talking to you.”
She had begun to rattle him. “Why? Are you afraid your mind might tell me about Wally Forbes? Or Mack Foster?”
His eyes widened. “How do you know about...?”
He stopped speaking, so she finished for him. “Those men from your past? Men who once deceived you? The very first men you ever ordered hits on? And the fact that you’re using the same man to carry out the hits now?”
Erickson stared at her. “You read some damn report on me. That’s how you got those names.”
Denial was expected. “You think so? Think back, Mr. Erickson. Your name was never linked to their assassinations. You covered your tracks well.”
“Then you’re guessing.”
“Am I?” When she mentioned him covering his tracks, something flashed in his mind. He was beginning to doubt himself.
“Stop! Stop this foolishness or you will die!” he yelled, coming to his feet.
“You better hope not. I just got a glimpse into something you probably need to know. You will die before I do.”
She’d said it so matter-of-factly that Erickson paused a moment. “I don’t believe you.”
“Are you willing to take a chance on your life?”
He straightened his shoulders. “I’m getting out of here.”
Images began flowing through Randi’s mind. He was trying to block them but couldn’t.
“I’m leaving. Like I said, I’m not telling you anything.”
He went to the door, banged on it a few times, and when it opened, several armed guards stood there, ready to handcuff him and return him to his cell.
Randi stared at the door. He might not think he’d told her anything, when, in essence, he had revealed so much.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
MARGO GLANCED OVER at Striker. “Where are we going?” They had left her house and were heading to heaven-knew-where. He hadn’t said, and from the delay in his response, he didn’t plan to either.
“The less you know the better.”
She sighed, closed her eyes and leaned back against the headrest. Her body still felt invigorated. Amazing. It had been close to five hours since they’d made love and every so often she would get the most delicious reminders. He no longer had to touch her to set her body on fire. He could look at her, say something to her in a particular tone and she would be immediately turned on. How was that possible? Her entire body was reacting in ways it never had before.
Giving in to temptation, she opened her eyes and looked at him again. His eyes were on the road. It was dark, so she didn’t bother trying to figure out their surroundings and location. She knew Striker had things under control.
Quasar had delivered dinner around eight that evening. And in a move she knew annoyed Striker, Quasar had stayed and eaten dinner with them. She found it almost amusing how Quasar spoke in codes that Striker clearly understood.
After dinner Quasar had left, only to return hours later with a cargo van. After they put Striker’s car in her garage, automatic timers had been placed on the light switches downstairs in her workroom and upstairs in one of the bedrooms. That way the lights would give the impression she was there.
In the dead of night they loaded up the van and, with Quasar behind the wheel, they had driven to an empty building where they had transferred the items from the van into an SUV. Now she and Striker were on the road alone. Already they had been driving for close to an hour.
Her phone rang. Thanks to Bruce Townsend, technology whiz, the GPS on her phone had been disabled to make sure her whereabouts could not be traced. It was her uncle. “Uncle Frazier?”
“Yes. I’m just calling to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine. We’re relocating.”
“Yes, I know.” Striker clicked off the phone, giving her a semblance of privacy, although he was privy to her side of the conversation.
Since her uncle didn’t ask where she was going, she had a feeling that he knew not to ask. She thought that now would be a good time to bring up the subject of Liz.
“I’m sorry about you and Liz, Uncle Frazier.”
“Don’t be. A few days ago Goldwyn overheard a phone conversation between Liz and a private investigator. Seems she was hiring one to dig up dirt on the family. Of course Goldwyn alerted me as to what was going on.”
Of course, Margo thought. Good old Goldwyn. He was more than just a butler. He’d been her uncle’s faithful confidant for years. That was why she’d never worried about Liz. She’d known that sooner or later Liz would mess up and her uncle would see the woman for who she truly was.
“Just what sort of dirt did Liz think she could dig up on our family?”
“I don’t know. She probably intended to use it as leverage if I never got around to proposing to her.”
“She would have tried blackmailing you into marriage?”
“I believe that was her plan.” He paused a moment and, as if he was through talking about Liz, then said, “I want you to promise me that you’ll stay safe.”
She smiled at Striker, whose eyes were on the road. “I’m being protected by the best.” When Striker turned and gave her an intense look, she couldn’t help noticing how the lines around his eyes were tight, as if he’d realized the depth of her faith and confidence in him. When he turned his attention back to the road, she said to her uncle, “I just hope everything is wrapped up soon. I have a wedding dress to complete.”
“I hope so too. But if it’s not as soon as you’d like, be patient and stay put until it’s safe for you to return.”
She talked to her uncle a few minutes more before ending the call.
“You and your uncle are close, aren’t you?” Striker asked her.
“We’ve had our moments, trust me. But I wouldn’t trade him for the world.”
“Did he ever visit you in New York?”
“Once or twice. He preferred us meeting somewhere warm like Florida or the islands. Uncle Frazier isn’t overly fond of cold weather and can barely tolerate Charlottesville’s winters.”
“So Scott never got a chance to meet him?”
She shook her head. “No. The one time Scott could have done so, he claimed he had dinner plans with a client.”
“He claimed? You didn’t believe him?”