“What?”
“When the female decoy arrived at the appointed place to meet Siskin, she was grabbed as soon as she got out of her car and shoved into another vehicle, one driven by Siskin’s accomplice.”
“He had someone working with him?”
“Yes. Two others. One shoved your double in and the other one did the driving.”
“Please tell me one was Scott.”
“No, it wasn’t him. Neither the man who abducted the decoy nor the driver of the vehicle had any idea the woman wasn’t you, and they told her everything, bragging about the fact that there really wasn’t a sex tape and laughing at her and calling her stupid for believing Siskin’s lie. It seems the plan all along was to kidnap you for ransom.”
“Kidnap?”
“Yes. They delivered the policewoman to Siskin, who was just as clueless that the police officer wasn’t you. By the time the decoy admitted to being a cop, law enforcement had surrounded the place. Siskin and his accomplices surrendered without a fight.”
“So it’s over?” she asked, sounding relieved.
“Yes. Siskin and the other men were arrested, and someone from NYPD has picked up Scott for questioning. Siskin claims the kidnapping was Scott’s idea. If it was, then Dylan is in a lot of trouble.”
At that moment Margo’s phone rang, and he saw the caller was Claudine. “I need to answer this, Striker.”
“Why?”
“I’ve been expecting a call from her. She was supposed to decide on the type of material she wanted for the lining of her wedding gown.”
“Fine, but don’t let her know where you are.”
Margo nodded while clicking on the phone. “Claudine?”
“Margo, hi!” Claudine said in an excited voice. “I found the perfect material. Would it be okay for me to drop by later today to show you the sample?”
Margo glanced over at Striker, who was listening to her call. “I’m out of town now, Claudine.”
“Oh.” She heard the disappointment in the woman’s voice. “When will you be back?”
Margo nibbled on her bottom lip as she said, “Hopefully in a week or two.”
“Hopefully? Don’t you know? Will my gown be finished in time for my wedding? Will you—”
“Your dress will be finished in time. I have until September, Claudine.”
“I know that, but I don’t want a rushed job done on my gown,” Claudine snapped. “My wedding day will be all about me, and I want to be the most beautiful bride everyone has ever seen.”
Margo rolled her eyes. “And you will be. I got this, trust me.” Even while saying the words, she was hoping she was right. “I’ll contact you the minute I get back into town. I can’t wait to see the fabric you’ve found. Bet it will look beautiful beneath your lace,” she said as a way to smooth Claudine’s ruffled feathers.
“I think it will too,” Claudine said, her voice cheerful again. “Just call me so I can drop by when you return.”
“I will.”
Margo clicked off the call and Striker asked, “Are all brides-to-be that pushy?”
She smiled. “Some are worse. I have some who would like to come to my house, pull up a chair and watch me sew every stitch. Like Claudine said, it’s a day that’s all about the bride, and they want to look beautiful, not only for the groom but for everyone attending. All my gowns are meant to give a wow effect, and hers won’t be any different.”
He nodded and smiled. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk so I can ask you all those questions that I didn’t get around to last night.”
*
THE MAN HID his smile as he took in the crime scene, standing among other onlookers as if he was also curious. The uniformed officers were doing a good job holding people back while the detectives on scene worked to collect evidence. No doubt they were wondering how such a thing had happened and why.
Only he knew the answers since he was the one who’d pulled the trigger. Erickson had ordered the hit, thinking that eventually Officer Alyson Blackshear would be a loose end, one he was convinced couldn’t be trusted not to spill her guts. Seemed Erickson had been right. Blackshear had taken it upon herself to get rid of that psychic after becoming scared the psychic would eventually finger her.
When Erickson had found out about the attempt made on the psychic’s life, he’d been furious to the point that he’d ordered hits on two other informers who he thought were weak links like Blackshear. The man wasn’t sure what had gone on during Erickson’s meeting with that psychic, but for some reason, Erickson didn’t want anything to happen to the woman. It was as if he was scared of her for some reason.
The assassin shook his head at the absurdity of that idea since he knew Murphy Erickson wasn’t afraid of anyone. For whatever it was worth, the assassin had liked Blackshear and knew sooner or later they would have shared a bed. Too late now. He got paid to follow orders, not to ask questions. Erickson was running the show.
For now.
He’d heard a rumor that someone new was taking over Erickson’s territory. He’d gotten word that sinister plans were being made to make sure Erickson didn’t leave prison, and the last thing the assassin intended to do was get in the middle of some fucking turf war. All that shit might indeed be true, but for now he would continue to take orders from Erickson.
The assassin decided to move on. It wouldn’t be a good idea to hang around for too long. The cops would discover Blackshear had a connection to Erickson as soon as they saw she’d been killed with the same gun as the latest victims. Eventually they would figure out she’d been a traitor and they’d wonder why Erickson had turned on her.
As he walked to his car, the assassin knew he had two other informers to take care of. Three deaths within twenty-four hours should keep the cops and feds scrambling for a while. Then he could turn his attention back to his hit list. Next up was a woman by the name of Margo Connelly. He knew she had left the city. But little did Ms. Connelly know there was no place she could hide.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
MARGO COLLAPSED ON top of Striker’s chest. There was something to be said about sex in the morning. Being awakened by a man kissing all over your butt cheeks, followed by sensual licks up your spine, could definitely grow on you. And when that same man flipped you on your back, buried his head between your legs and proceeded to make you his breakfast, it was absolute heaven.
“Ready to shower?”
She glanced over at him with drooping eyes before burying her head under the pillow. He had to be kidding. She doubted if she could move an inch. She was exhausted with a capital E. On top of that, she hadn’t gotten much sleep last night. How many times had they made love? Too many to count but plenty to remember. Heated lust was not bad. In fact, it was something she was getting used to.
He pushed the pillow off her head. “I asked you a question, sweetheart. Are you ready to shower?”
Sweetheart? She felt a sudden tingle in her heart. He’d called her “sweetheart” last night as well. Usually, she didn’t let a man’s terms of endearment get to her, but Striker didn’t come across as a man who would use such sentiments lightly.
She glanced over at him. “I’ll pass for now. I could use at least one more hour of sleep. Maybe two,” she mumbled groggily.
“Okay. I’ll do a few exercises, shower and make some calls. Maybe by then you’ll be ready to play again.”
Play again? She knew exactly what kind of playing he had in mind. The man had more stamina than anyone she knew. After the last time, she needed to get her second wind. “Maybe.”
She heard him chuckle as he walked out the room. She drew the pillow back over her head. Let him laugh, she thought. She didn’t care. Right now all she wanted to do was sleep.
*