“If what Weaver said on that tape is true, and I have little doubt that it’s not,” police chief Harkins said, “that means the assassin knows the whereabouts of every single person who was in that courtroom, and probably within a pretty accurate longitude and latitude. So, in essence, it doesn’t matter that people are in hiding since the assassin has the ability to track their locations.”
“Is there no way to get this substance off their hands, since it’s obvious that regular soap and water won’t work?” Jules asked, leaning against her desk.
“I’ve already made a call to our lab to find that out,” Felton said. “I told them this is urgent. We have close to ten people from the courthouse that day who agreed to the private protection we offered. They are at an undisclosed location and are depending on us to keep them alive.”
“Not to mention those who refused police protection,” Detective Ingram tacked on.
“We need to get word out immediately,” Harkins said, pulling out his phone. “Unfortunately, we don’t even know where some of those people are. Some went into hiding and we can’t contact them to tell them the assassin knows their location.”
“The group under police custody is okay for now, since the assassin knows nothing about the package sent to Ms. Sweet,” Dr. Randi Fuller said, grabbing everyone’s attention. “Right now, his main focus is another member of the jury. A woman. She went into hiding, not realizing the assassin can find her.”
Everyone had gotten quiet as they thought about what Dr. Fuller had said. It was Harkins who finally asked, “Do you know who she is, Dr. Fuller?”
Randi shook her head. “No, my mind can’t outright identify her, but from the flashes I’m getting, she’s hiding somewhere in a cabin in the mountains, somewhere near Shenandoah.”
“Aw, hell!” Dalton Granger’s outburst had everyone shifting their gazes to him.
“What’s wrong, Dalton?” Jules asked her husband.
“My brother Jace owns a cabin in the mountains near Shenandoah, and I understand he loaned it out to someone, a bodyguard who’s protecting a woman who was on the jury.”
“We need to know if it’s the same woman, Dalton,” Marcel said. “I assume she’s being protected by one of Roland’s men.” He’d gotten to know Roland Summers and several of his bodyguards last year when Jules’s and Dalton’s lives had been in danger.
Dalton pulled his phone out his jacket. “I’ll find out from Roland right away.”
Marcel chimed in with, “I thought Roland was recuperating from a gunshot wound.”
“He’s supposed to be recuperating. If he’s not at the office, then Stonewall will answer.”
A few moments later Dalton clicked off the phone. “According to Stonewall, the woman being protected is Margo Connelly, and Striker Jennings is her bodyguard. Stonewall will get word to Striker immediately.”
“Margo Connelly?” Harkins asked, frowning. He looked over at Detective Ingram. “Didn’t we foil an intended kidnapping of her just yesterday?”
“Yes, sir, we did.”
“Kidnapping?” Jules asked, looking at Detective Ingram.
“Yes, she’s the Connelly heiress,” Detective Ingram answered. “We were informed of a blackmail plot against her. We used one of our female officers as a double. Turns out the threat of blackmail was a decoy, and they really intended to kidnap her and hold her for ransom. The kidnappers snatched the undercover officer, and when they took her to a warehouse, we made our move. The three men are in jail and a possible fourth has been picked up in New York for questioning. They’ve been turned over to your agency, Felton.”
“Sounds like this Margo Connelly is pretty popular these days,” Felton said, shaking his head while thinking that maybe it was time for him to retire after all. He had suspected something was going on with Weaver but had figured the man was having marital problems or something. Boy, had he been wrong.
At that moment, Felton’s cell phone rang. Expletives followed, alerting everyone that the news Felton was getting wasn’t good. He clenched the phone while staring up at the ceiling. Then he barked into the phone, “Don’t move any bodies. I’m on my way. Don’t notify the press of anything yet, and there better not be another leak to them.”
“Bodies?” Detective Ingram couldn’t help asking.
Felton glanced over at her as he headed for the door. “Yes. Small is dead. Looks like the assassin got to him before we did. But the worse of it is that Erickson was found dead in his cell.”
“What?! What happened?” Harkins asked, incensed.
“Prison records show Small paid him a visit, claiming it was official business, and he had documents to prove it, which I’m pretty sure will turn out to be fake. I’m not releasing any information to the press until I get there and see what happened for myself.” Then Felton was out the door.
“We’ll start warning the jurors we can contact to stay on guard, even if they’re in hiding. The assassin knows where everyone is. But, based on Dr. Fuller’s vision, the number one priority is Margo Connelly. This could be our chance to stop the bastard red-handed. We need to get our men out to that cabin immediately,” Harkins said, heading for the door as well. “Detective Ingram, you and Dr. Fuller can come with me. We’ll take a police chopper to the cabin.”
*
“DAMMIT, STRIKER, PICK UP the phone,” Stonewall snarled angrily, while rubbing the top of his head. “Where the hell are you?”
“You still can’t reach him?”
Stonewall looked up to find both Roland and Quasar standing in the doorway. “No, and it’s not like Striker not to answer. I need to let him know about the tracker on Margo.”
“Come on. We’ll keep trying to reach him in the chopper,” Roland said.
“What chopper?”
“The one owned by Connelly Enterprises,” Roland said, strapping his gun and holster to his shoulder. “It will get us to the cabin quicker.”
Quasar looked at Roland as he strapped on his own gun and holster. “I guess it won’t do us any good to ask you to stay behind and let us handle things, will it?”
“No. Not when Striker’s and Margo’s lives are in danger,” Roland said, looking from Quasar to Stonewall. “And by the way, Frazier Connelly will be our pilot.”
Quasar and Stonewall exchanged looks with each other but otherwise said nothing as they followed Roland out the door.
*
STRIKER WAS CONVINCED Margo was trying to drain every ounce of strength from his body. She was only supposed to dry him off, but instead she’d taken things a hell of a lot further. She had tortured him with her hands and mouth, and he’d become putty in them both.
One thing was for certain—they’d spent more time taking care of each other’s sexual needs than showering. They’d stayed in the shower for over an hour making love. It had been one orgasm followed by another. Each one more powerful than the one before. The moment he had stepped out the shower to grab a towel, she’d taken it from him and proceeded to practically lick him all over.
When he hadn’t been able to take it anymore, he’d picked her up off her knees and carried her into the bedroom, dropping her in the center of the bed and joining her there, making love to her once again.
Striker knew he needed to screw his head back on, but the only thing he wanted to screw was her. Again. If that wasn’t fucked up, then what was? He glanced over at her, sprawled on the bed beside him as naked as he was. Never had any woman rocked his world like Margo was doing.
He looked at the clock on the nightstand and grimaced. It was eight o’clock at night already? That meant they’d spent the last two hours all into each other. Literally. “You are trouble, Margo Connelly. You do know that, right?”
She didn’t even try hiding her smile, which made her appear even sexier. He should hate it whenever she smiled like that because it always did something to him. Made him appreciative that he was the man getting it, and, damn, he got a tightening in his stomach whenever he did so.
“Only because you say so, Striker Jennings. Just keep in mind that before you came on the scene, my sexual experience was at an all-time low. I guess you can say I’m making up for lost time.”
“And trying to kill me in the process. We need to set some ground rules.”