“He’s dead,” Quasar said. “Damn. It took both your knife and a bullet to bring him down. It’s a good thing you’re in great shape, Striker.”
At that moment, a throat was cleared and Striker glanced up into Frazier’s face. “You can release my niece now.”
Striker wondered if Frazier hadn’t noticed that Margo also had a tight grip on him. He looked at Margo when she placed a kiss at another bruise on his cheek and thought that even with smudges of soot on her face she looked so intrinsically sexy his entire body ached, which wasn’t good since it was in pain already.
There was no doubt in his mind that those standing nearest had figured out that his and Margo’s relationship was more than the bond between protector and client—something she evidently didn’t have a problem exposing by kissing his face. That was probably the reason Connelly was frowning.
“Margo, your uncle needs to see that you’re in one piece,” Striker decided to say.
She twisted around in his arms and smiled at her uncle. “I’m fine, Uncle Frazier.” And then, seeing Roland, she said, “And I’m fine, Uncle Roland.” The shocked look on Roland’s face was priceless, Striker thought. Margo, intentionally or not, had let out of the bag what had been a dark family secret for years.
“You need medical help,” Frazier said to his niece.
She shook her head. “Striker needs it more than I do.”
At that moment paramedics rushed forward, and Striker said, “We’ll both get checked out. How about that, Margo?”
“Okay.”
When Striker stood, she slid down his body and he quickly saw his T-shirt was rising up again. He practically wrapped her in the blanket.
“I’m fine, Striker. You’re the one who needs to be covered. You’re not wearing a shirt.”
He didn’t care about that, but he didn’t like the thought of anyone seeing her wearing just his T-shirt. He leaned in and whispered those very words.
A blush touched her cheeks and the only response she could give was “Oh. Okay.”
The moment the paramedics were finished looking them over—after adding drops to their eyes and making them breathe through some type of inhaler—the FBI and the police were there with questions. Striker allowed them to bandage the cut on his shoulder but refused stitches.
One of the paramedics had an extra jacket, which he let Striker use. That was a good thing since the temperature was steadily dropping. Law enforcement requested to take statements from Striker and Margo separately. Margo hesitated a second before being led away by a female FBI agent, Detective Ingram and some other woman.
*
“MS. CONNELLY, I’M SPECIAL AGENT Yvette Hines. To my right is Detective Joy Ingram and to my left is Dr. Randi Fuller.”
Margo glanced around at the women and shook hands with all three. For some reason, it was Dr. Fuller whom she found most intriguing. She’d thought the psychic would be someone a lot older—in her fifties at least. However, the woman standing before her couldn’t have been any older than she was. And Margo thought she was very attractive. In fact, all three women were, and she doubted the other two were even in their thirties.
“You’re young,” she said to Dr. Fuller, all but blurting it out.
Dr. Fuller didn’t seem offended. Instead she chuckled. “There’s not too much difference in our ages, but I’ve been doing this awhile. Even when I didn’t want to acknowledge I had the ability to do so.”
Margo wondered just how the woman knew her age and could only imagine how difficult it would be to live with psychic powers. “I’m surprised this place isn’t surrounded by news reporters,” she said.
“Only because they haven’t been told what has happened yet. Since you were a juror on a federal case, your name had to be kept anonymous. We can’t guarantee it will remain that way with reporters swarming around, which I’m sure they will be doing soon enough,” Special Agent Hines said. “Even if they didn’t get wind of your name, there’s no way your face won’t be plastered on the front page of tomorrow’s paper. We don’t want that to happen. We still intend to keep your identity anonymous. All the reporters need to know is that the assassin attempted to kill his next victim and that her bodyguard took him out.”
“My protector,” Margo corrected her, remembering the time Striker had set her straight.
“He was definitely that,” Hines said. “When we pulled up, he was running back inside for you. I honestly didn’t think the two of you would make it out alive. The entire house was engulfed in flames.”
“I held my breath the entire time until the two of you came out,” Detective Ingram tacked on. “And when Stonewall and Quasar Patterson ran into the building after Mr. Jennings, my heart nearly stopped beating.”
Margo took note that Detective Ingram had referred to Stonewall by his first name, which led her to believe the two of them knew each other well. “How did you know what was happening here? The assassin blocked the phones so no calls could come in or go out.”
“You can thank Dr. Fuller for knowing you were in danger,” Detective Ingram said. She then proceeded to tell Margo about the package FBI agent Weaver had delivered to a private investigator and how it exposed the fact that, without their knowledge, a tracking substance had been applied to the hands of everyone in the courtroom that day. That meant no one was safe from the assassin since he was aware of everyone’s location at all times. The mystery had been who he would target next.
“Although Dr. Fuller couldn’t identify you per se, she knew the assassin was headed to a cabin near the Shenandoah Mountains,” Detective Ingram added.
Margo turned to Dr. Fuller. “Thank you.”
Dr. Fuller smiled. “Glad I was able to help. And it was really a team effort. Once I identified the location of the cabin, law enforcement didn’t waste time getting here with the use of several choppers. One of those choppers, I understand, belongs to your uncle, and the others to the Charlottesville Police Department.”
“Now for those questions we need to ask you so we can return you to Mr. Jennings,” Special Agent Hines said, pulling out her notepad.
While Special Agent Hines was taking Margo’s statement, Dr. Randi Fuller got the feeling she was being watched. Looking around, she saw a man crouching low on the ground, dressed in all black. Earlier, she’d heard one of the men call him Quasar Patterson. He was absolutely, spellbindingly gorgeous. With an intensity that made her stomach clench, his gaze was focused directly on her. To get control of the influx of emotions flooding her, she broke eye contact with him to glance over to where several police officers were taping off the crime scene. Temptation got the best of her, and Randi couldn’t help but look back and found him still staring at her. She knew at that precise moment that the man staring at her was destined to be a part of her future.
That realization sent a shiver through her. She forced her gaze from his and tried to concentrate on the questions Special Agent Hines was asking Margo Connelly.
*
AN HOUR LATER, after law enforcement had finished their questions, three cars pulled up. Four men got out, and Striker recognized them. The Grangers. Sheppard Granger met Striker’s gaze and quickly walked toward him, followed by his sons, Jace, Caden and Dalton.
Sheppard didn’t stop until he was standing close to Striker and Margo, who had rejoined him after giving her statement. “You okay, Striker?”
Striker nodded. “Yes, Shep. I’m okay.”
Striker glanced at one of the men by Shep’s side. “Sorry about your cabin, Jace.”
Jace Granger shook his head. “Don’t be. The main thing is that the both of you are okay,” he said, switching his gaze to Margo and then returning it to Striker. “I can build another cabin, but you only have one life. Besides,” Jace said, as a smile touched his lips, “it was time I did something with the cabin to make it more childproof.”