Читать книгу Forged In Desire - Brenda Jackson - Страница 15

CHAPTER EIGHT

“HI, I’M CLAUDINE BERNARD and I have an appointment with Margo.”

“I know,” Striker said, looking at the young woman who stood on the doorstep with a perky smile on her face. “Come in. She’s expecting you,” he said, closing the door behind her.

Margo quickly materialized by his side. “Claudine, it’s good seeing you again.” And then she turned to him and smiled. “Thanks for opening the door for me.” To Claudine, she said, “I’d like you to meet my good friend Lamar.”

Striker fought back a frown when Margo deliberately introduced him as Lamar instead of Striker. He reached out and shook Claudine’s hand, ignoring the way the woman was looking at him. Margo might have introduced him as nothing more than a good friend, but he could clearly see the wheels turning in Claudine’s head.

“If you’ll follow me, Claudine, we can get started with those measurements.”

“Alright. It was nice meeting you, Lamar.”

“Same here.” He watched the women disappear into Margo’s workroom and close the door behind them. He couldn’t very well follow them in that room, not when Claudine would be undressing for measurements. But he could certainly make himself comfortable right here on the sofa where he had a good view of that door. He decided to use that time to call Stonewall.

His friend answered on the first ring. “What’s up?” Striker asked.

“Just need to bring you up to date on a few things. First, we still haven’t figured out who actually made that call last night. But we checked the phone records and it seems that Margo’s number is the only one that’s been made from that phone.”

“And when was the phone activated?” Striker asked.

“A couple of days after Erickson was sentenced.”

Striker rubbed the back of his neck. There had to be a connection. “Is there anything else I need to know?” he asked.

“One other thing. I understand the FBI has asked for the assistance of one of the nation’s top psychic investigators to work on the case.”

“A psychic?”

“Yes. They’re hoping the person they’re bringing in will be able to assist them in some way. Right now the authorities don’t have a clue about anything. It’s obvious they’re up against a professional who seems to be one step ahead of them. They don’t even know if they’re looking for a man or woman. So far they haven’t received any good leads.”

Striker nodded. There was no doubt in his mind, and, he suspected, in a lot of other minds as well, that Erickson had people on the inside who were on his payroll. Spies. Traitors. Collaborators. Each hit was too tidy and tight for there not to be. “Thanks for the updates. Need I ask how you know so much?”

“No.”

Striker chuckled. Although Stonewall and Detective Joy Ingram might not have gone on their first date yet, evidently they were talking. It was obvious she’d become his unofficial contact in the police department.

After ending the call with Stonewall, Striker glanced at Margo’s closed office door and thought about all the questions he’d asked her before Claudine arrived. Mainly about her relationship with Scott Dylan. The one question he’d wanted to ask but had known better was when she’d last had some hot, mind-blowing sex.

He shook his head, knowing he had no right to even wonder about such a thing. But his curiosity would get the best of him each and every time he looked at her body, especially her mouth. The woman was pure sex on legs.

Suddenly he realized he didn’t hear any sound or movement behind Margo’s closed office door. He quickly pulled out his phone and speed-dialed the number connected to the audio monitoring device Bruce had installed in each room. Striker relaxed when he picked up conversation. That meant everything was okay.

Striker was about to click off the phone when he heard his name mentioned. He raised a brow. Since he was the topic of their conversation, part of him felt he had every right to listen in. But, then again, he knew that he didn’t. Doing so would be invading their privacy and crossing a line. It took everything he had to deny his curiosity, but he clicked off the phone.

* * *

MARGO PUT ASIDE her sketch pad. Every gown she designed was unique, and Claudine had given her full details as to what she wanted. Margo had offered Claudine advice on the best types of fabric to use to get the most stunning effect. That was the part of Margo’s job she enjoyed the most, when she would pull out her pad to make sketches based on her clients’ wants and desires. They’d gone through a number of them before Claudine selected one they thought would flatter the woman’s curvy figure, especially with the alençon lace she wanted. The only thing they hadn’t decided on was the material to use for the lining. Claudine wanted additional time to look around before making a decision.

“He’s hot.”

Margo raised a brow. “Who?”

“Your Lamar. Who else?” Claudine asked, laughing.

My Lamar? Margo thought. Now, that was truly a laugh, although she could see how Claudine thought Striker was hot. But hers? Not hardly.

“How did the two of you meet?”

Margo hadn’t expected the question and knew she had to come up with an answer quick. She decided to go with how she and Scott had met. “At a party.”

“Have the two of you been seeing each other long?”

“No, only a few months.”

“I can see the two of you getting married one day.”

Married? It was a good thing she was already sitting. Otherwise, Margo was certain she would have fallen flat on her face. “Trust me. Getting married is not anything I want to do.”

“Oh.”

Margo hoped she hadn’t offended Claudine since it was obvious that getting married was something Claudine wanted to do. “What I meant is that marriage isn’t for everyone.”

“Yes, but I’m sure you’d feel differently if someone like my Stan came along. He is simply wonderful.”

So she’d heard. Plenty of times today, Margo thought. The woman had been singing Stan’s praises since she arrived. It was Stan this and Stan that. It was apparent Claudine thought her fiancé was the perfect man. “Yes, you’re probably right.”

“I know I am. When I met Stan, marriage was the last thing on my mind as well. I bet in another month or so, you’ll begin thinking of marriage.”

Don’t hold your breath for that to happen, Margo thought, but to Claudine she said, “Maybe.”

Claudine laughed again. “No maybe about it. I have a feeling I’ll be hearing about your wedding by the end of the year. This is February, so you have ten months to work on him.”

It was apparent to Margo that Claudine was a romantic. Margo didn’t want to burst the woman’s bubble. Although she couldn’t speak for Striker, she could definitely speak for herself—she didn’t have a romantic bone in her body. At least that was what her boyfriend in college had claimed. Brock Ford had been the romantic one and loved watching television while holding her hand. And he would often text her sappy romantic messages during the day. She had fancied herself in love with Brock until she’d discovered his true reason for romancing her. He’d found out about her family’s wealth and decided marrying her would assure him part of that wealth. That was the main reason she’d never divulged anything about her family’s wealth to Scott.

Now she was back in Charlottesville and focusing on doing the things that made her happy. And she was determined never to forget the lessons she’d learned from both Brock and Scott. They were different but life-learning lessons just the same. She had dated a few times since returning home. Most of the men she considered nothing more than friends who were her escorts to various charity events for the Connelly Foundation. The last thing she wanted right now in her life was any serious involvement. She refused to ever get tangled up with a man who wanted her money or thought she wanted his. Until she met someone who truly knew the meaning of love and commitment, she’d rather not bother. If Claudine thought her Stan was such a man, then Margo was happy for her.

“I need to run,” Claudine said, interrupting Margo’s thoughts as she stood. “I’m meeting Stan for lunch and I don’t want to be late. That’s the one thing he’s a stickler about—timeliness.”

“Okay, I’ll see you out,” Margo said, standing as well.

“How long will it take to make my gown?”

“If everything goes as planned, your dress will be ready in twelve weeks. Maybe sooner. I only take on one client at a time, so your gown will get my full attention.”

“That’s great. I’ve hired this photographer who wants to take a ton of photographs of me before the wedding. I’m glad my dress will be ready for him to do so.”

When they opened the door, Striker was standing right there. Margo frowned up at him. “Yes, Lamar?”

“I started a fire in the fireplace and was about to knock to see if you wanted me to order lunch.”

“Oh, how thoughtful of him. Eating in front of the fireplace is so romantic,” she heard Claudine whisper behind her.

Whatever. “Thanks for getting the fire started and, yes, ordering lunch now is fine. Claudine is leaving and I was about to see her out.”

“I can do that,” he quickly said, offering Claudine his arm. “I’m sure you want to finalize your notes from today’s meeting, Margo.”

Margo tried keeping the glare from her eyes when she said, “Yes, of course, Lamar. Thanks for being so thoughtful.” Turning to Claudine, she said, “You’ll call and let me know if you come across any material you see that you like for your lining?”

“Yes, most definitely.”

Margo then watched as Striker walked Claudine to the door.

* * *

“I’M GOING TO let you introducing me as Lamar slide.”

Margo glanced across the table at him as they ate lunch. “I assume that’s your name since it’s on your driver’s license. If you don’t like it, then change it.”

“Trust me. I would if I could.” He knew Margo was annoyed at him for how he’d handled Claudine. “You do know pouting won’t get you anywhere, don’t you?” he said, before taking a huge bite of his sandwich.

She narrowed her gaze. “You could have compromised my relationship with a client.”

“How?”

“You were wearing a gun.”

He rolled his eyes. “Since I was wearing my jacket, how was she supposed to know what I had underneath it...unless she copped a feel. Were you expecting her to do that?”

“Of course not.”

“Okay, then. You’re getting all worked up for nothing. You need to just chill.”

When she didn’t say anything, he shook his head. Getting up from the table, he stretched his body before tossing the trash into the garbage container. He then leaned a hip against the counter and watched her.

Striker let the silence stretch between them, knowing he wouldn’t have to wait too much longer. She jerked around and glared at him. “Just what are you staring at?”

“So, you can talk? For a minute there I thought that maybe you’d lost your voice.”

She clenched her teeth so hard he swore he could hear her doing so. Instead of their working relationship moving forward, it was going backward, real fast. “Look, Margo. Don’t you think at some point we need to reach an agreement to get along? You can’t keep fighting me at every turn. Whether you like me or not, whether you like the situation you’ve been placed in or not, I’m not going anywhere. My job is to protect you and I intend to do that, regardless of how you feel about it.”

“Fine. And you need to not be so unbending and show flexibility with some things. I’m aware of the danger I’m in, Striker, and I do appreciate you protecting me, but do you have to be so dogmatic?”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

Okay, maybe he was. He had given Roland his word to protect her and he took his promises seriously. “Alright, let’s agree on a truce,” he said. “I promise to try to be more flexible if you’ll stop resisting me all the time. Agreed?”

For a long moment their gazes held and then she said, “Yes, I agree. Considering everything, I know I need to be protected, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“You’re right. It doesn’t.” He didn’t say anything for a few moments and then added, “Trust me, Margo, I know exactly how it feels to get your freedom taken away.”

She frowned. “No. Don’t compare my situation with yours, Striker. What I’m going through is nothing compared to what you had to endure all those years. I can’t possibly imagine.”

She was right. She couldn’t. But neither would he lessen what she was dealing with. “So, from here on out, we’re good?”

“We’re good,” she said, standing and sliding her chair under the table.

Striker covered the distance separating them. “Let’s shake on it,” he said, offering her his hand.

She looked at his hand. “Shake on what?”

“On our truce.”

“Really? Is that necessary?”

Striker forced a smile to his lips. She was hesitating and a part of him knew why. He wasn’t made of stone and remembered what had happened the last time they shook hands. The moment their hands had touched yesterday, a pang of intense desire had shot through him. He’d felt it and had known she’d felt it as well. “I believe a person’s word is their bond, and we need to shake on it.”

“I said I agreed to a truce, Striker.”

“I know you did. But why are you against sealing the deal with a handshake?” He knew he was playing with fire, but he didn’t care. A part of him enjoyed pushing her buttons.

She lifted her chin. “I am not against it.”

“Then let’s do it.”

Narrowing her gaze at him, she took the hand he offered.