Forged In Desire. Brenda JacksonЧитать онлайн книгу.
she was wrong.
Deciding it was time she knew that, he went after her.
* * *
MARGO JERKED AROUND when her workroom door flew open. Striker stood there with a fierce frown on his face, his arms across his chest and his legs braced. He was mad. So what? That was his problem and not hers.
“You have an issue with knocking?” She figured her words infuriated him even more, and from his expression, she saw they had.
“You stormed off like a child,” he snapped.
“Because you thought you could treat me like one,” she snapped back. “Do I look like a child to you?”
His eyes slowly moved over her and she felt heat flare in every inch of her body. “Well, do I?” she all but yelled, thinking he had inspected her enough. Her heart was thumping so hard that she could actually hear it.
“No. There’s nothing about you that resembles a child, but you’re certainly acting like one.”
Margo refused to go tit for tat with this man. If he wanted to throw his weight around, fine. She would simply ignore him. Sitting down to her desk, she focused on her computer screen.
Seconds ticked by and, out of the corner of her eye, she saw him watching her. She refused to look over at him for fear she would be tempted to check him out the way he’d checked her out moments ago.
“Stay away from the window.”
She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a response.
“And I still need your schedule for tomorrow.”
She’d lifted her head to tell him once again she didn’t intend to give him anything when her cell phone rang. She looked at it for a second.
“Do you recognize the caller, Margo?”
It was a local number. “No. But it could be a potential client.”
“Do potential clients have your cell phone number?”
Now that he’d asked, she shook her head.
He nodded. “Go ahead and answer it,” he said, pulling his own phone out of his pocket and speed-dialing a number.
Drawing in a deep breath, she clicked on her phone. “Yes?”
She heard someone breathing, but no one said anything. “Hello,” she said.
When the person still didn’t say anything, she looked over at Striker, who silently mouthed for her to hang up. A chill ran through her as she did so. “Wrong number, you think?” she asked.
“Possibly,” he said, checking the caller’s number on his cell phone.
Margo didn’t think Striker sounded convincing. “So who do you think it was?”
Before Striker could answer her question, his cell phone went off. “Yes, Stonewall?”
Margo wondered if that was the man’s real name or a code name or nickname, like Striker.
“Okay. Thanks.” He then clicked off the phone.
“Well?”
He glanced over at her. “Well, I’ll leave you alone to do what you came in here to do. Remember not to go near the window.” He closed the door behind him.
Striker walked over to the sofa and sat down. With his gaze holding steady on the closed workroom door, he speed-dialed Stonewall’s number. “Did you trace where the call came from?”
“Yes. It came from one of those prepaid phones. And the caller was at the Leesburg Mall.”
“And the name of the person who purchased the phone?”
“Not sure we’ll be able to narrow that down since the phone was a burner, paid for with cash. But we’re still checking things out anyway. Don’t be surprised if it was a wrong number.”
Striker drew in a deep breath. “Might have been, but for some reason, I don’t think so. Although we could hear the person breathing on the other end, they didn’t say anything.”
“Could have been they were surprised to hear her voice since she was not the person they were calling. Not everyone has manners enough to apologize when they misdial a number.”
Striker knew that was true, but there was something about the call that bothered him. The caller had held on too long for a miscall. “Still, let me know what you find out.”
“I will. I understand Margo Connelly is a beauty.”
Striker didn’t have to wonder where Stonewall had gotten his information. When Bobby had seen Margo he had smiled all over himself. “She is that,” he said, knowing Stonewall had been waiting for him to state his own opinion. “And she’s Roland’s niece.”
Stonewall chuckled. “Are you reminding me or yourself of that?”
Striker frowned. There was no way he could forget. “I thought I’d remind you just in case.” He knew Stonewall could appreciate a beautiful woman just as much as any man.
“Don’t worry, I won’t forget. Besides, I’m still trying to get a date with Joy.”
Striker shook his head. He’d been with Stonewall at that charity event the night Stonewall and Detective Joy Ingram had met. He had picked up on all that sexual chemistry between the two. But he just couldn’t imagine his friend dating a cop. “Good luck with that.”
“GOOD MORNING, STRIKER.”
Striker raised a brow. He’d timed it so he was standing on the landing the moment Margo walked out of her bedroom. Was her greeting, which she had delivered with a smile, an indication that her attitude from yesterday had improved? “What has you in a good mood?”
She proceeded down the stairs ahead of him. When she reached the bottom stair, she said over her shoulder, “I’m always in a good mood when I start work for a new client.”
So that’s what has her all smiles? “I guess that means for you ten o’clock can’t get here fast enough,” he said, following her into the kitchen.
“You’re right. And it also means we need to talk,” she said, moving to the counter to start the coffee.
“About what? And, by the way, I ordered breakfast.”
She turned to him, surprised. “What do you mean you ordered breakfast?”
“First, what do we need to talk about?”
Margo’s frown indicated her annoyance. “I like cooking my own breakfast whenever I’m in the mood to eat breakfast, which isn’t every day. Only when I’m hungry. This morning I’m not.”
He nodded. “Well, I prefer not cooking my own, and I’m in the mood to eat breakfast every day. I happened to be hungry this morning, so if you’re not, I’ll eat yours.”
She scowled before turning back to the coffeepot, and Striker wondered what had happened to that better-than-yesterday attitude she had earlier. Was it something he said? Surely she wouldn’t get upset because he’d ordered breakfast.
She turned back, glowering at him. “How do you know what I’d want for breakfast? For all you know, I might be a cereal girl.”
“Are you? A cereal girl?”
“Sometimes.”
“To each his own. I am not a cereal guy and ordered a little bit of everything. Eggs, sausage, bacon, pancakes, grits and biscuits.”
“All of that?”
“Like I said, I’m not into cereal. So, what do you want to talk about?”
Margo