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.”
CHAPTER SIX
“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 was trying to keep her cool with Striker. She had told herself upon waking this morning that she intended to be polite and try not to cause problems. Especially after what he’d shared with her yesterday about why he’d been sent to prison. She couldn’t help but admire his overall attitude after what he’d gone through. Had it been her, she would still be bitter or, at the very least, still carrying a chip on her shoulder.
And then there was that call last night that had rattled her, set her nerves on edge and made her wonder if she was the assassin’s next target. Four people had been killed already, one of whom she had spent six weeks with. And now he was gone. Dead.
Fingers snapped in her face and she jumped. “Stop doing that!”
“Then stop zoning out on me. Are you okay?”
She glared up at him. “Of course I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?”
He shrugged strong shoulders. “No reason. Did you sleep well last night?”
“Yes,” she lied. She had tossed around a lot and it had taken her longer to get to sleep than usual. “What about you, Striker. Did you sleep well?” She poured a cup of coffee and poured one for him as well.
“Thanks—and, yes, I slept well.” Striker knew she wasn’t aware that Bruce had installed devices not only in her bedroom but in every room, which picked up every sound, movement or conversation. Striker’s concern for her well-being and the high level of security this job required made this level of personal surveillance necessary.
Striker had heard her showering and getting dressed for bed. He’d even lain in bed in the guest room and listened to her breathing when she slept. Although she claimed she slept well, he knew she had not. He’d known each and every time she’d tossed and turned, fluffed one of her pillows. That led him back to what he’d asked earlier. “What do we need to talk about, Margo?”
She sat down at the table and sipped her coffee as she looked at him over the rim of her cup. “You.”
“What about me?” Striker had a feeling he wouldn’t like whatever she was about to say.
“I need you to disappear when my client arrives.”
“Disappear?” Had he heard her right?
“Yes. The last thing I want is for anyone to know I have someone following me around and—”
“Protecting you.”
Margo blew out a breath in frustration. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate you protecting me, but I’m running a business. The last thing I want is for Claudine to think she’s not safe here.”
“For all intents and purposes, she may not be. And just how am I supposed to disappear?”