Margo’s stunned gasp filled the room, echoed off the walls. She threw her hand to her throat in disbelief and shock. “Oh my God! He raped your sister?”
Pain from years ago resurfaced, began surrounding Striker in a degree of agony he hadn’t felt in some time. “I don’t have a sister. It was my baby brother. Wade was thirteen and the bastard raped him.”
THROUGH THE FOG of her traumatized mind, Margo was aware of Striker gathering the plates from the table before walking into the kitchen. She sat there in a daze. Totally stunned. Horrified beyond belief.
A police officer had raped Striker’s thirteen-year-old brother and Striker had killed him. Needing more answers and hoping he would give them to her, she slowly stood and strode after him.
Margo found Striker putting the dishes in the sink. She stood in the doorway not saying anything but watching him. She knew she’d lived a pampered life with private schools, a household full of servants and chauffeurs to take her wherever she wanted to go. But she had a feeling Striker and his family hadn’t had such luxuries. She could only wonder about his childhood. His teen years. His life before he’d been sent to prison and the life he had now.
He was moving around the kitchen as if he hadn’t unloaded all of that on her just moments ago. But he had. And then he had left the room. Was she supposed to act like he hadn’t told her anything? Fat chance of that happening. The enormity of what he’d shared with her had her head spinning. She might have lived a sheltered life, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t recognize an injustice when she heard one.
After a minute he sensed her presence and glanced over at her. The expression on his face all but told her he wouldn’t be entertaining any more of her questions. But hadn’t her uncle always said that she didn’t know when to stop being a nuisance even when it was for her own good?
She nervously bit her lower lip and then asked, “If the cop did that to your brother, then why were you sent to prison?”
He continued to stare at her, and then, as if he knew she wouldn’t let up until he answered, he said, “Because the law felt I should not have taken matters into my own hands. I should have called the authorities.” He chuckled derisively. “Yeah, right, go to the cops. Honestly? Like another cop would go against one of their own. I got fifteen years instead of life, so I guess I should be grateful. Especially since I only had to do seven of those years.”
She nodded. “And your brother? Wade?”
Striker broke eye contact with Margo. He should have known that particular question was coming. Didn’t she know when enough was enough? But it was his fault for even answering any of her questions and for telling her anything about his past life in the first place. Why had he felt the need to unload? To cleanse his soul? And with her, of all people? He’d told himself he hadn’t wanted her to be afraid of him. Afraid that he was a mass murderer or something.
“Striker?”
And why did it do something to him whenever she said his name? That didn’t make sense. He hadn’t known her, hadn’t even heard of her, until today. Yet Margo Connelly was getting under his skin. Why? It wasn’t like he lacked female company. Far from it. Hell, he had been in Deidra McClure’s bed when he’d received that call from Roland to come to the hospital. Deidra was like every other woman he’d messed around with before; the only thing between them was sex.
He turned and tried concentrating on Margo’s face and not her body. She looked so damn feminine standing there even when she was obviously upset. Upset on his behalf. That very thought was why he finally said in a firm voice, “Make this your last question, Margo. After this don’t ask me anything else about my life—past, present or future.” He paused for a moment and then asked, “Now, what do you want to know about Wade?”
She nervously licked her lips again and the gesture made his stomach clench. “How is Wade? I know what happened was years ago, but how is he now?”
Taking a calming breath, he tried dismissing the pain he always felt whenever he thought of Wade...no matter how much time had passed. “Wade was the defense’s star witness. It took a lot for him to get on the stand. His testimony about what that bastard did to him is why I got a lesser sentence. But Wade was just a kid and he needed extensive counseling after what happened to him. Unfortunately, there was no one there to make sure he got it.”
Striker paused a moment and then said, “The day before I was to be transferred to Glenworth Penitentiary, I got word that Wade committed suicide by hanging himself. Mom found him when she went into his bedroom to wake him up for school. It was the day before his fourteenth birthday.”
There. Now he’d told her all the gory details about his family. Well, not all of them. She didn’t need to know that his mom died a year later. With one son in jail and the other one dead, she’d gotten depressed and refused to eat and take her blood pressure medication. In the end, hypertension had done her in at the age of forty.
Glancing over at Margo, he saw her expression had gone from shock to empathy. Hell, the last thing he wanted was to start a pity party. He didn’t need her or anyone’s sympathy. Although the first couple of years in prison had been the hardest, he had survived. While locked up behind bars, he had met Sheppard Granger.
Shep, as the other inmates called him, was a lot older than most of them and was serving time for murdering his wife. It didn’t take long for anyone who hung around Shep to know just what sort of man he was: a natural-born leader—a positive one. Before being sent to prison he was the CEO of a major corporation, Granger Aeronautics. While in prison Shep had become a father figure for most of the younger inmates, a mentor and confidant. He gained the respect and admiration of many. Instead of being resentful for being locked up for a crime he didn’t commit, Shep used his time in prison to the inmates’ advantage by implementing such programs as Toastmasters, Leaders of Tomorrow and both the GED and college programs. Because of Shep, Striker’s life had changed forever. Shep’s encouragement had given Striker a reason to become a better person in spite of all that he’d lost.
The back door opened and Bruce and Bobby walked in. “Everything’s all set,” Bobby said, smiling. “I installed motion lights around the front and back of the house.”
“And you’ll get a signal on your phone as well,” Bruce added. “So you won’t be caught off guard. I understand that Stonewall and the others are also monitoring the property from the office. And I took care of everything else you requested in here.”
He nodded, giving Bruce the eye not to go into more detail. “Good. I’ll see you guys out.”
Leaving Margo in the kitchen, he walked Bobby and Bruce to the door. He glanced to where she stood and could see her staring at them. He kept his eyes on her as he locked the front door behind the men and proceeded to set the alarm.
“What are those other things you requested Bruce take care of?”
He held up his hand. “Please, no more questions. You’ve asked too many already.” And I’ve told you more than I should have.
She placed her hands on her hips. “I have a right to know.”
Striker rolled his eyes. They were back to that again, were they? “Listen, Margo,” he said in a voice that indicated he’d all but lost his patience with her. “Instead of asking questions of any real significance pertaining to your situation, your questions involved getting into my business. Your nosiness cost you and I’m not answering any more of your questions.”
Satisfied, he saw her anger escalating. An outraged Margo he could deal with. A compassionate one he could not. “And I need your schedule for tomorrow. I know about your appointment at ten with Claudine. What else is there?”
She narrowed her gaze. “No more questions, Striker. You’ve asked too many of them already,” she echoed. And then she strutted