Your brother? The dickhead?” Quasar asked with a snort.
“Yes,” Roland said, and it was obvious he was trying not to grin. “When he walked in here it shocked the hell out of me. Unlike Murdock, he never reached out to me, and I think he even resented Murdock for doing so.”
“So what the fuck was his reason for showing up here today?” Stonewall asked. “He’d heard you’d gotten shot and wanted to show some brotherly concern?” It was apparent by Stonewall’s tone he didn’t believe that was the case.
“Umm, let me guess,” Quasar then said languidly. “He had a change of heart, especially now that his niece’s life is in danger. Now he wants your help. I assume this is the same niece you want protected.”
“Yes, to both. He’d heard I’d gotten shot and claimed he was concerned. Although he’s not as much of a dickhead as before, I sensed a little resentment is still there. But not because I’m his father’s bastard. A part of me believes he’s gotten over that.”
“What, then?” Striker asked.
“I think he blames me for Murdock’s death. He didn’t come out and say that, but he did let me know he was aware of the money Murdock gave Becca to get me a new trial and that he has similar suspicions regarding the cause of their deaths. That’s why when he became his niece’s guardian, he sent her out of the country to attend an all-girls school with tight security in London for a few years. He didn’t bring her back to the States until after those bad cops were sent to jail.”
“So the reason he showed up today was because he thought sending you on a guilt trip would be the only way to get you to protect your niece?” Striker asked angrily. Although Roland had tried hiding it, Striker could clearly see the pain etched in his face whenever he spoke.
“Evidently. I guess it didn’t occur to him that making sure she is protected is something I’d want to do. I owe Murdock, although I don’t owe Frazier Connelly a damn thing.”
“Frazier Connelly?” Quasar said, sitting up straight in his chair. “The Frazier Connelly of Connelly Enterprises?”
“One and the same.”
Nobody said anything for a while. Then Striker asked, “Your niece—what’s her name?”
“Margo. Margo Connelly.”
“And she doesn’t know anything about you?” Stonewall asked. “Are you still the family’s well-kept secret?”
Roland nodded. “Frazier confirmed that today, and I prefer things to stay that way. If I could, I would protect her. I can’t, so I need one of you to do it for me. Hopefully, it won’t be long before the assassin that Erickson hired is apprehended.”
Striker eased out of his chair. Roland, of all people, knew that, in addition to working together, he, Quasar and Stonewall were the best of friends. They looked out for each other and watched each other’s backs. And if needed they would cover Roland’s back as well. Roland was more than just their employer—he was their close friend, mentor and the voice of reason, even when they really didn’t want one. “Stonewall is handling things at the office in your absence, and Quasar is already working a case. That leaves me. Don’t worry about a thing, Roland. I’ve got it covered. Consider it done.”
* * *
MARGO CONNELLY STARED up at her uncle. “A bodyguard? Do you really think that’s necessary, Uncle Frazier? I understand extra policemen are patrolling the streets.”
“That’s not good enough. Why should I trust a bunch of police officers?”
“Why shouldn’t you?” she countered, not for the first time wondering what her uncle had against cops. On more than one occasion he’d made that quite obvious.
“I have my reasons, but this isn’t about me—this is about you and your safety. I refuse to have you placed in any danger. What’s the big deal? You’ve had a bodyguard before.”
Yes, she’d had one before. Right after her parents’ deaths, when her uncle had become her guardian. He had shipped her off to London for three years. She’d reckoned he’d been trying to figure out what he, a devout bachelor, was to do with a ten-year-old. When she returned to the United States, Apollo remained her bodyguard. When she turned fourteen, she fought hard for a little personal freedom. But she’d always known the chauffeurs Uncle Frazier hired could do more than drive her to and from school. More than once she’d seen the guns they carried.
“Yes, but that was then and this is now, Uncle Frazier. I can look after myself.”
“Haven’t you been keeping up with the news?” he snapped. “Three people are dead. All three were in that courtroom with you. Erickson is making sure his threat is carried out.”
“And more than likely whoever is committing these murders will be caught before there can be another shooting. I understand the three were killed while they were away from home. I have enough paperwork to catch up on here for a while. I didn’t even leave my house today.”
“You don’t think a paid assassin will find you here? Alone? You either get on board with having a bodyguard or you move back home. It’s well secured there.”
Margo drew in a deep breath. Back home was the Connelly estate. Yes, it was secure, with its state-of-the-art surveillance system. While growing up, she’d thought of the ten-acre property, surrounded by a tall wrought-iron fence and cameras watching her every move, as a prison. Now she couldn’t stand the thought of staying there for any long period of time...especially if Liz was still in residence.
Her forty-five-year-old uncle had never married and claimed he had his reasons for never wanting to. But that didn’t keep him from occasionally having a live-in mistress under his roof. His most recent was Liz Tillman and, as far as Margo was concerned, the woman was a real work of art with the words gold digger written all over her. Margo knew her uncle was a smart man and would eventually figure that fact out for himself. But right now it seemed he was quite taken with Liz’s looks and body.
“It’s final. A bodyguard will be here around the clock to protect you until this madness is over.”
Margo didn’t say anything. She wondered if at any time it had crossed her uncle’s mind that they were at her house, not his, and she was no longer a child but a twenty-six-year-old woman. In a way, she knew she should appreciate his concern, but she refused to let anyone order her around.
He was wrong in assuming she hadn’t been keeping up with the news. Just because she was trying to maintain a level head didn’t mean a part of her wasn’t a little worried. She could still recall the threat Murphy Erickson had made in the courtroom that day. Each time she remembered it chills would go through her.
Her uncle walked over to the window and looked out. It had snowed earlier. He stood there for a long moment, just staring out at the snow. She’d known that taking on the responsibility of raising her after her parents’ deaths hadn’t been easy for him. Not that he had ever complained. He’d always been there for her, although at times, especially during her teen years, she’d thought he was a little too controlling.
“What are you thinking about, Uncle Frazier?” she asked, getting up and joining him at the window to look out as well. Light snow was expected in Charlottesville during the end of January, but the snow
