Chapter One
Striker Kozlowski was a dead man. He knew it the instant
he saw the top brass gathered in his C.O.'s office at the
Marine Corps headquarters in Quantico, Virginia. His buddy
Justice Wilder had warned him that one day he'd have to
answer for his hotshot ways. Apparently today was that
day.
None of Striker's thoughts showed as he saluted and stood
at attention.
"At ease," Commander Jenks said. "As you know, this is a
delicate situation, and while I can understand your
reluctance to proceed, the bottom line is that there's
only one thing to be done here."
"Agreed, sir," Striker said. "I'll apologize to the naval
officer."
"What naval officer?"
So this wasn't about his fight with a naval officer in a
bar last night? "Nothing, sir."
"As I was saying, we're all aware that you and your
grandfather weren't close. He made no bones about the fact
that he didn't approve of you being a Marine and he
informed every senator and every general he met of that
fact. I speak for us all when I say you have our
condolences."
"Thank you, sir." Condolences because he and his
grandfather hadn't gotten along for years, or because the
old man had never approved of Striker joining the Marine
Corps instead of his oil company?
"His sudden death must still be dealt with," Commander
Jenks added.
Striker went cold. His grandfather was dead? Not possible.
Not Hank King, the mega-millionaire Texas oilman who was
tougher than the walls of the Alamo and more stubborn than
a packload of mules. Gone. Striker had a hard time
wrapping his mind around that concept.
Somehow he'd always thought there would be time to sort
things out, to mend the fences that had been broken when
Striker had followed in his father's footsteps instead of
falling into line by joining his maternal grand-father's
oil business.
Striker had been trained well by the Marines, so his
expression remained impassive as his emotions shut down
and he went on autopilot.
The office door opened. "Ms. Kate Bradley, sir," the
gunnery sergeant announced.
A female civilian rushed into the room on a cloud of
expensive perfume. "I'm sorry I'm late, gentlemen," she
said.
Striker recognized her type immediately. She was a ritzy
blonde with high cheekbones and an elegant way about her.
Her silky hair was drawn away from her face into some kind
of intricate knot. The business suit she wore only hinted
at the lush body beneath it. He was no expert on women's
footwear, but he was willing to bet that the shoes she
wore were Italian and probably cost more than he made in a
month.
She radiated class. She also radiated sex appeal. And she
was looking at him with disapproval even though he had yet
to say a word. "I've been trying to get in touch with you
since yesterday," Kate said, her cultured voice running
over him like silk, "but you didn't return my calls."
"I apologize, ma'am." He said the words but he didn't mean
them. "You never said what your call was in regard to."
"I assumed you'd already told Striker about his
grandfather's passing," Commander Jenks said, clearly not
pleased at this glitch in the game plan and holding Kate
responsible for that fact.
She didn't even squirm, holding her ground as only those
born and bred to wealth can. "As I said, I wasn't able to
reach him."
"Let's cut to the bottom line here," Commander Jenks
said. "Striker, your grandfather left an unusual codicil
in his will regarding you."
"Sir, my grandfather disowned me years ago," Striker said.
"No, he didn't," Kate said. "He may have talked about
doing that, but it was all bluster." Dropping onto a
chair, she balanced her slim leather briefcase on her lap
before opening it and removing a sheaf of papers.
"I've come here today as his attorney and the executor of
his will. His wish is that you come to Texas and run King
Oil for a period of not less than two months."
"That dog's just not gonna hunt," Striker said,
deliberately using a Texas phrase. "I'm a Marine, ma'am,
not an oilman. I haven't had any contact with Hank King
since I was nineteen and joined the Marines. That's been
twelve years now. And even before that, we never had much
of a relationship given the fact that he never approved of
his only child, my mother, marrying a penniless nobody
Marine named Kozlowski."
"I tried to reach your mother to give her the news, but
there was no answer at the number I had for her."
"My parents are taking an extended vacation in a rented RV
out west," Striker replied. "I'll contact them on their
cell phone right after this meeting."
"I'm sorry for your loss," Kate said softly. "If it makes
it any easier for you, Hank died in his sleep. He wasn't
in any pain."
"As I said, I barely knew the man." Striker's voice was
remote.
"Be that as it may, the terms of the will are very clear.
You are to return to Texas with me and run King Oil for
two months."
Even saying the words "return to Texas" made Kate's
stomach feel fluttery. She was trying to stay calm, but
this meeting was much harder than she'd anticipated. When
she'd walked into the office on the Marine base and
realized that his commanding officer had broken the news
to Striker, she'd felt both guilt and relief.
Not that Striker looked upset or emotional. He looked
incredible but tough. The last time she'd seen him had
been the last time he'd visited Hank. Striker had always
been good-looking with his dark hair and green eyes, but
the nineteen-year-old boy had grown into a combat-hardened
man. There were lines on his face and shadows in his eyes
that only hinted at the hardships he'd seen.
He obviously didn't remember meeting her that summer he'd
worked on his grandfather's ranch so many years ago. But
she remembered him. He'd played a pivotal part in her
life, even though they'd barely met.
Closing her eyes, she was transported back in time to that
fateful summer, when she was seventeen and had often
ridden her Arabian horse Midnight over to the spring-fed
pond that bordered their ranch with Hank's. The first time
she'd seen Striker, he'd been stark naked, skinny-dipping
in the cool waters on a sultry day. She could still see
the droplets of water running down his muscular, tanned
body. She'd silently watched him walk into the water,
without making her presence known.
Not the proper behavior for a well-bred girl like herself.
Especially given the fact that she was going steady with
Ted at the time, and would become engaged to him a few
months later, on her eighteenth birthday.
Kate's sexual fantasies about Striker had started then,
and had only continued to increase that steamy summer.
She'd seen Striker several other times, often finding him
tossing hay in the barn wearing only well-washed jeans and
a sheen of sweat.
Her mouth went dry at the memory....
Oh, yes, Striker had made a huge impression on her
fanciful mind.
And now here she was, expected to return to Texas with
him.