A friend who owned this prop job owed him a favor and Striker had called in his marker. He’d also taken the time to phone an associate who was already digging into Randi’s past. Eric Brown was ex-military, and had spent some time with the FBI before recently going out on his own. While Striker was watching Randi, Brown would track down the truth like a bloodhound on the trail of a wounded buck. It was just a matter of time. Staring out the window at the thick clouds, listening to the steady rumble of the engines, Striker thought about Randi McCafferty. Beautiful. Smart. Sexy as hell. Who would want her dead? And why? Because of the kid? Nah…that didn’t wash. The book she’d been writing? Or something else, some other secret she’d kept from her brothers. She was an intriguing, sharp-tongued woman with fire in her brown eyes and a lightning-quick sense of humor that kept even her three half brothers at bay. True, Thorne, Matt and Slade could have held a grudge. All three of them had ended up sharing half the ranch while she, John McCafferty’s only daughter, had inherited the other half.
