Seeing Love: Saints Protection & Investigations
Read Seeing Love: Saints Protection & Investigations Online
Authors: Maryann Jordan
Tags: #Fiction, #Romance
Saints Protection & Investigations Series
By
Maryann Jordan
Seeing Love (Saints Protection & Investigation Series)
Copyright © 2016 Maryann Jordan
Kindle Edition
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.
If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, then you are reading an illegal pirated copy. If you would be concerned about working for no pay, then please respect the author’s work! Make sure that you are only reading a copy that has been officially released by the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design by: Andrea Michelle, Artistry in Design
Editor: Shannon Brandee Eversoll
Format: Paul Salvette, BB eBooks
ISBN: 978-0-9968010-5-8
Everyone needs people around them that believe in what they do. The kind of friend who will always support you no matter what is happening. For me, it’s Myckel Anne and Tammie.
Myckel Anne and I became friends five years ago when we worked together. One day, we discovered we shared a love of romance novels and when she found out I was an author, she was delighted. She became my confidant, reader, beta reader, and proofreader. But more importantly, she became the type of friend I can call upon when life is tough…or great. Myckel Anne – we have lots more stories to share.
Tammie and I became friends twenty years ago when our children were little. We have shared, laughed, talked, cried, grieved, and grown together. And most importantly, our lives are now so intertwined, that I’m not sure where she ends and I begin. Tammie, here’s to old friends with shared history. We have lots more life to share.
Prologue
T
he eager young
boy and his smiling grandfather walked to the end of the pier and sat, side by side, as they readied their fishing poles. The Chesapeake Bay loomed before them, the early morning sun peeking behind. Bart Taggart loved the way the sunlight twinkled off the surface of the undulating water, creating never-ending patterns across the horizon. Glancing to the side, he realized his grandfather had already baited his fishing line and he hurried to catch up.
Barts’ childish white-blond hair was now sandy in color and his slate-blue eyes were now the color of the water on a sunny day. He recently celebrated his eleventh birthday, but his size had him looming over his classmates. Being with his father or grandfather made his size seem less noticeable—they were both large men themselves. As much as he liked being with his dad, the mornings fishing with his grandfather had become their special tradition.
John Taggart, the CEO of his own business, was never too busy to spend time with his grandchildren.
Smiling up at the large man sitting next to him, Bart quickly tossed his line into the water. “Granddad?”
“Right here, Bartholomew,” came the deep-voiced answer.
Bart covered his mouth with his hand and snickered. His grandfather was the only person to call him by his full name.
“Something funny, son?”
“You’re the only one who calls me that,” he answered honestly.
“Well, Bartholomew is your name. In fact, it was my father’s name. Bartholomew. A good name. A strong name.”
“Yeah, but I don’t know anyone else with the same name,” Bart replied. He thought of classmates named Bill, Tom, or even John, like his grandfather. But no other Bartholomews. “They all call me Bart.”
“It’s not unusual to shorten a name. Did you know my full name is Jonathan?”
Bart’s eyes grew large, never realizing his grandfather had a nickname as well. Pleased, he ducked his head, smiling as he looked back down at his pole.
“Boy, I believe you wanted to ask me something,” his grandfather reminded.
“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Nonnie said there are mermaids in the ocean and I wanted to know if you’d ever seen one. She said we might catch one today,” he added with boyish enthusiasm, his eyes bright with excitement.
John snorted, shaking his head. “Son,” he began carefully. “Your grandmother is a wonderful woman. I’ve loved her since the first time I laid eyes on her almost forty years ago. I’ll never forget seeing her at one of my mother’s garden parties. She was wearing a yellow dress and her blonde hair made her look like an angel.”
Bart was quiet as his grandfather reminisced. The idea of his grey-haired, slightly plump grandmother ever being a pretty, young girl seemed funny, but he loved the idea.
“I knew then she was the women for me. She’s a wonderful wife, a great mother, and,” John leaned sideways and shoulder bumped Bart, “she’s a super grandmother, wouldn’t you say?”
Bart nodded enthusiastically, remembering the cookie jar always being full at her house and her bedtime stories were never scary.
“But,” John continued, “she’s always been a bit…fanciful.”
“Fanciful?” Bart asked, his face scrunched in question.
“Full of imagination. A bit of a dreamer.”
“Oh,” Bart said, disappointment now replacing the confusion in his expression. “So, there are no mermaids?”
“I’ve never seen a mermaid, Bart. I’ve never met anyone who has. I’ve never seen a photograph of a mermaid. Seen lots of people’s drawings, but then that doesn’t make it real, does it?”
Bart shook his head emphatically, wanting to please his grandfather more than really understanding.
“Son, I’ll tell you what’s real to me. If I can’t feel it, touch it, see it, or experience it, then it’s not real. And when it comes to people, you need to learn to judge a man by his actions and not just his words. I have to deal with fake people sometimes who will lie to get what they want.”
Sitting quietly for a moment, Bart turned his face back up to his grandfather. “So we aren’t going to be able to see any of Nonnie’s mermaids, are we?”
“I’m afraid not, son, but your grandmother doesn’t mean any harm.”
“She’s not a fake person?” his young mind tried to discern.
“No, no,” John said, shaking his head. “There’s no deceit in your grandmother at all. Nothing wrong with someone having an imagination, as long as there’s no deceit. But in my business, I have to always look to see what someone’s motives are. What their actions are. And that’s how I determine what the truth is.”
John’s gaze was on his grandson as he quietly fished for a few minutes before Bart turned his face back up to the older man.
“Granddad, you love Nonnie, but you can’t see that so how do you know it’s real?”
“Oh, son. Don’t ever mistake that faith cannot also be truth. I have faith. Faith in God. Faith in love. But I don’t believe in just telling someone you love them. It’s got to be followed by actions. Deeds.”
Bart’s face continued to scrunch as he thought over his grandfather’s words.
“Your grandmother shows me every day that she loves me and I hope I do the same for her. I see God’s presence in the world around me. Faith is just as real as truth.”
Their conversation was interrupted by a nibble on Bart’s line and for the next few minutes, the two were immersed in pulling in a fish before they decided to let it go back into the water. Bart watched it swim away, glad for the fish’s chance to live.
His grandfather’s voice broke into his musing. “Your name is synonymous with seeking the truth, did you know that?”
Bart’s attention was immediately pulled from watching the water’s rippling surface once more. “Huh?”
“Your name. St. Bartholomew was a follower of Jesus and known for always searching for the truth. Not a bad name to live up to, son.”
“I didn’t know that,” he answered.
“Yes, indeed. Always search for the truth, Bart. It has served me well over the years,” came the sage advice.
The two silently packed their tackle boxes and headed back up the lawn toward the mansion John and Arlene owned. They could already hear the sounds of Bart’s cousins playing on the expansive back patio.
“Granddad? What should I say to Nonnie if she asks about the mermaids?”
“Did you see any?”
“Um…no, of course not. They’re not real.”
“All you need to say is that you didn’t see any on this trip. Afterall, we don’t want to make your grandmother feel bad, do we?”
Bart grinned, shaking his head. “No, I won’t make her feel bad. But we know the truth, don’t we, granddad?”
Patting his grandson on the back, John nodded benevolently. “Yes, Bartholomew, we do. We know what’s real.”
Seventeen Years later
T
he early morning
light filtered through the blinds, creating slatted patterns on the opposite wall. Bart slowly opened one eye, blinking, as he tried to remember where he was. Lifting his pounding head, he realized he was sprawled on a bed in an unfamiliar room, the sound of soft snores coming from his left. Turning his head toward the noise also caused him to face the window, the sunlight piercing his skull.
Fuck! How much did I party last night?
The sight of the naked woman sleeping next to him offered no answer to his question. He threw his large arm over his eyes to shade the light from continuing to stab his head. A huge man, his movement caused the bed to shake and for a moment he was afraid the woman would awaken. He hated the mornings after. No matter what had been discussed the night before—
this is only sex, I don’t do relationships, it’s only physical
—he could see the look in their eye the next morning. The look that screamed,
please stay.
Or worse,
please cuddle.
Or worst of all,
what do you mean you won’t call?
After years of practice, the former SEAL had developed his natural flirt down to a science, able to discern which women would be most conducive to a quick night of fucking. But even with his immeasurable skills, he still tried to give a hasty goodbye with a wink as he let himself out of the door before the woman had a chance to offer to cook him breakfast.
As the mattress moved, he recognized the signs that his night’s partner was awakening. Wanting nothing more than to roll over and sleep for a couple of hours, he sat up, throwing his long legs over the edge of the bed. Running his hand over his stubbled jaw and up through his hair, he fought the battle between wanting to run and wanting to sleep.
But only sleep if I were by myself in my own bed. Or with someone I cared about.
Holy shit—where did that come from?
The thought of having someone to care about jolted Bart from his tired, hungover, sleepy state of mind. Sighing deeply, he knew why that thought crossed his consciousness. Jack Bryant, his boss and friend, recently married Bethany, a remarkable woman who fit into Jack’s life perfectly. And Cam, his best friend and co-worker, now engaged to Miriam, another great girl.
Jesus—and my cousin, Sabrina, was now engaged to Jude, a former SEAL, who now worked for Jack.
He realized his musings kept him sitting on the side of the bed too long when last’s night fun sat up next to him, placing her hands on his back.
“Hey, baby,” she cooed, running her long, blood-red fingernails over his skin. “What’s this? I didn’t even notice it last night.” Her hand clasped the chain around his neck, holding a St. Bartholomew medallion.
A slash of irritation flew through him at the sight of her talons on the gift from his grandfather. He twisted as he stood quickly, effectively moving his body away from hers and the pendant from her clutches. Plastering on his famous, panty-melting smile, he greeted her as well. “Looks like I overslept. Must have been the great workout you gave me,” he said, offering a wink.
Letting the sheet drop, she bounded to her knees on the side of the bed. His eyes dropped to her large breasts still swaying from the movement.
Funny, what gets my dick stirring at night has no effect in the light of the next morning.
Shoving that thought aside, he placed his hand over his heart, saying, “You’re a tempting sight, but I’ve got to go. Maybe I’ll call sometime.”