Seeing Love: Saints Protection & Investigations (10 page)

She smiled, saying, “And I asked about how he felt.”

“Why that question?”

“I wanted to see his expression. I’d been watching this man, filled with the desire to scratch out more of a living as a small time gang leader by trying to entice the national gangs to notice him. He wants the waterfront. He’d benefit if Ivan loses his business. We all know that.”

“But you wanted to know what he felt?” Bart prodded incredulously.

Her eyes held his, feeling the intensity of his gaze. “Yes, exactly. I wanted to see his expression when he was forced to feel and not think.”

“What did you see?”

“I saw a man who may have virtually no scruples, and yet I didn’t get the feeling he would have ordered the kidnapping of a child for business reasons.”

“Business reasons?”

“Yes. There are sexual predator kidnappers, those who plan on using or selling their victims. But kidnapping for money is seen, in their eyes, as a business deal. You know,
you have something I want so I will take something precious of yours until you give me what I ask for.
” Her eyes continued to hold his as she said quickly, “Bart, I’m only giving you my opinion based on his body language and how he spoke. His body language was open—he splayed his hands wide on the table. His eyes flashed irritation but not guilt.” Faith did not mention that, for a moment, the image of violence faded in her mind as she pictured Miguel as a child.

Bart nodded, for the first time understanding she was extremely in tune with people’s expressions and mannerisms. Not only as an artist but as a psychologist. “What about someone in his organization?”

Giving a shrug, she admitted, “I have nothing to base that on, but with you looking more at facts, I could see that being a possibility.”

He nodded, “Yeah, I’ve got the Saints working on that with the FBI.” The waitress came around to offer them a refill and Bart shook his head after Faith did.

She could not help but notice this time his eyes never strayed over to the pretty waitress.
He must be really concentrating on the case for him to not even flirt with her!
Suppressing a smile as he paid the bill, they walked back toward the B&B.

The evening was chilly and Bart noticed her shiver slightly. The desire to put his arm around her and pull her into his warmth was overwhelming, but he forced his hands to stay at his side.
She’s a partner in this case, that’s all. And not a trusted partner…at least not yet,
he told himself, trying to hold on to his distrust.

Reaching their rooms, they stood in the hall outside of their bedrooms for a moment, nervously avoiding eye contact.

Faith leaned back to look up into his face, his strong jaw now covered in stubble. “Thank you, Bart.” Seeing the question in his eyes, she said, “For talking with me.”

Looking down at the stunning woman in front of him, he battled the desire to take her in his arms and kiss her pink lips.
What the fuck is happening to me? How the hell did I go from wanting to prove her false and denounce her to Krustas to wanting to kiss away the shadows I see in her eyes?

Before he could find an answer to that question, she gave a sad smile as she opened her bedroom door and then closed it behind her with a soft click.

F
aith lay in
the cozy bed, the sound of waves crashing in the background. She huddled under the thick comforter but refused to close the window all the way. It had been many years since she had been to the beach and she did not want to waste a moment of hearing the surf.

She had stayed awake for an hour after they returned from dinner, sitting in the comfortable chair next to the open window. Pulling out her art pad, she closed her eyes, focusing on the images forming in her mind. Beginning to draw, she allowed the reflections to flow to her fingers. Lines, shapes, and forms. And once more the drawing of a boy, this time sitting on a bed with his head down reading a book, filled the page.

“Auugh,” she growled. The image never moved beyond that drawing. Something unusual about the child hovered at the edges of her consciousness but never broke through.

Turning the page, she closed her eyes and allowed the meeting with Miguel to take over her mind. Putting pencil to pad again, she began to draw and the image of the gang leader at the table took shape. The details came into view, from his gold capped teeth, to the tattoos on his arms. Even though in their meeting his eyes were full of enmity, what came through in her drawing was the look of bleakness.
Something truly bothered him about a child being taken.

As she continued to draw, the figures of the men standing behind him stayed hazy and she realized she had missed the opportunity to study them. No matter how hard she tried, she could not make them clearer so they stayed fuzzy shadows behind Miguel.
I must do better tomorrow!

Frustrated, she turned the page and began drawing again. This time, she knew almost immediately where the art was going. Strong jaw. Hair, slightly on the longish side, brushed to the side with spiky pieces sticking up where his hand so often ran through it. Deep set eyes that always seemed to be looking at her as though trying to figure out a complicated puzzle.

By the time she lay the pencil down, the image of Bart rose from the page to stare at her.
I wish…

Flipping the art pad closed, she silenced the wishes that crept into her mind whenever she thought of him.
Perhaps it will be impossible to find a man that believes in me.
Remembering Mitch, the handsome FBI agent, she smiled.
Well, he believes in me…but there’s no spark there.
Sighing, she wondered why the spark was felt with the man who did not think she was true. She slipped out of her clothes, folding her pants and blouse neatly over the back of the chair. Pulling a simple nightgown over her head, she was glad for the long sleeves as she felt the chill in the room and slipped under covers.

Now, an hour later, she rolled over and her mind wandered to the man sleeping in the room next to hers. The tall, gorgeous, blue-eyed, virile man.
Oh, Babushka, you told me it would be hard to deal with my gifts. But does it have to keep me so alone? What would I give to be one of the women he crooks his finger at and go running?
Snorting, she turned over, pulling the covers up to her ears.
Yeah? I wouldn’t know what to do with someone like him.

The sound of the surf finally lulled her to sleep, her twisted thoughts eventually giving in to the peace of the night.

In the next room Bart sat up for hours pouring over the files from Luke, adding what little he had gained from Miguel. The words from Faith continued to trail through his mind.
“I didn’t get the feeling he would have ordered the kidnapping of a child.”
Bart closed the files and stripped off his shirt and pants, leaving on his boxers as he slipped between the sheets. As much as he wanted to deny it, her words echoed his own thoughts.
But the men under Miguel? That’s a different story.

*

The next morning,
Bart knocked on Faith’s door and was surprised when it opened, showing her completely dressed with her overnight case packed.

“You ready?” incredulity creeping into his words.

Her blue eyes twinkling, she laughed. “I’m not very high maintenance as you can see. It doesn’t take me long to get ready in the mornings!”

He stepped back and gallantly waved her to pass in front of him as they made their way to the breakfast area. Seeing her ass sway gently in the navy slacks had his dick wanting to answer the call of the wild. He noticed her front assets beautifully hidden beneath a light blue turtleneck, showing no skin and, yet, as seductive as the skimpiest costume. No longer fighting his attraction, he told himself it was only physical.
But if it was, then I’d have already tried to get her in bed. No, I couldn’t do that with a partner in an investigation,
his thoughts battled. As he followed her downstairs, he admitted to himself that she was different and that made her all the more endearing. . .and frustrating, because he could not trust her yet.

Mrs. Carswell escorted them to a glassed-in side porch, filled with a small table covered with a light blue tablecloth. The dainty white dishes gleamed against the blue background. Bart felt like a bull in a china shop, afraid to move for fear of knocking something over.

Faith noticed the furniture was not made for someone of Bart’s stature and could not hold her giggle in. Pretending to glare, he gave in to his chuckles as well.

Sitting across from her, he did indeed notice she was not high maintenance. Not in her appearance, which included simple makeup on a flawless complexion and her long hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. Her mannerisms also bespoke of someone used to fending for herself. She jumped up to pour the coffee so that Mrs. Carswell would not have to keep coming in to wait on them.

They talked like old friends, the animosity and distrust seeming to fade away. The more time he spent with her, the less she seemed what he feared…and appeared to be what he liked.

*

Within the hour,
they were back on the road for the short drive to meet with Gavrill Volkov.

“This one’s going to be different,” Bart warned. “Miguel’s mostly into drugs and maybe guns, but Volkov, like Krustas, is a higher functioning organization. What all they’re into, you don’t want to know.”

“I still don’t understand how Mitch managed to organize a meeting with these…um…men,” Faith said, tucking an errant tendril of hair behind her ear.

Irritated at the mention of the FBI agent, he tried to ignore the way her long, slender fingers moved through her hair, stunned with the realization he had never noticed those little innocent movements a woman would make. Most of the women he associated with had their practiced flirtations down to a fine science.
Crossing legs to make their skirts ride up higher. Swirling their tongue around the straw in a drink. Throwing their head back when they laughed to make their tits stick out, their neck exposed, and their hair hang longer down their back—

“Are you all right?”

Startled, Bart jerked in the driver’s seat. “Yeah, sure. Just had my mind on the case,” he lied. Falling silent again, he thought about his friend’s wives and fiancés…beautiful women with no pretentions. Glancing back to his partner, he had to admit that she was a lot like them.

“So, how do you want me to do it?” Faith asked.

Almost choking on the idea of how he would like to do her, he whipped his head around to hers, jerking the wheel at the same time. A car honking had him pulling back into his lane quickly.

“Don’t do that!” he grunted angrily.

“Do what?” she asked, surprise in her eyes.

“Distract me while I’m driving.”

“You really are a jerk, you know,” she groused. “All I wanted to know was how you want me to handle the meeting today. I thought I would let you tell me what I needed to do but, if you’re going to be such a prick, forget about it. I’ll ask whatever I want, whenever I want!”

Running his hand down over his face in frustration, he drove silently for a few more minutes, angry with her for being such a contradiction in his mind. Slowly, the irritation dissipated and the realization that it was his problem, not hers, hit him. Looking over sheepishly, he admitted, “I’m sorry, Faith.” At her look of doubt, he added, “No, really. I’m sorry for biting your head off.”

“Accepted,” she sighed, sadness lacing her voice.

He heard the melancholy in her single word answer. He suddenly wanted to wipe the sorrow from her face but had no idea what to do. Looking up, he realized they were almost to the meeting place.
What the fuck is wrong with me? She was trying to focus on the mission and I keep wanting to focus on her.

“Listen, you were right to be asking about the meeting.” Looking at the time, he pulled to the side of the road and parked the truck. Twisting his body around to face her, he continued, “The FBI is looking into every possible clue to find Erik, but some of these men will be stonewalling because it’s in their interest not to give the FBI a chance to dig deeply into their activities.”