Seeing Love: Saints Protection & Investigations (12 page)

He saw the uncertain expression on her face and running his hand over his scruffy jaw, added, “I haven’t apologized for what I said when we first met.”

Her eyes narrowed as they jumped to his face. Cocking her head, she waited to see what else he would say.
It seems apologies do not come easily to him. Well, suck it up, ’cause I’ve been waiting for one!

“I made assumptions about you…false assumptions it seems. Instead of finding out more about you, I thought the worst.” He held her gaze and admitted, “I really am sorry, Faith. I do want to hear about your impressions.”

With that assurance, she nodded slowly, taking in his words. “Well, I was honestly frightened at the level of violence coming from Gavrill.” She lifted her gaze to his, seeing nothing but true interest, and explained. “Usually, with the police, or even the few times I worked with an FBI agent to interview a witness, victim, or possible suspect, the strongest emotion I get is anger or fear. The violence comes as a flash, like…” she struggled how to explain, before saying, “like a lightning bolt. But with Gavrill, it felt black. Deep. Pervasive, not sharp. The room was thick with violence that had nothing to do with anger.”

Bart stared at her, hearing for the first time how descriptive she was in her words. While he knew the same thing to be true about Gavrill, it was fascinating to hear how she interpreted the emotions in the room, giving an insight into their thoughts. “What about Miguel?”

They were interrupted when the waitress brought their food, both diving into the cheeseburgers and greasy fries.

“Well,” she began between chews, “It was a different feeling of violence. With Miguel, the room was filled with lots of lightening.” She wondered if Bart was going to mock her, but found him listening intently. “Just as much violence, but more anger. Quick. Sharp. Reactionary.”

Chewing methodically, he nodded. “I see what you mean. It makes sense. Did you get a sense of whether or not either one of them may have taken Erik?”

“With Miguel, no, I didn’t,” but then she added quickly, “but that doesn’t mean he didn’t, Bart. Remember, I’m just reading people and am in tune with the emotions, body language. I’m not psychic so I can’t say he wasn’t in charge of taking Erik. Or, for that matter, it could be someone in his gang.”

They continued to eat silently for a few minutes, each to their own thoughts. Glancing to the side, she could not help but smile. “I don’t think you paid enough attention to the hostess when you came in.”

“Huh? Who?” he asked, stunned out of his musings as his gaze followed her nod. “Oh,” he said, actually embarrassed at the unwarranted attention. “I guess it was hard to focus on that when I wanted to get over to you.”

He watched as her eyes warmed at his words.
Fuck, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing anymore.
His phone vibrated and he growled as he saw who it was from. “Stay here and finish eating. I’m stepping outside while someone from the FBI checks the truck.”

She watched as he folded his tall frame out of the booth and immediately missed the warmth his long legs provided when they surrounded hers. Glancing down at the table, she realized he had finished his burger and she was full. After taking a quick trip to the restroom, she stopped by the table and paid by cash.
Bart has picked up the tab for all the expenses, this is the least I can do.

She pulled on her coat as she walked through the door and looked to the left at Bart and another familiar man, talking next to the truck.

“Mitch!” she greeted while waving.

Dressed in dark jeans paired with a grey blazer, the tall, dark-haired FBI agent looked at her in surprise, then grinned a huge grin while calling out, “Well, if it isn’t the gorgeous girl herself.” Jerking his eyes back to Bart before she was in earshot, he said, “And I thought you said she wasn’t around!”

B
art stood to
the side, irritation oozing from every pore, as Mitch greeted Faith with a hug. He glared as she smiled up at the FBI agent, finding himself wanting to punch the man out.
He may be physically fit, but I’ve got at least three inches and forty pounds on him.
Blinking, Bart wondered where the fuck the thought of taking out an agent came from.
Jealousy? No fuckin’ way!

“How’re things going?” Mitch asked, barely letting Faith step out of his arm’s reach.

“Good, I suppose,” she answered, her gaze sliding over to Bart. “I’ve never been around anyone like Miguel or Gavrill before, so I have to confess it really throws me.”

“Got any impressions yet?”

Shaking her head, she said, “I was telling Bart that I wasn’t getting any vibes of guilt about Erik, but that could have been because of the severe viciousness I felt in their presence.”

Mitch nodded thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. “So the level of crime or devious experience from someone might inhibit your ability to get a good read. Interesting.”

Bart rolled his eyes behind Mitch’s back, figuring the agent was interested in Faith…and not just her gift. Forced to admit to himself that he was jealous, he interrupted. “The FBI got anything?” Bart asked, unable to keep the snark out of his voice.

Mitch turned toward him, his grin replaced by an expression of frustration. “We’ve got so many Amber Alert sightings it’s keeping my man-power tied up. Not that we’re not grateful for the possibilities,” he added quickly, “but so far none of them have panned out.”

Bart, empathizing with Mitch who had obviously been working around the clock, nodded sympathetically. Looking to Faith, he said, “Come on Faith, we need to get going.”

She flashed a confused look at Bart, knowing they had over an hour to make it to the meeting with the Maldonis. His normally easy-going expression was replaced with a tight grimace and a tick in his jaw. He was definitely irritated and acting strangely.

Mitch gave her another hug and, as he walked away, tossed a comment toward Bart over his shoulder. “Make sure to take care of her, bro. She’s special.”

Once inside his truck cab, he noticed Faith shaking her head. “I’m not, you know.”

“You’re not what?”

“Special…at least not in the way he thinks I am. I know he and some of the others keep hoping I’ll be able to point to someone and say ‘you’re guilty’, but I don’t work that way.” She turned and faced him, looking deeply into his steel blue eyes. “I’m just tuned into people, that’s all.” Over the last two days, she had come to respect Bart for his investigative abilities and craved his respect in return.
As long as he thinks I’m some kind of phony, I’ll never earn that from him.

“You’re wrong, Faith,” Bart said. Her expression fell, and he quickly added, “You are special.”

Her eyes sought his, sharply searching. And finding…sincerity.

*

Approaching the gated
neighborhood, Faith asked, “Did Mitch find anything?”

Bart nodded. “Yeah. He took care of it.”

She wanted to ask more about the device Volkov’s men put on the truck, but Bart appeared preoccupied so she decided to keep quiet. She perused the scenery as the vehicle moved through the old neighborhood of stately homes, many surrounded with their own security gates and tall trees.

Pulling up to an exquisite home, completely decorated for the holidays, Bart identified himself at the security box located on one of the brick pillars next to the ornate metal gate which immediately swung open. Parking in the driveway circle in front of the house, he looked over seeing her wide-eyed expression. It dawned on him he had no idea where she lived. He grew up in a neighborhood similar to this one, although less secure. His grandmother currently lived in an expensive gated community. His earlier assumption she lived well was proving to be false.

“Ready?” he asked.

Jolted out of her astonishment, she jumped. “Yes. Sorry, I’ve just never seen a house so large before. This is bigger than Constance’s.”

He peered at her closely but ascertained nothing in her expression other than blatant amazement. He escorted her to the wreathed front door, where a manservant answered and led them through a garnished entry foyer to a comfortable room to the left. The room, decorated in warm tones of browns and taupe with splashes of green, held overstuffed furniture, family photos, knickknacks, and, much to Faith’s surprise, a few toys. And of course, a huge Christmas tree, with a few brightly wrapped presents already underneath.

An elderly gentleman, his silver hair neatly combed back, rose to greet them. As with their other experiences, there were a couple of other men in the room as well, suits tailored and their appearance as neat as Luciano Maldoni’s.

“Mr. Taggart. Ms. Romani,” Luciano greeted as he stepped forward to shake their hands. “Please sit down and make yourself comfortable.”

Instead of standing behind Luciano, the two men in suits sat in chairs as well, creating an atmosphere of guests in a home, instead of one of anger and intimidation. Bart wondered if it was all for show, to put them off a possible scent of guilt.

“I appreciate you taking the time to talk to us. As you know, we’re trying to gather information about Ivan Krustas’ grandson.”

Luciano’s face distorted in anger, saying, “Anyone who would take a child is not a fucking man.” Moving his gaze to Faith’s, he apologized. “I’m sorry, Ms. Romani, but this makes me so very angry. I am a businessman. Some may not like the businesses I run, but nonetheless I am ultimately a businessman. I run my companies and my family’s interests the way I would expect anyone to do so. I buy and sell goods. When I give my word, it is solid.”

Bart knew most of the goods the Maldoni family dealt in were illegal, and wondered if there really was honor among thieves, but moved ahead with the questions. “When did you first hear about Erik Krustas?”

Luciano held Bart’s gaze, never wavering. “The next morning. I pay some of my employees well to scour the news—local, national, and worldwide—to let me know of anything that might affect my businesses. My oldest son alerted me.” He indicated the man to his left, who nodded in response.

“What was your reaction?” Faith asked, watching the participants closely.

“I was incensed,” Luciano bit out. “I actually called Ivan to tell him that he would have my support if needed.”

“But wouldn’t your family’s businesses possibly profit by Ivan’s losing focus on his business?” Bart queried.

The steely-eyed gaze of Luciano captured Bart as he leaned in and said, “Mr. Taggart. Business is business. Family is everything.”

Faith felt warmth, something lacking in the last two interviews.
Anger? Yes. But guilt?

Suddenly, the sound of laughter rang through the hall as two children being chased by a young woman rushed into the room.

“Papa, papa,” they giggled and then stopped suddenly as they realized their grandfather was entertaining guests.

“Excuse us,” the young woman gushed, blushing at the intrusion.

First giving the children a stern face, Luciano then broke into a smile and opened his arms wide, scooping the errant ones into a hug. Looking over at Bart and Faith, he said, “If anything ever happened to my grandchildren, I would leave no stone unturned. And when I found the man responsible…” his expression turned hard, “even God would not mind what they would suffer at my hands.”

Faith turned her gaze to the two men sitting with them, now knowing they were his sons. Both men appeared at ease, the oldest with an open expression as though there was nothing to hide. The younger seemed distracted, occasionally fiddling with his necktie or cufflinks. Trying to discern if he were nervous, she simply could not get a read on him with the other distractions in the room.

The children finally left and Bart continued his questions for several more minutes. With the noise of the children gone, Faith focused on the younger son once more.
Definitely ill at ease. What are you hiding?
She startled when Bart touched her arm as he was rising from his seat.

Luciano walked them to the front door and lifted Faith’s hand, kissing her knuckles. Cocking his head to the side, he commented, “You have an old soul, my dear. I get the feeling there is more to you than just an investigator.”

Not knowing how to respond, she simply gifted him with one of her smiles and received one in return. Bart stepped forward, ushering her back to the truck. Once more inside, she mouthed,
Are we bugged?

Shaking his head, Bart said, “No, that’s not Maldoni’s style.” As he drove out of the gated community, he noted the time. Rubbing his hand over his jaw, he added, “Look, it’s later than I thought it would be. It’s gonna be late when we get home.”

His phone vibrated. “Yeah, boss?” he answered.

“Don’t head back yet. I want you to meet with Ivan in the morning. He’ll be at his place in Norfolk.”

“Something come up?”

“Yeah, the next demand came in.”

“We meeting with just Ivan?” he queried.

“No. FBI will be all over it, but you’ll have a familiar face. Mitch will be there. We’ll process the video and audio leads you have from your two meetings today so when you return tomorrow, we’ll all be up to speed.”