Seeing Love: Saints Protection & Investigations (15 page)

For a moment she sat quietly, pondering his words.
He wants to know how I see things which means he wants to view things through the eyes of a nutcase.
Sighing, she had to admit to herself he did not actually say that.
Maybe…oh hell, what’s the worst that can happen?

“My grandmother told me that for as long as family stories have been told, our family had women that could feel things that were unseen.” Turning her head toward him, she added, “She never said fortune-telling, or psychics, or mediums, or any of the other words used to talk about some who pretend to predict the future or talk with the deceased.”

“Okay,” he acknowledged. Taking his eyes off the road for a second, he caught her struggling with the words.

“I mean, probably down through history I’m sure there were some Romani women who were accused of witchcraft or heresy or whatever and probably burned at the stake!” she huffed. “But Babushka never said that was what she did or what I did.”

Another mile had passed in silence before she spoke again. “She said the gift was in women and always skipped a generation and that was why my mom didn’t have it.”

“Were you frightened? Did the uh…things…uh…scare you?”

Emitting a small chuckle, she questioned, “Things?” She watched as he grimaced, running his hand through his hair and decided to take pity on him. “No, I was never scared. I confess, it was odd sometimes to feel something so strongly and I didn’t know if it was real or not. But I usually drew whatever I was feeling.”

She stared at the inner struggle playing on his face as a myriad of emotions came through in his expressions.

“My Babushka told me to be cautious. She said others would not understand and most people run from things they do not understand.”

Once more the cab was silent as both thought on what she was saying. For her, she knew finally talking about it would either push him away irrevocably or he would finally accept she was not what he feared. She knew if she were honest with herself, her heart already hoped he would accept her.
Oh, why does my heart have to be involved?
Her chest constricted as she waited to hear what he was going to say, for his next words would decide if she would be able to trust him.

Bart rolled her words around in his head, realizing his first assessment of her was based on a judgmental bias.
Granddad, you always told me to search for truth, but I condemned her before learning the truth.
He thought of the lonely little girl, shunned by her classmates, dealing with something she could not understand.

“I’m sorry, Faith,” he said, his words sounded too simplistic, but could not seem to find other words to express his regret.

She closed her eyes as her head hung down. For so long she had been alone, knowing that a large part of who she was would not fit into many people’s worlds. She had no idea how she might fit into his world, but hearing his honest apology touched her heart. She knew she could forgive him and know that he truly was a good person.

He glanced to the side, seeing her bowed head and reached across the console to touch her arm. “I’m truly sorry. I judged you before I found out anything about you and that’s not me. That’s really not me. My…my grandfather would not be proud of me for condemning you before I learned the truth.”

The silence, lasting for a moment, broke when he shook his head giving a snort. “In fact, it was my grandfather who always told me that my name stood for
searching for truth.
”

“Your name?” she asked in confusion.

“Yeah. Bartholomew. St. Bartholomew.”

She kept her head lowered, but opened her eyes. His large, tan hand was lying on top of her small, pale, clenched ones. Sucking in a shaky breath, she lifted her head and gifted him with a smile. “Thank you. I know you don’t have to understand or even believe me, but thank you for no longer condemning me.”

The air in the truck cab seemed lighter as the tires continued to churn up the miles. Taking it a step further, he gazed at her again and asked, “When did you start working for the police department as an artist?”

“After high school, I went to the college in Charlestown so I could live with my grandmother. I love psychology and art both, so I double majored. When I got out, I went to work for the school system. The job was supposed to be full time, but they cut their art program back to part time. I worked as a waitress to help pay the bills. I had a scholarship to help with my master’s program.”

It did not escape his notice that while he grew up with a large loving, family that was also very wealthy, she was struggling to pay for essentials. He rubbed his hand through his hair once more, making the ends stick up at odd angles.

She watched him, her fingers twitching to run through his hair herself, before slipping down to cup his strong, stubbled jaw. Giving herself a mental shake, she pushed thoughts of her hands on him away.

He saw the glazed look in her eye and, cocking his head, said, “Are you all right?”

Jerking, she blushed adorably again. “Yes, yes. Sorry, my mind wandered.”
And I hope you can’t tell where it wandered!

“But about my police work, I got the job when I answered an ad in the newspaper for a police artist. I applied for the job and was called back for a trial run. I was interviewing an elderly woman who had been assaulted. I listened carefully, but the emotion continued to push its way in. Her anger. Rage. And fear. I felt completely in tune with her. I drew her description, but everything came out in the drawing. When I was finished, one of the detectives recognized the man in my picture. They brought him in for a line-up and the woman identified him immediately. They allowed me to see him as well. It was weird to recognize the man that I had drawn so precisely.” She gave a little shrug and said “I was hired right then. It’s not what I expected to do, but it helps with the bills and I found that I liked it. And, as Babushka always said, if I use my gift for good, then that was why God gave it to me.”

He looked at her profile, staring out of the window. Her dark eyes were matched by dark circles underneath in stark contrast to her pale complexion. She nibbled on her thumbnail, her nerves so taut he could feel them radiate throughout the truck.

“What about the FBI? How did you get to know Mitch?”

“There was a bank robbery in town and the FBI took over the investigation. I was called in to do sketches from the witnesses. Once more, there was such anger and fear. Most artists draw while the person is describing, but I don’t do it that way. I listen. I feel. And as they are talking, an image comes into my mind. When the witness finishes, I draw the image. I know it may sound risky, as though they would just agree to whatever I was drawing, but each time, I nailed it. They caught all three men. Mitch had been in on the interviews I was doing when sketching. He liked what he saw.”

I’ll bet he did!
Bart thought, the now familiar stab of jealousy hitting him once more.

“So, since he’s with the local office, whenever the FBI needs an artist, he calls me.”

A more comfortable silence enveloped the truck cab as each settled in with their thoughts. He turned the information over and over in his mind, finding that so far what she said made perfect sense.
But…
“Can I ask another question?”

She heard the cautiousness in his voice and twisted to face him this time. “Absolutely,” she stated.

“What about when you…well, when you draw when you haven’t talked to someone…or seen anything? Like with the dog or the boy with the seizures.”

“Yeah, that’s the harder part to explain. It’s what my Babushka told me was the gift and she also said it could be a curse.”

Faith twisted a strand of hair around her finger as she thought how best to explain what she could not understand herself. “All I know is sometimes I get strong images in my head. It doesn’t happen often…it’s not like I walk around every day having some kind of premonition. Like the day I drew the boy on the floor, I simply saw him on the floor in my mind. And with the dog, the same thing happened. I saw an image of him chained to a tall fence in a back yard with a swing set.”

Seeing tears fill her eyes as honesty poured off her, he knew—no matter if it made sense to him or not, she was real. Her ability was real. He wanted to find out more, but they had made it to Charlestown. He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. “I really want to keep talking to you, but I gotta call Jack and see what we need to do.”

Giving a little nod, she replied, “Of course. The drop-off should have happened by now, shouldn’t it?”

“Yeah, but it may be a bit before we hear about Erik.”

Calling Jack, he found out that Ivan had indeed made the drop, but there was no word of Erik’s return at this time.

“What do you want us to do, boss?”

Jack replied, “You can take Ms. Romani home and then come here. We’ll meet as soon as you get in.”

“I should be there in about thirty to forty minutes.” With that, he disconnected before turning to Faith. “I guess you surmised we don’t know anything yet.”

She nodded, sadness filling her eyes. Looking up, she said, “I can’t image the devastation Ivan and his family are living through right now. Especially Erik’s mother. It…it just makes my heart hurt.” Sighing again, she glanced out the window and added, “Oh, I forgot to tell you where to go. I live off Broadland Street. There are some apartments above the old shop buildings.”

He already knew where she lived but did not let on. And he knew what a crappy area of town she lived in. Turning onto her street, he saw the three and four story, century-old buildings. Poor street light. No security lighting. Parking near her building, he grabbed her arm as she prepared to hop out of his truck.

“Stay,” he commanded before he stepped out of his side. By the time he hustled around, he could see her face, the hard expression clearly showing through the window.

“You did not just tell me to
stay
, did you?” she asked, her eyes snapping.

“I’m not about to have you go in alone.”

Looking around, she wondered aloud, “Why not? I’m in and out of here all the time.”

Without answering her, he grabbed her overnight case and assisted her out of the truck. As they approached the door, he reached for the security pad. “What’s the code?”

A slight giggle had him turn, seeing the corners of her lips lift up. She reached around him and gave the door handle a push. As it swung open, she watched as his face morphed from surprise to anger.

“You’ve got to be fuckin’ kidding me,” he bit out.

“What?” she asked, pushing past him and entering into the dingy hallway. “That security panel hasn’t worked since I’ve been here.” She turned, awkwardly tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, wondering how to end their odd partnership. Taking a deep breath, she stuck out her hand as she looked into his eyes, and said, “Well, thank yo—”

“Not leaving you here, Faith. I’m walking you to your door.”

“Oh, you don’t have t—”

“Non-negotiable, babe,” he answered.

Cocking her hip, she tapped her foot impatiently. “Really? Alpha much, are we?”

Chuckling, he said, “I’d think you’d know the answer to that by now.”

Not to be deterred, she continued. “And
babe
? Now you’re talking to me like I’m a waitress or a bartender. What’s next? Your little wink?”

“Stop busting my balls and show me the way to your apartment.”

Glaring, she whirled around, heading to the stairs. Stomping up to the second floor, she walked down another dingy hall coming to her door. “We’re here. Do you want to come in and check for the boogie man also?”

His answer was to take the key from her hand and unlock her door himself. Stepping inside, he flipped on the lights. Her apartment illuminated to reveal a tiny, but warm, interior. The kitchen was immediately on the right, the short bar with stools as the only eating area. The living room was barely big enough to hold a worn sofa, coffee table, end table, and one other chair. The small, flat screen TV was mounted on the wall opposite of the sofa with bookshelves underneath. There were two open doors near the kitchen and he could see one was the bathroom and the other led to a minuscule bedroom.

The end table held a small, three-foot tree, decorated with what looked to be antique, glass ornaments. His words came slamming back to him.
I accused her of getting rich by scamming others.

Dropping his chin to his chest, he felt his body being shoved to the side as she stepped in around him.

“Smee? Smee? Come on out sweetie.”

Bart’s eyes jerked open as an orange cat with a white face walked in from the bedroom. He watched Faith move to the kitchen and stoop to refill the food dish as the cat swirled between her legs before eagerly diving in.

She looked up, saying, “I felt bad staying one extra night, but I knew I left enough food.”

The comfort of their early conversations passed and now an awkward silence descended. Her eyes glanced over at her little Christmas tree, proudly displaying the old ornaments handed down from her grandmother.

“Well, I guess this is goodbye. I’m sorry I wasn’t more help with the interviews. I know that Mr. Krustas…and even Mitch, hoped I would be able to get a feeling that one of the people we talked to would strike something in me about Erik, but…” her voice trailed off.

He reached out, taking her small hand in his much larger one. At first just a clasping of hands—like any two friends shaking hands. But he found he did not want to let her fingers go. He did not want to let
her
go. He stepped forward until his large boots were directly in front of her shoes. Her body was almost touching his. Her face right under his chin. And then he dropped his eyes to her lips, watching as her tongue darted out, leaving a moist trail in its wake.

She watched as he bent slowly until his breath washed over her face in a warm caress. His lips neared hers, then stopped a whisper away. She saw the question in his eyes, asking permission. At that moment, all they had argued about suddenly did not matter as much as the desire to have his lips on hers.