Seeing Love: Saints Protection & Investigations (33 page)

“What do you need me to do, Faith?” he asked.

Pulling away from him slightly, she answered, “I really need some quiet time. I just need to let the feelings, emotions, and images flow through my drawings.”

“How about if I order some lunch? We can have take-out and I’ll stay out of your way.”

“You’re right. We need to eat and I’ll work where it’ll be quiet.”

Leaning down, he kissed her gently. Moving back slightly, he smiled, thinking how much he loved her kisses. Deep, long, and passionate. Or just a touch of her intoxicating lips. One of promise or one of a quick goodbye.
I thought I was falling…but I’ve already fallen in love with her.
Even with everything swirling around them, he could not keep the smile off his face.
When this is over, I’ll tell her…and hope to hell she feels the same.

He placed the call for Chinese delivery and was stunned when they said it would take almost forty-five minutes to deliver. After they explained they were shorthanded today, he considered going out to get it.
No, I need to be here in case she remembers something as she’s drawing.
He agreed, then moved to the study that overlooked the front yard. Faith walked into the room, her coat and scarf on. He looked up questioningly but, before he could ask, she said, “I’m going to sit on the back deck. I know it’s chilly, but the deck is in the sun right now and I feel the need to have fresh air.”

Nodding, he agreed, “Whatever you need to work best.”

After a few minutes, he slipped into the kitchen and looked out of the sliding glass door to see her sitting in a deck chair, her art pad in her lap and her fingers flying over the paper. Smiling, he walked back to the study and pulled out his phone, calling Jack. Leaning back in his chair, he spent the next thirty minutes going over the case, along with the new information, with the Saints.

*

Sitting on the
deck, Faith found the fresh air cleared her mind of everything except the images that were flying onto the page from her fingertips. She quickly drew a picture of Ivan playing with Erik. An image of Anton playing games with him. Dmitry teaching him to ride his bike. Page after page of images.

Come on, Faith. Do it. Let it flow. Please, Babushka, let me get those evil emotions down onto the paper.
She began to draw once more, the electricity moving through her, the tingling at her neck and down her arms. Her breath came in pants as her heartbeat pounded a staccato rhythm.

The form of Erik sitting on his bed, this time dressed in clothes instead of his pajamas, filled the page. The new book was still on his lap. The bookcase against the wall. A light coming from the ceiling was now clearly visible.

Her vision was blurry and a rushing filled her ears as she immersed herself in the world of her drawing. Her fingers continued to create as though a will that was beyond her own was taking over. Erik’s face, relaxed in a smile, looking up at…
oh my God!

She stared, shocked at her drawing, her heart pounding.
What if this isn’t real? What if this is just my imagination? Babushka, what do I do?
Feeling faint, she closed her eyes against the swirling images fearfully swarming at her. She worked to still her breathing—
in, out, in, out.
Slowly, sucking in enough oxygen, she opened her eyes and gazed at the picture once more. And she knew. It was real.

*

The doorbell finally
rang and Bart disconnected. Opening the door, he gratefully accepted the food bags and tipped the driver handsomely for working on Christmas Eve. He moved to the dining room table where he set the food out, admonishing Smee to move off the table, and shouting at Apollo to stop barking.

Walking into the kitchen to see what Apollo was barking at, he headed to the sliding glass door, sure that Faith must be frozen by this time and wanting to hustle her inside.

Apollo continued to jump on the glass, growling and barking incessantly. Bart stopped short, seeing her sitting motionless in the chair and the art pad lying on her lap. Rushing to the door, he jerked it open, flying onto the deck.

At the same instance, Faith startled from her trance at the noise behind her. Before she could rise, Bart reached her and knelt down beside the chair.

“Princess, it’s freezing out here.” He bent to scoop her up, when she grabbed the front of his shirt.

“Bart, I know. I know where Erik is.”

Bart halted in mid-squat, his eyes searching hers before dropping to the art pad in her lap. He stared dumbly for an instant before lifting his eyes back to hers. He scooped her up in his arms as she grabbed the pad and said, “We gotta call Jack and Mitch.”

Marching inside, he ordered Apollo to sit before gently pacing Faith in a dining room chair. The smell of their dinner would normally have been tantalizing, but all she felt was nausea.

Placing a call to Jack, he told him what Faith had drawn. “I’m calling Mitch, but I’m heading there now. I may need back-up so send whoever is available on Christmas Eve.”

He continued to talk for another minute as Faith watched, stunned.
He never asked if I was sure. He never questioned. Neither did Jack. They believe me.
Taking another deep, shuddering breath, she cleared her mind, readying herself for what was to come.

By the time she stood, Bart was already on the phone to Mitch, coordinating the meeting place. His heart hardened as he called Jack back with the rendezvous point. Stalking to his hall closet, she watched as he armed himself quickly with the Kevlar and weapons he had a license to carry.

As he approached her to say goodbye, he noticed she still had her coat on and was waiting by the front door. Cocking his head to the side he glared down but, before he could speak, she beat him to it.

“I have to go with you. While I know the drawing is right, there could be something else I’m not seeing right now. We can’t afford to waste time with me here when I could possibly help there.”

He sputtered, wanting to deny her, but stopped for a second sucking in a deep breath, held it, and then let it out slowly.
Focus. Plan the mission. She’s right. She could be of use.
Nodding reluctantly, he agreed.
Now execute the mission.

Stepping into her space, he gazed deeply into her eyes. “You do what I say, when I say it, princess. No exceptions.”

She nodded, adding, “Don’t worry, Bart. I’ve got no desire to be a hero.”

He grabbed her hand as he ran to his truck, roaring it to life, and backed out of his driveway to race down the street. Glancing to the side, seeing her pale face, he thought,
You already are a hero.

*

Sitting in the
truck cab, Faith watched as Jack, Chad, Blaise, Cam, and Monty met in a local parking lot. She saw another SUV pull up, seeing Mitch arrive. The men grouped, talking in hushed tones. As tense as the situation was, she could not help but admire the men giving up their Christmas Eve on nothing more than her hunch. Watching them, a circle of controlled testosterone, she also admired their form. As her gaze roved over the gathering, she smiled as her eyes landed on Bart, the tallest and largest of the group.
Well, maybe Cam’s a little taller.
But Bart was the only one holding her attention.
How far we’ve come in a week.

The driver’s door opened, jerking Faith out of her musings. Her eyes sought his for instructions.

“We’re going to the location and parking nearby. Don’t come into Constance’s house,” he added with emphasis, “Mitch and Monty will go in the front and I’ll go around the back. Got that?”

She nodded. “Got it,” she replied.

Within a few minutes, they parked down the street from the location. She watched as the men spread out, moving steadily. She sat back, looking around, her nerves needing something else to focus on. A tingling began at the back of her neck as her eyes stayed on one place. Nerves taut, she jerked her gaze back to where the men had disappeared, before looking to the opposite side of the street again.
It’s there, I’m sure of it.
Her stomach clenched with anxiety.
But who’s there? What if I’m wrong? What if I lead them to a neighbor’s house and it’s wrong?
Closing her eyes for a moment, she allowed the images to form and solidify in her mind. Opening her eyes as she stared at the new location, she knew. Grabbing her phone from her purse, she sent a text to Bart.

Across the street. Basement. I’m sure.

She waited a few minutes, but no response came back from Bart.
If I check it out, then I won’t take a chance on sending the cavalry in falsely.
Sliding out of the truck, she saw no one around as she crept around toward the back of the neighbor’s house. Seeing several low, rectangle windows that would indicate they belonged to the basement, she moved to the back of the house where she hid behind shrubs before approaching the windows. Trying one, she found what she expected.
Locked.
Looking around, she did not see anyone so she checked her phone again. No response to her text.
Jesus, what do I do? What if I’m wrong?
Sending Bart another text, she waited an anxious minute. No response. Butterflies warred in her stomach as her restlessness had her trying another window.

This time, the window jiggled and the latch slid out of its catch. Wide-eyed, she stared. Leaning around the bush, she tried to see if Bart or one of the others was coming.
Damnit! Do I go back or go in?
Her fingers moved the glass window back and forth a couple of times, noting it made no noise.

Follow your instincts, Printcessa.
Faith startled as her grandmother’s voice came to her as though she were next to her. Sucking in a deep breath, she fired off another text.

Going in.

Pulling the window open all the way and propping it with a stick, she peeked her head in. All was quiet. It appeared to be a small room in what must be the basement. She noticed a few plastic storage containers along the wall. Pulling her head back out, she twisted her body around and slid her legs in first. Slowly, on her stomach, she scooted backward until her feet found the box underneath her. Testing them gently, she continued to hold onto the windowsill until she was entirely in the basement. Moving her feet until they felt steady, she squatted before attempting to hop down to the floor.

The top box shifted as she jumped, falling off the stack and crashing to the concrete floor.
Damnit!
She stood, statue-like, until she was sure there were no other noises to be heard. Instantly filled with the realization she was breaking and entering, she placed her hand on her stomach, pressing in to still the nerves. Fighting the desire to throw up, she glanced around the room.

The walls were painted cinderblock. Metal shelves lined one side, holding empty plastic tubs labeled Christmas. A door on the opposite side of her was the only exit. She moved on rubbery legs, carefully making her way to the door. Locked.
Of course,
she thought ruefully.
I would break into a closet with a locked door. Bart, where are you?

Taking a moment to gather her wits, she looked back down at the doorknob. It appeared to be a simple, push-button type of doorknob lock with nothing but a hole in the middle on her side.
It’s not a deadbolt!
She reached up to her hair, pulling out a bobby-pin and wondered if she would be able to pick the lock.
It doesn’t look difficult on TV…but what do I know?