Seeing Love: Saints Protection & Investigations (5 page)

“You still haven’t told me who you are,” she accused softly. She was not sure she had ever seen such a large man…at least not this close. He filled the doorframe, his head just underneath the top. Blond hair, slightly tousled. More than a little stubble on his jaw. He was wearing a dark, tailored suit evidently made especially for his bulk.

Bart found himself uncharacteristically dumbstruck. Beauty was something he saw, and fucked, on a regular basis.
But her eyes…as though they can see right into me.

Shaking himself, he quickly stepped forward with his hand extended. “I beg your pardon. Bart Taggart. I’m investigating the kidnapping at Mr. Krustas’ request. And you are?”

Her breathing had slowed back to normal as she placed her much smaller hand into his. Leaning back to look into his face, she realized once more how tall he was as he towered over her five foot, six inches. His hand was astonishingly gentle as it held her. She saw his questioning gaze as his mouth quirked up in a smile.

“Oh,” she exclaimed, pulling her hand back as she blushed. “My name is Faith. Faith Romani. I’m a…um…sketch artist. I do some work for the local police.”

Cocking his head to the side, he observed her closely. “There are no witnesses to the crime that I know of, so how exactly are you going to sketch anyone?”

Just then, Anton showed up at the door. “Oh, good. You two have met. Uncle Ivan wants to brief the two of you.”

Lifting his arm to the side, Bart motioned, “After you, miss.” Walking behind her, he could not help but notice her ass as her pants showcased it perfectly. Willing his dick to behave, he followed her down the stairs and into the living room.

Ivan was standing by the decorated mantel, Dmitry at his side. Nodding toward the pair as they walked toward him, Ivan said, “Good, good. The two of you will work well together and I know we’ll make progress now.”

Before Bart could question either Ivan or Faith further about her involvement, Ivan ushered them to the sofa.

“Bart, you’re here because I know you will focus on my grandson and not be distracted by what my companies are involved in. You will be able to be objective when looking at my main competitors. Faith, you’re here because of your special gifts.”

“Special gifts?” Bart questioned.

“I’m also a psychologist,” Faith said softly, but with conviction. “Mr. Krustas is hoping that I’ll be able to get a handle on what type of personality we’re dealing with.”

Bart turned and looked at the woman sitting on the other end of the sofa. Her eyes held his gaze, but something was off. He just was not sure what it was. “Do you work for the FBI?”

“No,” she replied honestly. “I would have to go through their training to be an FBI profiler. I have a master’s degree in psychology and a minor in art.” Seeing his incredulous expression, she explained, “I know it seems to be a strange combination but they both interested me. I’ve worked with the local police as a sketch artist and use my background in psychology to get an idea of what type of person we’ll be checking into.”

Bart nodded, carefully considering her words.
Everything sounds normal, so why do I get a weird feeling she’s not telling me everything?

Ivan interjected, “Anton is gathering the information that I have asked him to compile for you. Would the two of you be able to come back in two hours, once he’s ready?”

Before Bart could agree, Mrs. Dukakas appeared at the door, saying, “Excuse me, Mr. Krustas, the doctor is here for Constance.”

The weight that momentarily lifted from Ivan was firmly back on his shoulders. Looking over at Bart and Faith, he offered his apologies. “I’ll see you in about two hours. The FBI will have another report for us and Anton will have the information you’ll need.” Walking over to grasp Bart’s hand, he added, “Please keep me informed about anything you discover. I’ll be traveling back and forth to Norfolk, but will mostly be here. Anton will be taking care of many of our businesses back in Norfolk.”

With that, he left the room and Mrs. Dukakas said, “I’ll show you out now.”

As Bart and Faith left the mansion, they walked silently back down the driveway past the vigilant guards. Arriving at her small car, Bart noticed the old model vehicle. Not wanting to leave her side yet, he placed his hand on her arm.

“Would you like to get some coffee?” he asked, turning on his famous charm.

She looked up at his grin and hesitated.
He looks like he never gets turned down.

Bart noticed her reticence and pressed his point. “We can share information,” he enticed.

Offering a small smile, she agreed. “There’s a coffee shop about a mile from here,” she commented.

“You can ride with me and I’ll bring you back,” he said, already placing his hand on her shoulder to guide her to his truck.

“No, thank you,” she declared. “I’ll drive and you can follow.” With that, she opened her car door, tossing her bag into the passenger seat.

Bart realized it made sense for a woman to be cautious, especially with a large stranger.
But damn, it feels odd.
He could not remember the last time a woman refused to take him up on an offer. Hustling over to his truck, he pulled out behind her and followed her through the neighborhood and to a small shopping center with a little café.

Parking behind her, he jogged to her side to offer his hand in assisting her from her car. She placed her hand in his as she alighted from the vehicle. She felt him squeeze her fingers before letting go, noting the sparks tingling long after the release. Wiggling her fingers, she wondered why this man had such a strong effect on her.

Entering the café, the warm interior was inviting and they found a small booth toward the back. Once the coffee was ordered, they sat, both analyzing each other. Unbeknownst to her, he also felt the tingle from their touch. Unused to such reactions, he wondered about the beautiful woman sitting across from him.

“So…um…are you with the FBI?” she asked, wanting to break the awkward silence. She wrapped her hands around the hot cup, hoping its warmth would thaw her freezing fingers.

“No,” he answered. “I work for a private investigation company that Mr. Krustas has contracted.”

“Oh,” Faith replied, not sure what working for a private investigation company entailed.

Bart grinned as he leaned back in his seat, stretching his long legs to either side of hers. “And you? How does one become a psychologist and artist?”

Smiling in return as she relaxed a little, she answered, “I was always interested in people. And art was a way for me to express myself. I only work part-time for the sheriff’s department. They call me in when they need me. So I also teach art part time at the local elementary school.”

“Part time?”

Sighing heavily as she absentmindedly twirled a lock of ebony hair, she nodded. “With budget cuts, the arts often are on the chopping block when the school systems have to cut costs. So I work three days a week at the elementary school teaching art and then I’m on call for the police department.”

Bart quickly estimated what her income would be with the two part-time jobs and was curious how she managed to make a living. His eyes dropped to her clothes. Neat, clean, but not new.

She watched his eyes assess her and wondered what he thought. She noticed the woman behind the counter strip Bart with her eyes and the waitress had freshened their coffee twice already, trying desperately to get his attention. She noticed his quick grin and wink at the waitress and wondered if he realized how many hearts probably broke every day when he would smile and then walk away.
Oh yeah. I definitely get a feeling about him!

Drawn to her like a moth to the light, Bart wanted to know more about her. She appeared immune to his charm, but that only made her more attractive to him. “Tell me more about yourself.”

Giving a shrug, she admitted, “There’s not much to tell. I was raised in the Charlestown area by my mom and grandmother. They’ve both passed now.” She twisted the napkin on the table, her nerves taut.
Why does he make me so nervous? It’s hard to clear my mind and think with his overpowering, testosterone, devilishly-handsome presence opposite of me!
A giggle erupted as she thought of her description of him.

Bart wondered what she was thinking that would make her laugh, unintentionally drawing focus to her perfect lips. Quirking his eyebrow, he noticed her blush. “Are you all right?”

“Yes,” she said, clearing her throat. “I…um…sorry. I just had a silly thought.”
He must think I’m an idiot!
Determined to redeem herself, she quickly asked, “And you? What does an independent investigator do?”

Knowing she was attempting to lead the conversation away from whatever had made her laugh, he played along. He leaned back again, managing to move his leg so that it touched hers.

She attempted to shift her leg over but found them trapped between his.

Before she could protest, he said, “I was a SEAL, then did a year with Border Patrol when I was medically discharged. Found that I hated the red-tape that went along with our assignments, so when I heard about Saints Protection & Investigation, I knew it was perfect.” Seeing the question in her eyes, he said, “We take on cases and are able to work…outside of the agency regulations.”

Unsure exactly what he meant, the twinkle in his blue eyes told her he enjoyed his job immensely. Unable to think of anything else to say, she just nodded, turning her cup up to finish the coffee dregs in the bottom.

Bart wondered about her silent response.
Usually women practically swoon when I tell them I was a SEAL.
He was unsure if he should be insulted or relieved.

Their coffee finished, they stood, Bart tossing a few bills on the table for the tip. He looked over and winked at the waitress again, who was still eying him as though he was the last cookie before a diet. Rolling her eyes, Faith proceeded him out of the door. His long legs quickly caught up to her before she reached her car.

“You okay?” he asked, true concern on his face.

Realizing the stupidity of being irritated at him for flirting with the waitress when they were doing nothing more than having a business lunch, she smiled and nodded.

“I still don’t quite understand why Mr. Krustas hired you since there are no witnesses,” Bart said.

She wondered how much to say. Glancing up into his face, his easy-going expression made her feel so accepted.
Maybe, just maybe, he’ll be understanding.

“I don’t just draw what other people describe. I…feel things and see images in my head. Then I draw them as well. Sometimes it can help.”

Bart’s expression was one of confusion as he cocked his head to the side. “I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Sometimes when I’m around someone or something where strong emotions have been involved, I…I don’t know. I…just get images in my head and draw them. Sometimes they’ve been helpful. The FBI has used me a couple of times for something local, but that’s completely off the record.”

She watched in fascination as a myriad of emotions crossed Bart’s handsome face—confusion, dawning realization, then morphing into pure anger.

“You…you’re psychic?” he barked out. “You’re shittin’ me. Seriously? You dig around a crime scene
, see
things, draw them down, and jerk some poor unsuspecting family who’s grieving, to pay for your
services
? Fuck me! And here I thought you were legitimate!” he yelled.

Rearing back away from his rage, she tried to still her quivering while shaking her head. “No, no, you’ve got it all wrong!”

“Oh, I’ve got your number, sweetheart,” he growled. “I dealt with a slick-shit, fake medium a few months ago who was trying to rook my grandmother and cousin.” He whirled around, pacing furiously, his large frame menacing. Stalking back to her, he stopped only when his large boots were directly in front of her small pumps. Leaning down over her, using his size to intimidate, he said, “Well, your little scheme ends here, dearie. You won’t be getting rich off anyone else!” He refused to focus on her quivering chin and tears that formed on her lashes. “I’m officially calling our partnership quits right now. I’m telling Krustas you’re a phony and I’ve got no problem talking to our FBI and police contacts as well.”

With his angry face inches from hers, he growled one more time. “Consider yourself officially out of business!” Pushing away, he whirled around and stalked to his truck, hopping inside and squealing out the parking lot, leaving Faith shaking in his retreat.

B
art drove around
for half an hour, furious with Faith’s deception, Krustas’ gullibility, and for allowing himself to become interested in a pair of dark, soulful eyes.
Goddamnit
! His mind rolled back to the previous summer when Cecil Nastelli, a con-artist disguised as a medium, was stealing millions from lonely, wealthy widows by pretending to speak to their dead husbands. Nastelli would then tell them their husbands wanted them to invest in bogus companies, all of which he owned.

Bart’s grandmother was being scammed and he worked with his cousin and her fiancé, Jude, to catch the fuckin’ swindler.

His mind continued to roll through Faith’s explanation.
She gets feelings. She gets images and then draws them. What a crock of shit! She visits crime scenes for her images and then plays on the emotions of poor, unsuspecting people. I wonder how much she gets paid?
He thought back to when he broke into Nastelli’s expensive condo when looking for evidence.
I’ll bet she lives grand also!

He finally found himself back in his neighborhood, determined his first order of business was to shut Miss Faith down.
Faith! Jesus, she’s even given herself a name that would fit her scam!
As soon as he hit his driveway, he called Jack.

“Yeah,” Jack answered.

“Bro, you’re not going to believe what I found out about that profiler Krustas hired. She’s a fuckin’ phony. Claims to be a psychic! Says she gets feelings and images that she draws. Hell, she visits crime scenes to get her
visions!”

Bart was met with silence on the other end. “Jack? You still there?”