Seeing Love: Saints Protection & Investigations

by Maryann Jordan

  “Shed tears for the living, who exist in darkness. Not for the dead who have moved on to heaven,” her grandmother would say.

  Moving to her bedroom, she changed into running clothes and headed out of the apartment, willing the pounding pavement to chase away the shadows in her mind. The art pad still lay on the coffee table, the image of the boy looking up from the page.

  *

  Bart drove to Cam’s house to pick up his friend. They often rode to work together now that they lived in homes that were not far apart. He walked up the front porch knowing the wreath-covered door would probably swing open before he had a chance to knock.

  “Good morning,” sang the sweet-faced woman who welcomed him. Stepping inside, his gaze landed on the large Christmas tree in the living room, gold and silver decorations filling almost every space.

  Cam’s fiancé, a petite, dark-haired beauty, dressed in nursing scrubs, offered him a hug. She then stood back, eyeing him speculatively. “We missed you when we left the bar the other night. I’m assuming you went home with big-boobs? Oh, wait…that would make Saturday night just like every other Saturday night at Chuck’s Bar.”

  “Now, now, Miriam,” he laughed, seeing her dark eyes flashing at him. “You know I just like to have a little fun.” Her gaze bore a hole in him as he threw up his hands in self-defense. Hearing his friend stirring in the kitchen, he called out, “Bro! A little help to fend off your tigress would be appreciated!”

  A large, Hispanic man ambled toward the pair, pulling his fiancé back into his side. “She busting your chops over bailing on us the other night?”

  “I didn’t bail,” Bart protested. “I just found myself diverted by a pair of—”

  “Boobs!” Miriam interjected loudly with a huff.

  “I was going to say blue eyes,” Bart corrected. Giving his friend’s fiancé a sweet pout, he said, “Come on, Miriam. You know I’m just a bit of a hound dog when it comes to the ladies.”

  Rolling her eyes, she answered, “Your little-boy expressions don’t work on me, mister. One day, you’re going to fall for someone and I want to be around when it happens.” Turning to walk back toward the kitchen, she stopped and looked over her shoulder. “And guess what? I hope you have to work like hell to get her interested!” With a wink at the two men, she left the room.

  Bart looked over at Cam, a sheepish expression on his face. “She knows how to go for the jugular, doesn’t she?” he joked.

  Cam threw his head back with a laugh. The former undercover police detective looked at his friend and explained, “She just wants you to find what we’ve got, man.”

  Bart smiled at his friend, happy for what Cam had found. As the two walked toward the kitchen to grab the breakfast Miriam was dishing out, he could not help but wonder, Is that kind of relationship in the cards for me?

  *

  Driving through the security gates of Jack’s compound an hour later, Bart parked outside the large log-cabin home. The Blue Ridge Mountains loomed in the background, the cedar, pine, and maple trees surrounding the house. Jack Bryant operated Saints Protection & Investigations, recruiting from former military and government agencies to form a unique security service. Coming from backgrounds including the CIA, FBI, DEA, SEALs, ATF, the alphabet soup took on the cases others did not want or needed assistance with. Some covert. The Saints would never officially be recognized as the ones who solved the crimes. That did not matter to them; not having to deal with the bureaucratic bullshit that each of them left behind, made the work interesting…and profitable.

  “Where’s Bethany’s car?” Cam asked, glancing at the large SUVs and trucks around.

  “Jack’s got her parking in the garage now that she lives here.” Laughing, Bart added, “He said it was because he was tired of scraping the frost off her windshield, but we know it’s because he can’t stand the idea of her not being completely protected.”

  The two men walked between the other vehicles parked in front and jogged up the wide front steps. Looking around, Bart appreciated the greenery draped over the porch banister, decorated with red bows. The front door held an enormous wreath. Upon entering, the scent of chocolate assaulted their senses. Quickly moving to the kitchen bar, where the other men stood, they looked over as Bethany pulled chocolate chip muffins from the oven.

  “Damn, girl,” Marc said appreciatively. “Those smell so good.” The former CIA pilot was more at home in his small cabin than Jack’s grandiose one, but he loved the treats Bethany baked. His culinary skills ran toward the survivalist cuisine and he never missed a chance for anything home-cooked.

  Other hell yeahs soon followed from the rest of the men. Bart glanced around, seeing the Saints now gathered. Luke, Chad, and Blaise sat at on stools at the kitchen counter. The large, formidable group of men were reduced to a drooling mass around Bethany’s cooking. The slim, natural beauty with her long, honey blonde hair pulled back into a braid hanging down her back, made homemade goodies for them once a week. Bart wondered if she had bewitched Jack by luring him with her baking skills. Looking at the man who was appreciatively staring at his wife and not the treats, Bart knew—Jack was in love with the woman.

  His eyes moved to the large living room, the two-story stone fireplace on one wall and windows overlooking the mountains in the background on the other side. The Christmas tree Jack and Bethany decorated was taller than what Bart’s grandparent’s used to have and he thought theirs had been the biggest.

  “Damn, Jack, that tree is humongous,” he laughed.

  Jack, his taciturn expression morphed into a smile as he rubbed his dark beard, glancing at Bethany before turning to look at the tree that was now the center of attention. “After we decorated her Mountville cabins next door, we decided to start some traditions ourselves.” With a wink toward her, he said, “We need to get our meeting started. You all can enjoy the muffins when they cool.” He kissed Bethany before leading the men downstairs to their main work area.

  Once settled around the large conference table, Jack began the meeting. The Saints had numbered eight, but now a new face joined the team. “You all know Jude from the work he completed in Virginia Beach with us last month. He’s officially become a Saint employee and I’m assigning him to Monty and Marc for a while.”

  Everyone smiled at the former SEAL who had become engaged to Bart’s cousin; they had recently moved to the Charlestown area so he could work for Jack. No longer sporting the SEAL haircut, his sandy curls gave him a youthful appearance, but his honed body spoke of one who worked out relentlessly.

  “Luke will also offer him investigative skills during his initial employment. Jude, they can teach you methods that were learned from the FBI and CIA.”

  Jude nodded in appreciation, smiling at Bart who had been instrumental in his decision to work for the Saints.

  “We’ve got a new assignment that will take precedence.” Gaining the immediate attention of the group, Jack continued.

  “We’ve been contacted by Ivan Krustas—”

  Before Jack could speak further, a collective what the fuck came from the men around the table. Jude’s fiancé, Sabrina, had been kidnapped and the kidnapper tried to taking her to Ivan, a member of the Russian mob operating out of the Norfolk area. Ivan, in an attempt to keep the Feds out of his businesses, had worked with them to turn over one of his nephews who had become involved in human trafficking. Ivan, having no desire to have anything to do with Sabrina, kept her safe until Jude and Bart came to rescue her. The kidnapper was handed over to the FBI and the group assumed that would be the last they would hear from Ivan Krustas.

  Jack silenced the group with a stare. “His grandson was kidnapped about thirty hours ago and of course, the FBI are working the case. Ivan contacted me last night, wanting our assistance.”

  “Afraid of what the FBI will find out about his businesses?” Blaise asked. A veterinarian, with the looks of a Nordic Viking, had completed extensive work for DEA before joining Jack. Trained to assess and questio
n, his mercurial mood could shift from easy-going to unyielding investigator instantly. A muscle in his square jaw ticked as he leaned forward in his chair.

  “It’s his grandson,” Chad admonished, shooting a frustrated look toward Blaise. A former explosive expert with ATF, he usually saw the good in people, easily putting his life on the line.

  Jack sucked in a deep breath, saying, “Probably a bit of both. He wants his grandson found, but is afraid that the FBI might not give it the attention it needs because they will use the opportunity to spend more time delving into his businesses than working to find his grandson.”

  Monty, the dark-haired, debonair Saint, took over as Luke sent information to their tablets opened on the table. “I’ve been in contact with my former agency buddies and there’s the possibility Ivan is right. Obviously, the FBI wants to find his grandson but some agents are also chomping at the bit to dig more into the Krustas’ holdings in Norfolk.”

  Jack carefully eyed the men around the table. All capable. All willing. His eyes landed on the large, blond, ex-Seal. Something Ivan had told him this morning stuck in his mind, making his choice for the lead investigator on this assignment imperative. Not sure if it was the right decision to make, he had always relied on his gut instinct when in the Special Forces.

  “Bart. You take the lead,” Jack commanded.

  Without hesitation, Bart nodded, glad for the vote of confidence. “You got it, sir,” he replied, a smile on his lips. As much as he hated the Russian mob activities in the Hampton Roads area of Virginia, he appreciated the chance to assist Ivan Krustas since he had helped in keeping his cousin safe.

  Glancing at Jude, Bart knew the young investigator would love to be assigned to the mission as well since Sabrina was his fiancé, but Jack knew what he was doing. Jude needed more seasoning and working with Monty on the project would be perfect.

  Luke, their former CIA computer expert, took over the presentation, his pen tapping on the table as the caffeine from his strong coffee kicked in. “Ivan lives in Virginia Beach, but his daughter and grandson live outside of Charlestown. The child was taken from his home at night while his mother was at a charity event.”

  “No security?”

  “It appears when Ivan’s son died several years ago and Ivan was embroiled in the investigations into his nephew’s businesses, his daughter-in-law moved to Charlestown to escape the publicity. According to Ivan, she wanted a more normal upbringing for her son and kept a low profile in their new town. Her son went to a private school and she lives in a gated community, but there is no special security.”

  “Any demands?” Bart asked.

  Jack nodded, “Yeah. For a quarter of a million which Ivan paid last night.” He caught the confused expressions of his men and leaning forward with his muscular arms on the table, continued. “All he got in return was a picture of his grandson holding a sign that said ‘Thanks’, and then he got another monetary demand. The missive said that Erik would be safe as long as the money kept coming.”

  “Damn, extortion!” Chad exuded, blowing out a sharp breath.

  “Not the usual kidnapping modus operandi,” Blaise commented, his calm statement belying his quick mind.

  “Sounds personal,” Bart added, voicing what the others were thinking.

  “That’s what I thought when I talked to him last night.” Jack looked over at Bart and said, “It seems Ivan received a few threatening missives before the kidnapping.”

  “He knew it could happen and didn’t do more to protect his grandson?” Marc asked, his dark brows rose in question.

  “The threats he received had nothing to do with his grandson. They were just general threats,” Jack responded. “The kidnapping came out of the blue.”

  Turning to look at Bart, he added, “We’re all working this with you, and Monty will coordinate closely with his FBI contacts, but I want you to head to Charlestown this morning to talk to the family. Ivan is there at his daughter-in-law’s house and since you have a history with the man, you would have a better insight into what we’re looking at.”

  “What kind of timetable are we up against?” Bart asked.

  “Time is of the essence. We want to find Ivan’s grandson but, unlike most kidnappings and hostage situations, it seems that the kidnappers are willing to ride this out to financially cripple Ivan. The FBI is still very much in charge and we haven’t been called in to investigate by them. Our contract is with Ivan. He has a very specific assignment with us.”

  Holding Bart’s gaze for a second longer than Bart was comfortable, Jack added, “Ivan told me that he has engaged the services of the local police’s artist, to see if there was anything they could come up with.”

  Head cocked to the side, Bart asked, “Wouldn’t that be more useful if there had been a witness?”

  “Ivan’s probably grasping at straws,” Chad commented. “Looking for anything and anyone who had been seen in the area.”

  Nodding, Bart stood, saying goodbye to the group. The others stayed to continue delving into Ivan’s business and life while Bart headed back up the stairs. Bethany met him as he passed the kitchen, handing him a plastic container. His eyes looked down at the proffered dish as she grinned, saying, “Your chocolate-chip muffins to go.”

  Leaning over to kiss the top of her head, he said, “You’re the best, Bethany. Thank you.”

  “Save your flattery for your hookups, big guy,” she called after him as he winked at her, walking to the door.

  As he drove through the security gate, chewing on a muffin, he appreciated his boss’ wife. A strange emotion passed through his mind at the thought of the woman’s bed he had left the other morning. Dissatisfaction. Sure, sexually she’d been okay. She got off…I got off…what else is there? Sighing, he wondered why he felt such disquiet. With a mental shake, he tried to focus on the mission at hand, but during his drive toward Charlestown, the idea of a special someone for him interrupted his planning.

  Chapter 3

  Driving up to the security gate in front of the exclusive neighborhood, Bart was waved through after showing his identification to the guard. Jack had told him Ivan would take care all the arrangements for him to have full access.

  Following the street as it wound past new, multi-million dollar homes, he wondered if this was one of the reasons Jack put him on point for the mission. Having grown up with wealthy parents and grandparents, he was accustomed to being comfortable in all types of social settings.

  At the right address, he noted the black sedans parked outside the home. His gaze roamed the neighboring houses, taking in the area. Perfectly manicured lawns leading to huge mansions, each exterior different from the next.

  Folding his tall frame out of his extended-cab truck, he stretched before walking to the front door. He noted the presence of several dark-suited men wandering the perimeter of the yard, eyeing him suspiciously. Answering his knock, an elderly woman in a housekeeper’s apron, her red-rimmed eyes partially hidden behind glasses, looked up. Introducing himself, she let him in and escorted him past several more men in dark suits, to the formal living room.

  A young man Bart did not recognize stood near the fireplace. A huge Christmas tree, elegantly decorated, drew his eyes to the corner of the room. A few presents sat underneath, as though awaiting the child that would be coming down to open them in a week. The dark paneling of the room, along with the drawn heavy curtains, gave the room a gloomy countenance.

  Sitting in a leather chair near the fireplace was Ivan Krustas. A distinguished older man, heavy-set with a square jaw and eyes that did not appear to miss anything, he nonetheless looked very different than when Bart had met him in Norfolk a few months ago. At that time, Ivan was a man in charge—of his life and the situation with Bart’s cousin. Now he looked…destroyed.

  Ivan immediately stood, walking over with an outstretched hand. Bart took it, the shaky grip clasped in his hand. Instinctively, he thought, This is a devastated man.

  “Mr. Taggart, we me
et again.”

  “Mr. Krustas, please call me Bart. And I’m very sorry for the circumstances.”

  Grief passed through the older man’s grey eyes as he offered Bart a seat. “You may call me Ivan as well. This,” he said, pointing to the young man, “is one of my nephews, Dmitry.”

  Dmitry stepped forward, shaking Bart’s outstretched hand. It was easy for Bart to see the family resemblance.

  “Mrs. Dukakas?” Ivan called to the housekeeper. As the woman appeared at the door, he instructed, “Would you please ask Constance to join us?”

  The woman nodded quietly and left the room. Bart’s eyes followed her. After she was out of earshot, he asked, “Was she here the night Erik was taken?”

  Ivan’s head nodded, each movement seeming to add age to his face. “Yes, she was the only one here. Her room is behind the kitchen. Actually, she has a small suite of rooms and has been with the family for many years.” He gave a small smile, and added, “She was with us when my son was a teenager. And when Constance demanded to leave the Hampton Roads area, Mrs. Dukakas decided to follow her and Erik.”

  “I take it she did not hear anything that night?”

  “No, no. She checked on Erik about ten p.m. and he was sound asleep. She made sure the alarms in the house were set and then turned in. She said she watched television until about eleven before going to sleep. She awoke at two a.m. when Constance came home from her event and checked on Erik, finding his room empty.”

  “I’ve read the initial police report and, of course, we’re working with the FBI as well.”

  “Humph,” Ivan snorted. “They care about the case but I also know the chance to delve into my businesses is of utmost importance to them. I fear they will use any excuse to focus on me rather than…” his voice cracked, “my grandson.” Ivan pressed his palms to his eyes, stemming the flow of tears.

  Bart respectfully waited for a moment to give the older man a chance to compose himself, watching carefully as Dmitry stood close to Ivan, placing his hand on his shoulder.