Seeing Love: Saints Protection & Investigations

by Maryann Jordan

  “I thought the loss of my son to a heart attack several years ago would break my heart, but this…” he said, looking directly at Bart through haunted eyes, “is the worst agony imaginable.”

  Ivan was offered a respite by the appearance of a beautiful woman entering the room. Her hair, normally coiffed, was pulled back into a ponytail. Designer clothes were replaced with yoga pants and a long-sleeved tunic that hung to her mid-thighs. Slippers encased her feet instead of heels. Her face was devoid of makeup as her red-rimmed eyes matched those of the housekeeper.

  “I’ll bring tea for everyone,” Mrs. Dukakas said as she quietly left the room again.

  Bart greeted Constance Krustas with a handshake and heartfelt condolences. Her eyes flared as she looked up at his face, but he knew his size could be intimidating. Wanting to make her more comfortable, he assisted her to sit on the sofa and he took the winged-back chair facing her. Glancing at Ivan, he watched as the older man sat next to his daughter-in-law, placing his hand on her arm as he handed her a tissue. Their relationship seems to be good, he noted as Constance offered her father-in-law a watery nod.

  “Mrs. Krustas, I’ve read the detective’s report and have access to the FBI interviews. I want to make sure I understand the events from your and Ivan’s perspectives.” Receiving nods from the two, he continued. “Was there anything different about that night?”

  Swallowing with difficulty, Constance shook her head. “No. I don’t go out a lot. Not really. But I’m on a few charity boards and they usually have some evening events.” Running her hand over her face, she took a shuddering breath and continued. “The police asked me if I noticed anything unusual, but I didn’t.”

  “Did you drive yourself?”

  “No, I had another charity board member give me a lift.”

  He caught a glimpse of blush on her cheeks as she twisted the handkerchief in her hand nervously. Pressing her, he asked, “Anyone special?”

  Licking her lips, she nodded. “I…it was Roger Montague.” Her eyes cut over to Ivan, but he just stared straight ahead. “We see each other occasionally. Just friends,” she added quickly. “But he’s been a good friend since I moved here.”

  Bart noticed as her eyes darted over to Ivan’s once more. Ivan caught the movement and took Constance’s hand. “You’ll always be like a daughter to me, but I understand you’ll want to date. I never expected you to stay a lonely widow.”

  She twisted in her seat and looked at Ivan. “It’s not like that, honestly. I’m not romantically involved. He’s just a friend and lives close by. He only gave me a ride that night.”

  Bart interrupted, saying, “So he was aware Erik was home alone?”

  She turned her face toward his, confusion clearly written there. “Yes, but then so would lots of others. I’m a single mother, so just about anyone who knew I was at the event would know he was here without me. But then, he wasn’t alone.”

  “Yes, I understand that Mrs. Dukakas checked on him before turning in. So in that case, the kidnapping would have had to happen between about ten p.m. and before you got home at two a.m.”

  She scrubbed her hand over her face once more, and said, “I believe her. She’s been with the family for over twenty years.”

  Ivan interjected his agreement. “Her mother and father worked for the family as well. Very reliable.”

  Bart nodded but appreciated the Saints would be doing their own checking on both the housekeeper and Constance’s friend.

  Her shoulders began to shake with silent sobs, and Ivan assisted her to stand. Walking with his daughter-in-law to the entrance of the room, he called for one of the guards. “Please escort her to her room and ask Mrs. Dukakas to take some tea up to her.”

  The suited man nodded and walked away with Constance leaning heavily on his arm. Just then, another man walked swiftly into the room. Bart recognized him instantly as Ivan’s nephew from Norfolk. It appeared at the time he was Ivan’s right-hand man and if the greeting between the two men was anything to judge, that relationship still served. Bart observed as Dmitry held back from the other two, his eyes darting between his brother and uncle.

  Ivan pulled the newcomer into his embrace as the two patted each other on the back. “I’m glad you’re here,” Ivan said.

  “I came as soon as I could,” Anton replied.

  Turning his gaze to Bart, Ivan said, “I know introductions were not made last summer, but this is my nephew, Anton.”

  Bart shook hands with Anton, noting his attire. While the man was clothed in expensive slacks and shirt, they appeared slightly wrinkled.

  “You’ve been away?” Bart casually asked.

  “Yes, yes,” Anton nodded, holding on to Ivan’s arm as he escorted the man back to the sofa before taking a seat himself. “I’ve just come in from spending the week in California.”

  “Forgive me for sounding impertinent, but your cousin’s son was kidnapped almost two days ago and you’re just getting here?”

  Bart caught a flash of irritation in Anton’s eyes before being shuttered. Ivan interrupted, saying, “I asked him to stay. He was brokering a deal and we had the police and FBI on the case. There was nothing Anton could have done if he had returned yesterday.”

  “I’ve read some, but I’d like to listen to your version of what happened a year ago with your operation.”

  Once more, Anton seemed perturbed by the question, but Ivan appeared to expect it. Heaving a sigh, he stood and walked over to the fireplace with his hands outstretched to the warmth. Measuring his words, he began, “My grandfather came to this country from Russia when war was decimating our land. Our country had been at war with someone for so many years that America seemed like the land of opportunity, even for a communist. He was a fisherman, off the coast of Alaska, when the crew decided to defect. Taken in by Americans on the coast, he made his way down to California. By the time he married and had a family, he moved across the country to Virginia.”

  Bart listened carefully even though everything Ivan said was in the FBI report.

  “My father had three sons and we all became involved in the family business.” At that, Ivan turned from the fireplace and pierced Bart with a stare. “I will not divulge our family business interests, but let’s just say we were profitable.”

  Keeping his expression neutral, Bart was cognizant extortion, fraud, money laundering, narcotics, plus a host of other nefarious dealings constituted the family’s businesses.

  “As the oldest, I received the largest share of our family’s interests. My brother, Mikhail, died in a business deal gone bad, but he had a son, Sergio. My other brother worked along with me until he had a heart attack about three years ago. His sons are Anton, who followed in his father’s footsteps and is now my right hand, and Dmitry, in graduate school learning accounting and finance. My son also had a heart attack early in life. It seems bad hearts are prominent in my family.”

  “Sergio is now in jail,” Bart stated, knowing the knowledge but wanting to hear Ivan’s explanation.

  Anton stood, walked over to the polished oak credenza, and poured a tumbler of whiskey for Ivan. Handing it to him, he faced Bart. “I know this is necessary, but can I ask why this interest in the family?”

  Bart considered standing, but continued to sit…for the moment. Holding Anton’s gaze, he said, “Doors and windows not broken; Constance’s whereabouts were known; the only person in the house was an elderly housekeeper. We’d be negligent to not consider that Erik’s kidnapping could have been someone close to the family.”

  At this, both Anton and Ivan visible reared back. Blinking twice, Ivan made his way over to the sofa once more, closely followed by Anton. Ivan nodded, pinching his lips.

  Bart added, “Sergio might be in prison, but his incarceration hardly means that he would not have those on the outside who would help him. Work for him.”

  “I won’t go into all our family endeavors,” Ivan warned, but said, “Four years ago I moved many of our family busines
ses mostly into legitimate companies. I wanted to hand something to my grandson that he could take over without fear of being thrown into prison. Anton and Dmitry’s father agreed and my son, along with my nephews, understood what we were doing. My other nephew, Sergio, never agreed and became a thorn in our side. I finally bought him out and gave him the money to start his own businesses.”

  Ivan stopped to stare at Bart once more. “I don’t have to tell you what he got into.”

  Bart shook his head. “No, sir. The indictments and conviction told the story well enough.”

  Shaking his head, Anton said, “Stupid fuck. My cousin got into human trafficking, something our family would have never consented to.”

  “So, when the FBI and DEA came snooping into my affairs, I handed them Sergio. He became an embarrassment to the family. Always drunk at family gatherings. Whoring away his life right in front of his wife. Disgraceful.”

  “That must have been hard,” Bart commented.

  A glint of steel shown in Ivan’s gaze. “Not at all, Mr. Taggart. I was not about to have my business interests, nor Anton, Dmitry, and Erik’s legacy tainted and destroyed by a selfish prick, no matter if he was my nephew.”

  Bart nodded, taking in the information and now adding Sergio at the top of his list. The man may be in prison, but he would have no problem getting someone to do his dirty work. And how better to retaliate at his uncle than to kidnap his grandson and financially ruin him?

  “Tell me about the notes and the payout.” Bart queried.

  Ivan sighed again. “I received a frantic call from Constance about two-fifteen a.m. She had already called 911 but I made sure to make a few calls myself. I called Anton in California, my lawyer, and my head of security. I had my driver bring Dmitry and me here immediately and arrived about six a.m. By that time, I received the first email, saying Erik had been taken and I needed to have a quarter of a million dollars wired to an offshore bank account. Of course, I gave the email to the FBI when they arrived. I was advised not to pay until they could trace the money.”

  Anton erupted with a rude snort. “Those federal bastards didn’t care about Erik. They were too interested in wanting to ascertain where Ivan was getting the money.”

  Bart watched the three men carefully as Ivan continued. He noted Dmitry quietly in the background offering no explanations, his face interestingly passive.

  “My security people checked out what they could about the account, but it would be impossible for me to be able to see who actually got their hands on the money.” Shaking his head, he looked directly at Bart. “It won’t surprise you to know that money laundering has been a…family business…for a long time. So I know it’s possible to bury accounts so that someone can get to it and we’ll never know who they are.”

  “Is this something you asked Jack to work on?”

  “Not at first, no. To be honest, I wasn’t thinking as clearly as I normally do.”

  “That’s understandable.”

  “Not if I want to outsmart the bastard who has my grandson,” Ivan said emphatically.

  “I don’t know what Jack can do, but I’ll talk to him this afternoon when I report in.” Bart saw the appreciation in Ivan’s expression before continuing his questions. “You paid them, right? On time?”

  “Yes, absolutely,” Ivan confirmed. “Then nothing. There was no email telling me where he was. After about two hours another demand came in. They wanted another quarter of a million dollars.”

  Standing, Bart closed his notebook and placed it in the pocket of his jacket. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to take a look at Erik’s room.”

  Ivan leaned back heavily, as though the dissertation had taken everything out of him. Anton nodded toward the stairs. “If you go to the top of the stairs and back to the end of the hall, Erik’s room is on the right.”

  Nodding, Bart turned and walked out of the room. He almost smiled but stilled it quickly. Not because he was happy, but because this was what he liked doing the best. He honestly wished Monty had come to do the interview since he was so good at putting people at ease. Me? Getting my hands dirty in an investigation is my forte!

  Chapter 4

  Faith walked around the room, looking at objects, noting their placement. No rhythm to the room. No symmetry. Books were scattered on the nightstand and desk, but shared the space with toys. Nine years old. Almost too old for certain toys, but too young to give them up completely. She knew his laptop had been taken by the FBI but it would have given her no clues anyway.

  The curtains were closed but she crossed the room and held them back slightly. Down below, she could see the manicured lawn of the back yard, the swimming pool beyond the stone patio. Large pots held palm trees, surrounded by smaller pots of evergreens dotting the patio. Palm trees? She wondered how they grew in Virginia’s mountainous regions, but knew money could buy almost anything. The vista beyond held no interest so she let the curtain drop back into place, plunging the room into faint shadows.

  The walls were peppered with sports posters and a shelf held several little league trophies. She stepped into Erik’s bathroom, wondering at the neatness found there. A housekeeper would probably tidy it every day, but she noticed his toothbrush and toothpaste tossed casually on the marble counter. There was still a small glob of blue toothpaste in the sink bowl. His clothes were laying on the edge of the hamper in little bundles as though he had made a ball toss using the hamper as his basketball net. She turned off the bathroom light and made her way back toward the unmade bed.

  Faith knelt on her knees by the side of the bed and lay her hands on the dark blue comforter. Closing her eyes, she allowed the feelings to flow through her.

  He brushed his teeth, already in his pajamas. He’s in bed with a book. Music. He’s listening to some music. No more music. Sleep. Peaceful. Then—

  *

  Bart made his way down the plush carpeted hall, his footsteps muffled and the way lighted by soft wall sconces to the room indicated as Erik’s. The door stood open, the space lit by what little sunlight filtered through the closed curtains. Starting to enter, he saw a woman kneeling in prayer. Not wanting to interrupt, he stopped at the doorway. She must be another relative or employee.

  As his eyes became accustomed to the dim interior, he could tell she was a young woman. Her straight, ebony hair flowed down her back. It was hard to tell her height as she knelt but if her arms and hands were any indications, she was not a large woman. Her hands were delicate as they lay flat on the bed, her fingers splayed outward on the material. He heard no sounds coming from her and assumed her prayers were silent.

  Uncertainty filled him. He was afraid she would startle when she saw him standing in the doorway, but to move could possibly create a noise that would frighten her also. Caught in his indecision, his phone suddenly vibrated in his pocket, the sound reverberating in the eerily quiet room. He hustled to silence the phone, but the woman jumped from her kneel and whirled around, her hand on her chest.

  Faith’s heart pounded in fear at the shadow of a huge man filling the entire doorframe. Chest heaving, she said, “Who are you? What do you want?”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” Bart replied sincerely. “I didn’t mean to interrupt your prayers.”

  “My…?” she halted, saying no more.

  Knowing she could not see him and wanting to have a clearer vision of who he was speaking to, Bart leaned in and flipped the light switch. The overhead light immediately purged the darkness, causing both Bart and Faith to blink at the brightness.

  Bart stared at the woman standing by the bed. Slightly older than he originally thought, her flawless complexion was complemented by the dark hair framing her face. Large, brown eyes, highlighted by thick lashes, stared back at him. Her hand, still over her heart, brought his eyes to her breasts. Not overly large, he suddenly could not imagine them being more perfect. Her slim waist and hips tapered to impossibly long legs, considering she stood a head shorter than him. Dressed in simple slacks
and an emerald green blouse, he wondered at her impact on him. Something about her drew him forward.

  “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.