Seeing Love: Saints Protection & Investigations

by Maryann Jordan

  They talked like old friends, the animosity and distrust seeming to fade away. The more time he spent with her, the less she seemed what he feared…and appeared to be what he liked.

  *

  Within the hour, they were back on the road for the short drive to meet with Gavrill Volkov.

  “This one’s going to be different,” Bart warned. “Miguel’s mostly into drugs and maybe guns, but Volkov, like Krustas, is a higher functioning organization. What all they’re into, you don’t want to know.”

  “I still don’t understand how Mitch managed to organize a meeting with these…um…men,” Faith said, tucking an errant tendril of hair behind her ear.

  Irritated at the mention of the FBI agent, he tried to ignore the way her long, slender fingers moved through her hair, stunned with the realization he had never noticed those little innocent movements a woman would make. Most of the women he associated with had their practiced flirtations down to a fine science. Crossing legs to make their skirts ride up higher. Swirling their tongue around the straw in a drink. Throwing their head back when they laughed to make their tits stick out, their neck exposed, and their hair hang longer down their back—

  “Are you all right?”

  Startled, Bart jerked in the driver’s seat. “Yeah, sure. Just had my mind on the case,” he lied. Falling silent again, he thought about his friend’s wives and fiancés…beautiful women with no pretentions. Glancing back to his partner, he had to admit that she was a lot like them.

  “So, how do you want me to do it?” Faith asked.

  Almost choking on the idea of how he would like to do her, he whipped his head around to hers, jerking the wheel at the same time. A car honking had him pulling back into his lane quickly.

  “Don’t do that!” he grunted angrily.

  “Do what?” she asked, surprise in her eyes.

  “Distract me while I’m driving.”

  “You really are a jerk, you know,” she groused. “All I wanted to know was how you want me to handle the meeting today. I thought I would let you tell me what I needed to do but, if you’re going to be such a prick, forget about it. I’ll ask whatever I want, whenever I want!”

  Running his hand down over his face in frustration, he drove silently for a few more minutes, angry with her for being such a contradiction in his mind. Slowly, the irritation dissipated and the realization that it was his problem, not hers, hit him. Looking over sheepishly, he admitted, “I’m sorry, Faith.” At her look of doubt, he added, “No, really. I’m sorry for biting your head off.”

  “Accepted,” she sighed, sadness lacing her voice.

  He heard the melancholy in her single word answer. He suddenly wanted to wipe the sorrow from her face but had no idea what to do. Looking up, he realized they were almost to the meeting place. What the fuck is wrong with me? She was trying to focus on the mission and I keep wanting to focus on her.

  “Listen, you were right to be asking about the meeting.” Looking at the time, he pulled to the side of the road and parked the truck. Twisting his body around to face her, he continued, “The FBI is looking into every possible clue to find Erik, but some of these men will be stonewalling because it’s in their interest not to give the FBI a chance to dig deeply into their activities.”

  “So, it’s as though Erik’s kidnapping is actually hurting them as much as it could help them?”

  “Absolutely. But, we’re not an agency. We’re an independent investigation service that’s less threatening. We’re only looking for information about Erik and don’t give a fuck about what their illegal activities are.”

  “Aren’t they afraid we’ll find out what they’re doing and turn that information over to the FBI?”

  “The Feds already know what these organizations are doing and there’s no way they’re gonna say anything to us about it. So we go in, get them talking about Krustas and…well, I guess it gives you a chance to see what impressions you get.”

  At that, she sought his eyes looking for indignation. She saw none…only a glimmer of…belief? No way!

  “But don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re safe,” he assured, reaching his hand out to cup her cheek only to catch himself, dropping his hand down onto the console instead. Get a grip, man. She’s not here for you to paw her. But he knew the fight to keep from touching her was real. Can’t say I believe her completely…but something about this woman makes me want to understand her. Protect her. And he had to admit…possess her.

  Turning back around, he restarted the truck and drove the last mile to the Volkov meeting.

  *

  They pulled up to the chain-link gate at the front of a warehouse area in Portsmouth. Faith gazed wide-eyed at the two guards that stepped to Bart’s window and then jumped when she realized another man was at her side. She gave a half-hearted smile to the one standing a foot away from her, but no return smile was forthcoming. I guess the mob doesn’t smile. Turning her head back toward Bart, she watched as he lowered his window to identify himself. The men’s guns were obvious and had the desired effect of frightening her.

  Nodded through, the gate swung open and they drove a few hundred feet on a crumbling asphalt drive surrounded with huge metal warehouses, toward an older brick building with more guards wandering around the front. The area was so different from Miguel’s—while not neat in appearance, it was visibly more guarded.

  Parking, Bart looked over at her, noticing the obvious nervousness pouring off her. Without thinking, he reached over and squeezed her leg, saying, “We got this, babe.”

  She realized the endearment slipped out, easy for a practiced flirt, but he did nothing to retract his words. The awareness of his hand on her sent a warm tingling from her leg to the rest of her body. A little gasp escaped at the unfamiliar excitement.

  He glanced sideways, assuming she was still nervous. “Honestly, we’ll be fine. They’re not gonna touch us.”

  Glad that he misinterpreted the gasp as unease, she simply nodded and slid out of the passenger side, meeting him at the front of the vehicle. One of the suited and armed goons next to the front door moved ahead of them and another one fell in step behind.

  This time, instead of being led into a dingy bar, they moved through a well-lit, tiled corridor into a large conference room. At a quick glance, they saw a large metal and glass table in the middle of the room, that also included other pieces of modern furniture. No one was in the room as they were escorted to the table and shown where to sit.

  Bart held Faith’s chair for her, then settled in next to her. They were alone in the room once the two men left. After a silent moment, she turned to Bart, asking, “Why are we waiting?”

  “Power play,” he answered back. Seeing her unspoken question, he added, “They think it insults us to make us wait. It’s a show of power that they won’t bend to our schedule.”

  “Jerks,” she whispered, as he chuckled at her response.

  The few minutes stretched interminably until finally the door opened and in walked six men. Three sat down opposite of them, leaving the other three to position themselves around the room. Faith’s eyes darted around furiously, trying to see who was where and not making the same mistake as before when she virtually ignored Miguel’s men. They were all dressed in dark suits and, for an instance, she wondered if it were some mafia dress code. Her heart was pounding when she realized Bart’s gaze was firmly on the man directly in front of them. Determined to play it as cool as Bart, she forced her breathing to slow and kept her eyes on the main man for now.

  He looked to be in his forties, black hair with splashes of grey throughout. He was not tall…in fact, his whole being appeared very short and squatty. She could not help but notice dark, beady eyes peering from his square head as they jerked from her to Bart and back again.

  “Taggart?” the man asked.

  Nodding, Bart said, “Yes. Gavrill Volkov?”

  Sneering, Gavrill also nodded. “I’m not happy about being coerced into this farce of a me
eting, but having a chat with you is better than turning my whole organization over to the Feds to pour through.”

  “You know they’re doing that anyway, don’t you?” Bart asked.

  Gavrill’s eyes flashed dangerously as his lips pursed. “Well, the sooner you can help prove my organization didn’t do shit to Krustas then the sooner we can end this.”

  “Then let’s get to it. You tell me what you know about Krustas’ grandson and how you came about your information.”

  Gavrill tore his eyes from Bart over to Faith for a moment then slid them back. “I got the news about Krustas the morning after it happened.”

  Bart noticed that his words were almost identical to Miguel’s, but he remained quiet.

  Gavrill held Bart’s gaze as though daring him to look away first, but neither man gave in. Dark eyes narrowing, he continued, “My second came to tell me.”

  “Why would your second in command wake you up with this news?”

  “Anything to do with my…competitors would be of interest to me.”

  “Forgive me, but I don’t understand why a personal matter of Mr. Krustas would have been that necessary to you,” Faith interjected softly.

  Gavrill’s gaze went back to hers and stared for a long moment. “We may be competitors, but we come from the same homeland. What affects one of my countrymen, affects me as well.”

  “But you’re not from the same homeland, are you?” Bart asked, drawing a hiss from Gavrill.

  “I see you’ve done your homework.” With a sneer, he added, “Yes, I’m in fact from Croatia while Krustas is from,” he chuckled derisively, “Mother Russia.”

  “So in light of that, why would you have been so interested, Mr. Volkov?” Faith asked again. She peered deeply into his eyes, watching them dart around as he tapped his hands on the table.

  “Krustas is old. His time of ruling his businesses is almost over. Since his nephew, Sergio, is now out of the picture, then it shouldn’t be too hard to move in. Take advantage.” His eyes landed back on hers, “It cannot possibly be a surprise to you that this is a ruthless business. I’d be a fool to not take advantage of every opportunity afforded.” His eyes moved back to Bart’s as he added, “And I assure you that I am no fool.”

  “And the news? Besides making a business decision, what did you feel when you learned that a child had been taken?” Faith asked.

  Gavrill’s head turned slowly as his gaze landed on hers. And stayed. Not moving. He blinked several times as though trying to discern her purpose. Finally, he answered, “Feel? You don’t feel anything when making a business decision.”

  “But besides being a businessman, you’re also a man,” she stated, knowing she was treading into dangerous waters. “You have children, perhaps? Or friends with children?”

  “What game are you playing at?” he growled, eliciting the slightest response from Bart, who stiffened at the tone.

  Faith shrugged her shoulders delicately. “No game, I assure you. I’m just trying to see the man behind the business.” She felt no softness. Nor peace. Nor sadness. The temperature of the room seemed to drop the longer it took him to answer.

  “I am the business,” was his answer, each word punctuated succinctly.

  Bart moved in to question more. “How well do you know Sergio? After all, when he was going against Ivan’s wishes, he must have been seen as a very profitable ally.”

  Gavrill’s expression flashed life before going back to being hard and cold. He sat stoically for a moment, appearing to weigh his words carefully. “When Sergio was arrested, there was no link between the two of us. Why do you think that would be different now that he’s behind bars?”

  “So you’ve had no contact with Sergio since he’s been in?”

  Gavrill’s stone face held for a moment before he growled, “I won’t repeat my answers.”

  “You didn’t actually answer my question the first time around,” Bart pointed out. Asshole! “You answered with a question of your own, so I’ll repeat—do you have a relationship with Sergio?”

  “No,” came the curt response.

  He’s lying, Bart thought.

  Faith considered Gavrill intently, He’s lying.

  Faith lifted her eyes to the men standing behind Gavrill, but they held nothing but cold. Black cold. The two men sitting on either side of him, introduced as his brothers, held the same expression. She wanted to close her eyes for a moment to see if an image would form in her mind, but she did not dare. A shiver ran over her as the presence of pure evil rushed through her. She felt Bart’s hand on her leg once more, offering a reassuring squeeze.

  Bart continued to press Gavrill for details about Erik’s kidnapping, but received nothing. Gavrill glanced at Faith to see if she had more questions, but she shook her head slightly.

  As they were escorted back to their vehicle, Bart kept his hand on the small of Faith’s back, guiding her as well as providing a modicum of comfort. It was obvious she had never been around men like Miguel or Gavrill and the need to protect was overwhelming.

  They stayed silent as they drove back through the security gate. Faith turned and said, “What—”

  “God, I’m so hungry. I forgot we didn’t even eat breakfast. Wanna grab some food and then we can talk about everything?” Bart said, then mouthed, Truck is bugged.

  Her eyes opened wide as her mouth hung open in surprise. She watched as he nodded his head toward her, indicating that she should speak. “Um…yeah…we could…eat,” she stammered.

  Taking over for her, he kept up a rambling conversation, sprinkling it occasionally with non-secure comments about Gavrill. Throughout it all, Faith sat quietly, feeling lost. Pulling up to a diner, they got out. Walking over to her, he said, “Go on in and grab a table. I’ve got to make a call to have my truck swept for possible bugs.”

  He looked down, her large eyes peering into his. “It’ll be okay, I promise.” Giving her a little nudge, he watched as she entered the restaurant, then he moved to the side, pulling out his phone.

  “Jack? Gotta get my truck de-bugged.”

  “Volkov?”

  “Yeah. I can’t be sure, but I’d bet while we were inside his men worked my truck over.”

  “Mitch is there in Virginia Beach. He was going to meet with you after you have a chance to interview Maldoni. I’ll send him a message to catch up with you.”

  Great. Just fuckin’ great. “Thanks, boss,” Bart added, hating the idea of Mitch Evans having a chance to be around Faith again. What the fuck am I thinking? he admonished himself. I certainly don’t care who she sees…or scams. That idea caused the unfamiliar feeling of guilt. Nothing she’s done has indicated that she’s anything other than what she said—a psychologist who’s gifted at reading people and with the ability to transfer that to her art.

  Scrubbing his hand over his face, he shoved his phone back into his pocket in frustration. He had never had a woman put him on such edge. She was such a paradox; he wanted to denounce her one moment, protect her the next. And if the tingling when he touched her was any indication? That’s not all I’d like to do. The last thought had him shaking his head in frustration. What the fuck am I thinking?

  Walking into the diner, the hostess immediately puffed out her chest, glancing down to make sure her cleavage was showing before greeting him enthusiastically. Bart noticed this—he rarely missed the preening that women did when he was near and always reciprocated with a smile and a wink. His eyes landed on the dark haired woman in the back who saw him walk in and greeted him with a pure smile. Glancing back to the hostess, it slammed into him how Faith’s genuine smile struck him in a way that had the hostess’ greeting leaving him empty.

  He pushed past the eager woman in a hurry to move closer to Faith, feeling the daggers in his back. Chuckling, he slid into the vinyl padded booth opposite of her.

  She cocked her head to the side, wondering why he had such a big smile on his face. “Are you all right? Is the truck bugged?” she whispered.r />
  “Yeah, I’m fine and Jack’s having someone check the truck for us. We have time to eat before they come.”

  “Oh,” she said, not able to think of anything else to say. She fiddled with the napkin for a moment until the waitress came and took their order.

  “Okay, now we should be safe enough to talk some.” He saw her hesitate and hurried to add, “It’s okay, Faith. I want you to feel free to tell me any of your impressions. I promise I want to hear them.”

  He saw the uncertain expression on her face and running his hand over his scruffy jaw, added, “I haven’t apologized for what I said when we first met.”

  Her eyes narrowed as they jumped to his face. Cocking her head, she waited to see what else he would say. It seems apologies do not come easily to him. Well, suck it up, ’cause I’ve been waiting for one!

  “I made assumptions about you…false assumptions it seems. Instead of finding out more about you, I thought the worst.” He held her gaze and admitted, “I really am sorry, Faith. I do want to hear about your impressions.”

  With that assurance, she nodded slowly, taking in his words. “Well, I was honestly frightened at the level of violence coming from Gavrill.” She lifted her gaze to his, seeing nothing but true interest, and explained. “Usually, with the police, or even the few times I worked with an FBI agent to interview a witness, victim, or possible suspect, the strongest emotion I get is anger or fear. The violence comes as a flash, like…” she struggled how to explain, before saying, “like a lightning bolt. But with Gavrill, it felt black. Deep. Pervasive, not sharp. The room was thick with violence that had nothing to do with anger.”

  Bart stared at her, hearing for the first time how descriptive she was in her words. While he knew the same thing to be true about Gavrill, it was fascinating to hear how she interpreted the emotions in the room, giving an insight into their thoughts. “What about Miguel?”

  They were interrupted when the waitress brought their food, both diving into the cheeseburgers and greasy fries.