“Well, we won’t talk of family business when she joins us for meals,” Chessa declared.
Grigory’s fork halted on its path to his mouth. “Mama,” he spoke, hesitation in his voice as his eyes darted toward his brother. “My bride and I will not be eating here every morning as we are now.”
“Bah,” Chessa spat, waving her hands dismissively. “My children will always be at my table.”
No rebuttal came and the only sound for a few minutes was the clattering of cutlery as they continued to eat. Agnes sat quietly observing, as she did every morning, her eyes darting between her parents and brothers.
Setting his fork down, Milos looked at his youngest son, lifting his eyebrows in question. “So, Lazlo, I noticed our new addition this morning. Did you find anything else last night?”
“There was a woman, a blonde, taking photos. I followed her, so I know where she lives.”
“And?” Milos prompted, impatience in his voice.
“Why follow her? Surely other people were taking photos too,” Grigory asked, still chewing as he reached for more porridge.
“She was not drunk…not participating. The others were too busy drinking or dancing to notice. But this girl,” Lazlo replied, “her eyes were sharp. And then she was talking to a man at the bar…he had to be a Fed or something. The man just had a look about him…didn’t trust his eyes.”
Lips pinched, Chessa huffed. “I said last night was not good. Did I not say last night was not good?” Darting her gaze toward her husband, she repeated, “We risk it all for another red-head?”
Shrugging, Milos sipped his dark, thick coffee. “You know the demand. We supply.”
Slapping her hand down on the table, Chessa barked, “You don’t lecture me on our business. Remember who my family is.” Jabbing a finger at her chest, she claimed, “I’m the one who checks to make sure our girls are clean. I’m the one to organize their schedules. I’m the one who keeps an eye on them.”
Patting her hand, Milos turned his fond gaze on his indignant wife. “Yes, yes, my zhena. You hold us all together.”
Calming, she looked at her boys, all ignoring her tirade as they continued to eat. Picking up a platter, she stood, dishing out more food onto Grigory’s plate. “Eat, eat. I’ll not have it go to waste.”
Milos lifted his gaze to Lazlo, catching his son’s eyes. “I’ll send Johan to the girl. See what she knows—”
“No!” Lazlo answered loudly, then softened his voice. “I’ll check on her. I can find out what she knows.”
Chessa’s sharp eyes landed on her youngest son. She cocked her head to the side as she peered at Lazlo. “You have some interest in the girl?”
“No,” Lazlo protested. “She caught my eye and I’ve already followed her. She went home alone. I want to be the one to see what she knows. Johan has a…heavy hand. This girl needs to be handled delicately.” Hearing Grigory snort, he glared at his brother.
“Johan can handle the job,” Milos stated, drawing a frown from Lazlo. “I’ve already talked to Gavrill. They are sending him now that he is back in the country.”
“I can do more than just snatch the girls,” Lazlo protested.
Milos interrupted, his voice hard, “Let Johan do this. You need to keep your face from being recognized. She may have seen you last night, as it is.”
The family stopped eating as they stared at their father. “Our family business may be small, but it is part of a much bigger organization. We need to proceed carefully. Unwarranted risks are foolish.”
Lazlo said nothing, hiding his emotion as he stood taking his now-empty plate into the kitchen.
“And what if the girl suspects something? What if she already suspects?” Chessa protested.
“Bah,” Milos dismissed. “She is a girl. A stupid girl hanging out at a nightclub. What could she possibly know?”
Agnes hid her smile as she sipped her coffee. She had plans that went far beyond just marrying someone her parents picked out for her and doing nothing more than having more sons for the family business. She planned on gaining control of her destiny and had no problem working for it. Glancing at her brothers, she recognized their weakness…the same weakness her relatives in Norfolk had—they stuck to the old ways. Lucky for her she did not have that same problem.
4
Nick poured over the video from the front entrance of Neon, scanning the faces as he looked for the blonde. Shaking his head in frustration, he had to admit the video was poor quality and the camera was hung at an awkward angle for obtaining clear shots of who was entering the club.
“Told you it was crap!” A hand slapped down on his shoulder and Nick twisted to see another agent walking into the room, sitting down at a nearby desk.
“Hey, Mike.” Turning back to the video, he continued scanning for several more minutes. Stopping the feed, he leaned closer to the monitor.
“You think you got something?” Mike asked, moving to look over Nick’s shoulder. “Damn, is that the girl? Fuck, you didn’t say she was gorgeous!”
“She’s just a person of interest who might have inadvertently taken some relevant pictures,” Nick groused, irritated at both Mike’s comments about the blonde and at himself for feeling a bolt of jealousy fire through him.
“And you didn’t get her name? Man, I woulda got that first thing.”
Fighting the urge to punch Mike in the mouth, Nick just said, “I was there on a job, not to pick up some random girl.”
Throwing his hands up, Mike laughed, “Hey, it woulda made finding her a lot easier. Do you even know what she does or where she works? That’d help.”
As Mike walked out of the room, Nick continued to stare at the monitor, viewing the grainy image of his blonde, wondering why he had just considered her to be his blonde, while admitting the poor video did not do her justice…and would not give him enough for facial recognition.
Rubbing his head, he wondered where he would find a writer, before remembering she said she worked in a bookstore. How did she describe it? A bookstore, coffee shop, and writing extravaganza.
Moving to a computer, he began searching for bookstores in the area, narrowing his search to those with coffee shops attached or within. Eyes wide, he was stunned at the number of bookstores offering coffee. Hearing someone come in, he looked up and smiled. “Margery, just the person I need. How the hell does the search work on this program?”
Margery smiled and shooed him out of his seat. “That’s why you come to me first instead of wasting your time trying to figure this out on your own.” Settling into the chair, she said, “Okay, what do you need?”
“I want to search bookstores in the area that have coffee shops. I came up with this huge list—”
“No shit, Sherlock,” Margery exclaimed, twisting her head to look up at him. “Most bookstores have coffee shops in them now.”
“Oh,” Nick said, his eyebrows down as he thought this through. “I never noticed.”
“You never get coffee when you’re prowling through a bookstore?”
“No—what if someone spills coffee on the books?” He shook his head in derision, hating the idea of the ruination of a book. Nick continued to think through what the blonde had said as Margery sat patiently. “Is there a place where someone would go to write a book?” he asked.
Cocking her head to the side, she murmured, “Hmmm. You mean like all three? A place that sells books, serves coffee, and where people write?” At his nod, she laughed and answered, “Hell, Nick, that would be horrible. What if someone spilled their coffee on their computer while they were writing and then it dripped onto their books?”
“Shut up and search,” he groused.
Still chuckling, her fingers began to fly over the keyboard as she entered in code to find what she was looking for. “I don’t know, Nick. Anyone can write while in a bookstore or coffee shop. I’m not sure what you’re looking for.”
“What about a writing extravaganza?” he said hesitantly, feeling heat risin
g to his face.
Margery’s fingers stilled over the keyboard, a smirk on her face, as she repeated, “Writing extravaganza?”
“The woman I’m trying to find said she worked in a bookstore that was…and I’m quoting here, a bookstore, coffee shop, and writing extravaganza. Unquote,” he added.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Margery breathed, her eyes pinned on the monitor. “I swear if you’d entered all that into a Google search, I think you’d have come up with the same thing I just did with my fancy, investigative program.” Laughing, she said, “I’ve got a hit on a bookstore in the city that bills itself as a place for writers to call home. Hmmm, let’s see. The business is a licensed bookstore and coffee shop, but also advertises that it has designated spaces for a small monthly fee for authors to have their own writing area and they also offer writing groups. Bayley’s Books.” She twisted her head around to look at Nick again. “Does that sound like what you’re looking for?”
Dubious, Nick said, “Who works there? Can we see that?”
Shaking her head, Margery stood up from the seat. “That, my dear, you can find out on your own.”
Nick sat back down and searched, quickly finding the website for Bayley’s Books. The screen filled with a picture of an older building, a green awning over the front door.
Looking for your favorite books? Look no further. Bayley’s Books has a wide variety of books of all genres.
Moms and dads - need a break while you search for your own books? We feature a children’s room with a weekly story time.
Authors – would you like a quiet area to write, always available to you, with multiple writing programs, critique groups, research facilities? Monthly rentals on writing areas available.
Whatever your reading or writing needs are, Bayley’s Books is here to serve you! Come by, check us out, have a cup of coffee, and stay for a while.
* * *
After reading the blurb, he clicked to the pictures showing the inside of the store and viewed a warm, inviting space that appeared to be just as it advertised. And in one picture, an older lady sat at a desk with her laptop open, a woman standing over her shoulder. The woman was blonde. Smiling. Beautiful. Bingo—found her!
With an uncommon jaunt in his step, Nick hustled out of his office building with the directions in his hands…and a just as uncommon smile on his face.
“What’s the best way to poison someone?”
Bayley smiled at the young man sitting in one of her writing areas, his fingers no longer typing on his laptop. “You can always do a simple search, but isn’t your book set in the old west in the 1800’s?” Obtaining his nod, she motioned him to follow her as she led him to a stack of research books she kept on hand for authors. “Here are a couple of old medical books, a few of them from the early 1900’s, which will give you an authentic feel for the times.”
His eyes wide, he dove into the bookshelf, his attention now diverted to his research.
“Bayley?” Daphne called out, as she walked into the back room where the areas were located. “You’ve got a visitor out front.” Leaning in, with a twinkle in her eyes, she whispered, “And he’s also a TDMB. Damn, girl, I need to hang out with you more often if you keep meeting these guys!”
Tossing Daphne a curious glance, Bayley walked toward the front of the store, spying a tall man standing with his back to her. “Hello, I’m Bayley. May I help you?” As the man turned around, she gasped, “You?”
Nick’s gaze landed on the woman—Bayley—from last night and, for a second, his professionalism slipped, and he gawked. He thought she was beautiful when seen in the garish neon lights, but seeing her standing in the bright sunlight streaming through the front window, he found it hard to breathe.
Golden-blonde hair framed her face like a halo. Flawless skin with a hint of makeup. Rosy cheeks, matching her lips. An unadorned green sweater paired with navy slacks and on her feet, little flat shoes that reminded him of what a ballerina might wear. But it was her eyes. Just as large as last night. But even more bright. Even more blue. And then there was her smile. It was the last that sent electric shocks through him.
Swallowing, he shook his head wondering what the hell was wrong with him. Holding his badge in one hand for her perusal, he stuck out his other hand, saying, “Nick. Agent Nick Stone, ma’am. And yes, we did meet last night. I was wondering if there was somewhere we could talk.”
Taking his hand in her much smaller one, her eyes widened. “I knew it! I just knew you were after someone last night! You were there, all business-like, and you had your eyes pinned on the crowd, scouting everyone out.” Suddenly, she reared back, sucking in a quick breath. “Oh…is this about the missing girl?”
He let go of her hand, but missed her touch as soon as he pulled back. Clearing his throat, he asked, “Please, ma’am, can we speak privately?”
“Absolutely. We can use my office.” Leading him toward the back of the store, she began to ascend an L-shaped staircase leading to a loft. She opened the door and entered, ushering him to one of the leather-padded chairs.
He glanced at the space, impressed with her office and her style. The floor gleamed with the waxed, original, wooden planks. Two of the walls were lined with wooden bookshelves flanking a large, wooden desk. Tall windows filled one wall, allowing in natural light giving the office a warm glow. The fourth wall was made of windows overlooking the bookstore below. “These windows are interesting,” he commented, walking over and looking down at the bustling store.
“Aren’t they great?” she enthused, standing next to him. The shop owner before me wanted a way to keep an eye on his employees without them knowing about it. So, he had this window put in that provides a way to look out, but the picture on the other side looks like a wooden panel. It matches the wooden interior of the store so no one knows it isn’t really wall, but whoever is up here can look down.” She stepped over next to him and smiled. “ ‘It is clear that the books owned the shop rather than the other way about. Everywhere they had run wild and taken possession of their habitat, breeding and multiplying, and clearly lacking any strong hand to keep them down.’” Seeing his blank expression, she laughed. “That’s from Agatha Christie’s book, The Clocks. Isn’t it a great quote? I love to think of my bookstore as the books owning the shop instead of me. But alas, I’m the one who has to pay the bills.”
He turned, his gaze landing on her as she pointed to a chair. “I admit when I came here, I didn’t realize you were the Bayley of Bayley’s Books.”
Leaning her head to the side, she perused him, deciding he was much more handsome than she originally thought. He could be a TDMS-B—tall, dark, mysterious, super-beautiful! Blinking, she realized he had spoken to her. “I’m so sorry. Can you repeat that, please?”
“I was just saying that I didn’t realize you were the owner. Your shop seems very nice.”
Beaming, she nodded. “Thank you. I truly think it’s my life-blood! But how did you find me? And why? I’m assuming you must have some secret spy software that can pluck an image from the sky and it totally gives off someone’s name. Of course, that seems like such an invasion of privacy, but then I guess you have to employ all kinds of super-duper ways to investigate.”
Blinking, as he attempted to follow her running dialog, he said, “As to the how, I remembered you described working in ‘a bookstore, coffee shop, and writing extravaganza.’ There were a ton of bookstore coffee shops, but when I put in writing, this place popped up.”
“I’m in your secret spyware?” She clapped her hands at the thought, then sobered with his explanation.
“Uh…no. You actually came up on a Google search.”
“Oh,” her face fell for a second before she smiled again. “Well, that’s not nearly as exciting, is it? But, then, it’s nice to know the Google analytics are working for my business!”
“As to the why for my visit, I was hoping you could help me.”
“Of course. What can I do?”
�
�I was, in fact, at the club last night on a case, but,” he held up his hands to still her verbal barrage until he could get his request out, “not on the kidnapping case. It just happened that was where it occurred. Therefore, I and my co-agents, were not focused on anything other than our suspects. But you took a lot of pictures…uh…random pictures and I thought you might have caught something without realizing it.”
Eyes wide, Bayley said, “Brilliant! Here, let’s look.” She opened the bottom right drawer of her desk and pulled out her large purse. Seeing his lifted brow, she laughed. “You must not have a sister…or a girlfriend…or a wife. We take little bags out when we party or go to bars, but for our daily lives? Bigger is better.” Rummaging around in her purse, she began to pull out an assortment of items, placing them on her desk.
Keys. Ponytail elastics along with a large hair clip. Fat wallet with several coins spilling from the half-zippered compartment. Looking up, she said, “Coins are so silly, aren’t they? I mean, we hardly use them anymore.” Her head back down, she continued to pull out items. IPad. Cosmetic bag. Sunglasses. Measuring tape. Gun.
“What the hell? Do you have a—”
“Stop right there, Mister. Don’t patronize me. I have a permit and, I might add, I’m an excellent shot.” Seeing him snap his mouth closed, she continued to dig. Her fingers landed on her phone and she pulled it out, unnecessarily declaring, “Found it!”
Nick felt the corners of his mouth curving up as he viewed her unadulterated pleasure at holding her phone. “May I look at the pictures from last night?”
“Sure,” she easily complied. Opening the photo-gallery app, she handed the phone to him.
As he began to scroll through the pictures slowly, his gaze scanned the scenes she captured, carefully looking for any images of Amy Willis. “How many pictures did you take last night?”
“Almost forty,” she replied, right into his ear, as she leaned around his arm to peer at the photographs as well.
Celebrating Love: Saints Protection & Investigations Page 4
