Honor Love: Saints Protection & Investigations

by Maryann Jordan

  “Be right back with your drink,” he said, walking away from Monty. “I’m John, by the way.”

  In a minute he came back, setting the drink on a napkin in front of Monty and leaned on the bar. “I guess you want to know if I’ve seen the woman in that picture. I gotta tell you, she’s a regular customer, never causes problems, and tips like nobody’s business. So mister, you’d better have some kind of badge to get me to talk about her.”

  Deciding this bartender was worth the risk, Monty decided to be upfront. “She’s missing.”

  John reared back, his eyes wide in surprise. “Missing? Like missing for good?”

  “Didn’t know there’s another kind of missing.”

  “Well, sure there is. Some people just want to disappear for a while. You know? Get away from it all.”

  “You think that’s what she did?” Monty asked.

  John chewed on his lip for a moment, then shook his head. “Naw. She loved life. She’d come in, drink…but not too much. She’d usually have men buying her drinks eagerly, but she always tipped the bartenders like she was the one buying.”

  “You ever see her with anyone in particular?”

  “No, no. And to be honest, I don’t remember her picking up too many local men. When I was working, I generally didn’t recognize anyone she would leave with.”

  “Were you working two nights ago? Was she here?”

  “I couldn’t say. I wasn’t working.” He caught Monty’s gaze and quickly added, “And I was at a family gathering so I’ve got lots of witnesses!”

  “Alright,” Monty chuckled. “Just do me a favor and check with your co-workers to see who might have seen her that night.” Sliding his business card over along with a fifty-dollar bill, he added, “And for now, I’m off the clock and going to enjoy my drink.”

  “Yes, sir,” John grinned, taking the money and heading back down the bar.

  Monty moved over to the table in the shadows and leaned his head against the paneled wall. Closing his eyes for a while, he allowed the soft tones of the music to settle deep inside.

  Suddenly, the sound of deep-throated, gentle laughter met his ears and he jerked his eyes open. It only took a millisecond for his gaze to land on the beautiful woman now sitting at the opposite end of the bar. Her blonde hair shone in the soft lights as the pink, purple, and teal stripes created a symphony of color. Her clear complexion glowed, her blue eyes sparkled. But her luscious cotton-candy pink lips held his gaze. Her smile lit her face as her eyes focused on the man sitting next to her. Cupcake. Lucky bastard. I wonder if that’s her boyfriend.

  He tortured himself a few more minutes before realizing, by snatches of her conversation, she was meeting the man for the first time. No boyfriend? She’s looking for a pickup? Is she into the same thing her friend was?

  Watching carefully, he noticed her slightly slurred speech and disappearing drink. How much has she had? Feeling like a voyeur, he could not take his eyes off her. He watched as the man leaned forward to whisper something to her and knew the man’s eyes were on her abundant cleavage.

  Monty’s fingers tightened around his glass then relaxed before it shattered. It doesn’t matter to me what her game is. But he knew he was lying to himself.

  As her drink was refilled, her giggling increased. Monty wanted to be repulsed by her behavior, but found himself as enthralled as every other man in the room. Glancing around the dim interior, he saw the looks sent her way. Yep, that man at the bar must think he’s won the lottery. I would too if she shot that smile at me.

  Monty looked down at his empty glass and almost ordered another one. I’d really like to go home and sleep. Even as that thought went through his mind, he knew he would stay. The desire to see what Angel was going to do was too strong to resist. He dragged his eyes away from her and focused his gaze on the man she flirted with.

  Tall. Blond. Mustache. Dressed in a dark suit. Not expensive, but not shabby. The man reached his hand back to scratch his neck and the movement of his hair was almost imperceptible. Monty blinked before looking harder. A wig. He’s wearing a wig. Instinct along with protection kicked in as he watched the man’s mannerisms with renewed interest. Admitting to himself that a man wearing a wig was not a crime nor did it imply the man had anything to hide…but something’s off.

  As he watched, the man’s behaviors became more pronounced. Leaning in to whisper in Angel’s ear, dragging his fingers along her arm, sliding his other arm around her waist. Monty felt a slow burn as jealousy coursed through his body. Jealousy? What the fuck am I thinking? We’ve never even met. But as much as he tried to convince himself it was only his investigative duty, he knew it was more.

  Thirty minutes later, Angel appeared to slide off of the barstool, the mystery man reaching out to hold her against him. Giggling again, she held her arms out as he slipped her coat onto her body. Monty watched as they turned and moved out the doors.

  Warring with himself for only a few seconds, Monty threw more bills onto the table and followed the couple out. The bar was next to one of the nicer hotels in the city and he was not surprised to see the man lead her into the lobby.

  Hesitating for a second, he followed them discreetly. The elegant lobby, with gleaming tile floors, echoed the clicks of Angel’s heels as she continued to lean drunkenly on the man. Seeing them enter the elevator, he watched as the lighted floor button stopped on two. Thank God. He knew he could run upstairs quickly, but preferred to not have to go more than a flight up. Jogging, he cautiously stepped into the hall on the second floor, seeing them approach a room. The man held Angel tightly against him as he used his keycard to unlock the door before they stumbled in and the door shut with a resounding click.

  Monty padded across the carpeted hall, stopping at the door. What the fuck am I doing? Just because she’s drunk doesn’t mean she can’t pick up a guy. Jesus, she can screw anyone she wants. Battling the sexist attitude of a double standard, he could not fight the wish that she was not inside with the man from the bar.

  Hesitating, he turned to walk away when he heard raised voices. Instantly on alert, he backed up and placed his ear on the door.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” a man’s voice growled in anger.

  “Have you seen her? Were you with her?” Angel asked, her voice strident.

  “Look, I don’t know what your game is, but you can get the hell out right now, lady. No fuck is worth this.”

  “Stop, stop!” her voice cried out.

  Suddenly the sounds of a struggle were heard and Monty knocked loudly on the door. “Hotel management!” he shouted. “Let me in!”

  The noises in the room did not abate and instinctively Monty stepped back and kicked the door. It took three kicks but the light wood splintered by the lock and flew open. Inside, he saw the two occupants in a standoff. To his surprise, Angel was holding a gun to the man, whose wig sat askew on his head.

  Drawing his weapon from its holster, Monty growled, “Put it down.”

  “You? What are you doing here?” she asked, her eyes wide.

  To Monty’s surprise, Angel’s words were clear…as were her eyes…which had just registered recognition. She’s not drunk. Fuck, what the hell is she doing?

  The man took advantage of Angel and Monty’s stand-off and grabbed her gun arm at the elbow. Pulling her in front of him, he backed to the bathroom door. Keeping his head low, he slung her fiercely away from him as he ducked into the bathroom, slamming and locking the door. Angel’s body launched several feet before she fell, hitting her head on the dresser. Hearing glass breaking in the bathroom, Monty started toward the door but halted as Angel’s body lay still on the floor, blood running from the front of her head.

  Chapter 6

  The harsh lights above had her squinting in pain as Angel attempted to open her eyes. Her head throbbed and when she lifted a shaky hand, her fingers touched a large bandage. Attempting to sit up, she fell back on the bed with a groan, swallowing several times in an effort
to keep the nausea at bay. Licking her lips, she breathed deeply. In. Out. In. Out. When the stars stopped dancing behind her eyes, she noticed the bright light was blocked. Opening her eyes once more, she saw a familiar face between her and the light.

  “Who are you?” she asked, her brow crinkling in confusion, causing another bolt of pain through her head. “Augggh,” she groaned.

  Monty leaned down, his face a mixture of concern and anger. “I’m the man who’s going to get some answers and paddle your ass if I don’t like them! Hell, I may just paddle you for the situation you put yourself in!”

  Attempting to sit up again, she found her shoulders gently pushed back.

  “Stay still,” he ordered softly, lowering his voice.

  “My head?” she asked.

  “A couple of stitches and a concussion.”

  “Oh,” she moaned.

  Just then the light in the room became even dimmer as the small space filled with men. Large men. What the hell? I must be concussed or died and gone to hunk-heaven. She let out an unladylike snort at that thought, then giggled.

  Monty looked down, his fury over what had happened still blazing, he nonetheless found himself chuckling at the woman lying on the bed, giggling and snorting.

  “You know anything from her yet?” Jack asked.

  Angel observed a bearded man, with a dour expression, questioning her rescuer.

  “No, not yet. But I will.”

  The three men stepped outside of the examining room. Jack said, “Bart’s over at the hotel right now with the police. The suspect slipped out of the bathroom window, onto a ledge and then down the fire escape. When Bart talked to the man working the reception desk, he said the suspect comes in a couple of times a month. Always trying to hook up with different woman. He’d noticed that the man wore disguises and figured he was married, looking for a little fun.”

  “Did the receptionist recognize a picture of Marcia?” Monty asked.

  “Said he didn’t,” Marc added, “but admitted that he only works three nights a week, so Bart’ll check with the other receptionists tomorrow.”

  Jack nodded toward he ER bay. “What about her?”

  “I’ll take care of her,” Monty pronounced. Jack raised his eyebrow and Monty swore, “Fuck, don’t read more into this than what it is. She’s not even my type.”

  Throwing his head back in laughter, Jack clapped him on the shoulder saying, “It hits at the damnedest time, bro.” He and a chuckling Marc stayed outside the room, leaving Monty to walk back to Angel.

  Before she could ask what they were laughing about, the doctor walked in. “Ah, Ms. Cartwright, your x-rays look fine. You received four stitches on your forehead but the scarring should be minimal. You do, however, have a concussion. You will need to have someone watch over you for the next twenty-four hours. I’ll send the nurse with your discharge instructions.”

  The harried doctor popped back out as quickly as he had come, leaving Angel staring dumbly in his wake.

  “Do you have someone who can come stay with you?”

  “What?” Her confused face looked up into the handsome face of the man who had rescued her…and had seen a month ago at the restaurant. His neatly trimmed beard now sported stubble on his cheeks, making him appear even more dashing.

  “Do you have someone who can come stay with you tonight?” he asked, emphasizing each word.

  Pulling herself out of her musing, she blinked. Twice. Finally finding her voice, she replied, “No, but I’ll—”

  “I’ve got her,” Monty said, turning to Jack and Marc, who upon hearing her response, stepped back into the crowded room.

  They nodded and turned to leave. Jack stopped at the door and glanced over his shoulder, “Meeting tomorrow morning. Bring her.”

  “Yes, sir,” Monty replied, nodding at his boss before turning back to the woman lying on the bed, her expression morphing from confusion to anger.

  “Look, mister, I don’t know what you’re doing, but—”

  “Monty. Monty Lytton. I’m with Saints Protection and Investigations.” He pulled out his identification, but could tell her eyes were barely able to focus on the card. “And as of right now, Cupcake, you’re under my protection. And once I get you home, we’re gonna have a little chat about what the hell you were doing tonight.”

  She opened and closed her mouth several times, but nothing came out. Unsure if she were more concerned about going home with the hot man…or explaining holding a gun on a man in a hotel, she laid back on the bed.

  *

  An hour later, after checking out of the hospital, Monty pulled up to the bakery’s storefront, behind her pink VW bug. He looked over at his quiet passenger and quipped, “You live in your store?”

  She turned her head toward him, her eyes shooting daggers his way. “I live above the bakery,” she replied. “I would have thought a good investigator would have known that.”

  “Sorry, I’ve been too busy chasing leads on your missing friend to find out everything about you,” he bit back. Leaning closer, he added, “But that stops now. I intend to discover exactly who and what you are.”

  “Look, I know you seem to be trying to help, but I don’t know you,” she declared, watching him warily.

  Pulling out his wallet again, he produced his identification once more. “I get that you’re nervous and you’d be right to do so, but you saw the detective at the hospital talking to us. We’re a legitimate security service.”

  Nodding, she agreed. Oh, hell, the way my head hurts right now, he could murder me in my sleep and I’d probably appreciate it!

  Getting out of his SUV, he walked around the front to her door.

  She noticed that he handled her with care as he lifted her out. He set her feet on the ground, carefully holding her arms until she was steady. Not trusting that she would not topple over, he kept one hand on her arm as he guided her toward the door next to the bakery entrance. Her hands fumbled with the key until he took them from her, unlocking the outside door leading to a staircase. Propping her on the wall, he made sure to bolt the door before turning to look back at her.

  Her face was bruised, her eyes glassy, and her smile…lopsided. And fuckin’ gorgeous. Knowing she could not safely navigate the steep stairs, he gathered her into his strong embrace as she flung her arms loosely around his neck. He took the stairs quickly but, carefully, not wanting to hit her head on the wall and cause more damage than the already disastrous evening had done.

  Grinning, Angel felt as though she was flying as her rescuer swooped her up the stairs. Oh, I hope I don’t hurt him. I’m kinda heavy.

  “Babe, you’re not heavy,” Monty said, reaching the top of the stairs and stopping at the door to her apartment.

  “How’d you know what I was thinking?” she said, her brow in a delectable furrow.

  Trying not to chuckle, he said, “You said it out loud. Now you got your keys or do we have to spend the night in the stairwell?”

  Digging in her purse, she grinned triumphantly as she pulled her house key out. Giving a celebratory wiggle in his arms, she hoped he would not drop her as he unlocked the door. Setting her down, she moved into the apartment, still unsteady on her feet.

  Monty rooted in place in shock as she flipped on the overhead light, seeing the room illuminated. Color bounced from every direction. It was almost overwhelming compared to his sterile living quarters. A dark blue sofa with green and red pillows seemed strangely inviting. An antique chaise lounge was covered in a purple material and, with the pile of books on a small table next to it, the chair appeared to be well used.

  Red curtains hung on the sides of the tall windows. To the right he could see into a large kitchen, stainless steel appliances stark against the soft yellow tiled back-splash. Distressed white cabinets were hung on the wall and underneath the counters.

  To the left was an open door and he was able to see an unmade bed, the teal comforter crumpled at the edge. Not seeing another door, he assumed the bathro
om was through the bedroom. He was almost afraid to see what colors it was decorated with.

  At the far end of the living space was a long table, mismatched chairs around, waiting for a gathering of friends. It was not hard for Monty to imagine a group of Angel’s friends doing just that. And the scent of sugared vanilla hung about the room, exuding a feeling of home.

  Pulling his mind back to the matter at hand, he took her gently by the arm, leading her into the bedroom.

  Angel glanced at her messy room and mumbled an apology. “I’m sorry. I’m really not a slob but, I confess I’ve had other things on my mind this week.”

  He sat her down on the edge of the bed and leaned down, peering into her eyes. They appeared clear, although she had dark circles underneath and bruising showing from the edges of her bandaged forehead.

  “I know we need to talk, but right now you need your rest more than anything. I’ll let you get comfortable and I’ll wake you each hour to make sure you’re still okay.”

  She returned his perusal. “Monty, I don’t even know you. Why are you here?”

  He sighed as he squatted in front of her. “I understand, Cupcake, but—”

  “And why do you call me Cupcake?” she huffed, then quickly grimaced as the action caused a twinge in her head.

  “It’s a long story and can be saved for tomorrow,” he said, watching her yawn. “Right now, you sleep. I’ll watch over you and we’ll talk in the morning.” He looked at his watch showing two a.m. “Or rather, we’ll talk later today.”

  Too tired to argue, Angel nodded and made her way into the bathroom. Once inside, she stared at herself in the mirror. Holy moly! Stunned, she gaped at the dried blood in her hair, it’s rust color mixed in with her other signature colors. Her large blue eyes stared back, noting the dark circles underneath. Purple bruises were peeking from the edges of the bandage on her forehead.

  She hung her head for a moment, overwhelmed with everything that had happened. Oh, Marcia. What have you gotten yourself into? And what the hell am I trying to do to help? Jesus, I must be crazy.