Honor Love: Saints Protection & Investigations

by Maryann Jordan

  Turning on the water in the shower, she quickly stripped. Just as she was about to step into the water, she heard a knock on the door.

  “Cupcake?” Monty shouted. “Don’t get your stitches wet.”

  Her hand moved back to her forehead. “Gotcha!” she called back. Stepping into the shower, she let the water hit the back of her head, sluicing down her back. She gently washed her hair, desperate to clean the blood from her body. A quick scrub and she stepped out, toweling off.

  The warm shower felt incredible, but she was exhausted from the effort. Pulling on clean panties and polka-dotted, flannel pajama bottoms, she carefully slid a large t-shirt over her head.

  Walking out of the bathroom, she found Monty sitting on the edge of her bed. Dark brown hair, trimmed neatly. Black dress pants creased at one time…now slightly wrinkled. A grey button-down dress shirt fitted to his apparently toned chest, blood stains marring the material. The top button was undone and she vaguely remembered that he had been wearing a now discarded tie. He was leaning forward with his elbows resting on his thighs, his head hanging down. It was the first time she had a careful look at him since he first burst through the motel door. His head lifted slowly and her eyes locked onto his blue-grey ones. A mixture of emotions poured off of him, not the least was anger. Oh, what a colossal fuck up I’ve made!

  Stepping hesitantly into the room, nervously fingering the bottom of her pink t-shirt, she forced herself to move closer to him. “I…I need to apologize,” she said, at first haltingly and then with more determination.

  She wanted him to say something. Anything. Nothing came from his stone expression so she continued, “I was hoping to find…well, you see I have this friend and…I thought that I could find…it…um…I—”

  “You think maybe you could finish one sentence before starting the next?” he asked, lifting his eyebrow, his grey-blue eyes piercing directly into her blue ones.

  She pressed her lips together tightly, glaring daggers his way. “I was trying to apologize! And I thought we were going to talk tomorrow.”

  The silence pounded her head almost as much as the concussion. Her fingers lifted to the bandage on her forehead and she watched as he hung his head once more.

  Suddenly he stood and walked over to her, looking down from his height. Her blonde hair was darker now that it was wet, but the purple, pink, and teal stripes could still be seen easily. His eyes moved from where her fingers touched the bandage, down her face and body, before lifting back to her eyes. “You need to rest. There’s nothing we can do about Marcia right now and, after you sleep, we’ll talk.”

  Tears hit the back of her eyes and she blinked several times rapidly to keep them at bay, but he noticed. He slid his hand to the back of her neck, giving a little squeeze before pulling her head toward his. Kissing the top of her head, he held her tightly for a second.

  Reacting to the warmth of his nearness after the harrowing disaster of the evening, she leaned into his front. He slid his other arm around her waist, pulling her in closely. Her cheek rested against his chest and she shuddered. With chill or adrenaline crashing she had no idea.

  Recognizing the after-effects of shock, Monty gave her the warmth of his body while making little comforting noises against her head. When was the last time I comforted someone?

  His calm finally sunk in and Angel lifted her tearful face to his. Glancing down, she noticed the wet spots on the front of his silk shirt. “I’m sorry,” she said, pushing back from his embrace.

  He never looked down as he said, “Don’t worry about it. Let’s get you in bed.”

  For a second she wondered what it would be like for him to say those words to her and not mean sleep. Being comforted in his embrace, she felt his virile body…the ribbed muscles of his abdomen, the hard chest that felt perfect against her cheek, the muscular arms wrapped around her.

  Blushing, she pushed the rest of the way back and simply nodded. Stepping toward the bed, she turned and asked, “Where will you sleep?”

  His eyes shot to the bed behind her, for a second wishing the answer would be “with you”, but he jerked his head toward her living area. “I’ll be fine. Remember, I’ll be waking you up every couple of hours.”

  Nodding again, she turned and climbed under the covers, pulling the messy sheets up over her. He leaned down, snagging the blanket and comforter, draping them over her as well. Unable to resist, he kissed the top of her head once more.

  He waited for a few minutes until he saw her breathing even out and deepen. What the hell was she doing tonight? And what the hell am I doing with her?

  He left the bedroom door partially open, then began to walk around the apartment. A desk in the corner yielded items concerning the bakery below but nothing pertinent to the case. At first glance upon walking into the room, the placement of furniture and the riot of color gave the appearance of a crowded space but, as he carefully walked around, he realized that she used the arrangement of items in the room to her advantage.

  The apartment no longer seemed overstimulating; instead, he felt its warmth. As though the colors wrapped around him, chasing out the darkness of the night. Finding nothing significant, he lay down on the sofa after setting his watch alarm.

  For a few minutes, he allowed his mind to rove over the events of the last several hours. Seeing her at the bar and wishing those eyes and that smile had been directed at him. Feeling jealous when he had never officially met her. The foolishness of following her to a hotel. The fear when he heard a struggle and the rage when he saw the man fighting with her. And seeing her unconscious on the floor…Jesus, I’ve gone through more emotions in one night than I have in weeks. Maybe months. What the hell is it with this woman? She’s turning me upside down.

  Before he knew it, his alarm went off and he moved into the bedroom to wake her. He stood for a moment, staring at her face peacefully sleeping. Long lashes lay on her cheeks. Porcelain complexion glowed in the moonlight, except for the bruising on her forehead. Her long hair beckoned to his fingers, but he refused to give in to the urge. Finally, he gently shook her shoulder. She grumbled, but her eyes were clear and he managed to get her to drink some water. She grabbed his arm as he began to pull away.

  “I’m cold,” she mumbled. “Please stay with me.”

  Feeling her hand shiver on his arm, he slipped off his pants and shirt, leaving on his t-shirt and boxers, before sliding into the bed behind her. Pulling her in closely, he wrapped his arm around her waist as she laid her head on his shoulder.

  “You’re safe now,” he whispered into her silky hair, sweetly scented with her floral shampoo. Assuming he would never sleep he forced his body to relax, hoping to create a comforting embrace for Angel. Before he knew it, he followed her into slumber.

  Chapter 7

  The morning sun peeked through the blue sheers on the bedroom window, casting the room and its occupants in a calm glow. Opening his eyes, Monty was surprised to see a pair of crystal blue eyes peering directly into his. Embarrassed to have slept so soundly, he struggled to find something coherent to say.

  Giggling, Angel put her finger on his lips. “You don’t have to try to explain why you’re in bed with me. I remember begging you to stay.” Her expression sobered. “I was cold…and to be truthful, frightened…and you gave me comfort even though I know you were angry with me.” Moving her finger ever so slightly across his lips with a feather-light touch, she whispered, “Thank you.”

  Before he responded, she moved out of the bed, grabbed some clothes from her closet and headed into the bathroom, closing the door behind her with a soft click. Her touch sent his blood rushing from his head to his dick, but he willed it to behave. Rolling to his back, he threw his arm underneath his head. The desire to pull her in closely and kiss her wildly until they were both naked and rolling in her bed was overwhelming. Shaking his head, he climbed out from under the covers determined to force his mind back to the case at hand.

  Once behind the safety of the bathro
om door, Angel stared at herself in the mirror again, noticing the purple bruise was much deeper in the light of day. Sighing deeply, she took care of business, pulled on comfortable clothes and tamed her hair. With a touch of makeup, she attempted to make herself less pale and to hide the dark circles, to no avail. A swipe of pink bubblegum lip gloss was the last thing she applied, more out of habit than anything else. She tried to keep her mind off the intriguing man whose arms held her in the night. Longing to wake up to him in different circumstances filled her thoughts. But she knew he was still angry. What an idiot I was last night—it could have turned out so badly. Looking at her bandage taped to her forehead…or worse than it did. Straightening herself, she sucked in a cleansing breath. Time to face the music!

  Monty looked up a she walked out of the bathroom. Her long, blonde, colorful hair dry and tamed into a sleek ponytail. Wearing black leggings with an oversized green sweater, she nervously bit her bottom lip. His eyes dropped to her plump lip and the desire to be the one to nibble on it invaded his thoughts.

  Before he spoke, she threw her shoulders back in determination, walked over with her hand outstretched, and said. “We’ve never been properly introduced. I’m Angel Cartwright. I own the bakery downstairs, Angel’s Cupcake Heaven.”

  His mouth twitched in amusement as he took her hand in his, noting her fingers felt slim but strong. Her grip was firm, probably from stirring untold bowls of cupcake batter, but the idea of those fingers around his cock caused him to quickly drop her hand.

  “Montgomery Lytton,” he replied, shoving his hands in his pockets to discreetly adjust himself. “With Saints Protection & Investigations.”

  “Yes, you mentioned that last night. I assume you want to talk about…uh…”

  “Absolutely,” he answered, his voice smooth as velvet.

  “Would you mind if we had a little breakfast first? I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday.”

  “Not at all,” he replied, thinking that he would kill for a cup of coffee.

  Offering a fleeting smile, she moved into the kitchen and within a few minutes plated a ham and cheese omelet and muffins she heated after taking them from the refrigerator. Serving it with juice and coffee, she set everything at the end of her long table.

  He appreciated the bounty she so effortlessly created, and his eyes were drawn to the place settings. Deep purple placemats set off the white pottery plates. Folded pink napkins sat under the forks. He turned, looking back at her.

  “What?” she asked defensively.

  “Just wondering about your fascination with color, that’s all.”

  Angel sat down at the table, carefully scrutinizing the man across from her. She considered responding to his quip, then decided to eat instead. Why should I care that he’s making fun of my home? Refusing to let him know that his comment stung, she ate heartily.

  Monty realized his observation bothered her and wanted to make it right somehow. “I didn’t mean to insult your…um…apartment. It’s very nice. I’ve just never seen…well, that is to say, the color is very…nice.”

  Angel looked at him for a second before bursting into laughter. “That was the strangest compliment I think I’ve ever heard,” she giggled. Looking around, seeing her place through the eyes of a stranger, she admitted, “Yeah, I like color. It makes me happy.”

  Smiling at her easy acceptance of his awkward apology, he nodded. Damn, her muffins are as good as her cupcakes.

  Within a few minutes, they finished breakfast and took the plates back to the sink. Giving them a quick rinse, she placed them in the dishwasher before turning to him as she dried her hands on a yellow dishtowel. “I suppose it’s time to talk?” she mumbled, following him to her sofa.

  “Yes, but first, I want to know how your head feels.” he said, placing a finger on her forehead with a whisper-soft touch.

  Battling the desire to close her eyes and lean into his hand, she admitted, “I have a little headache, that’s all.”

  He took her by the shoulders, turned her and gently pushed her down on the sofa, saying, “Hang on.”

  Within a minute he had brought her more juice and a couple of Advil, watching as she swallowed gratefully.

  Pulling up a dining room chair and placing it so he was directly facing her, he said, “Now’s the time. I want you to start at the beginning of what the fuck you were doing last night.”

  She shot him a quelling glare, her lips thinning in irritation. “Look, I’m not some kind of idiot—”

  “I’ll be the judge of that.”

  Huffing, she replied, “Do you want me to talk or not?”

  Obviously, his hard-ass expression was not going to get them anywhere, so he changed tactics. “Yes. Please tell me what’s going on. That’s the only way I’m going to be able to piece together what you know in order to help Marcia.”

  Her eyes widened as she leaned forward. “So you think something happened to her also?”

  “Ms. Cartwright, please.”

  Leaning back, she nodded. “Marcia and I are sorority sisters. She and I stayed fairly close since we still live near each other. There are about six of us who get together every couple of months—oh, wait. That’s what you saw the last time we met. I noticed you in the restaurant. And please, call me Angel.”

  “Yeah, I noticed you also,” he admitted, a smile on his face.

  Cocking her head to the side, she wondered if that was good or bad. Oh, hell, that doesn’t matter now!

  “Marcia and I would meet for drinks once a week or so.” She saw his questioning expression. “Look, if you’ve been checking into Marcia, then I’m sure you’ve heard about her reputation. Quite frankly, I think it’s more blown up than real but, yes, she’s a…liberated woman.”

  “Liberated?”

  Licking her lips in thought, she explained, “Marcia had no compunction about going to a bar, hooking up for the night with a man, and then not seeing him again.” Piercing Monty with a stare, she added, “Men do it and are called studs. Players. Sowing their wild oats. Whatever. They get with their buddies, slap each other on the back, and act like they’ve just conquered the world. Women? They’re labeled sluts. Whores. Bitches.”

  Monty nodded slowly, admitting silently he agreed with her assessment and cursed himself for wondering if Angel did the same.

  “I admit bar pickups are not my thing, but I never judged Marcia for her ways.”

  Threading her fingers through her ponytail, she gazed down at her lap for a moment, sighing heavily. “I was supposed to meet Marcia the night she was last seen. But I ended up having a minor crisis in the bakery and I stayed late with a couple of employees.” Lifting her eyes, she added, “I’m sure it wouldn’t seem like a crisis to you, but for my business, it was.”

  He remained silent so she continued, bringing her legs up and crossing them Indian-style. “One of my employees mixed up two orders and we had a huge delivery the next day. So we stayed until about midnight, redoing the cupcake orders so that they would be ready to go. After they left, I stayed another hour creating a quick marketing advertisement so that we could sell the cupcakes not used for a reduced price. I didn’t return back up here until almost one a.m.”

  He said nothing but his intense gaze stayed riveted to her, so she continued. “I got a message from her about eight.” She stood, walked over to her large purse, and dug around for a moment. Finding her phone, she moved back toward him. With a few clicks of her fingers, she found what she was looking for.

  Monty nearly grabbed the phone from her fingers, looking at the message.

  Found a nice one – he’s hot! Tall, blond, tashed.

  Monty quickly scrolled up and down to determine if there were other texts from that night or yesterday, but found none. His eyes lifted to Angel’s. “Did she usually text you about her hook-ups?”

  “No, she didn’t. When I called about seven to tell her that I could not make it, she joked that she would find a drinking replacement for me for the night. Then she
joked that she’d let me know who I got replaced with and teased about me living vicariously through her. I didn’t think anything about it at the time until I got a call from her father yesterday to see if I had seen her.”

  “Why would he call you?”

  “It was in her daily planner that we were to meet at Eclipse for drinks at eight.”

  “Okay,” Monty said, dragging the word out. “I get what happened so far. What I want to know is why you went looking for the guy yourself, nearly getting yourself killed in the process?”

  “It seemed to make sense,” she protested, then saw his incredulous expression. “Well, at first, it did. After Mr. Creston called to ask about Marcia and I told him that she had gone out by herself, he told me he was worried. Believe me, if Marcia doesn’t show up for work, especially with a big meeting, there’s a reason to be concerned. The police wouldn’t investigate until she had been missing for twenty-four hours and since I knew where she had been and a bit of a description of who she had met, I wanted to check it out.”

  “You were carrying a gun, Angel. That hardly constitutes checking something out,” he growled.

  “Look, I knew what I was doing. I have a license to carry a concealed weapon. My dad was career Army and so is my brother. Both taught me how to shoot and how to defend myself. I wasn’t going to walk into a situation unarmed and unprepared.”

  His face registered surprise, but his lips thinned in irritation. “Go on.”

  “I went to the same bar last night that we were supposed to meet at. My plan was to see if anyone fit the description. After all, isn’t it true that criminals will go back to the scene of the crime?”

  “How many fuckin’ detective shows do you watch on TV?” he asked.

  Her eyes widened as a blush began creeping from her chest to her bruised forehead. “I’m not stupid,” she protested. “I wanted to see if someone matching that description came in again!”