Honor Love: Saints Protection & Investigations

by Maryann Jordan

  “Then how did you end up in a hotel room with him, may I ask?”

  “How do you know all of this? And why were you at the hotel?” Shock registered on her face. “Oh my God, with all that happened, I never asked you how you knew to be there! You were following too, weren’t you? I was right! That guy is involved.”

  “I wasn’t following him. I was following you!” Monty shouted, his voice laced with frustration as he rubbed his face a few times in an attempt to re-focus. Jesus, this woman is infuriating!

  “Following me?” she asked, leaning back on the sofa. Her head pounded, but she wanted answers.

  “Yes, you. I was at the bar, asking the bartenders if they had seen Marcia. I’d been to about five bars last night and a partner had been to a bunch of others. Eclipse was the last one and I’d decided to settle back and enjoy a drink. Saw you come in, get busy with some man at the bar, get drunk, and go off with him.”

  “I wasn’t drunk!”

  “I know that now, but it sure as hell looked like it then.”

  “That still doesn’t explain why you followed us,” she pointed out.

  Heaving a deep breath, he forced his reply to soften. “I was concerned. Something about the man seemed off to me.” Refusing to divulge that he noticed the man wore a wig, he continued, “I recognized you from the restaurant a month ago and also knew you were a sorority sister of the woman we’re looking for.”

  Seeing her head cock to the side, he added, “Her father has asked Saints Protection & Investigations to work with the FBI in locating his daughter.”

  “I see,” she admitted. Sighing as her fingers touched her bandaged forehead once more, she said, “I’m sorry. I understand you were just doing your job.”

  “I still haven’t made the leap from trying to see if you could locate the man Marcia met with and ending up fighting him in a hotel room,” he prompted.

  “I immediately saw that he was the only one in the bar that resembled Marcia’s text. He made eye contact and smiled as I walked in. I wanted to get him to talk. You know, see if he came there a lot. See if he was the kind to be looking for a hook-up. I wanted to get him comfortable and then I was going to try to ask if he knew a friend of mine. At least, that was my intention when I first sat down. Right away, I noticed he wanted me to keep drinking. So I had two drinks with him but pretended that I had been drinking before coming to the bar. That made it easier to appear drunk when I wasn’t. I tried to intimate I had a friend who I usually drank with but I got nothing out of him. Then I noticed something weird.”

  Monty’s gaze stayed riveted on hers.

  Leaning forward, a conspiratorial gleam in her eyes, she pronounced, “He was wearing a wig! And I think his mustache wasn’t real.” Angel then leaned back, her arms crossing over her chest, smiling. Now, he’ll take me and my suspicions seriously!

  Instead, Monty stood quickly almost knocking his chair backward. Stalking away for several paces he stared out the tall windows. Dragging his hand over his face once more, he suddenly turned, his face red with anger.

  “You already had suspicions about this guy. Already thought he might be involved in the disappearance of your friend. And you still went off with him? Are you fuckin’ crazy?” he yelled.

  Tears of anger and frustration immediately hit her eyes and she lost the battle to contain them. One after the other flowed down her cheeks as her fingers dashed them away.

  Raising his head to the ceiling in a silent plea for patience, he walked over and sat next to her on the sofa, taking her hand in his. “Cupcake, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be an asshole, but you gotta understand how much danger you placed yourself in last night.”

  Gulping back her tears, she nodded. After a minute, she became aware of his fingers rubbing gently across her hand in slow circles. The slight connection was calming…and stimulating at the same time. Aware of the handsome man sitting next to her, she once again wondered what it would be like to have him hold her hand out of affection and not necessity.

  He leaned forward and grabbed a tissue from the box on the coffee table and handed it to her. “Here you go.”

  She wiped her eyes and blew her nose thankfully. Turning to look at him full on, she asked, “Why do you call me Cupcake?”

  Giving a rueful snort, he explained, “A little over a month ago, my niece had a birthday party and my sister had the whole house decked out in pink, purple, and teal. And then she brought out these huge-ass cupcakes covered in a ton of pink, purple, and teal frosting. Mom talked about ACH and I didn’t have a clue what she meant until she mentioned Angels Cupcake Heaven. They coerced me into eating one and, swear to God, I thought I was tasting heaven.”

  Her brilliant smile beamed at him, causing his heart to skip a beat. Her tired, red-rimmed eyes, dark circles underneath, runny nose, and bruises peeking from underneath the bandage—still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.

  “And when I saw you that night in the restaurant, I had no idea who you were but, when I saw your hair…all I thought about were those cupcakes.”

  “My signature colors,” she explained softly.

  They sat in companionable silence for a moment, her hands back in her lap, but wishing his were touching hers again.

  “To finish about last night,” she said with a sigh, hating to dispel the truce they had achieved. “I could tell he wanted to get away from the bar. I knew I was armed. Knew I could defend myself. I just wanted to get him somewhere to ask about Marcia. I thought as soon as I did, I would be able to tell by the look on his face if he knew who she was and, if so, my plan was to hold him until the police could come. If not, then I would excuse myself, tell him I changed my mind and leave.”

  Her gaze implored his as she added, “Monty, it seemed like a good plan until he became angry. Not so much at me asking about Marcia as not willing to be there for sex. He made a play for the gun, and I was about to take his legs out from under him.” Seeing the doubt in his eyes, she said, “Oh yeah. Believe me, my brother taught me some moves. But when the door flew open and you burst in, I lost my advantage and let him get the best of me.”

  Before Monty could chastise or question her more, his phone rang. Hitting the button, he answered, “Yes, boss?”

  She watched as his face hardened, his grey-blue eyes turning stormy. He disconnected and before she asked, he stood, irritation pouring him. He had been ready to tear her a new one for her dangerous maneuvers in the hotel, but that would have to wait. Sighing, he rubbed his face, fatigue showing in his expression.

  Turning, he said, “Get ready and grab your stuff. I’ve just been called into work for an emergency meeting and I want you to go with me.”

  She glanced at the clock and then back up to his face. “I can’t! I’ve closed the bakery long enough. I’m late as it is today, so I’ve got to get downstairs.”

  “Angel, I don’t know what’s going on right now, but I want you with me so I can protect you.”

  “I told you, I can protect myself,” she argued.

  “Yeah, last night worked out so well for you, didn’t it?” he growled.

  Standing, she placed her hands on her hips. “Look, I’ve got a business to operate. I think whoever was in that hotel room is long gone. So unless you plan on kidnapping me, you run off to your little meeting and I’m going downstairs to open my business.”

  “Don’t tempt me.”

  Cocking her hip, she tapped her toe on the floor. “I told you, I can handle myself.”

  Stepping closer until his shoes were in front of her pink toenails, he leaned down a breath away from her lips. “Someday, I’m gonna let you prove that to me, Cupcake.”

  Unable to stop himself, he planted a flash of a kiss on her lips before turning and walking to the door. Calling over his shoulder, he said, “I’ll be back with whatever news I can find out and we’ve got more to discuss.” With that, he stepped through the door, closing it behind him.

  She stood in the middle of her apartment, no
t moving except for lifting her fingers to her lips, still tingling from the feathery kiss. If they’re quivering now, what would they do if he really kissed me? she wondered.

  Jolting out of her musing, she ran to change clothes before heading to the bakery downstairs.

  Chapter 8

  Monty pulled through the security gate at Jack’s and made his way toward the house. During the drive, his mind had been filled with the irritating, frustrating, maddening, and absolutely distracting Angel Cartwright. He tried to tell himself the gentle kiss he gave her meant nothing, but Damn, if that isn’t driving me to distraction!

  Arriving at the house, he met several of the others coming in at the same time. Blaise and Chad were back from D.C. and had already arrived. As everyone gathered around the main conference table, Jack eyed Monty. “Get anything from Ms. Cartwright?”

  Reporting as succinctly as possible, he related what happened last night, both from his perspective and what she had explained. As his story came to the incident in the hotel room, the incredulous, and even angry, looks were shared by all.

  “I don’t care what her dad and brother taught her, going into a hotel room with someone she thought may have done something to her friend was crazy-ass irresponsible,” Jude said, with nods of agreement from the others. His fiancé, Sabrina, assisted the Saints when they were helping her grandmother, but his heart still stopped every time he remembered that she had been kidnapped in the process. Jude decided then and there—no more investigating for her.

  Monty continued to explain the subsequent events at the hospital and then this morning’s conversation.

  “I’m surprised you didn’t bring her in with you this morning,” Marc added.

  “Yeah, well, I tried. She’s as stubborn as she is beautiful.”

  The other saints grinned as Monty drummed his fingers on the table. “Beautiful?” Blaise asked. “Hmmm, maybe I need to check on the intrepid Ms. Cartwright.”

  Monty’s gaze jumped up to Blaise’s. “Oh, no you don’t. She’s mine to take care of.” Seeing the grins around the room, he immediately tried to back up. “Not like that,” he protested. “I just mean since I’m heading this case, she’s mine to…oh, hell, I don’t know what she is.”

  The others laughed; this time, recognizing the signs of another Saint falling. “Don’t fight it, bro. If it’s happening, there’s nothin’ you can do to stop it,” Cam advised, fist bumping Bart sitting next to him. The two friends had found love with the last two big cases the Saints had investigated.

  “Do we need to be concerned about Ms. Cartwright’s safety since this mystery guy is still missing?” Jack asked.

  “She’s at her bakery now and lives above it. I’m going back over there this evening. I did promise to keep her up on whatever we’re finding out and she gave her word that she would not attempt to investigate anymore.”

  That settled, Blaise and Chad began reporting what they found out in D.C. “Marcia Creston’s reputation for being driven in the workforce…and driven in the bedroom, extends to her friends outside just this area. Although, other than her sorority sisters, she really hasn’t stayed in contact with too many of her college friends,” Blaise said, running his hand over his clean-shaven face.

  Chad spoke up, “There was a Colonial Financial Group branch in Arlington and we found a few employees had transferred from the Charlestown office to there when Marcia took over. A couple of the men seemed to hold a grudge.”

  “You get anything else?” Monty inquired.

  “Nah. We knew Luke was running their financials and sent him the names of the few friends we talked to,” Chad added.

  “What about the security camera from the bar last night?” Jack asked.

  “Got it here,” Luke replied. “I’ll send it to everyone’s tablets.”

  “You looking for the man at the bar?” Bart asked. “Think we can get an ID on him?”

  “Gonna try. I talked to Mitch this morning and he’s working with the hotel manager and trying to get prints lifted from the room.”

  Marc quipped, “Fuck, lifting prints from a hotel room would be like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack.”

  “Right now it’s the only lead we’ve got. Keep working it, guys. Marcia Creston’s now been missing for about thirty-six hours,” Jack ordered, his reserved demeanor firmly in place.

  The meeting ended and everyone dispersed to their assignments. Monty shifted to a desk, taking his tablet with him. Pulling up Eclipse’s security cameras from last night, he watched. His eyes moved over the vision Angel presented. Dressed to perfection. Hair, a riot of her—what did she call it? Oh yeah, her signature colors.

  The mystery man was good at keeping his face turned toward her and not the camera. He’s been there before. He knows to where to look to avoid the camera.

  He watched the tapes over and over, but the view never changed. Nothing. Abso-fuckin’-lutely nothing. Except for her. He paused at the second she threw her head back and laughed. Reaching out his finger he traced over her image, committing it to memory. His phone rang, jolting him from his thoughts and he answered to find Mitch on the line.

  “Monty? I wanted to let you know first, although right now, someone is informing the Senator and his wife.”

  As though plunged into icy water, a cold dread hit him as he waited for the news.

  “Marcia Creston’s body was found this morning.”

  “Fuck!” he growled.

  “There was nothing we could have done,” Mitch added. “It looked like she had been dead about twenty-four hours, but we’ll know more when the medical examiner is finished.”

  “Where was she found?”

  “A farmer’s field, about five miles outside of town. She was shot at close range.”

  “Send me what you’ve got. I’ll tell Jack and the men,” Monty said, as his mind jumped to the beautiful baker who also needed to be told.

  After another few minutes, he disconnected and glanced over at Luke. “Call the others back in. Hopefully, they haven’t gone too far.”

  Thirty minutes later, they gathered around the table once again, with Mitch on the conference video.

  “The initial report is in. Marcia Creston had sexual intercourse but there is no evidence of forced trauma. The medical examiner concludes that it was consensual. In fact, other than the gunshot wound, there are no other wounds on her body. No signs of struggle, no cuts, abrasions, or bruises.”

  “So she knew her murderer,” Blaise surmised.

  “Or at least, knew him well enough to have sex with him,” Bart replied. “He could have been a one-night stand. She might have known nothing about him other than he was a body for a night.”

  The idea of how close Angel was to the same outcome had Monty’s heart pounding. And now…he needed to tell her about Marcia.

  *

  Three hours later, Monty entered the bakery, this time, less overwhelmed by the abundance of color. The front was completely glass with the words Angel’s Cupcake Heaven scrolling across the windows. The establishment was long, with display cases along the right side. Three walls were done in contrasting colors of pink, purple, and teal. Of course, he realized. When she referred to her signature colors, she meant in everything. The back wall included a mural of a medieval monk baking in an old stone oven.

  Tables lined the left side and as his eyes moved toward the back, he saw a much larger seating area filled with little girls. Recognizing a birthday party in full swing, he watched as Angel came from the back with a platter of cupcakes, similar to the ones at his niece’s party. Her smile was genuine and from his distance, he could see that she used makeup to cover the bruises on her forehead and replaced the large bandage from the hospital with a much smaller one.

  “Can I help you, sir?” a spritely voice from behind the counter asked.

  At first glance, he did not see anyone until he moved closer. A short teenage girl worked the counter and stood on her toes smiling at him. An older woman came
from the back, filling the cases. Both women wore pink polo shirts with their names embroidered in swirls over their hearts under the initials ACH.

  He leaned closer to the older woman and asked, “Will the party be over soon?”

  Helen glanced at the group and then back to him, uncertainty on her face. “I..I—”

  “Ma’am, I need to speak to Ms. Cartwright and it’s serious. When I talk to her, she’ll need to be alone and will need someone to close up the shop today.”

  “Is this about that friend of hers? The missing one?” Helen whispered. At his nod, she turned, grim-faced, toward the girl. “Chelsea, keep things going up here until I come back.”

  Helen walked to the back, over to Angel and whispered in her ear. Monty watched as Angel’s eyes immediately cut over to his, a question in her expression. Not giving anything away, he willed her to not make a scene.

  Smiling at the children that were already finishing the pile of cupcakes, she spoke quietly to Helen, who then moved over to the party. He watched as Angel walked toward him, her smile was in place but her hands nervously fluttered by her side. He stepped closer to the door as she neared, wanting as much privacy as possible. She stopped directly in front of him, her hand reaching for his arm.

  “What?” She swallowed hard several times as her voice cracked, but managed to speak again, “What do you need to tell me?”

  Monty raised his hand, clasping hers in his warmth. His voice, low and smooth, said, “Cupcake, let’s go up to your place.” He could see her start to protest, then stopped. Glancing back at Helen and receiving a nod, she turned back to face him again. Her mouth opened and closed twice but no words came out. Finally nodding, she allowed him to lead her to her apartment.

  Once inside, Monty, with their fingers still linked, led her to the sofa and sat down, gently pulling her down next to him. She peered deeply into his eyes, both her hands now firmly clasped in his.

  “I’m afraid for you to speak,” she whispered, searching his eyes for anything other than dread.

  “Angel, I’m so sorry—”