Kidnapped Hearts

by Cait Jarrod

  Footsteps coming toward them interrupted their conversation. A woman wearing the same blue uniform as the officer in front of her, with the exception of the skirt, stopped beside them. “The light bulb was busted.”

  Pamela twisted away from the police. One hand covered her mouth while the other held the towel like a lifeline. She mumbled, “This isn’t good.”

  The agent touched her shoulder. The action, although a small gesture, meant a lot.

  “If you need anything, give me a call.” The officer handed her his card, then smacked the agent on the back. “See you around.”

  “Have a good one,” Agent Gibson replied to the officer’s back, as he handed over an inside out latex glove to the arriving field agent. The FBI’s forensic artist followed.

  The agent separated the material and looked inside the glove then nodded. “I’ll send the note and string to the lab.”

  “You put them inside the glove?” Pamela asked, looking up at Jake.

  Jake didn’t respond. “I need the lab work expedited on the note, string, and brick.” Jake pointed at the third item.

  The agent placed the evidence in a Ziploc bag. “Will do.”

  The forensic artist led Pamela to a table in the dining room. She gave the parcel description of the man in the window while Jake cleaned up the glass by the front door.

  Within minutes, the artist packed up the supplies and the two agents left.

  Pamela twirled, looking for Jake. She found him by the rear entrance, where the doorknob twisted beneath her hands. He shook hands with the officers as they exited the café. Everyone knew him. She took in his clothing. He wore jeans and a t-shirt, not a drop of water on him.

  He smiled at the last officer leaving the café before turning his blue eyes on her.

  Pamela jammed her hands on her hips. “If you were outside during the storm, why aren’t you wet?”

  He closed the distance to her and jutted his chin toward the hooks by the front door. A black raincoat hung from a hook, a puddle of water beneath it. “I can’t move well in the coat.”

  She glared at him.

  He unbuttoned a couple of buttons on the back of the jacket. The flap dropped down, and the words FBI appeared. “I am who I said, except I retired a few days ago.”

  She looked him over. “Why were you outside my café this time of night during a thunderstorm?”

  “We’ll get to that. First, we have a few things we need to take care of, then I’ll escort you home.”

  Her eyes widened.

  “Your windows first, and then afterwards, we need to find a way to keep you safe. I’m assuming by your reaction earlier you’ve received other notes.”

  She remained silent. What was she supposed to say to him? He wanted answers but wouldn’t answer her questions.

  “And by the silence, I know I’m right.”

  Her mouth gaped open as he walked into the kitchen. She padded behind him. He was looking through the drawers.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Duct tape.”

  “It’s in the storage room.” She led the way through the hall to the storage room, removed the tape from a box, and turned, running into his chest again. At five-eight, the top of her head reached his nose. Lifting her chin, she met gentle eyes and swallowed. A warm surge of heat rushed through her body. “Umm, I think there’s a roll of vinyl shelf paper in the corner that we could use to cover the holes.”

  He cleared his throat. “I’ll have a man come over in the morning to replace the glass for you.”

  “No need. I have a repairman, Panama Jack.”

  Jake’s eyebrows arched. “Panama Jack? Well, if he isn’t available, let me know.”

  She found the roll and headed toward the front entrance.

  Jake unrolled the shelf paper and held it over the small hole in the front door while Pamela stretched the duct tape and attached the vinyl paper to the window. He took the roll and finished taping the other three sides, and then they moved through the kitchen doors to the shattered window and repeated the process.

  “I’ll need to make a list for the repairman.” She strolled into her office, settled in her chair, and searched for a notepad.

  Jake followed. His concern started to touch a place she didn’t want to consider. Giving up on the post-its, her hands went up in the air. He pulled the pad from an organizer and tossed it to her. “You can’t stay alone.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Agent Gibson—”

  “Jake,” he interrupted.

  She focused on the paper; anywhere was better than being sucked in by those blue eyes. “I have enough men in my life to watch over me, to a fault sometimes. I don’t need any more.” She knew her comment was mean, but she couldn’t take the chance of letting this man inside the wall she erected after Sam.

  He crossed to her side of the desk and propped his butt on the corner. Crossing arms and legs, he looked down at her. “I’m trained to protect. Are your friends?”

  She was forced to look at him, all of him. One had been. “It doesn’t matter. You’re not watching over me.”

  “At least let me drive you home.”

  As if to support Jake’s comment, thunder boomed, and the lights flicked off. The emergency lights immediately flickered, brightening the area.

  She wrote the kitchen and dining room emergency lights on the list, then the back door light along with the windowpanes. He made a good point. “I’ll drive to a girlfriend’s house.”

  “It’s late.”

  The clock on the wall chimed two. Her friend would unnecessarily worry receiving a call at this time of night.

  “What about tomorrow night?” Jake said, interrupting her deliberations.

  Tomorrow hadn’t entered her mind. Late in the afternoon, the Band of Friends, known as the BOFs, would be meeting at the café. She could stay with one of them. “I have a friend I can stay with tomorrow night.”

  He straightened and pulled his wallet out of his back pocket then flashed a badge. “Proof, I’m who I say.”

  Pamela looked at the badge and the picture beside it. The FBI jacket could have been anyone’s, but the badge was definitely his. Again, the name Jake Gibson caught her attention. “The badge has retired across it.”

  “Like I said, I retired a few days ago.” He shoved the wallet back into his back pocket. “I’ll sleep on your couch, and you can lock the bedroom door.”

  “Could a locked door stop you?”

  He touched both her shoulders. Blue compassionate eyes looked at her. “Look, I’m here to help you, not hurt. I can’t force you to let me stay, but I hope you will reconsider.”

  As she gazed into his eyes, she noticed the same unfaltering demeanor she had seen in other men who had been to war. The look that said, I’d do whatever it takes to protect you. But why would he volunteer to help her?

  He disappeared and a second later returned with his raincoat in his hands. “Come on, let’s get you home.” He tugged on her hand until she stood, then wrapped his raincoat around her.

  The deer in the headlights look had to be what he saw when he eased her into his arms and said, “I’ll take care of this.”

  She didn’t understand why this man with the familiar name was being so nice to her and didn’t truly know if she could trust him. Yet, she needed help, and he was offering. Burying her head in his shirt, she did what she refused to do in front of another man. She cried.

  Something about his rectitude, his charm, and she knew under his watchful eye, she’d be safe. From what or who she needed protection continued to be a mystery.

  Chapter Two

  The next afternoon, Jake strolled toward the large rock behind his house along the RappahannockRiver. He had a full cooler in one hand, a fishing pole in the other, and his dog, Willis, trotting beside him. Propping the pole against a tree, he snatched a beer from the cooler, tossed a stick into the water, and leaned back on one elbow to watch his black Labrador fetch.

  As the afternoon s
un beamed down on him, Jake’s thoughts drifted to the previous night at Pamela Young’s townhouse. Learning she planned to sleep on a different floor than him, the uneasiness from the information he received two days ago multiplied. He still couldn’t believe what an informant had told him minutes before boarding a plane to the States.

  A branch snapped behind him. He swung around and faced a redheaded man wearing jeans and a button down dress shirt walking toward him. Jake’s eyes dropped to his loafers. He’d never change. “Larry Newman, how in the hell are you?”

  “Good.” His former co-worker held up a cooler. “I brought my own.”

  “Smart man.”

  Larry scooted on the rock, dug into his cooler for a brew, and sighed. “Great spot.”

  “It is.” Jake tasted his beer, eyeing Larry over his can. Something was up. “Glad to see you.”

  “Stop looking at me like that.” Larry punched Jake on the shoulder. “I missed you, buddy. I was beginning to think you’d have to stay in hiding forever.”

  “Felt like it.”

  Larry shifted. “I heard about the case the Director threw in your lap. You’d think the man owns you.”

  “In a way he does.”

  “Maybe,” Larry shrugged, “but even if the Director did pull you from a life of crime, it doesn’t give him the right to demand you work freelance for him.”

  “I don’t have anything else planned, so I might as well.”

  Willis dropped a stick at Larry’s feet and smelled his pant legs. He must have passed the smell test since the dog looked at the stick, then to Larry, waiting for it to fly.

  Larry sailed the stick into the water. “You don’t mind working on a case involving Pamela Young? I know how you avoided her the last time you were home. I believe your words were, ‘She’ll mess with my focus’.”

  Jake smiled grimly at the water. “I should have approached her back then. If I had, I wouldn’t have dated the mistress of a known terrorist.”

  “You didn’t know.”

  Jake’s body went rigid as the tension seeped into his muscles. “I was a fucking FBI agent, Larry. I was trained to know how to read people.”

  “Give yourself a break. The FBI had your alias, The Warrior, buried so deep in the Black Scorpions gang that no one suspected Jennifer to be anything other than a woman on the prowl for a punk.”

  “Hey, watch it,” Jake teased, leaning over and picking up a rock. “I was a bad boy.” The rock plopped in the water.

  “With long hair. Yeah, I get it. I’m just saying you weren’t the only one she fooled.”

  Jake gulped his beer then looked at Larry. “Maybe, but I won’t be that stupid again.”

  Larry shook his head. “It’s the name of the game. Let it go.” He exhaled. “How Sanjar discovered your true identity baffles me.” Larry picked up a pebble, tossed it in the air, then caught it. “I mean, how many women like to call their boyfriend The Warrior?” He held up a hand. “Scratch that.”

  The tension in Jake’s shoulders relaxed. He chuckled. “She loved it. The whole biker thing turned her on.”

  Larry quickly covered his ears. “TMI, Jake, TMI.”

  Jake laughed harder.

  “In all seriousness though, I’ll be shocked if Pamela’s involved with Sanjar. She’s good friends with one of the field agents,” Larry said, skipping the pebble across the river’s surface.

  “It wouldn’t be the first time an agent gets stubbed.”

  Twigs snapped behind them, ending their conversation. Both men reached for their guns.

  “I see you two aren’t too far in the wind. Your reaction time is still good, but you’re not alert enough. You boys didn’t even hear my car pull in the driveway.”

  Jake nodded and slid his gun back in his pocket. He expected his former boss, and good friend, to drop by at some point to discuss the case. He just thought it’d be later in the afternoon.

  Larry holstered his gun. “Sir.”

  Jake stood, stretching out his hand. “Director.”

  “I deserve more than a handshake from you, son.” The Director snagged his hand and tugged him close.

  Jake had to agree. Hal Kennedy had helped him out many times over the years. He smacked the Director’s back and stepped away.

  “And call me Hal. You don’t work for me anymore.”

  Jake took in the gray-haired man with a slightly protruding belly and nodded.

  Willis took this opportunity to drop the stick at his Hal’s feet and shook. Fetch with Willis could go on for hours.

  Chuckling, Hal hitched his pant leg then leaned his foot and rear against the rock. “I can see your dog has adapted back home fine.”

  Jake threw the stick in the opposite direction as he settled back on the rock. “He’s just as much of an attention whore as ever.”

  Hal glanced at the river. “This is a good spot to talk, private with no one to interrupt.”

  Larry leaned on a nearby tree. “It is.”

  Jake drained his bottle. “So the chatter on the FBI wire is that Pamela is in possession of stolen bearer bonds.”

  “Yep.” Larry cleared his throat. “Why would Sanjar use a businesswoman, living in the small area of Fredericksburg, to do his dirty work?”

  “It’s a perfect area to hide, but I believe there’s another person involved setting all this into motion.”

  “I’m inclined to agree with you, son.” Hal shifted on the rock.

  Larry nodded. “What did your informant say?”

  Jake commented dryly, “Sanjar is looking for money to fund his hatred toward the United States. Chemical warfare was mentioned.”

  Jake passed Hal a beer. “Last night when I surveilled The Memory Café, I heard a woman scream from within. Given that, and the fact I saw a man lurking in the parking lot behind the café, I broke in. Once I entered the premises, I found Pamela Young shaking. Someone put a brick through the café’s window. A note was attached. It said you’ve run out of time. Don’t involve the police. Ms. Young has received two other notes that I have yet to see.”

  “Did you see the man’s face?” Larry asked.

  “No, his raincoat covered his face.” Jake released a breath and held up a finger. “Here’s the thing. Ms. Young said the man had shiny teeth.”

  Larry groaned. “One of Sanjar’s men?”

  “Possibly.”

  Hal groaned.

  Larry shoved off from the tree to face the Director. “Sir, I don’t mean to question your authority, but is it a smart move for Jake to be involved in this case? You know Sanjar’s and his history. Besides, the FBI should be handling this case rather than farming it out.”

  Hal straightened. “All good points, but as you know, Donald Young is a man I’ll forever be indebted to. If I can keep his only child from being a suspect in a formal FBI terrorist case, I will. The man saved my life in Vietnam. I owe him at least that.”

  “Furthermore,” Jake cut in, “It’s been five years. I looked different then than I do now.” Long dread-locks had covered his head like a sheep dog, causing his head to itch constantly, and green contacts had irritated his eyes, changing the whites of his eyes to red. “I owe Sanjar for what he did to Jennifer.” She may have deceived him, but she didn’t deserve the fate she received.

  Larry nodded. “That you do, my friend. By the way, did Pamela remember you?”

  Jake thought about last night. He didn’t know if she remembered him, but he could never forget her. In the dark, his body had reacted to her nearness, an occurrence that hadn’t happened to him for some time, not since Jennifer, and that lust had backfired.

  He shook his head. “No, I don’t believe she did.”

  “Where’d Pamela stay last night?” the Director wanted to know.

  “At her townhouse, I stayed in the guest room.” Jake’s mind quickly flashed to her bedroom and him checking her window latches. He had entered her room after checking the downstairs windows and doors while she was in the bathroom. When she flo
ated out of the adjoining room, her mouth formed a perfect o. Her expression, mixed with the cotton daisy pajamas she wore, put a fire under him, making his veins burn with lust. His fingers itched with the temptation to touch each daisy on her pajamas. Quickly, he had crossed the hall to the guest bedroom before he gave into the temptation to count them and touch what the daisies hid.

  Jake dropped his empty bottle in the cooler. “She shouldn’t be alone.” He paused, gaining his thoughts. “Hal, I haven’t dismissed the fact that Pamela could be working with Sanjar. Either way, if she’s working for him or not, I believe she’s in danger.”

  “She’s not involved. I’ve known that girl since she came into this world. She’s as good as gold, that one.” Hal finished his beer. “Who’s with her now?”

  “Agent Lever and a couple men are posted near the front and back exits of The Memory Cafe.”

  “The Bureau has your full cooperation in this case, Jake?” Hal asked, the Director’s authoritative tone coming out.

  Jake stared at the water. He wanted to take Sanjar down.

  Hal must have thought his silence meant refusal. “Jake, this job is in your blood. It’s who you are.”

  Jake pushed off the rock and faced the man who offered him a job over a decade ago. “No, it’s not who I am, it’s what I did, but the Bureau has my full attention.”

  Hal nodded. “By the way, I don’t want Donald knowing anything about this investigation just yet.”

  Jake agreed. Years ago, he remembered Donald Young’s reputation for his worry over his daughter. The man was furiously protective where she was concerned. “Roger that.”

  “Glad to have you home, son.” Hal slapped Jake’s back then headed toward his car.

  Jake slumped back on the rock. Home, whatever that was. “See ya, Sir.”

  Larry rose. “Man, I could stay here all day, but I better go. An agent is picking me up any minute.”

  “New guy?”

  Larry nodded. “We had to replace you.” He shoved off the tree and grabbed his cooler. “I’m taking the new guy to a bar tonight. Want to go?”