Seeing Love: Saints Protection & Investigations Page 24

  Bart drew Ivan’s attention back to him as Faith moved away. She tried to still her breathing, clearing her mind, but the images crowded into her mind.

  She noted Anton and Dmitry had moved to the fireplace as they sipped their drinks. Walking on unsteady legs, she made her way to them, hoping the expression on her face was one of concern and not scrutiny.

  “I haven’t had a chance to offer my sympathies to the two of you. When we first met, everything was crazy and well…I wanted to make sure you knew that I am so very sorry about Erik. I pray that the FBI will be able to locate him soon.”

  Anton nodded politely, thanking her. Dmitry smiled at her, offering his appreciation as well.

  “I wasn’t able to offer much to Constance. I can’t image what she’s going through. It must be a comfort for her to have you nearby, Dmitry.”

  “I’m afraid I’m not here much, with my studies and work during the day, but at least I’m here as much as I can be.”

  She nodded and moved to the mantle, pretending to study the ornate Christmas decorations placed there. She recognized some as antiques, similar to her grandmother’s. Closing her eyes, she once again tried to allow the emotions to flood through her. Her neck tingled once more as she let images run freely through her mind.

  Anton playing with Erik. Dmitry teaching him to ride a bike. Family gatherings…a previous Christmas in this very room. The images poured through her, then began to be crowded out as emotions moved into her consciousness. Many, the same as the others. Fear…anger…hurt…anguish…guilt. Guilt again? Survivor’s guilt?

  Once more, she tried to steady her pounding heartbeat, hoping no one was paying attention to her. Before she opened her eyes, she was unaware someone was staring at her. Dark eyes focused on her. Knowing eyes. Guilty eyes.

  Chapter 24

  The room began to close in on Faith as the assault of emotions swirled around her. Unable to discern where they were all coming from, she hurried over to the nearest chair and sat quickly. Catching Bart’s concerned eye, she gave a silent plea.

  Bart casually disengaged and walked over to where she was, placing his hand comfortably on her shoulder. “We really need to get going, Faith.” Giving her the excuse needed, she smiled gratefully and stood, leaning her weight slightly into him. Offering their goodbyes, they made their way out of the room, following Mrs. Dukakas to the door. Faith felt the prickles of needles in her back the entire way out of the house.

  Once inside the truck, she blurted, “I know you may not believe me, but Bart, I swear there was something wrong in the room. I didn’t feel it last week, or maybe it just was buried underneath all the grief, but there was something now. Something real.”

  “I believe you, princess,” he vowed. “What do you need to do? Is there something I can do?”

  Shaking her head, she replied, “No, no. I just…I…” Her voice trailed off as the images filled her mind. “I need to draw.”

  Bart thought for a second, then said, “What about we go back to my place? Can you work there?”

  Nodding, she agreed. “I know it’s Christmas Eve but, for the first time, things are so strong.”

  Reaching across the console, Bart grabbed her hand giving it a squeeze. “You don’t have to explain. We’ll go there. I’ll leave you alone to allow you to do your drawings and then we’ll discover what you can come up with.”

  Sucking in a deep breath, she let it out slowly. Closing her eyes, she felt the images of the dark-haired boy coming into her mind, strong and steady.

  Faith allowed Bart to take charge once they arrived at his house. She rushed in to see Smee, glad to see that he and Apollo had achieved a civil détente.

  Once settled, Bart turned to see Faith’s pale face, the faraway expression worrying him. Unsure, he stood awkwardly for a moment before finally pulling her body into his, offering his warmth. She wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat against her face.

  Surrounded by all that Bart was, the calm descended. Looking up, searching his eyes, she saw acceptance, concern, trust.

  “What do you need me to do, Faith?” he asked.

  Pulling away from him slightly, she answered, “I really need some quiet time. I just need to let the feelings, emotions, and images flow through my drawings.”

  “How about if I order some lunch? We can have take-out and I’ll stay out of your way.”

  “You’re right. We need to eat and I’ll work where it’ll be quiet.”

  Leaning down, he kissed her gently. Moving back slightly, he smiled, thinking how much he loved her kisses. Deep, long, and passionate. Or just a touch of her intoxicating lips. One of promise or one of a quick goodbye. I thought I was falling…but I’ve already fallen in love with her. Even with everything swirling around them, he could not keep the smile off his face. When this is over, I’ll tell her…and hope to hell she feels the same.

  He placed the call for Chinese delivery and was stunned when they said it would take almost forty-five minutes to deliver. After they explained they were shorthanded today, he considered going out to get it. No, I need to be here in case she remembers something as she’s drawing. He agreed, then moved to the study that overlooked the front yard. Faith walked into the room, her coat and scarf on. He looked up questioningly but, before he could ask, she said, “I’m going to sit on the back deck. I know it’s chilly, but the deck is in the sun right now and I feel the need to have fresh air.”

  Nodding, he agreed, “Whatever you need to work best.”

  After a few minutes, he slipped into the kitchen and looked out of the sliding glass door to see her sitting in a deck chair, her art pad in her lap and her fingers flying over the paper. Smiling, he walked back to the study and pulled out his phone, calling Jack. Leaning back in his chair, he spent the next thirty minutes going over the case, along with the new information, with the Saints.

  *

  Sitting on the deck, Faith found the fresh air cleared her mind of everything except the images that were flying onto the page from her fingertips. She quickly drew a picture of Ivan playing with Erik. An image of Anton playing games with him. Dmitry teaching him to ride his bike. Page after page of images.

  Come on, Faith. Do it. Let it flow. Please, Babushka, let me get those evil emotions down onto the paper. She began to draw once more, the electricity moving through her, the tingling at her neck and down her arms. Her breath came in pants as her heartbeat pounded a staccato rhythm.

  The form of Erik sitting on his bed, this time dressed in clothes instead of his pajamas, filled the page. The new book was still on his lap. The bookcase against the wall. A light coming from the ceiling was now clearly visible.

  Her vision was blurry and a rushing filled her ears as she immersed herself in the world of her drawing. Her fingers continued to create as though a will that was beyond her own was taking over. Erik’s face, relaxed in a smile, looking up at…oh my God!

  She stared, shocked at her drawing, her heart pounding. What if this isn’t real? What if this is just my imagination? Babushka, what do I do? Feeling faint, she closed her eyes against the swirling images fearfully swarming at her. She worked to still her breathing—in, out, in, out. Slowly, sucking in enough oxygen, she opened her eyes and gazed at the picture once more. And she knew. It was real.

  *

  The doorbell finally rang and Bart disconnected. Opening the door, he gratefully accepted the food bags and tipped the driver handsomely for working on Christmas Eve. He moved to the dining room table where he set the food out, admonishing Smee to move off the table, and shouting at Apollo to stop barking.

  Walking into the kitchen to see what Apollo was barking at, he headed to the sliding glass door, sure that Faith must be frozen by this time and wanting to hustle her inside.

  Apollo continued to jump on the glass, growling and barking incessantly. Bart stopped short, seeing her sitting motionless in the chair and the art pad lying on her lap. Rushi
ng to the door, he jerked it open, flying onto the deck.

  At the same instance, Faith startled from her trance at the noise behind her. Before she could rise, Bart reached her and knelt down beside the chair.

  “Princess, it’s freezing out here.” He bent to scoop her up, when she grabbed the front of his shirt.

  “Bart, I know. I know where Erik is.”

  Bart halted in mid-squat, his eyes searching hers before dropping to the art pad in her lap. He stared dumbly for an instant before lifting his eyes back to hers. He scooped her up in his arms as she grabbed the pad and said, “We gotta call Jack and Mitch.”

  Marching inside, he ordered Apollo to sit before gently pacing Faith in a dining room chair. The smell of their dinner would normally have been tantalizing, but all she felt was nausea.

  Placing a call to Jack, he told him what Faith had drawn. “I’m calling Mitch, but I’m heading there now. I may need back-up so send whoever is available on Christmas Eve.”

  He continued to talk for another minute as Faith watched, stunned. He never asked if I was sure. He never questioned. Neither did Jack. They believe me. Taking another deep, shuddering breath, she cleared her mind, readying herself for what was to come.

  By the time she stood, Bart was already on the phone to Mitch, coordinating the meeting place. His heart hardened as he called Jack back with the rendezvous point. Stalking to his hall closet, she watched as he armed himself quickly with the Kevlar and weapons he had a license to carry.

  As he approached her to say goodbye, he noticed she still had her coat on and was waiting by the front door. Cocking his head to the side he glared down but, before he could speak, she beat him to it.

  “I have to go with you. While I know the drawing is right, there could be something else I’m not seeing right now. We can’t afford to waste time with me here when I could possibly help there.”

  He sputtered, wanting to deny her, but stopped for a second sucking in a deep breath, held it, and then let it out slowly. Focus. Plan the mission. She’s right. She could be of use. Nodding reluctantly, he agreed. Now execute the mission.

  Stepping into her space, he gazed deeply into her eyes. “You do what I say, when I say it, princess. No exceptions.”

  She nodded, adding, “Don’t worry, Bart. I’ve got no desire to be a hero.”

  He grabbed her hand as he ran to his truck, roaring it to life, and backed out of his driveway to race down the street. Glancing to the side, seeing her pale face, he thought, You already are a hero.

  *

  Sitting in the truck cab, Faith watched as Jack, Chad, Blaise, Cam, and Monty met in a local parking lot. She saw another SUV pull up, seeing Mitch arrive. The men grouped, talking in hushed tones. As tense as the situation was, she could not help but admire the men giving up their Christmas Eve on nothing more than her hunch. Watching them, a circle of controlled testosterone, she also admired their form. As her gaze roved over the gathering, she smiled as her eyes landed on Bart, the tallest and largest of the group. Well, maybe Cam’s a little taller. But Bart was the only one holding her attention. How far we’ve come in a week.

  The driver’s door opened, jerking Faith out of her musings. Her eyes sought his for instructions.

  “We’re going to the location and parking nearby. Don’t come into Constance’s house,” he added with emphasis, “Mitch and Monty will go in the front and I’ll go around the back. Got that?”

  She nodded. “Got it,” she replied.

  Within a few minutes, they parked down the street from the location. She watched as the men spread out, moving steadily. She sat back, looking around, her nerves needing something else to focus on. A tingling began at the back of her neck as her eyes stayed on one place. Nerves taut, she jerked her gaze back to where the men had disappeared, before looking to the opposite side of the street again. It’s there, I’m sure of it. Her stomach clenched with anxiety. But who’s there? What if I’m wrong? What if I lead them to a neighbor’s house and it’s wrong? Closing her eyes for a moment, she allowed the images to form and solidify in her mind. Opening her eyes as she stared at the new location, she knew. Grabbing her phone from her purse, she sent a text to Bart.

  Across the street. Basement. I’m sure.

  She waited a few minutes, but no response came back from Bart. If I check it out, then I won’t take a chance on sending the cavalry in falsely. Sliding out of the truck, she saw no one around as she crept around toward the back of the neighbor’s house. Seeing several low, rectangle windows that would indicate they belonged to the basement, she moved to the back of the house where she hid behind shrubs before approaching the windows. Trying one, she found what she expected. Locked. Looking around, she did not see anyone so she checked her phone again. No response to her text. Jesus, what do I do? What if I’m wrong? Sending Bart another text, she waited an anxious minute. No response. Butterflies warred in her stomach as her restlessness had her trying another window.

  This time, the window jiggled and the latch slid out of its catch. Wide-eyed, she stared. Leaning around the bush, she tried to see if Bart or one of the others was coming. Damnit! Do I go back or go in? Her fingers moved the glass window back and forth a couple of times, noting it made no noise.

  Follow your instincts, Printcessa. Faith startled as her grandmother’s voice came to her as though she were next to her. Sucking in a deep breath, she fired off another text.

  Going in.

  Pulling the window open all the way and propping it with a stick, she peeked her head in. All was quiet. It appeared to be a small room in what must be the basement. She noticed a few plastic storage containers along the wall. Pulling her head back out, she twisted her body around and slid her legs in first. Slowly, on her stomach, she scooted backward until her feet found the box underneath her. Testing them gently, she continued to hold onto the windowsill until she was entirely in the basement. Moving her feet until they felt steady, she squatted before attempting to hop down to the floor.

  The top box shifted as she jumped, falling off the stack and crashing to the concrete floor. Damnit! She stood, statue-like, until she was sure there were no other noises to be heard. Instantly filled with the realization she was breaking and entering, she placed her hand on her stomach, pressing in to still the nerves. Fighting the desire to throw up, she glanced around the room.

  The walls were painted cinderblock. Metal shelves lined one side, holding empty plastic tubs labeled Christmas. A door on the opposite side of her was the only exit. She moved on rubbery legs, carefully making her way to the door. Locked. Of course, she thought ruefully. I would break into a closet with a locked door. Bart, where are you?

  Taking a moment to gather her wits, she looked back down at the doorknob. It appeared to be a simple, push-button type of doorknob lock with nothing but a hole in the middle on her side. It’s not a deadbolt! She reached up to her hair, pulling out a bobby-pin and wondered if she would be able to pick the lock. It doesn’t look difficult on TV…but what do I know?

  She inserted one end into the hole and jiggled it around. In a few seconds, she felt something inside that the bobby-pin was hitting against. Continuing to move it around, pressing against the obstruction, she heard a click. She winced in fear as the noise echoed in the concrete room. She held her breath waiting to see if someone had been alerted. Licking her dry lips, she finally let the air rush out of her lungs in relief.

  Pressing her ear against the door for several minutes, she heard nothing. No talking. No movement. Taking the knob in her hand, she turned it slowly, her heart pounding in her chest. When the doorknob reached its limit, she pulled the door open an inch at a time once more holding her breath. Still no sounds.

  When the door opened enough for her to peek out, she realized she was in a larger basement room. A few pieces of furniture, some paintings, and odds and ends lined the walls. On the other side of the room were stairs that she assumed led to the main level of the house.

  Tip-toeing up the s
teps she hesitated at the top, leaning her ear close to the door, hearing voices on the other side. Voices raised in anger.

  “What are we going to do now?” a voice spoke, soft, but vibrating with anger. “I’m telling you, I think she knows.”

  “I don’t know what to do now,” a deeper voice answered. “But we have to do something. We need to get him out of here.”

  “We’ve got a good thing going and I’m not about to have it fucked up because of some seer,” the first voice said.

  “You believe she can really tell what’s going on? What we’ve done?”

  “I’ve got no idea if she can or not, but I saw the look on her face. I know she knows something.”

  “What if she finds out what’s downstairs?”

  “Well, tomorrow it won’t matter. We’re leaving.”

  “Shh. Look, there’s that FBI guy’s SUV across the road. Fuck, I’d better get over there.”

  Faith heard retreating footsteps, but felt no safer. Not able to see what was happening on the other side of the door, she was too afraid to try to escape that way. Turning their words over in her mind, she glanced around the room as she quietly went back down the steps. What’s downstairs? Looking around, she saw nothing that would not be found in any basement. Boxes, metal shelves with plastic tubs. An old table and a few chairs in one corner. A treadmill covered in dust that looked like it had not been used in ages.

  Sighing deeply, she rubbed her temples, trying to keep the threatening headache from overtaking her. Walking to one wall, she began slowly perusing the area. Nothing. The hairs on the back of her neck began to stand on end and she felt her vision blur.

  Unsure if what was happening was nerves or—

  A sudden vision filled her mind as she passed by one of the shelving units. She closed her eyes tightly as her hands reached out to steady her shaking body. Knuckles white against the grey metal shelves, she pulled involuntarily. They moved.