Seeing Love: Saints Protection & Investigations Page 6

  Bart glanced to the side, watching her pinched face. “Do you have a headache? Do you need to stop?”

  “I…I have some aspirin but can’t swallow pills without water.”

  He saw the sign for an exit up ahead and moved the truck into the right-hand lane. She discerned what he was doing and hurriedly objected, “We don’t have to stop. I can deal.”

  “No need to,” he said, easily pulling into a convenience store parking lot. “I’ll grab a couple of waters,” and was out of the vehicle before she could protest again.

  Within a minute, he returned, handing her a plastic bag. Peering down inside, she saw a water bottle, two sodas, a bag of peanuts and a package of Skittles.

  “What didn’t you buy?” she joked.

  Giving a shrug, he said, “It dawned on me that you might need the caffeine, protein from the nuts, or maybe a sugar rush.”

  Returning his smile, she twisted the cap off the water and quickly washed down the aspirin. Handing him the bag, she noted he grabbed a soda and opened the bag of peanuts before placing them in the console between them. She took the Skittles, saying, “You have no idea how much I love these!” as he pulled back out onto the highway.

  The beginnings of conversation eased her headache as much as the aspirin and she continued her thoughts on the case. “I also have to say that I wonder if Ivan is throwing us toward his known enemies just to keep us from looking too hard at his businesses as well.”

  At that, Bart jerked his gaze to hers. He had had the same thought, but never expected her to think that much less say it.

  She caught his surprised expression. “What? You think because Ivan asked me to be involved, I won’t consider all the possibilities?”

  “Yeah, I guess that’s exactly what I thought,” he admitted.

  “I don’t want it to be someone in his organization,” she continued, “because I know how much it would hurt him. But then, to be honest, I don’t have any background in this kind of criminal case.” Giving a self-deprecating shrug, she added, “The local police have used me when they needed an artist. There’s an FBI agent in the area that noticed me when I was working on a victim’s drawing and he has used me a couple of times also.”

  “Hmmph,” Bart groused. I’ll bet you caught the eye of Mitch! Forcing his thoughts away from her beauty, he smiled once more. “I’m sure you were a big help. This FBI agent married?”

  “Married? I…I don’t know.” Her confused gaze turned toward him. “Why would that matter?”

  He grimaced, not liking the answer himself. Why do I care if some FBI agent has the hots for her? “No reason,” he casually remarked. “So tell me about the way you’ve used your gifts for the police.”

  She heard his sarcastic manner when speaking of her gifts but refused to show him it bothered her. “Same as most police artists, I suppose. If there’s a victim or witness that can describe a suspect, then I sit with them and draw what they tell me.”

  “Just what they tell you?” he prodded.

  “No, I make it all up and just draw clowns!” she bit back angry that, within a minute, she lost her resolve to not be perturbed. Sucking in a deep breath, she said, “Let’s focus on Erik and what we need to do now that we’re in Richland and forget about you interrogating me.”

  A feeling of regret flew through Bart, who had come to enjoy the sound of her voice. Damn, why is this so hard? He felt like the rope in a game of tug-of-war, his emotions pulled this way and that when it came to Faith. The reality of her being unpretentious warred with the conviction that she was a fraud.

  Before he had time to finish those thoughts, they were driving through a rundown neighborhood. The brick buildings on either side of the road had a few shops on the first floors, but some of the upper windows were broken out and graffiti covered many of the alleyways. A few older persons shuffled along the sidewalks, but the area was mostly vacant. Following the directions, he pulled up to a bar on the first floor of one of the buildings. Parking was easy—no one else was on the street. The desolate area gave validity to his fears.

  “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Bart admitted. Alone, the deserted area, old storefronts boarded up, and the few people hanging around with a look of desperation would have made him cautious, but not afraid. With a woman? Jesus, what a disaster! Cursing Mitch, he thought, An old bar? Could he not have insisted on a neutral location?

  “Faith, I think having you on this trip was a mistake. I can’t guarantee your safety and I’m sure as hell not leaving you out here alone.”

  Her heart hammered with fright from what she was seeing. Realizing the scene resembled a TV detective show, one where a secondary character might get killed, she looked around dubiously. She glanced over at Bart, instantly seeing his Hollywood looks and knew he would be the main character in the show and would be walking away unharmed at the end. So where does that leave me? As a secondary character or the kickass heroine? Taking a deep breath, she refused to give in to the fear, but knew she was no kickass. “It’s okay. I’ve got this. Miguel agreed to this meeting and he knows it behooves him to talk to us, even if he doesn’t want to talk to the FBI.”

  Bart had to agree but made her promise to stay in the truck until he could make his way around. Assisting her down, he kept one hand on her back while the other hand was ready to draw his weapon if necessary. She hated to admit it, but the feel of his hand on her back was comforting. Unfamiliar, but not unwelcome.

  Approaching the door with a board over the broken window, it immediately swung open, and they were escorted into a poorly lit bar. Giving his eyes a second to adjust, Bart quickly scanned the room for potential danger. The long, narrow room was empty of patrons, but sitting at a table to the side was a Hispanic man with three others standing behind him.

  Faith felt Bart’s hand continue to be on her lower back as he guided her to the only occupied table in the dirty room. The seated man’s coal black eyes stared at them as they approached, his expression unsmiling. Tattoos covered his arm from his shoulder to his fingers. The wife-beater shirt he wore exposed tattoos that crossed his neck and appeared to disappear down his back as well. She refused to look away as his gaze trailed from her head down to her toes and back again, gradually appraising. When they landed and stayed on her breasts, she could feel Bart’s fingers flex. Trying to still her racing heart, she stopped when Bart did, allowing him to take the lead.

  Bart was willing to play Miguel’s game up to a certain point. Little man wants to be the lord of his manor and stay silent, works for me. Stopping a few feet away, he held the gang leader’s stare refusing to back down.

  With a barely perceptible nod of his head, Miguel indicated for them to sit. He cast his eyes back to Faith, saying, “Who’s the perra?”

  Bart felt Faith’s leg quiver next to his and he grinned slowly. “Don’t know that you want to insult a Fed by calling her a bitch to her face,” he said casually, knowing the lie would make Miguel back down. Or at least, I hope it does. Now if Faith will just cooperate.

  “You brought the law in here?” Miguel growled, leaning forward.

  “Don’t worry,” Bart said. “She’s a psychologist that works for the FBI. She’s here just to observe and ask some questions of her own.”

  Hoping Miguel took the bait, he leaned back casually in his seat. He wanted to look at Faith to make sure she was holding up all right, but did not dare take his eyes off the men in front of him.

  Miguel’s eyes cut back and forth between Bart and Faith, not saying anything for a moment. Slowly he nodded and leaned back as well. “Sure. I ain’t got no info about Krustas’ kid so I don’t care who you brought.”

  Bart could sense the slow release of air from Faith and knew her tension was at an all-time high. “So what can you tell us?”

  “I only heard about it yesterday. Krustas and me, we don’t run in the same circles, if you know what I mean.”

  Bart kept his expression neutral but thought, No shit, Sherlock. You and K
rustas are both involved in criminal acts, but that was where the similarities ended!

  “So how did you hear?” Bart prodded.

  “Got me a bro at the beach. It hit the news that next morning and he called.”

  “Why would he call you? What interest would you have in an old man’s grandson?”

  Gold teeth flashed from Miguel’s smile. “That old man owns prime real estate. Lot’s of people be interested in that.”

  “What would your interest be?”

  “Waterfront, man. Waterfront. It’s the name of the game now. You wanna get anywhere in today’s market, you gotta use the water. The old man gets out, then his cut is up for grabs and the strongest man’ll win. And I plan on being the strongest man around.”

  “You use the James River from here. Any reason you need to expand?”

  “Always looking to expand.”

  Bart knew Miguel was not going to answer any more direct questions about his business, so he took a different angle.

  “Why did you think the kidnapping of Krustas’ grandson would make his real estate, as you call it, interesting?”

  Miguel leaned forward, laying his arms on the table, piercing Bart with his gaze. “You see this place? When you drove in?” Not waiting for Bart’s answer, he continued. “Grew up on the streets of Richland. Got beat into a gang when I was only eleven. But I was smart. I worked and I planned. I made Pres of this club, I wanted to take it as far as I could go and that wasn’t gonna be sticking here being the king-of-the dump. So I made friends.”

  Leaning back, still smiling, he said, “Don’t trust you. You may be wired, but I gotta feeling you’re not. Still…” he paused, spreading his hands wide, “it’s no secret I made deals with those bigger. Now I’m still king, but my empire’s growing. So yeah, any news about the competition is something I’m gonna keep track of.”

  There was a momentary silence as the two men sat, holding each other’s gazes, until a soft voice broke through the testosterone tension.

  “What did you feel when you heard that a child had been taken from his home?”

  Chapter 7

  The room became silent as five pairs of eyes landed on Faith. The air in the room changed drastically. Bart’s hand on her knee flexed, squeezing automatically. She heard the sudden intake of air from the man sitting across from her. Keeping her eyes on his face, she willed him to speak. Come on, Miguel. Talk to me.

  Miguel dropped his eyes to his hands still resting on the table. A shadow passed across his expression and he exhaled slowly. “I was surprised.”

  “But how did you feel?” she prodded carefully. Emotions hung heavy in the room. The muscles in the back of her neck began to twinge as a bead of sweat trailed a path down her back. Little particles of light hovered at the edges of her vision as she struggled to make sense of what she was experiencing.

  “Not right, taking a kid,” Miguel finally answered, his expression hard.

  Bart wanted to look at Faith but did not want to break the spell that her soft, melodic voice spun.

  “Do you have children?” she asked, seeing an image of two small children playing on the street.

  Miguel’s voice softened, instinctively matching hers. “Yeah.” He added, “Got a couple…you know how it is.”

  She did not understand what he meant, but Bart knew he was referring to several illegitimate children.

  “I got a couple with my main woman, but I treat ’em all the same.”

  “It’s hard to image what type of man would take a child,” she said.

  Miguel’s expression hardened once more as he growled, “Fuckin’ coward.”

  Faith wanted to close her eyes to allow her mind to process the emotions, but she was afraid. These are not men you turn your back on…or close your eyes in front of. Instead, she studied him, seeing him as a child. Alone. Scared.

  Standing suddenly, he said, “Meeting’s over. I talked. You can tell the Feds I didn’t do shit to Krustas.” With that, he turned and walked toward the back of the bar and disappeared through a door. One of the men went with him while the other two looked at Bart and Faith.

  Bart, glad the meeting was over, stood and offered his hand to Faith, wanting to get her out of the viper’s den. She placed her hand in his and allowed him to escort her out the front door. The bright light was blinding as they stepped outside.

  Her natural reaction was to slow down so she could focus, but Bart’s hand on her back propelled her toward his truck. Opening the door, he boosted her in before jogging around to pull himself up. She started to question him but found his gaze was darting around, on guard for trouble. Slumping down in the comfortable seat, she willed the truck to start and let out a long breath when the engine rumbled to life.

  Neither spoke for several minutes as Bart expertly maneuvered them down several streets and back to where civilization was stirring. Bart pulled out his phone and called Jack. “We’re out. Yeah. Yeah. Nothing to report right now. Tonight.” With that, he disconnected and continued to drive.

  Faith wanted to hear what the next step should be, but decided to keep her silence and let Bart take the lead. Glancing to the side, he seemed to be deep in thought, so she settled back as the truck merged onto the main highway heading to the Hampton Roads area.

  Thoughts of what they experienced floated through her mind…the bar, the fear, the men. She could feel the violence in the room emanating from the men across the table. Fights. Rape. Torture. Death. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around her middle, tightly pulling in.

  Without saying a word, Bart reached over and turned on the heat. A small smile curved the edge of her mouth as the warmth in the cab of the truck began to chase away her chills. Her mind now slipped to the way he protectively escorted her inside the meeting room. How he kept his hand on her knee, constantly assuring her he would protect her. He can’t possibly hate me as much as he acted when we first began the trip. Crossing her arms across her chest, she tried to stop her body from reacting when he did something nice. She reminded herself that his not-easily-forgotten words had cut into her and the smile slipped from her face. Sighing heavily at the inner battle, she hit her head against the headrest.

  A few quiet miles down the road her mind was slowly settling when suddenly his voice broke the silence. “What are you thinking?”

  She jerked her head around, but he was staring straight ahead at the road, making it difficult to see the expression on his face. Not knowing exactly what he was asking, she hesitated. “Thinking? About…?”

  “Miguel. The meeting,” he answered curtly.

  She stared out of her passenger window at the trees flying by as the truck churned down the miles.

  Bart said, softer this time, “Faith, I really want to know what you thought.”

  “Why?” she could not help but ask.

  He sighed heavily, knowing she was cautious considering he had done nothing but trash-talk her since finding out about her. Guilt ate at the corners of his consciousness. Granddad would have been furious to know I’d spoken to a woman like that, even if he hadn’t believed her story. “I’d like to hear what you’re thinking. I can feel your mind whirling ever since we got back in the truck. I’ve been running things through my mind and I…well, we’re supposed to be working on this together.”

  The snort coming from her side of the truck cab let him know what she thought about his suggestion. The silence fell once more between them, this time thick and choking.

  Closing her eyes and breathing deeply to clear her thoughts, she realized by keeping quiet she was doing to Bart what he had done to her and she no longer wanted to continue the battle. “I was thinking there was violence in that room.”

  Bart fought the urge to give her a duh-look and continued his silence to see what else she would say.

  “Miguel is hungry for more than what he has. He wants power and thinks the respect he craves will come with gaining more. He’s not above taking advantage of whatever opportunity that comes his w
ay and if Krustas falls, he would be all over moving into the Norfolk waterfront.”

  “But?” Bart prodded, knowing there was more she was feeling.

  She fell silent again, turning to look at him. “Why are you asking? You think I’m a fraud making all this up.”

  He finally responded, “Look, you’re a trained psychologist and seem to have a good grasp of people and motives. I don’t doubt your training. I don’t actually doubt your instincts. I just doubt your psychic abilities.”

  In an instant he knew he had said the wrong thing as she exploded, “I never claimed to be psychic! Those are your words and I’m sick and tired of you throwing them at me! You decided I was a fraud. You decided that I was untrustworthy. All based on your background and prejudices. Throw in that medium that tried to scam your grandmother and now you’ve made up your mind about me without even learning anything about me.”.

  “How did you know exactly what happened with my grandmother?” he growled.

  “Gee, I don’t know. Maybe I am psychic,” she bit back. After a moment of tension, she sarcastically added, “Actually, I googled it and the article came up about what happened last summer.”

  “You googled my grandmother?” he asked, his head snapping around. “Why the hell would you do that?”

  “Maybe to find out why you’re such a prick to me!”

  “It’s none of your business,” he pronounced.

  “Oh yeah? And you haven’t tried to check me out?”

  Starting to lie and deny it, he clamped his lips shut instead. The conversation died at that point, each retreating to their own mental corners. Bart flipped on the radio and, finding a country music station, turned the sound up secretly hoping she hated country music.

  Faith leaned back in her seat once more, closing her eyes to the world. Choking back a smile, she began to relax. She loved country music.

  *

  Bart looked over at Faith, sleeping next to him, angry at his desire to know her more warring with the desire to prove her false. It’s true, she never claimed to be a psychic. But images? Impressions? What is she trying to gain from this if Krustas isn’t paying her?