Honor Love: Saints Protection & Investigations Read online

  “She’s dead isn’t she?” she cried, her fingers digging into his.

  In a flash, all the times as an FBI agent he had to tell a family member their loved one was dead flew through his mind. It was business. Painful, but business. But this? Fuckin’ hell! Knowing his words were going to cause Angel pain slashed through him.

  “Yes, she’s dead. Her body was found this afternoon.”

  For a second he was not sure she had heard him. Her face, motionless. His fingers flexed on hers and he watched as her face crumpled. She pitched forward toward him just as he pulled her into his embrace. No sound came from her at first, then a wail erupted from deep inside as the sobs consumed her. Nothing was said for several minutes as her body jerked against his. He willed his strength into her, knowing it was little he could offer.

  “I…I…was…so…a…afraid…this was…going to be…what…you were going…to tell…me,” her voice hiccupped between sobs.

  He rubbed her back, murmuring comforting words in her ear over and over until the sobs slowed. For a while she sat, her face tucked under his chin, as the steady beat of his heart pounded underneath her palm resting on his chest.

  Taking several shuddering breaths, she gradually calmed. “I don’t care what anyone else says, she was a good person…a good friend.”

  “Tell me about her,” he said softly. She leaned back and looked at him in doubt. “No, no,” he assured. “Not me, the investigator. Just talk to me, the…uh…friend.”

  Nodding thoughtfully, she looked over his shoulder as memories flooded back. “Her parents were wealthy, but she never acted like it. She could have pledged any sorority, but wanted to be with our group. We were simple, but really did a lot of community service and she said she liked that. She never forgot birthdays and stepped in to help in ways that didn’t make you feel obligated.”

  “How’d she do that?”

  Leaning over to grab a tissue, Angel wiped her eyes and nose before continuing. “When I first opened my bakery, she believed in me. Encouraged me. But knew that business would be slow to start. She got her mom to use me to cater some of her parties. She was always doing things like that to help and never asked for anything in return.”

  Monty encouraged her to talk, to remember, to begin to grieve. He held her close for over an hour as she leaned into his strength. Finally, she shifted back against the cushions, taking a deep breath. Looking to the side, she saw her mascara stained tear trails all over his shirt and weakly moved her hand to touch the wetness. “I’m sorry. Now, I’ve ruined two of your shirts.”

  He glanced down at the evidence of her grief on his shirt, usually hating for his clothes to be mussed, and lifted his gaze back to her watery one. “No worries,” he promised and meant the words.

  Nodding, she heaved another huge sigh before saying, “I’ve got a lot to do. I’ve got to call the other sisters. Talk to Marcia’s parents. I’ll need to—”

  “Take it slow, Cupcake,” he said, linking his fingers with hers again as they sat side by side on the sofa. The evening sun warmed the colors in the apartment, as well as glistening off her hair. Tucking a wayward strand behind her ear, he advised, “You’ve got time to take care of everything.” Turning her face toward his with his fingers on her chin, he added, “I’ll help. I’ll do anything to help.”

  She looked at him, her brow knitted in confusion. “Why would you help, Monty?” Her eyes sought his as she leaned slightly closer to him.

  He brought his face to hers, holding her gaze. “Because I care, Angel. I care.” With that, he leaned the rest of the way in, sealing his lips over hers. Her lips were just as he imagined. Soft. Pliant. Tasting of bubblegum.

  Angel leaned in further to the kiss. His lips were firm and bold. Soft and strong. She felt his tongue sweep across her seam and she opened for him. He owned the kiss as though he wanted to own her body and at that moment she could think of nothing else but the pleasure he gave. She brought her hands up to his neck, tangling her fingers in the hair at the back of his head, pulling him in closer.

  Growling in her mouth, Monty wanted to run his hands along her body, but forced them to just hold her instead. She tasted of heaven and her silky hair caressed his skin as he allowed the colorful strands to slide over his fingers. Moments later, reality pushed its way into his consciousness and he pulled back, resting his forehead on the non-injured side of hers.

  Both gulped in air, the kiss having robbed them of oxygen while supplying them with everything that seemed necessary.

  “I’m sorry,” he mumbled awkwardly, then looked at the hurt flashing through her eyes. “No, no, I mean, I’m sorry for taking advantage of your vulnerability.”

  She stared long and hard at his face, dropping her eyes to his lips. “It’s okay,” she said. “I needed to connect with another human.” Then, almost as an afterthought, added, “And I needed it to be you. I wanted it to be you.”

  Chapter 9

  Standing in his stark condo three days later, Monty checked his navy tie before putting his suit coat on in readiness for attending the memorial service for Marcia Creston. The body had not been released by the medical examiner but the Senator and his wife elected to have a memorial service now and then a private burial at a later date. Pulling on his black overcoat, he anxiously awaited seeing Angel, having not seen her since he left her apartment knowing she needed time to make arrangements and be with family and friends. They had spoken on the phone each day as he strangely concluded he wanted to, at least, hear her voice. No longer forcing her from his mind, he now admitted how much he wanted to be with her again.

  Arriving at the massive church, Monty sat near the back, watching as hundreds of mourners paid their condolences to Marcia’s parents. The Senator stood at the front, clasping hands as people moved past. His wife, fragile in appearance, occasionally sat in a chair next to him.

  Monty’s gaze moved through the crowd purposefully before alighting on the object of his interest. Looking very different from when he first saw her, she wore her hair pulled back away from her face, although the striking colors still gleamed. Attired in a dark, modest dress paired with black, heeled boots, she looked every bit the businesswoman that would typically catch his eye. And while she was appropriately dressed for a funeral, he missed the colorful, smiling woman who captured his attention.

  She moved among a few of the mourners before settling down with a group of other young women, several he recognized from the restaurant. Forcing his eyes to continue to move over the room, his gaze continually roved to her.

  Bart slid into the pew next to him, the two acknowledging each other with a nod. “Anything?” Bart inquired.

  “Not that I can tell. I keep looking for a man fitting the description of who Marcia was with last but, honest to God, there are so many people here it’s difficult to see everyone.”

  “Yeah, and if he was in disguise then, or now, we might not be able to tell.”

  The minister moved to the front of the church and the service began. After the music and prayers, he asked for Ms. Cartwright to please come forward. Monty’s gaze followed Angel as she made her way to the front. Her smile was missing. Her colorful clothes were missing. Her face was pale, contrasting with the dark dress. I miss my Cupcake. Mine? He blinked rapidly, wondering where the thought came from. We’re friends. I like her. Respect her. Admire her. But mine? Pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind, he concentrated on her words.

  Angel, never nervous in front of a large group, looked down to see her hands shaking on the podium. She breathed deeply and looked out over the congregation. Her eyes immediately landed on Monty sitting near the back. His gaze pierced hers. How, in this crowd, did I find him? Offering him the tiniest of smiles, she felt his warmth sliding over her.

  She began her eulogy, extolling the side of Marcia she knew…and loved. Mentioning some of the fun sorority stories, she managed to bring the crowd to smiles several times and won nods of appreciation from Marcia’s parents. Endin
g, she said, “Life is always changing, often in ways we cannot comprehend.” Looking down at the pew with the other sorority sisters sitting with hands clasped together, she continued, “Just last month, we lost another sister so tragically. Theresa and Marcia’s passings leave us with a tremendous hole in our sisterhood, but we will hold onto their memories forever.”

  Stepping down, she made her way back to her pew, sliding in and accepting the hugs from the other women.

  The Senator stood to speak next, but Monty and Bart looked at each other, both knowing what was racing through their minds. Another sorority sister died tragically?

  Bart whispered, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

  Monty felt his heart pound as he nodded. “This may not be about Marcia at all.”

  *

  After the service, Bart left quickly as he needed to get back to Jack and Mitch about the possibility of a connection between the two deaths.

  Monty moved through the crowd toward Angel and stayed in the background until she was free from others. She smiled as she stepped over to him and, much to his surprise—and pleasure—she stepped straight into his arms, squeezing tight around his waist as he pulled her in. Kissing the top of her head, he said, “How’re you holding up?”

  She leaned her head back so she could see into his eyes. Sucking in a deep breath, she replied, “Okay. I’m okay. Not great…but okay.”

  She pressed her cheek against his chest, remembering three days ago when she did the same as her anguish poured from her. Relishing the feel of his warmth and not wanting to let go, she wondered how quickly he had become important to her. Rescuer admiration? Or a true connection? Deciding not to worry about the cause, she reveled in his embrace.

  Bending down, Monty whispered in her ear, “Do you need to go to the reception?” Feeling her nod against his chest, he said, “Can we talk privately for a few minutes before I leave?”

  “Sure,” she replied and moved away from his hug while linking her fingers with his, leading him to a small alcove near the back of the church. Looking up, she saw questions in his eyes. God, please no more bad news.

  “You mentioned another sorority sister had recently died.”

  Confusion marred her expression. “Uh, yeah. Theresa Constantine. She lived in Richland but her family is in Arlington. Why are you asking?”

  “How did she die?”

  “She was killed in a car accident about four weeks ago.” Moving back a step, she stared at his face, trying to discern the thoughts behind those intelligent eyes. “Monty, what’s going on? Why are you interested.”

  Leaning down to kiss her forehead, he admitted, “I’m just curious, that’s all. It seems odd that two sorority sisters would die within such a close timeframe.”

  “Theresa’s car skidded on some ice. There was nothing about her death that in any way resembled Marcia’s.”

  He felt the stiffening of Angel’s body in his arms and recognized the physical response. “Don’t worry about it Cupcake. I’m sorry to have questioned you, but you’ve got to understand that the FBI, as well as the Saints, need to follow up on anything that could be related.”

  Angel relaxed against him once more, allowing herself to take another minute to feel the strength of his heartbeat against her cheek.

  “You go on to the reception, Cupcake. I’ve got some more work to do and will call you later. Okay?”

  Smiling up at him, she replied “Okay.” Then, as an afterthought, she added, “If you happen to come by later, I’ll be in the bakery. I’ve got a job for tomorrow I have to get ready for. I gave my staff this afternoon off and I’m going to be working by myself.”

  “Can you do all the baking yourself? Why don’t you have your staff help? Or, at least, call in Helen.”

  She shrugged a little, her eyes moving to look over his shoulder into the distance. “I…I think I want to be alone for a while.” She brought her gaze back to his. “Baking is comforting to me.”

  Nodding his understanding, he bent to place a whisper soft kiss on her lips, eliciting another smile. He stood, watching as she moved away from his body, their hands still linked. When the only thing left touching was their fingertips, she looked back over her shoulder giving him a wink as she headed toward her group of friends.

  His displeasure at seeing her walk away mixed with the anticipation of seeing her again soon. Heart pounding, he tried to remember the last time he ever felt this way about a woman. And came up empty. Shaking his head, he stalked toward his SUV. Time to find out what happened to Theresa Constantine.

  *

  Meeting back at the compound, Monty found several of the Saints already gathered and combing through the death of Theresa. He had called ahead, giving them her name. Settling in his seat, he pulled up the latest information Luke had sent.

  “Angel said that Theresa slid on the ice and crashed her car,” he said.

  “Well, that appears to be partially true,” Jack replied, giving Monty a chance to catch up. “She was driving in the snow, but there may have been a reason to consider foul play.”

  Luke took over the explanation. “It seems she was living with a man who had an abusive streak. Geoffrey Daly. Theresa called the police three times in two years for domestic situations but never followed through with a formal complaint. He’d been in juvie years before for anger issues against his parents.”

  “Got juvie records?” Bart asked, a smirk on his face, knowing Luke’s penchant for finding just about anything they needed.

  Luke just grinned. “There was a life insurance policy that at one time had Geoffrey’s name on it.”

  “At one time?” Monty inquired.

  “Yeah. It seems as though she changed it to her niece about four months before her death. Right after the last police call.”

  “Who’s taking bets she never told Geoffrey he was no longer named as the beneficiary?” Chad quipped, receiving nods from the others.

  “He’s listed as a mechanic. Did the police check out her vehicle to see if it had been tampered with?” Jack asked.

  Luke scrolled through the information he had obtained. “Doesn’t look like the police opened a formal investigation at all. It was snowy, icy and they ruled it an accident.”

  Monty patched Mitch through on conference video and he listened as they relayed the quick version of Theresa’s death to him.

  “You know the Bureau won’t open an investigation into her death based on the two women being sorority sisters, but…” Mitch grinned, “that’s where you being a private investigation service can check on things. Just don’t tell me how you do it and for Christ’s sakes, if you find something, get it to me so I can legally get the evidence.”

  “On it,” Jack agreed as they disconnected with Mitch. Looking around the table, he said, “This gives us a new direction to focus on. Bart, you and Cam know what you need to do. Find Theresa’s car and see what you can come up with. Luke, you and Blaise need to work the financials of both women and see if you can come up with a link. Monty, why don’t you interview her parents. Chad, see what you can get about her insurance policy left to her niece.”

  With the renewed vigor of a case that became more complicated, they all headed out. Monty sent a text to Angel asking her to call him as soon as she could. An hour later, she called.

  “Hey, Cupcake. I’m going to Arlington tomorrow morning to talk to Theresa’s parents, and wondered if—”

  “Why?” she interrupted brusquely.

  “Right now we don’t have any evidence that the two deaths are related, but…” he paused for emphasis, “we don’t know that they aren’t.”

  Silence greeted him, so he plunged on. “We want to know who murdered Marcia, and if there’s any chance the two are related, then don’t we owe it to her to try to find out?”

  “Okay,” she said slowly, drawing the word out as her mind raced with the implications. “But Monty, Theresa’s parents are having a hard time and I hate to have them suffer more.”


  “Well, that’s why I hoped I could talk you into going with me.” He knew she had a large order to fill, so he plunged on. “If I came over tonight, I could…I don’t know…maybe help and then, if your staff can take care of things tomorrow, we can drive up right after lunch.”

  “You want to help tonight?” she asked, a chuckle breaking out. “I’m not sure I see you icing cupcakes in your suit and tie.”

  “Hey, I have other clothes I can wear,” he protested. Sobering, he added, “I know you wanted to be alone but, if I promise to stay out of your way and only help with things I can do, will you consider it?”

  Not hesitating, Angel agreed. “Yeah, come on over. Just come to the back door since the front store will be closed.”

  “See you in an hour,” he replied, his heart light. Smiling, he changed into jeans and an old t-shirt hoping it would be appropriate attire for…whatever the hell I’ve got myself into tonight.

  *

  The bright lights of the industrial kitchen bounced off the gleaming stainless steel appliances and counters, now covered with an array of swirls of color. Monty began the evening standing awkwardly as he watched Angel move with lightening speed around her bakery’s kitchen. Mixing ingredients, pouring the batter into cupcake tins, then lifting the large trays into the industrial oven, she started the next batch.

  For the next round, Monty did the pouring under Angel’s watchful gaze and laughed as she pronounced him Prince of Pouring.

  “Is that a title I can keep?” he teased.

  “Absolutely, but you really want to earn the next promotion…the King of Cupcakes,” she bantered, smiling as he filled the tins.

  Once the first batch came out of the oven, she mixed her frosting and added colors before filling the bags. He watched in fascination as she decorated each one with perfect swirls, some topped with sprinkles. Pink. Purple. Teal.

  He wondered if she would resent his presence but, as she worked, they talked. About families, jobs, Marcia…the topics simply flowed from one to the other. He admired her ass in the tight, black yoga pants molded to her perfect form. An apron, sporting a cupcake motif and the letters ACH across the chest, covered her t-shirt but hid nothing of her figure. Her shiny hair was pulled back into a bun with a sheer hair-net holding every strand in place.