Seeing Love: Saints Protection & Investigations

by Maryann Jordan

  Her fingers automatically held the pencil and began their work. Lines, curves, shapes—all began to blend together as she felt light-headed, hoping to re-create the vision. Her nerves were taut and the air in the room seemed thick, making it difficult for her to breathe.

  Her fingers stopped their movements and she stared at the pad held in her arms. Once more, the dark-haired boy, who was looking more and more like Erik, looked up from the book on his lap. He was sitting on rumpled bed covers, a blank wall behind him, but with the corner of a bookcase on the side. He was smiling in this image—the same smile that she had seen the previous day, but had been unable to connect to him. It was directed at someone out of her sight. Her eyes moved to the book on his lap, this time, closed instead of open. She peered closely, looking at the cover. As realization washed over her, she gasped. The cover was the same as the book Bart’s nephew held in his hand from the night before. The new book. The one that had just been published.

  Heart pounding, she tried to rationalize her image. Am I simply putting two different scenes together? Am I imposing the idea of what he’s reading to having seen the book last night? Oh, Babushka, what am I seeing?

  Chapter 23

  Luke stayed long into the night, sleeping fitfully on the sofa that was in the compound’s main room. A small room to the side held bunk beds in case any of the Saints had to spend the night, but Luke was unwilling to be in a different room from his computers. He wanted to be close to the tenuous connection he had to someone that seemed to be able, and willing, to help unravel the complex financial trail from Ivan’s extortion money to whoever it was going to.

  An alert dinged in the silent room, jolting him awake instantly. Rushing over, he quickly recognized another email came in. Clicking, he read the missive.

  Look to the beginning.

  What the fuck? Beginning of what?

  He typed,

  I need more than that.

  No, you don’t. You’re smart. This is all I can give you. It’s not safe. I’m sorry.

  His heart pounded as his fingers flew over the keyboard fast and furiously, trying to follow the email trail to discover who was sending the cryptic message. Nothing—fuck!

  He looked at the clock. Three a.m. He hated to call up to Jack, but had no choice. Picking up the phone that connected to the house phone upstairs, he dialed. Jack’s sleep rough voice answered, “What’ve you got?”

  “Boss, you gotta call everyone in.”

  “Right. On it.” Within three minutes, Jack came downstairs into the room. He had not asked Luke why he needed everyone—he trusted his men completely.

  Luke met him and showed him the emails. “I can’t get a trail of who is sending these but, I’m telling you, they have to be from someone who knows what the fuck is going on.”

  Jack nodded his agreement and said, “ETA for the others is about twenty minutes. We’ll wait and go over it all when they arrive.”

  A half hour later, all of the Saints except Bart were around the table. Jack quickly thanked them for coming and had Luke take over.

  “I’m sending the emails to your tablets so you can read what came in.” He gave them a minute to read through the notes, listening to their mummers of surprise.

  “Before you ask, I can’t tell you who sent them because I can’t track it.” Looking around, he saw their amazement. “I’m telling you that whoever is sending these, has a sophisticated encryption system rivaling anything I’ve ever seen.”

  “You think it came from one of the camps trying to cast suspicion on someone else?” Blaise asked.

  “No way,” Luke answered. “Whoever has these elaborate computer programs and systems has top notch equipment and education. No way does Miguel or Gavrill have this kind of power.”

  “What about Maldoni or Sergio?” Chad queried.

  “I don’t see them having the money or the intel. I think it’s someone from the outside. Someone not involved in the case at all.” He once again saw their incredulous expressions. “There are tons of computer geeks around, usually getting their start in college dorm rooms of some of the best computer software engineering programs. Many learn some added hacking skills and most go on to jobs where they can make some serious money with gaming, business, software development, whatever. But a few—true geniuses—are able to take their knowledge to a different level. They can be sought after by companies or the government because of their ability to develop secure…super secure programs. I gotta tell you most are snapped up by companies who pay them a shit-ton of money—more money than the government can pay.”

  “So you think this is someone private, who may have developed software to hide the various money laundering transactions and now have found out that you’re trying to crack it?” Jack asked.

  “If that’s the case, wouldn’t they want to keep someone from getting the information? Why contact you to offer to help?” Monty asked, knowing the FBI had no system as elaborate as what he was hearing about. “Why wouldn’t someone want to work for an agency instead of using it to help criminals?”

  Chad said, “They’re scared. They admit they’re in danger. Could be they started working for someone, not knowing what the software would be used for. Now they understand and want to help.”

  Jack pierced Luke with his stare. “Luke, you’re in this. What do you think?”

  “I don’t know, but we’ve got no reason not to trust this person right now. We’ve got nothing else to go on. The FBI hasn’t been able to find Erik and we’re no closer to finding out who might be threatening Faith.”

  “All right,” Jack acknowledged. “So, what does it mean to look to the beginning?”

  “The only beginning I can think of is Krustas,” Luke admitted, “but that doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Let’s focus on someone from Krustas’ organization,” Jack ordered.

  Monty sent the dossiers from Ivan’s businesses to Luke, who forwarded them to the others. Looking over Ivan’s contacts, it was evident there were not many. “He holds the reigns tight with his company. Other than family, there are only a couple of men who help run his dealings.”

  “Looking at these men, I don’t see anything different,” Luke commented. “They’ve been with him for many years and there’s nothing to suggest their money is from anything other than him.”

  “Check out the ones closest to Ivan. Hell, check out Ivan himself. Maybe this is some kind of perverse way to get attention or…fuck!” Marc said sharply, getting the consideration of the other Saints. “What if Ivan’s doing this to put the heat on his competitors?”

  “I’m on it,” Luke confirmed.

  “While you’re doing that, check out the nephews as well. I’ve got a feeling we’re staring at the solution and just can’t quite find it,” Jack said as the rest of the men poured over the information.

  *

  Bart stirred in the bed, reaching his hand out to caress Faith, finding her side cold. Lifting his head quickly, he blinked as the sunlight peeked in the windows and heard the water running in the bathroom. Standing, he moved to the door and was about to knock as Faith walked out. His warm greeting halted in his throat at the expression on her face.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, pulling her into his arms.

  “I…dreamed,” she said haltingly, before lifting her head to peer into his eyes.

  “Faith, you don’t have to be afraid of what I’m going to say,” he admonished, leading her over to the bed, pulling her down beside him. Holding her cold hands in his, he rubbed them. “What did you dream?”

  She sat for a moment, then stood and walked over to her art pad. “I got up early this morning to capture what I was feeling…seeing.” She turned it around, showing the latest drawing to him.

  Bart searched the pictures, seeing the same child as before, this time his smiling face raised up as though looking up at someone else in the room. The bed appeared the same, but the corner of a bookshelf was added to the drawing. Try as he might, he cou
ld not fathom what had Faith so upset.

  “Princess, I know there’s something here that bothers you…I need you to point it out because I’m not following you.”

  She pointed a shaky finger to the book in the boy’s lap. “Look at the title.”

  He followed her gaze and saw the book that was the same as his nephew’s from the night before. What does she think it means? Is she just dreaming and mixing up the details from my family to Erik? Even with the questions running through his mind, he found himself trusting her. Completely.

  “You see something here,” he said, “and I want you to know I trust you totally.” He saw the doubt pass over her face and hated that his words from a week ago put that look on her face now. “I’m being honest, Faith. I totally trust you. Tell me what you see.”

  Licking her lips, she said, “It’s Erik. I feel it. I know it.”

  “Okay?” he said slowly, drawing the word out in a question, prompting her for more.

  “Bart, he’s smiling. He’s not scared. Whoever he’s looking at is someone he trusts. Someone who does not frighten him. And the book? Your nephew said it only came out yesterday, so if someone has given it to him, he’s still alive. And well. And being looked after, by someone who cares for him.”

  Bart’s eyes moved back to the drawing. He could see what she had seen in her dream, but was it real? Was it the imaginings of an overactive dream? Or the visions from a woman who had a special gift. One that he had never believed in. The idea of his grandfather standing with him filled his mind. Search for truth, Bartholomew. Always search for truth.

  Bart suddenly realized his grandfather never immediately dismissed something without first searching for the truth. His gaze lifted to her doubtful one and, before he could stop them, words flew from his mouth. “I believe you. I believe in you and I believe you.”

  Her face glowed as she rushed into his arms. “What does it mean?” she asked, her words muffled by his chest.

  His fingers found their way through his hair and slid down to clinch his neck as his mind raced. Pulling her back, he said, “We need to go to Ivan’s. You need to be back in his presence and the presence of some of the family. Maybe…maybe…oh hell, Faith, I don’t know. Maybe you’ll get a better idea then.”

  Just then his phone vibrated and he snagged if off the nightstand. “Yeah, boss?”

  Jack quickly filled him in on what Luke had uncovered…or what had been revealed to him. Bart, in return, told Jack about the revelation Faith had. He looked up as she nervously twisted her fingers in the bottom of his large t-shirt she was wearing. Winking, he tried to reassure her Jack would not be judging her.

  Disconnecting, he said, “Get dressed, princess. We’ve got to head back to Charlestown. I’ll explain as we’re getting ready.”

  She jerked his shirt over her head and knelt at her overnight bag, pulling out her bra and a clean sweater. Bart’s mind, normally focused on a mission, short-wired as his gaze perused her gorgeous, panty-clad body.

  “Damn, girl,” he growled.

  Lifting her gaze to him, she blushed. “Get your mind back on the case, Bart. You can ogle me later!”

  Grumbling while he pulled on his jeans, he began to explain Jack’s news.

  She looked askance. “Bart, if Ivan was engineering this, why would he take a chance in calling me in?”

  “Fuck if I know,” came Bart’s reply, his mind working overtime trying to process the intel. “Maybe he was sure you wouldn’t be able to see anything. Or maybe he thought he was too smart. Or may—”

  “Or maybe he’s not guilty,” she replied.

  Bart walked over, placing his hands on her shoulders, saying, “Look Faith. We don’t know who’s guilty, but we’re following a hunch that it’s someone in Ivan’s camp. Associate or family member or him. I don’t really want you involved in this at all, but I need you. I need your insight.”

  Nodding, she realized what a leap of trust he was making. “Okay. What do you need me to do?”

  Leaning down to grab the closed bags, he stood and said, “Let’s go make our excuses to Mrs. Carswell and we’ll plan in the truck.”

  Several minutes later, after compromising with the proprietress and taking travel mugs full of her coffee and a pastry bag filled with some breakfast treats, they were on their way.

  Bart had been planning and, as soon as they pulled onto the road, he said, “Okay, here’s what I’ve got so far. We’re going to go back to Constance’s house. Ivan is with her for Christmas Eve. We’ll stick to the truth, which is, we came out to meet up with my family and since we were passing them on our way back home, we didn’t want to leave without seeing how they’re doing. You ask questions…or not. Um…I guess I’ll leave it up to you to do…uh…whatever you do.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.”

  He turned to peer into her serious face. “I know you do, princess. I trust you.”

  “But what if I don’t get any feelings with him?”

  “If we’re lucky, the rest of the family will be there too. Jack didn’t say it was confirmed to be Ivan. They just think it might be someone close.”

  “What were the words that person used to Luke?”

  “They said to look to the beginning.”

  “Beginning.” She thought for a moment, but could not come up with another meaning. Pushing her hair back from her face, she sighed heavily. “I really don’t want to think he could have done this,” she admitted softly.

  Bart glanced at her, nodding his head. “I know you don’t, but you’ve got to remember he’s not just a grandfather, but also a ruthless man who’s run the Russian Mafia for years in this area. We have no real idea what he’s capable of.”

  Less than four hours later, they pulled into the circular driveway at Constance’s house. Several cars were there and Bart recognized the presence of the FBI as well.

  A sense of déjà vu moved over Faith as she thought about their visit here a week ago. Was it only a week? Watching Bart as he alighted from the truck and stalked around the front to her door, she also realized how much they had changed in that time. I met him last week…it seems like so much longer.

  It was no surprise to be greeted by Mrs. Dukakas at the door and she explained that Constance had the rest of the family here to support each other during Christmas. She escorted them into the living room, where they found Ivan, Anton, Dmitry, and Constance.

  Ivan walked over, shaking Bart’s hand and kissing Faith’s. “To what do we owe this pleasure of your visit?” he asked smoothly.

  Bart noticed Ivan’s face still appeared ravaged and at, a quick glance, so did Constance’s. Anton and Dmitry were harder to get a feel for, but the entire room appeared subdued.

  “We were coming back from a visit with my parents and we both wanted to come by to offer our continued support for your situation.”

  “And to find out if there is anything we can do for you,” Faith added softly.

  “Oh, you are a dear,” Ivan said, leading her over to the sofa where Constance sat. The two women greeted each other, but then Constance sat with her head down, twisting a tissue in her hands.

  Anton and Dmitry greeted them as well and the men moved to the side of the room. Mrs. Dukakas brought homemade eggnog in for the group, as well as a tray of pastries. Faith helped serve and then sat back on the sofa next to Constance, hoping to draw her into a conversation.

  “Have you heard anything else?” Bart asked Ivan. “I saw the agents on the outside and wondered if you had any news?”

  “Nothing new,” Ivan reported. “I’ve made two payments, but both were accompanied with a note saying Erik would stay safe as long as I keep paying.”

  “Bastards!” Anton groused quietly, looking over to see that Constance was not listening.

  “I don’t understand who would do this,” Dmitry added, his eyes shifting over to Constance as well.

  “How’s she holding up?” Bart asked softly, his head nodding in the direction of the s
ofa.

  “She stays to herself mostly,” Ivan added. “Dmitry has tried to see her more since he’s in graduate school at the university in Charleston. And of course, Mrs. Dukakas has been keeping an eye on her.”

  “She has lots of visitors—friends who want to check on her—but she mostly turns them away according to Mrs. Dukakas,” Dmitry added. “She’ll go out occasionally to visit close friends, trying to keep up some routine.”

  “I’m sure the holidays don’t help,” Bart noted.

  “We were sure we would have him back by Christmas,” Ivan said, his voice laced with pain.

  The men continued to talk for a few minutes while Faith tried unsuccessfully to draw Constance into a conversation. Erik’s mother spoke little, keeping her eyes on her lap.

  Faith looked around the room at the Christmas decorations. She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling fear pouring off Constance. Her neck tingled as the emotions in the room began swirling around. Fear, pain, uncertainty, guilt. Guilt? Of course…survivor’s guilt. Faith opened her eyes and glanced at the woman next to her. Survivor’s guilt usually followed someone when someone they loved had suffered a trauma or had been taken away; feeling that perhaps it should have been them that should have been taken.

  Bart moved away with Ivan, to the side of the room, as they discussed the case in more depth. Faith walked over to them, taking the opportunity to be closer to Ivan. “I’m afraid there’s little I can say to make Constance feel better. I can only image her anguish.”

  Ivan nodded his agreement. “Yes, I find I’m tongue-tied around her as well.”

  As Bart and Ivan continued to talk softly, she lowered her head, closing her eyes, allowing the feelings to wash over her again. Fear, sadness, anger. A vision of Ivan and his grandson playing in the yard filled her mind. Laughter. Sunshine. She jerked her gaze up to him, seeing Ivan staring at her carefully, as though he knew what she was doing.