Celebrating Love: Saints Protection & Investigations

by Maryann Jordan

  “Jesus!” he jumped. “I didn’t hear you move.”

  Her soft giggle caused his dick to jump and his lips tightened in irritation. Hating to lose control, he tried to focus back on the pictures. The phone was too small to be able to clearly see the individuals in the background but he knew Margery would be able to analyze the images. Looking up, he said, “I really need to take these back to my office…to have them isolated and enlarged for our investigation. He readied himself for her anger at having her phone confiscated for a few hours.

  Nodding, she smiled as her blue eyes lit. “No problem.”

  Shocked, he pulled his head back a little. “Uh…thank you. I can have it back to you tomorrow.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a business card. Starting to hand it to her, he hesitated, wondering if he should include his personal cell number. Giving himself a mental shake, he held out the card. “Here’s my card. You can call me if you need anything or think of anything else.”

  Her fingers reached out, taking the card while brushing against his at the same time. Warmth spread up her arm and she smiled. “Thank you. Um...does that mean I get to see you tomorrow? I mean, I’d hate for you to make an extra trip, but I’d love to see you again. If you’d like to—”

  “Yes,” he interrupted. Smiling down at her, he added, “We can meet tomorrow and I can return your phone to you.” He turned and moved out the door, hearing her footsteps lightly on the stairs behind him. At the front door of the store, he nodded his goodbyes and stepped out onto the sidewalk. Pursing his lips as he climbed into his vehicle, he sat for a moment before he began to smile at the thought of seeing her again.

  5

  “Damn, girl, it’s the day for a man alert in here!”

  Bayley looked up as Daphne ran a hand over her hair, smoothing back the wayward strands, before greeting the new visitor with a brilliant smile.

  “Can I get you something? Coffee? A latte? A good book suggestion? My phone number?” Daphne called out.

  The dark-haired man stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening as he looked at the two women behind the counter. “Um…”

  Laughing, Bayley said, “Don’t mind my assistant. She gets overly eager when a new customer comes into the shop.”

  His white-toothed smile met hers as he approached the coffee counter. “Thank you for the warning.” Glancing over to Daphne, he said, “I’ll take a cup of coffee…black, if you please.”

  “Sure thing. Coming right up.”

  Smiling at the new customer, Bayley turned to Daphne saying, “I’ve got plans this afternoon so I’ll see you tomorrow.” Throwing her bag over her shoulder, she stepped past the man and walked out the front door.

  Daphne fiddled for a moment in hopes the handsome man would spend a few minutes in the store with her, perhaps giving her enough time to engage his interest, but then she frowned slightly as she watched his eyes follow Bayley. As he turned back to her, it was apparent by the drawn-down brows, he was interested in Bayley. Offering him her best smile, she handed him the coffee cup. His gaze landing back on Daphne, she preened as his lips curved ever so slightly.

  “I’m Daphne,” she said. “And you are?”

  “Lazlo,” he offered, an unexpectedly sensuous smile in place.

  “Yep, he took my phone!”

  “Will he give it back soon?”

  Bayley smiled at her sister-in-law, Grace, sitting comfortably on the sofa, nursing Bayley’s nephew. “Actually, I’ll see him again tomorrow. He said he’d bring it by the store.”

  “So, he was good-looking?” Grace asked, wiggling her eyebrows at Bayley.

  Laughing, she said, “I nicknamed him Mr. TDMB for tall, dark, mysterious, and beautiful. Silly, I know, but I honestly think that doesn’t do him justice! Today, in the bright sunlight, he was positively breathtaking!”

  “So, he’s looking for pictures of the missing girl. Tell me again why you were at that place? What if it had been you?”

  “I was doing research and needed to get a real feel for describing a low-class nightclub. One of my main characters needs the money, so she gets a job as a bartender.” Shrugging, Bayley said, “I wanted to go, hang out at the bar, and take a bunch of random pictures.” Seeing Grace about to protest, she quickly added, “And I kept my drink with me and didn’t leave the bar. No one could ruffie me.”

  “I wish you’d called Blaise. You know your brother would have taken you to the club and made sure you were safe.”

  Rolling her eyes, Bayley protested, “I couldn’t ask Blaise. You guys have a baby, and I know you still don’t get tons of sleep!”

  Readjusting her bundle, Grace retorted, “Well if Blaise couldn’t do it, you know any one of the Saints would have accompanied you.”

  “Oh, my God. That’s just what I need—a big babysitter who would scare everyone away and blush at the thought of my research,” Bayley grinned.

  “Well, I thinks it’s cool that you’re a writer and I love your books.”

  Sighing, Bayley added, “I hate that romance books sometimes get such a bad rep. I love the stories I create.”

  “You know, I’m not the only person who reads your books. Almost every woman I know loves them, too.”

  “Really?” Bayley grinned.

  “Absolutely!”

  Grace placed little Ben on her shoulder, adjusting her shirt. Rubbing his back, patting lightly, he let out a burb, eliciting a giggle from Bayley. Wiggling her fingers, Bayley said, “Can I hold my nephew?”

  “Of course,” Grace replied. “In fact, I was just going to lay him down so I can nuke some dinner before Blaise comes home. Will you stay and eat with us?”

  Bayley held the precious baby bundle close to her heart and cooed. “Auntie Bayley wishes she could stay with you, little Ben.” Kissing the soft fuzz on his head, she lifted her eyes over to Grace. “Thanks for the invite, but I’ve got a writers’ group tonight at the store.” Following her sister-in-law into the kitchen, she sat at the table, still cuddling Ben as Grace took a casserole from the freezer and stuck it in the microwave to thaw.

  Grace laughed, saying, “Right now, this is the best I can do for dinner. But the other Saints’ women all brought food over. Thank goodness they spread out the meals so that I didn’t have to fill up the freezer all at once. Plus, your mom brought over some food.”

  “Well, good! New moms shouldn’t have to worry about cooking right away. Or housecleaning!”

  “Oh, that reminds me! I forgot to tell Blaise that you gifted us several months of a cleaning service. He got caught the other day when he walked downstairs in his underwear and surprised two women cleaning.”

  Bayley hooted loudly, then was immediately contrite as Ben jumped at the noise and scrunched his face up. Cooing, she jiggled him as she laughed as quietly as possible. Looking at Grace, she asked, “Do you remember when Mom and I came by, not knowing you were here with Blaise? You had that kitten in your arms that scratched you as it tried to get away and you fell backwards over his dog? That was so funny!”

  Grace, unable to keep from laughing, shook her head. “I couldn’t believe that was my introduction to Blaise’s family!”

  As if on cue the door from the garage opened and Blaise walked in. Tall, Nordic, he could have walked off the pages of a Viking romance. He smiled as Grace bounded over to offer him a kiss, then, as she moved back to the oven to check on the bread, he bent to place a soft kiss on his son’s head. Lifting his gaze, he greeted quietly, “Hey, sis.”

  Bayley looked fondly at her big brother and whispered, “Go get in some comfortable clothes and then I’ll give Ben to you.”

  He was only gone a few minutes before striding back into the room clothed in a sweat shirt, sweat pants, and a burp cloth over his shoulder. “I’m ready,” he proclaimed.

  Transferring the sleeping baby to him, Bayley kissed his cheek. “I’ve got to go to my writer’s group, but I had some excitement last night and today. I’ll let Grace fill you in.”

  With a
hug to Grace, she bounded out the front door, hustling to Prissy, knowing she would just make it to her shop in time to meet the others in her writing group.

  Nick sat in the chair next to Mike and Margery, closely studying the photographs on the computer screen from Bayley’s phone. Shot after shot clearly showed the inside of the club.

  “Hell, she’s good at this,” Mike admired, his eyes pinned to the screen. “You said it looks like she’s taking selfies, but instead of herself, she manages to capture what’s behind her.”

  Nick grunted his agreement, his gaze searching for some evidence of Amy Willis. “There,” he pointed, seeing a woman with short, red hair near the bar.

  Margery zoomed in using her photo-enhancement program, making it easier to identify the woman in question. “Yes, that’s her. You can tell by the light-blue shirt.”

  “Time?” Nick queried.

  With a few clicks, she replied, “This was at about eleven thirty.”

  Mike commented, “No one else is around her, but she’s buying more than one drink.”

  Nick looked at the bar in front of Amy, observing two drinks. “So, she’s buying them for one of her friends or she’s met someone new.”

  “If it was a man, wouldn’t he be buying the drinks?” Margery asked.

  “Not in this day and age,” Mike said, gaining a quizzical expression from her. “Could be she wants to be in control and is keeping an eye on her drink, instead of giving someone the opportunity to drug it.”

  “Never thought of that,” she said, shaking her head. “It’s been many years since I was in the single scene and that was back in college about thirty years ago. Lots of changes…”

  As Mike and Margery continued to talk, Nick focused his attention on the stream of photographs. He saw Amy in two other pictures. On the dance floor with a dark-haired man behind her, but he was facing away from the camera, and one with her head leaning on the same man’s shoulder who was, once again, facing away from the camera. Pointing, he said, “Get what you can on this guy. Amy is about five feet, seven inches, so this guy isn’t over six feet.”

  “What if she were wearing heels?” Margery asked.

  Shaking his head, Nick cursed. Standing with his hands on his hips, he ordered, “Go back to the picture of her at the bar.”

  Margery complied and once more, Nick studied the photograph, slowly nodding. “Bar’s about 4 feet tall. Compared to where the bar is coming against her front, I’d say she had only about three inch heels on. So, that still makes that guy just about six feet tall.”

  “Impressive,” Mike whistled as he sat down at his computer and began typing. “I’ll see if I can pull up anything on him entering the club, but with that dark jacket, I don’t know if I’ll recognize him.”

  A frustrating hour later, the three leaned back in defeat. “Well, we know she was still alive at almost midnight,” Mike surmised, “but we don’t know the identity of the man she was with.”

  Replacing Bayley’s phone in his pocket, Nick added, “I’ll get Ms. Hanssen’s phone back to her tomorrow. I’ll also point out what we’ve looked at to see if she has any more information.” Walking out of the room, the frustration of not obtaining a definitive facial recognition of the man in question was mixed with the eager anticipation of seeing Bayley again.

  Seeing the small smile cross Nick’s face as he left, Margery grinned before turning back to the bank of computers.

  “You might want to consider adding in a little more blood and gore.”

  Bayley continued to read the paragraph in front of her as she engaged her critique group. The four other writers sat at the round table, each reading and critiquing as well. The manuscript she was studying was for a new author writing in the horror and suspense genre. Bruce had excellent characters and his writing was very professional, but she felt as though he was holding back.

  Looking up at the young man, his dark eyes intently staring at her from behind his wire-rimmed glasses, she smiled. “Are you nervous?”

  Chuckling, he replied, “Yeah, I guess I am. I really want to get the first chapter right so that it will be ready for sending to an agent.”

  Nodding, she smiled. “Well, for what it’s worth, I really like it. And, if you can’t get a publisher or decide you don’t want to go traditional, then I’ll help you self-publish.”

  Pushing his dark blond hair from his face, he smiled warmly. “I appreciate your help, Bayley—”

  “Hey,” she interrupted, holding up her hand, “we all have to start somewhere. Glancing to the clock on the wall, she announced to the group, “I didn’t realize the time—we need to finish up.”

  The others stood as they packed up their laptops, slinging bags over their shoulders, and with goodbyes ringing out as they left, Bayley locked the front door behind them. Quickly checking the store to make sure it was ready for opening the next day, she set the alarm and stepped onto the sidewalk, jiggling the door handle, ascertaining it was properly locked.

  Turing toward Prissy, she heard heavy footsteps coming rapidly from behind. Whirling around, she startled when a dark-cloaked figure approached, leaning over her. Stepping back, a gasp slipped from her lips as his hand snatched out to grab her upper arm. Wincing, she jerked back, her eyes narrowed in anger.

  “Let go of me,” she bit out, but his grasp only tightened. Heart racing, she glanced around, desperate for a passerby to assist, but only the dark night illuminated sporadically by streetlights greeted her. Cars honked in the distance, but none came down the street. The bookstore was located in an older section of the town, not near the center where trendy restaurants and bars had moved in. Instead, her business neighbors consisted of an insurance company, an attorney and accountant offices, and a bank. All steady businesses that she figured helped her customer base, but none opened at night.

  Shifting her gaze back to his impassive face, her mind categorized his features. Small eyes, close set. Dark, with a hint of amber from the streetlight over Prissy. Leathery skin with large pores, as though years of smoking had sucked all the oxygen from his body. His nostrils enlarged and the scent of old cigarettes assaulted her senses. His hair was hidden behind a fedora, but what she could see was greasy or slicked with an old-fashioned gel. He was much taller than her, but his body was thin, wiry, angular.

  “Where is it?” he growled, his husky voice cutting through her analysis.

  Blinking, she narrowed her eyes. “What? Where is what?” Shaking her head slightly in confusion, she added, “I think you have the wrong person, whatever you’re looking for.”

  His thin lips slid into a grin, showing yellowed teeth, as his gaze slid over her face. “I got the right one, and you’d do well to give me what I want.”

  Jerking back on her arm once more, she repeated, “What? I don’t know what you want!”

  His gaze dropped down to her purse and he held up his free hand. “Your phone, princess. Give me your fuckin’ phone.”

  Her eyes widened as her mouth opened, but her words halted as his fingers squeezed harder. Wincing, she protested, “You’re hurting me! And I don’t have my phone anyway!”

  “Well, you’d better get it quick or—”

  Approaching footsteps, sounding on the sidewalk from around the corner, halted his threat. With a quick look over his shoulder, he dropped her arm and ran into the darkness just as Bruce rounded the building, his frown widening into a smile as he saw her.

  “Bayley! Thank goodness you’re still here. I can’t find my car keys and think they must have fallen out of my pocket.”

  As he approached her, his steps slowed, his brow knitted. “Hey, are you okay?” he asked as his gaze moved to the shadows of the street where she was staring.

  She turned, dragging in a shaky breath. “Yes, I’m fine, but thank God you came back. A man just accosted me but he ran away when he heard you approach.”

  “Fuck, Bayley,” he gasped, reaching his hand out to her shoulder. “Are you alright? Should we call the police?�
�

  Still in shock, Bayley did not reply, but she instinctively knew the assailant was tied into the same case as Nick. He had to be, asking for her phone like that. It couldn’t just be coincidence. Looking up sharply, she shook her head. “No, no. Not the police. But don’t worry,” she assured as he was about to protest, “I’ve got a contact that will be interested.”

  “Oh yeah, your brother.”

  Bayley simply nodded as she moved to the front door of her shop again, giving him the indication that Blaise was who she intended to talk to. Inwardly cringing at the thought of telling her overly-protective brother, she swung the door open, after a few failed attempts with the keys due to shaking hands, and urged Bruce to enter quickly. Locking the door behind her, in case the man returned, they searched the back room for a moment before Bruce headed to the men’s room, coming out with his keys proudly in his hand.

  “Sorry for the trouble,” he said, “but I’m glad I had to come back.”

  Sucking in a deep breath, Bayley agreed as they headed back outside. Scanning the area quickly, Bruce walked her to Prissy and stayed until she was safely locked inside her car. She insisted on following him to his car and they pulled out onto the street at the same time.

  Neither saw the tall man as he stepped from around the side of the building, his eyes pinned on her retreating automobile, face lit by the red glow from his cigarette.

  6

  The card felt firm between her fingertips, as though the personality of the name printed on one side could offer comfort.

  Nicholas Stone

  His agent title, phone number, email address, and the FBI logo made up the rest of the simple print.

  Sitting in her living room, she noticed her fingers still shook slightly, as they held the card. She had rushed from her car, up the stairs to her apartment, unlocking the door with speed as she sent furtive glances over her shoulder.

  Now, pinching her lips together, she looked at the old telephone hanging next to her kitchen counter. It had originally belonged to her beloved grandmother and, when she died, Bayley could not part with the outdated phone. Her family thought she was nuts to pay for a land-line when she had a cell phone, but to Bayley it represented a different way of life. The long, spiral cord, twisted out of shape from years of her grandmother’s walking around her kitchen while talking to one of her church friends or neighbors, still hung from the wall. Now, she was glad she had the extra way to communicate.