Celebrating Love: Saints Protection & Investigations

by Maryann Jordan

  “Behind those doors are equipment rooms, firearms, and a variety of other items that we find come in handy,” Jack said, with a rare grin. He nodded toward the far wall where a steel door stood and said, “That leads to the back entrance, which leads up to my garage. There are ATVs and a few company SUVs as well.”

  Nick nodded in appreciation of what he was viewing. “Impressive, Jack. Very impressive.”

  “My business took almost four years to create, but I was able to lure each of my employees to me. We’re able to fly under the radar, using whatever means necessary to accomplish our contracts.” He eyed Nick, as he added, “That’s the only reservation I have with you, Nick. We are not bound by the same rules that you have been used to. Each of us has had to learn to work in this environment, so I want to make sure you are okay with that.”

  Nick looked down at the large conference table in the center of the room and took the seat Jack indicated. “I’ve thought about this, Jack. I’m not making a rash decision here. I’ve worked with you all for a while now. I’ve seen how you investigate and, while it was a bit shocking at first, I now am really interested in being able to get the job done without the politics. I like order and process, true, but I want to do things right from now on, not push them under the rug when it suits the big wigs. I want to be proud of what I do again.”

  “You also should know that most times, we do a lot of the leg work in the investigations but we don’t get the glory. That goes to the police or FBI or hell, even the CIA.”

  Nick nodded, understanding what Jack was telling him. “I get it. All guts and very little glory. As long as we get who we’re after, I’m fine with that.”

  Jack leaned across the table, his hand extended toward Nick. Clasping hands, he said, “Nick…welcome to the Saints.”

  20

  “Tell me about your boss,” Lazlo said, watching as Daphne walked around the store, readying it for the next day’s business.

  “Bayley? She’s super sweet,” Daphne gushed. “She’s turned this place into a really cool book store. And she’s smart too. She writes romance novels and runs this business. I don’t know how she manages to do it all.”

  “Did I overhear she had some problems last week?”

  Daphne paused, her hand on the trash bag. Brows knitted, she asked, “Did I say that?” Shrugging, she said, “I can’t even remember. Oh, well. Yes, she had some problems, but she’s fine. A man accosted her outside the shop, but he ran off.”

  “Wow,” Lazlo said, his face adopting a concerned expression. “Did she…uh…know who it was?”

  Nodding, Daphne said, “She worked with some police artist and, from what I understand, she identified the person. Some kind of mafia man, I think.” Smiling at him, she added, “It all sounds so crazy, doesn’t it? Like something from one of her books.”

  “It certainly sounds like she should be more careful.”

  “Well, she’s got some super-hot detective boyfriend who’ll make sure no one gets close to her again.”

  Lazlo turned, barely hiding the grimace on his face.

  Later that night, Lazlo closed the door behind him, careful to lock it before walking down the hall. Checking his pants’ zipper, he pulled up short at the sight of Grigory glaring at him.

  “You shit where you sleep?”

  “What?” Lazlo argued. “I steal the girls…why shouldn’t I avail myself of the merchandise?”

  Shaking his head, Grigory barked, “You need to focus more on your job than fucking the ones that look like that blonde you can’t get.”

  Fingers clenched at his side, Lazlo’s hands itched to slam into his brother’s face, but he knew that would only bring his parents’ wrath down on him. Instead, he bit out, “You take care of your part of the business, sitting behind your big desk, and let me take care of mine.” Shouldering past Grigory, he continued down the hall.

  Stepping into his office, Grigory walked to the credenza and poured a small tumbler of vodka. Seeing his father’s raised eyebrows, he said, “I’m going to have Lazlo watched. He’s getting sloppy and less focused on his job.”

  Milos said nothing, but slowly nodded, giving his silent approval.

  Bayley stood at the breakfast counter in Nick’s kitchen, her elbows resting on the surface as her gaze drifted around the room. An uncomfortable feeling of discontent slithered over her as she viewed the pristine apartment, her coat recently hung up in the closet, her purse tucked to the side of the table next to the front door. Unable to find one thing wrong with Nick’s apartment, she nonetheless felt as though they were still at a hotel.

  Sighing heavily, she wondered when he might get home from work, before she grabbed her laptop and turned one of the living room chairs around so it faced the large windows. Settling in, she began to type, but found the words stilted, unflowing.

  His view was so much better than hers, but his apartment was so sterile, she felt her creativity sliding from her being. Closing her laptop, she laid it beside her, leaning back with a heavy sigh.

  “You’re really doing it?”

  Nick stood in Harlan’s office, his mind at peace but his heart a little heavy. “Yeah…turned in my resignation, effective immediately, a few hours ago. Richard took no time at all in letting me know that he wanted me out by the end of today.”

  “Well, Nick, I’ve known you for a long time and never knew you to make a rash decision, so I’m gonna reckon you know what you’re doing.”

  Looking the older man in the eyes, he nodded. “I do. I admire you, Harlan, but I’ve been feeling discontent for a while. I used to see the world in black and white, but the longer I’ve been here, the more I’ve come to see the shades of grey.”

  Harlan chuckled as he agreed, “Probably my background as a Marine, but I have always seen the world with such clear decisiveness.” The two men were silent for a moment before Harlan asked, “So, the Saints, huh?”

  Grinning, Nick said, “I’m excited to make the switch. I saw them as arrogant when I first met them, but the assistance they were able to give on some of our cases made the difference between getting the ones we were after and losing them.” Shrugging, he added, “I’m going to like working alongside them without my normal constraints.”

  “I hear the governor asked for their help.”

  “Yeah…some of them have other cases they’re working, but Jack is putting me on this case full time tomorrow, along with his computer gurus.”

  “You’ll share?”

  “Harlan, I want you to know that working with you as a Saint liaison will make my new job so much better.”

  Harlan stood, extending his hand as he walked around his desk. Shaking Nick’s hand, he clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, Nick, I’ll be proud to continue to work with you, even if it’s not with the same agency.”

  “As long as the criminals go down, Harlan, it won’t matter who we work for.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Nick turned in his weapon and badge, stopping to say goodbye to Mike and Margery. Walking out to his SUV, only one box of personal items in his arms, he turned and looked up at the brick Bureau building behind him. And smiled. Time to go home…to Bayley.

  Something was wrong, he was sure of it.

  Nick had not told Bayley yet about his resignation and, subsequently, joining the Saints, wanting to surprise her after dinner. But now he watched her as she sat at the dining room table, moving her mashed potatoes from one side of her plate to the next. Then moving them into a pile. Then flattening them out with her fork, making lines in the top of the now cold mashed potatoes.

  Leaning over, he placed his hand on hers, stilling her movement. “Bayley, stop. You’ve tortured those potatoes long enough.”

  Jerking her gaze up to his, she looked back down at her plate in surprise, as though she had not even realized what she had been doing. Her mouth fell open, but no words came out.

  Sliding his hand up to cup her cheek, he asked, “What’s wrong? You aren’t acting like yourself tonight
.”

  “I can’t stay here,” she blurted before slapping her hand over her mouth. “That didn’t come out right.”

  Holding her gaze, he leaned back in his chair, concern in his voice. “So…what do you mean?” Distress crossed her face as she twisted her napkin in her hands before he stilled them with the admonishment, “Don’t start torturing the napkin.”

  A slight grin slipped out before her expression sobered again. Swallowing deeply, she admitted, “I love being with you, but maybe we’re just too opposite.”

  His brows dropped as he waited for her to continue, his heart beating faster.

  Her eyes searched his and just as she opened her mouth to speak, Mr. Lickers flew from the hall, running at full speed. “Oh, damn,” she cursed, hopping up to run and scoop the litter box.

  A moment later, after she had still not emerged from the guest bathroom, Nick walked down the hall, hearing a sniff from behind the closed door. Knocking hesitantly, he called out, “Bayley? Babe, what’s wrong?”

  The door opened and his gaze landed on Bayley’s tearful face, mascara running down her cheeks, a wad of toilet paper in one hand and a tied plastic bag in the other. Pulling her into his embrace, he tucked her face next to his heart as one hand cupped the back of her hand and the other moved slowly up and down her back. His calming motions were met with more crying.

  Pulling back, he looked down in concern. “Honey, tell me what’s wrong. Whatever it is, I’ll make it better.”

  As she leaned away from his chest, she noted the black mascara smears on his white dress shirt and tears flowed anew. Wiping at the mess, she cried, “I’m a mess and you’re not. You’re clean and neat. Your clothes are always pressed. You have no stuff lying around your apartment and I walk through and automatically drop everything where it falls. I know you hate Mr. Lickers…he drops fur on your sofa, yaks up furballs on your rugs, and his poop stinks!”

  Unable to hold back, Nick looked toward the ceiling as he roared with laughter. Feeling a slight slap on his chest, he looked down, seeing a mixture of remaining tears along with irritation.

  “Don’t laugh at me,” Bayley said. “I’m just trying to save us from a breakup down the road when you get tired of my messes.”

  Understanding flowed over Nick as he breathed a sigh of relief. Grabbing the plastic bag from her hand, he tossed it behind her into the trashcan. Scooping her into his arms, he stalked back into his living room and sat on the sofa, arranging her over his lap.

  “What are you doing?” she called out, sniffling as she wiped her nose with the wad of toilet paper.

  “You know, I’ve got tissues,” he said.

  Looking at him over the wad as she blew her nose, she replied, “It’s all the same stuff. This was convenient. When you feel like crying, you go for whatever is convenient.”

  Unwilling to argue with Bayley-logic, he grinned. “We need to talk and I’d really like to do it with you here, in my arms, and not through the bathroom door.”

  “You’re right,” she agreed, squirming as she settled on his lap, sighing loudly. “It’s better to talk face to face.”

  Suddenly with her watery, sky-blue eyes staring right into his, Nick’s words faltered. Sucking in a deep breath, he said, “I resigned from the FBI today.” Seeing her eyes widen in surprise, he rushed on, “And I joined the Saints.”

  Bayley opened and closed her mouth several times, for one of the few times in her life unable to think of what to say. Stumbling, she said, “Oh…uh…are you…well, did you…are you…uh…okay? Is this because of me?”

  Giving her waist a squeeze, he nodded, still holding her gaze. “Yeah. I’m fine. In fact, I’m more than fine. And I owe that to you.”

  Sucking in her lips as she pondered his words, she stayed uncharacteristically quiet as he continued.

  “In the simplest terms, for my career, I had become disenchanted with the Bureau and the political grandstanding that goes on. You are not the reason I resigned, but you are the reason I want to move on to something more compelling.” Looking toward the window for a moment, he let out a rueful snort. “I never looked out these windows to stare at the mountains and sunset until you pointed out the…what’d you call it? The vista?” Seeing her small smile, he nodded. “Yeah…I never noticed the vista before you came barreling into my life.”

  She reached her hand to his arm, her fingers lightly tracing the muscles underneath his shirt as she waited for him, recognizing the importance of his words.

  “I was existing, but I had no idea how lonely my life was. I had my work, my apartment. My coworkers were not friends…not really. I had Uncle Bernie, who I talked to weekly but, had not been to visit in a while. This place,” he swept his gaze around as though seeing it for the first time, “was a place to be, but not really a place to live in. I think I equated neat and calm for satisfying, but having you in my life, I now recognize that it’s been a long time since I had a home. A real home.”

  Stunned at how much he was talking, she continued stroking his arm, relishing the warmth emanating from him as he drew her in.

  “Bayley, I want you in my life. What we’ve started, I want to keep going. I don’t give a fuck about this place. We can live anywhere. We can live here and you can make whatever changes you want. Hell, Mr. Lickers is welcome.” Hesitating for a few seconds, he added, “Although I do have to admit the furballs on the carpet are a little disturbing.”

  A giggle burst from Bayley before she sucked in her lips, holding his gaze. Her voice shaky, she said, “Are you asking me to move in with you? We’ve only known each other a short time.”

  “Agreed,” he acknowledged, “but I know what I feel. We’ve been living together out of necessity and now, the idea of not having you around doesn’t feel right.”

  “Honestly, I’m such a mess sometimes. My life is not orderly at all. What if we find out we can’t stand each other or we rushed things?”

  He lifted his hand to cup her face, rubbing his thumb over her cheek. “Baby, I haven’t had this—a chance at a real home—in a very long time. So what if you’re a mess? Hell, sometimes my life is a mess. Together, we make each other better.” Leaning forward, he kissed her lips, soft and sweet, tasting the salty tears that had slid down her cheeks again. “I guess the only real question now is, do you want to be with me? If so, that’s all that matters and we’ll figure out the rest.”

  “I do want to be with you,” she cried, clutching his jaws with her palms as she pulled him in for another kiss, this one zooming to white hot.

  21

  Pulling to the front of Jack’s place the next morning, Nick parked next to a couple of vehicles and realized he was not the first one to arrive. He sat for a moment, filling his lungs with mountain air, then looked down at his attire. Jeans, clean and pressed, but still jeans. A long sleeve t-shirt instead of a buttoned, collared dress shirt. A leather jacket, comfortably worn at the seams, instead of a blazer. And no tie.

  He waited for a moment, wondering if an uncomfortable panic would ensue but he felt nothing but serene…and ready. As he got out and moved to the steps, two other vehicles pulled up beside his. Bart, Jude, and Cam alighted from one, as Marc, Blaise, and Chad hopped down from the other. The six men moved toward Nick, grins on their faces as greetings rang out in the early morning air.

  Shaking hands and accepting back pats, the group made their way up the front steps to the large front porch. The door opened and a pretty blonde hurried them all inside. “Cobbler’s on the counter, boys. Help yourself.”

  Nick hesitated as he watched in amazement as the others hustled toward the kitchen where the scent of peaches and cinnamon filled the room. Looking down, he peered at the petite woman, her honey-blonde hair pulled into a long braid hanging down her back. Her hand was outstretched and he took it in his own.

  “You must be Nick Stone,” she said. “I’m Bethany, Jack’s wife. Welcome to our home and to the Saints. I know Jack is excited to have you join the team.”


  Expressing his thanks, he watched as Jack walked from the back, sliding his arm around Bethany’s waist. “First things first, Nick. Bethany likes to have something for everyone to eat, so make yourself at home and dig in.”

  Bethany smiled and added, “Monty’s wife, Angel, also provides nummies so it’s not always just me. She owns Angel’s Cupcake Heaven and when she sends in a big white box tied in pink, purple, and teal ribbons, you’re in for a real treat.”

  Thanking her, Nick made his way to the counter, glad to see that the cobbler had not been decimated. Serving himself, he followed the others down to the command center where Luke, Charlie, and Patrick were already working.

  Once the welcoming speeches were over, Jack turned to Nick and said, “The governor has us on this case now and, while some of the others will be working out other assignments, I wanted everyone here to listen to what you can tell us.”

  Nick nodded, thinking over the case before speaking. “I wasn’t on the missing girl’s case for long, as you know, but what we feared was that she had become a victim of human trafficking, which is a problem in Virginia. Social media makes it so much easier for traffickers to make contact with girls and boys that are loners, looking for friends and attention. Easy to contact, easy to manipulate, easy to hook up with, and then easy to grab.”

  “And it’s profitable,” Bart added.

  “Oh, yeah,” Nick agreed. “Drugs can only be used once. A human can be sold over and over. And many use legitimate hotels for their trade. Unlike drugs, where the dealers will often have to have a certain type of place to process the drugs, and we have trained dogs that can be used to sniff out drugs, the selling of humans can take place anywhere. All it takes is a couple of motel rooms and the pimps start raking in the money.”