Remember Love: Saints Protection & Investigations

by Maryann Jordan

  *

  Several minutes later, Grace slid beneath the covers, the sheets feeling like silk although they were just department store cotton. The scent was from a dryer sheet, enveloping her in a floral cloud. The mattress underneath, supporting her weight in comfort, felt…familiar. Closing her eyes, she could almost imagine herself in a bedroom like this one. A flash of an image flew through her mind—a room smelling much like the floral scent she now experienced, painted pale yellow on three walls with one wall a forest green. Her eyes jerked open and the image was gone.

  I’m not crazy, she told herself. I’ll remember…I’ve just got to remember.

  Rolling over in the soft bed, she allowed the events of the day to melt away, leaving only the thoughts of the man in the room across the hall. He’s so beautiful, she thought. His muscles, barely contained in the navy polo shirt he wore or the jeans that fit his form so well. Closing her eyes, she remembered the idea that he could be on the cover of a romance novel. I must have read some of those for me to make the comparison! I’ve had no memories until being with him and something about him is making me feel again.

  But what do I feel? Oh, girl. Watch your heart. He might be a knight in shining armor but that doesn’t mean he’s for you. You’re just one of his strays he helps. Don’t confuse kindness with love.

  Sighing, Grace turned over one more time, her exhausted body almost tumbling into slumber. Yeah, but if I were to have someone fall in love with me…the gorgeous, giving man across the hall would be the one I would want.

  With that last thought, sleep finally claimed her.

  *

  Across the hall, Blaise laid in a similar state of unrest. His normally ordered mind was swirling with the unexpected events of the day. Starting out, only looking forward to his lunch with Grace, hoping he might have a chance to get her to divulge a little more about herself. And now, she slept in the room across the hall.

  We know her name. We know a little about her family. We know where she lived. We know where she worked. But why the fuck was she missing for three weeks and no one reported it?

  He heard a whimper and sat up, seeing Ransom lying on the floor near his bed, sound asleep. Throwing back the covers, he stood, slipping into the hall. Hearing the sound again, he headed downstairs. Gypsy was at the door leading into the kitchen, whimpering for her mistress.

  “Come on, girl,” he called softly, leading the dog upstairs. Not wanting to disturb Grace, he knocked gently and, hearing no answer, turned the knob slowly. Opening the door, Gypsy trotted into the bedroom, hopping up onto the bed as though she belonged. Curling up at her mistress’ feet, she took her place of protection.

  Smiling, he gazed at the pair as the moonlight poured through the window. Drawn into her room, like a moth to the light, he peered down at Grace’s face, peaceful in slumber. He lifted his hand to his chest, rubbing over his heart as a slow ache began.

  Her beauty stunned him, from her thick, luxurious hair to her pure complexion. Her pert nose, slightly turned up and, when awake, her huge, dark eyes. In sleep, thick lashes laid against her cheeks. Her kissable mouth slightly opened as she breathed deeply made him fight the urge to lean down and taste her.

  I’m such a stalker, he admonished inwardly, but could not bring himself to leave quite yet. As he watched the pair, he understood that while it was her beauty that captured his attention, and her vulnerability that first caused him to seek her out…it was her strength that brought him to his knees. Thank you, Lord, for watching over her.

  As he made his way back to his bed, his thoughts turned over to what Bart and Cam would find tonight in her apartment. He had wanted to go himself but knew there was no way he could leave her…not even with another Saint. No, she’s mine to protect.

  *

  Bart and Cam, completely in sync after numerous missions together, slipped effortlessly into Grace’s apartment under the cover of darkness. Bart’s former SEAL missions enabled him to take on any job Jack had given him yet. A planner, he knew the best way to get the job done. His best friend, Cam, came from a different background. Cam may have come to the Saints by way of the Richland Police Department, where he had been an undercover cop, but it was his days as a juvenile delinquent that aided him now. Cam joked that breaking and entering were second nature to him.

  Her apartment was located in a nice suburb of Richland, on the western side of town toward Charlestown. The neighborhood was neat and filled with middle-income family homes, condos, and apartment buildings.

  Once inside, the pair moved through the modestly furnished rooms. The kitchen was directly to the left, U-shaped, with a bar that separated it from the living room. Cam examined the kitchen while Bart moved on into the larger room. A single door from the living room led to the single bedroom and bathroom.

  A few packing boxes still stood in the corner, and only a couple of pictures were hung on the wall. Walking over, Bart examined the collage. Pictures of Grace, from childhood to recent, each with her animals, ending with a snapshot of she and Gypsy. Checking the boxes, he found out of season clothes in one and books in another.

  The minuscule bathroom held the expected toiletries, but nothing else. Cam stuck his head into the bedroom, saying, “I’m done out here.”

  Slipping back through the small, dark apartment, it was evident to their experienced eyes that someone had searched the place. The sofa cushions were in place but slightly skewed. Cans in the cabinets had been moved about, left turned over. Her clothes were partially hanging out of drawers, although the drawers were almost pushed back in.

  “What does your gut tell you?” Cam asked, taking pictures of the rooms.

  Bart stood for a moment, coming out of the bedroom. “It’s been searched, but not tossed. Why? Why go to this much trouble to search someone’s place, not trashing it, but not taking the time to thoroughly put everything back?”

  “Someone didn’t expect her to come back. Someone thought she was dead,” Cam stated, his voice hard.

  Chapter 10

  Luke sat at his computer early the next morning, grouchy without his super-charged coffee. As Jack came downstairs, he halted in his steps, staring at the glass of milk sitting in front of Luke. Lifting his eyebrow in a sardonic expression, he stood with his hands on his hips waiting for an explanation.

  “Shut-up, boss,” Luke groused.

  Laughing, Jack said, “Figured that high-octane coffee you’ve been downing for years would finally eat it’s way through your stomach.”

  Saying nothing, Luke absentmindedly rubbed the center of his chest.

  Jude and Monty walked into the room, hearing the last comment. “No shit, Luke? You’ve got an ulcer?” Jude asked.

  “Jesus, can’t a guy drink milk if he wants to without everyone jumping down his throat?” Luke complained.

  Marc, Patrick, and Chad entered next, eyeing the glass and seeing everyone standing around staring at Luke. Before they could comment, Bart and Cam hustled into the meeting room as well.

  Blaise was the last to enter, not surprised to observe he was last, considering he had insisted on making a full cooked breakfast for Grace.

  As they all settled around the table, Luke downed the milk, slamming the glass onto the table. Lifting his eyes to the silent stares, he said, “Yes, I am drinking milk. No, I am not happy about it. Yes, I may be suffering from an ulcer and before you think of giving me a problem, Jack, I have seen a doctor. So I am perfectly able to do my job. Just not as well since I can’t seem to get my eyes open! Any questions?”

  The others grinned at Luke’s crabbiness replacing the normally easy-going, but hyper, mood of the former CIA computer expert. Shaking their heads, they quickly got down to business.

  Monty patched in Mitch Evans, their FBI contact. “I’ve filled Mitch in on what we’ve discovered so far.”

  “Saints,” Mitch greeted. “We don’t have an open case on anything to do with Grace Kennedy, but with her involvement with the TSA and a missing drug-trained do
g, I told Monty that I wanted to be kept apprised of anything you find.”

  “No problem,” Jack agreed.

  “How’s Grace this morning?” Marc asked Blaise.

  Smiling, Blaise said, “Really well, considering how intense yesterday was for her. I think sleeping in a real bed and getting food inside was the best thing that could have happened. She’s thrilled to know what her name is, but so far did not say she had any memories.” Suddenly looking over at Bart and Cam, he said, “Except she said, last night, before she went to sleep, she remembered sleeping in a bed before. She said the room colors were pale yellow on three walls and green on the other one.”

  “Damn,” Bart said, nodding. “Those were the colors in her bedroom.”

  Breathing a sigh of relief, Blaise said, “Maybe, just maybe, it’ll all start coming back to her.”

  Cam spoke up, “Miriam suggested a counselor for Grace. Both she and Bethany have seen a really good trauma counselor in Charlestown.”

  “Dani’s started going to the groups with Miriam and Bethany now and she likes this lady,” Chad added.

  “You’re right. No matter what happened to cause the accident and her memory loss, I feel like Grace is going to need some help to work through the memories,” Blaise conceded. “She has a great deal of fear, but can’t figure out why. I checked on her in the middle of the night and she was curled up tightly with her dog.”

  Jack nodded toward Luke and said, “Okay, tell us what you’ve got and then we’ll hear about Bart and Cam’s visit last night.”

  “Can you start with her family?” Blaise interjected. “She’s really wanting to have some facts to help her with her memories.”

  “Sure,” Luke said. “Her parents, Elizabeth and George Kennedy, were in their early forties when they had her and she was an only child. They owned a small family farm northwest of Richland and moved to a house in the suburbs about eight years ago, shortly after Grace went to college. Two and a half years ago, they were on an icy road and slid down into a ravine. Both were killed upon impact, according to the police report.”

  Blaise, silent for a moment as he digested another piece of sad information about Grace, looked up at Luke for him to continue.

  Accepting a nod from Blaise, Luke said, “Grace Marie Kennedy, twenty-seven years old. Graduated from VCU with a degree in Criminal Justice. She worked for a county Sheriff’s department for about two years before becoming involved in their canine program and did that for another two years. Last year, she left her job and went back to a K-9 school for training with the TSA canine program. She had just completed that and was in the process of becoming a full-time employee with TSA in Richland.” As Luke recited his findings, he continued to glance up at Blaise.

  “So how the hell does she go missing for three weeks and no one notices? Searches for her? Contacts the police?” Blaise growled. Catching the expressions of the others feeling the same way, Blaise looked back at Luke and said, “Keep going, man. I’m all right.”

  “Here’s where the info gets tricky,” Luke continued, as everyone’s attention ratcheted up, instantly more on alert. “From her social media accounts, it looks like she’s not very active. There were only a couple of friends from VCU that she kept up with and that was sporadical. There were pictures of her going away party from the Sherriff’s office and that split appears amicable, but there also hasn’t been much contact between her and her former co-workers. The training classes just graduated a month ago, and most of them are in the process of getting new jobs with their dogs as well. She also just moved. The apartment that Bart and Cam went into last night had only been rented for about two months.”

  “So her life was right in the middle of change when she had the accident,” Marc stated. “Almost like the worst time for someone to go missing—right when there was no one steady that she saw on a daily basis to notice her gone.”

  “Let’s talk about the accident,” Blaise demanded. “What do we know?”

  Luke continued, “She drives an older model Nissan Altima, black with grey interior. She bought the car from a reputable used car dealership and has had it for almost two years.”

  “Blaise, is there any chance she would remember where the accident occurred? I know she said it was at the bottom of a ravine, not noticeable from the road since it was covered in thick brambles and trees, but we could search,” Patrick added.

  “I don’t know, but it’s worth shot to find out.”

  Jack nodded, jotting down notes on his tablet. Looking up, he asked Luke, “What else?”

  Shaking his head, Luke replied, “Not much. She has a checking and savings account. Nothing remarkable in either. Regular deposits from her jobs. Normal deductions. She got a sizeable insurance benefit from her parents’ deaths, but that was put in her savings and she hasn’t touched the money.”

  “Bart. Cam. What’d you find last night in her apartment?” Jack asked.

  Bart began, “We entered with no problems. The apartment was furnished, nice but not new. But…” he paused, sparing a glance toward Blaise, “it had been searched.”

  At that, the Saints’ attention narrowed to a focal point of what Bart was saying. “They did a half-assed job of covering up. Done, but sloppily.”

  “As though someone didn’t worry about her coming back and knowing her place had been searched. But also that it wouldn’t look searched to the common eye if someone else came in.”

  “Came in,” Blaise repeated, his voice hard. “Like the apartment super who would come in after her rent went unpaid, to ensure that he wouldn’t call the police.”

  “Exactly,” Bart agreed. “There was no laptop or computer of any kind in the apartment. Since she said there was nothing in the car, maybe someone wanted to make sure there was no link to her that someone could find.”

  The group was silent for a moment until Mitch spoke up from the video-conference. “Jack, right now, I’d say you’ve got enough to start an investigation. What do you want from the FBI?”

  Jack shot Blaise a look, then said, “The Saints are taking on the mystery of Grace Kennedy. I don’t think we’ll need your office until we obtain more evidence, but we’ll keep you informed.”

  Obtaining Mitch’s affirmation, he disconnected, leaving the Saints to begin processing the new case.

  “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Blaise admitted, piercing his co-workers and friends with his gaze. “The truth could be as simple as she was out with her dog, had a car accident and, suffering from amnesia, became disoriented and afraid. But…it’s too clean. Too neat. With someone searching her apartment… that indicates she had something that someone wanted. Wanted enough to stage an accident, assumed she was dead, and banked on her being at an in-between phase of her life so there was no one to report her missing.”

  “We need to look at anyone in her life before the accident, as well as try to find her car,” Jack said.

  “Do we want to keep her status secret?” Monty asked. “After all, if someone wanted her dead, don’t you think that they would be upset to know they had not finished the job?”

  “Fuck!” Blaise cursed at the thought of her still being in danger.

  “Monty’s right,” Jude agreed and the others nodded.

  “So, for now, in our investigation, as far as anyone knows, Grace Kennedy died in that car accident. We’ll conduct our interviews as though she is missing.”

  Jack continued to divvy out the assignments. “Jude, Patrick—I want you two to take whatever information Grace can give you about where she remembers the ravine and begin combing the area. Marc, you’re our outdoorsman—you take charge of that part of the investigation.”

  “What about her friends and workplaces?” Blaise asked. “I want to be in on some of the interviews.”

  Jack nodded, acknowledging Blaise’s professional ability to hold on to his temper if he did not receive answers he liked. “You, Monty, and Chad split up the interviewing. Check out the K-9 training facility, any frie
nds she had there, and the TSA coordinator for hiring trainees. Blaise, you can take Grace to her apartment, but have Bart and Cam go with you since they were there last night. Get her to tell you if she remembers what’s missing, what’s out of place, and dust for fingerprints. If the intruder wasn’t expecting her back they may have been careless.”

  Cam spoke again, saying, “Blaise, Miriam looked at Grace’s scar and said she really needs to have her forehead seen by a doctor. The injury is healing, but a doctor…or maybe a plastic surgeon, can make it less noticeable. But one way or the other, it should be looked at.”

  “I’ll take her to Doc Sanderson, if that’s okay with you, Jack?” The doctor treated the Saints’ injuries, not asking questions, knowing they were investigators. He was efficient and understood the nature of their business, having been a former Army doctor.

  “He’ll be good. Hell, he’ll be surprised to see a pretty face,” Bart laughed.

  The meeting dismissed, the Saints broke up into groups to plan their parts of the mission. Marc pulled Blaise to the side. “We’re going to need to interview Grace to find out what she says about the car. Can we do that before you take her to her apartment?”

  “Yeah. Follow me and we’ll do it first.” Realizing she did not have a cell phone, he turned to Jack and asked, “Can I get a burner cell phone for her to use in case of emergencies?”

  Luke went to the storage room, returning with one, handing it to Blaise. “This’ll be good for her.” He hesitated a moment, drawing Blaise’s attention.

  “What is it?”

  “I was just wondering if you wanted…well, if you felt about Grace…”

  “Just say what’s on your mind!”

  “I wondered if you wanted me to put a tracer on your Saint medallion?” Luke finally got out.

  Blaise did not hesitate as he reached under his shirt and grabbed his St. Blaise pendant and pulled the chain off his neck. “Abso-fuckin’-lutely,” he said, handing it to Luke, who grinned as he walked into the back room with the medallion in his grasp.