Seeing Love: Saints Protection & Investigations (18 page)

Faith sipped her drink nervously, not knowing what to say. She tried not to focus on the fact that he towered over her when he opened the door for her. Or that her hand still tingled from his touch when he assisted her up into the truck. For now, his hair was not sticking up, but she smiled knowing that after a few frustrated runnings of his hand through the thickness, his hair would be in all directions.
Did he want to see me again or was he forced into this trip?
Before she could ponder this anymore, he cleared his throat, drawing her attention over to him.

“You look very nice today—”

“Thank you,” she replied a little too quickly, a nervous smile on her face.

“Um, I wasn’t finished,” he added.

“Oh,” she mumbled.

“I was going to say you are beautiful, but you’ve got to remember where we’ll be today. If you thought it was bad interviewing Miguel, Gavrill, or Luciano, they were nothing compared to what you’ll face today.”

“Oh,” she replied again, this time, nervousness and a bit of disappointment that his compliment was not exactly a compliment so much as a warning about the day’s activities, had her clutching her coffee mug even tighter.

“I just want you to be confident I’ll be right by your side the whole time. I promise.”

A slow smile curved the edges of her lips at the thought. “I admit I’ve never been in a prison before…but I’ve seen lots on TV.”

He chuckled, the tension broken, and spent a few minutes telling her about the check in procedures. As he talked, he noticed her nibbling on her thumbnail again. “Still nervous?”

Her gaze jumped over in surprise. “Does it show? I’m trying so hard to be cool.”

He nodded toward her hand. “You bite your fingernail when you’re nervous. Or deep in thought. Or irritated with me.”

This time, it was her turn to chuckle as she moved her hand down to her lap.

“It’s okay,” he rushed to assure, not wanting her to be self-conscious. “Well, as long as you’re not irritated with me.”

“I’m not.” Twisting her body to face him, she suddenly said, “Tell me something about yourself.”

“Huh?”

“We’ve been in each other’s constant company for two days now and there’s a lot I gathered about you from observation. But…well, I’d like to know something about you that I haven’t learned yet.”

He looked askance at her, saying, “Now, I’m wondering what you think about me. That kind of makes me nervous.”

Grinning as though she had a secret, she said, “Just things that I’ve picked up. It’s easy if you really listen to people and watch them when they speak.”

“Okay, I’m game, but first—you have to tell me what you’ve figured out.”

“That’s not how this game works,” she laughed.

“My truck, my rules,” Bart ordered easily.

“Humph,” she groused. Licking her lips, she agreed. “Well, I know you’re a very confident person by the way you speak and even the way you hold yourself. That can come from being a SEAL, but I think it’s also just you. You have a great body, but I know you work at it by staying in shape.”

He could not help but preen at that comment, knowing she had noticed his body. “Okay, keep going,” he encouraged.

“I know you’re loyal, not only to your family but to your friends. Um…let’s see. I know you run your fingers through your hair when frustrated which, by the way, I’ve seen a lot since being on this case with you.”

She discovered the corners of his eyes crinkled as he laughed just now, too.

“My mom used to bug me to cut my hair because it made her crazy when my hair was long and sticking out everywhere. She loved it when I was in the Navy.” He looked over at her smile and wanted the expression to stay…and to be the one to keep it there. “Okay, what else?”

“Hmmm, well, I know you love country music, especially if it’s a man singing and not a woman. We haven’t talked about movies—and before you ask, no, I can’t just tell what you like!”

“So you really aren’t psychic!” he exclaimed with false surprise, throwing his hand over his heart.

“Jerk,” she laughed. “Okay, let’s see what else I know. Oh, yeah, you’re an outrageous flirt—”

“Hey, no hitting below the belt,” he complained.

“I didn’t say you were an awful flirt or an insincere flirt!”

He stayed silent at that comment with the uncomfortable feeling that if she knew how much of an insincere flirt he really was, she probably would not be enjoying his company. He thought back to the times his buddies had commented on him always leaving with the best-looking girl in a bar and he simply took that as some kind right. Or how he would wink to grab a waitress’ attention and then not look at her again when they brought his food or drink. Then his mind slid to the countless women whose bed he would leave with a wink and an insincere comment about how great it had been.

Suddenly, the air in the truck cab seemed thick and breathing was painful. He looked over at her concerned face, sure that she could see inside of him, knowing all his unflattering qualities. And, for the first time, he felt like he knew them, too. He was about to tell her he did not want to play her game anymore when she spoke softly.

“I know you love your big family. Your siblings, your cousins. I know your grandfather taught you about life and being a man. And your grandparents and parents have the kind of love most of us could only dream about.”

Those words took his breath away. She was not psychic, but with just the simple, and yet complex, ability to really listen and observe people, she had garnered all this information.

The moment lay heavy between them, but the silence was not forced. Simply reflective. Warm. Even welcome.

To lighten the mood, he joked, “So you want to hear about my movie favorites, huh?”

Laughing, she leaned her head sideways on the headrest and said, “You can tell me anything you’d like.”

He thought for a moment, realizing how hard it was to come up with something to say about himself when she had already peered into his soul.

“Tell me about how you got into investigations,” she prompted.

That seems safe enough.
“I loved being a SEAL. The missions, the camaraderie, hell, even the training. I hoped the Border Patrol would satisfy me, but the job didn’t. I had a friend who was with them and thought it sounded interesting. I should have spent more time investigating them. Don’t get me wrong, what they do is good and necessary.”

“So…?”

He heaved a sigh, pondering the prompt. “It’s weird, now that I think about it. In the SEALs, I had to follow orders exactly, but with Border Patrol, our hands were tied by regulations that made no fuckin’ sense. We would see what needed to be done but couldn’t do it.”

“So you changed careers?”

“Yeah. I knew some guys that ran security companies after getting out of the SEALs, but I was looking for something a little more…”

“Rule-breaking?” she grinned.

“Exactly!” he laughed. “I put out some feelers and found out about Jack Bryant’s Saints.”

“Why does he call his company the Saints?”

“That’s a personal reason to Jack.” Bart quietly reflected for a moment, and then added, “But the name means something to all of us as well.”

Faith knew whatever it was he would share only when ready, so she turned the conversation to something more lighthearted. “So, what movies do you like?”

Laughing, he replied, “Probably nothing that you’d find interesting.”

“Action flicks with lots of car chases and bombs going off?”

“Nope,” he pronounced, then a faint blush appeared. “I like British comedies and mysteries.”

She had already twisted in her seat to face him, but that had her looking up in amazement. “You’re right. I wouldn’t have guessed that.” Smiling, she liked how he could surprise her. Make her laugh. Make her feel…less lonely.
Is that what I’m doing? Trying to force a friendship?
Her thumbnail managed to make its way back to her mouth, where her teeth began to nibble.

He glanced her way.
Is she nervous? Irritated?
Neither of those seemed right. Wanting to take the pensive look off her face, he said, “Well, I do l like country music. I like the stories it tells. I don’t mind female singers…I guess I just understand the male singer’s perspectives more. Maybe the good-ole-boy feeling that comes with some songs…but mostly, I like the way they can tell a story about—” he halted suddenly, embarrassed.

“About love,” she finished for him, smiling. “So, there is a romantic in there somewhere,” she said, swirling her finger in his direction.

Looking over, he saw the light in her eyes as her smile lit up her face. Her dark eyes, shining, gazed into his. “Yeah, I guess there is.”

They drove for several more miles, the comfortable silence blanketing them peacefully. Before they knew it, they turned off the main highway toward the prison. The air in the truck cab moved rapidly from content to anxious.

“What should I expect?” she asked.

Bart ran through the procedures with her, then said, “Take my lead with everything, Faith. If I decided we need to cut it short and get out of there, you go along with me. If I’m pushing, then you gather all the information you can as quickly as you can.”

She watched as his hand passed over his head several times and realized her nervousness was in direct response to his.
He’s worried about this one.
“Bart?”

“Yeah?”

“What makes this one different?”

He sucked in a deep breath before letting it out slowly, a slight hiss sounding as the air passed through his gritted teeth.

“The other guys, they were on the outside. They wanted to keep the Feds out of their business as much as possible so they were willing to talk to us. They weren’t happy about it, but they had a lot to lose if we got suspicious. But Sergio? He’s got nothin’ to lose. He’s already in prison and has publicly threatened his uncle. A man who’s got nothin’ to lose can be unpredictable.” Running his hand through his hair that was now standing on end, he added, “A prison’s no place for a woman like you to be in and Sergio is sure as hell not a man you should ever have to be around. I fuckin’ hate he’ll even lay eyes on you.”

“I’ll be okay,” she said softly, drawing his gaze back to hers. “I’ll be with you.”

Reaching across the console, he took her hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
Yes, you will, baby. Yes, you will.

F
aith could not
explain her nervousness, considering she had recently been in the presence of three crime lords with no security around. She was fearful then, but somehow the looming structure of the prison set the sick feeling of nerves fluttering around her stomach.

She followed Bart’s lead as they entered through the main doorway and showed identification. She removed her coat, handing it to the guard before moving through the metal detectors.

Bart glanced behind him to check on her. His eyes dropped to her outfit and he noted she had indeed dressed with care. Her long-sleeved, dark blue blouse was buttoned to the top, showing virtually no skin. He realized a week ago, this woman would not have appeared on his radar at all as someone to be interested in. And now? He had to tear his eyes away as he wondered what delights lay underneath all those clothes. Giving himself a mental shake, he offered her a small smile of encouragement.

So far, the procedures reminded her of passing through security at an airport.
In fact, the guards appear friendlier than the airport security!
She expected everything to be grey in color, but found flashes of light blue on the doorframes and chairs in the rooms.

Bart had explained that because they were there at not only Krustas’ insistence, but the visit was sanctioned by the FBI, they would not be using the main family visitation room. “They’ll place us in a smaller conference room, but don’t worry—a guard will be there the whole time.”

She nodded. They passed through another security checkpoint and this time, she noted dark green covered the doorframes.
The different areas are color-coded
. She looked around at everything, nervous and yet fascinated at the same time. The sound of her boots tapping on the tile floors echoed as they continued down the long hall. Peering to the side, she slammed into Bart’s back as he came to a stop.

Blushing a deep red, she looked up, mouthing
Sorry
, as he grinned down at her. Finally, they were shown into an interview room; this time, the grey table and chairs were what she expected. The windowless room had another door at the opposite end. Bart moved to a chair and pulled it out for her. Smiling her thanks, she settled in the seat, placing her shaking hands in her lap.

After about ten minutes, the door opened and a guard walked in, followed by Sergio, and another guard. They made sure Sergio was seated before one guard stood by the door and the other one moved back through.

Bart eyed him dispassionately. He had never met Sergio, but had followed the investigation and trial since it occurred in his hometown, Virginia Beach. He wanted to glance to the side to see how Faith was doing, but would not give Sergio the opportunity to think he was concerned about her…or to insinuate she needed protection.

Faith worked to keep her expression passive, but felt her heart tap-dancing in her chest and hoped no one else could hear it. Looking at Sergio, she recognized the familial relationship to Ivan. Bulky body frame, barrel-chested, with dark hair neatly trimmed. His head was more square than Ivan’s, but his deep-set eyes—definitely Krustas eyes. And right now, they were staring straight at her.

Suddenly, his eyes jerked to Bart and he sneered, “I figure my
dear
uncle sent you, but your time is limited so fire away. It’s your nickel.”

Bart held his eyes, never wavering, as he let another moment pass in silence before asking, “You hear about Erik’s kidnapping?”

“Fuck, yeah. Even in here, I’m told the news.”

Faith suddenly leaned forward in her seat and asked, “Tell me about Ivan?”

Sergio’s gaze met hers and the silence was thick in the room. Bart watched him closely, allowing Faith to ask the questions.