Seeing Love: Saints Protection & Investigations (17 page)

“And if you and the pretty artist need to work together some more, then…” Cam added, a smirk on his face as the others chuckled again.

Jesus,
Bart thought.
I’m so fucked.

*

Faith walked around
the classroom, looking at the children as they worked with pastels. Their giggles kept her smiling as she bent over to observe their work. She glanced up when the classroom teacher stood from her desk and pointed to the door. Faith nodded, knowing the teacher was leaving for a break. She preferred it when she had an actual art classroom and the children would come to her. The room was filled with the supplies needed for whatever creation or plan she had for the day. Now, with budget cuts, that room was turned into a fifth-grade classroom and she was relegated to hauling her supplies with her on a large rolling cart to each room on her schedule. Today, the fourth-grade class was exuberantly working on their drawings using their individual art pads and pastels.

She had been on her feet for most of the day and decided to sit on the stool near the front of the room, still eyeing the children, but giving her tired feet a rest. One of the boys sat near the window, his head bent over as he diligently worked. The sunlight coming in cast a glow and a shadow on him creating an ethereal look as she watched the play of light. He looked up as he finished his drawing, catching her eye, and smiled. A wide smile, filled with the oversized teeth that ten-year-olds seem to have before their bodies catch up to their faces.

She gasped as a vision filled her mind. Closing her eyes, she saw another dark-haired boy, the one she had seen in her other visions, sitting on a bed again but, this time, there was a light coming from a lamp illuminating him as his head was bent over reading a book.

“Miss Romani?” a voice broke through, snapping her back to reality as her eyes blinked open.

Looking around, she saw the children staring at her. “Are you all right?” one girl asked. “You look like my sister right before she’s gonna puke.”

The giggles from the students forced her to smile as she smoothed her hair from her face. “Yes, yes, I’m fine,” she assured, glancing at the classroom clock, grateful it was time for the art class to end. Hustling them through the cleanup process, she smiled as the classroom teacher came back in and then Faith rolled her cart down the hall. She and the music teacher had a large closet as their office. The space barely held their carts full of art and music supplies and had room for a small desk and chair.

Sitting down gratefully, she pulled her pad from her large bag, opening it immediately and grabbing a charcoal pencil. Closing her eyes, she pulled the image of the boy back to the forefront of her mind, and upon opening them again, began to draw.

When she finished, she stared at the picture for a long time. The dark haired boy was sitting cross-legged on a bed, covered with a dark bedspread. A book was open on his lap and one hand was resting on the page. There was no window on the wall behind him, but a light shone down from somewhere off the page, illuminating the book on the bed as well as the side of his face. His focus was on what he was reading and a slight curve of his lip could be seen.

She lay the pad down on the desk, leaning her head on her hands.
What does this mean? Is this real or a figment of my tired, overactive imagination?
When Ivan first called her, he begged her to come and see if she could get any images of where Erik was. She wanted to say no, but he sounded so heartbroken and afraid. She agreed to go, but only to see if there was anything to be gained from being around others who might know something.

I was so unprepared. Too much violence clogging every thought.
She had hoped that she would use her gift by being suddenly overwhelmed with an image of someone taking Erik, but had been unprepared for the emotions that flooded her when in the presence of those they talked to.

Self-doubt filled her being as she stared at the drawing.
It could be any child. It could be the boy from the class. Maybe I’m drawing what I think might be happening, but isn’t really happening. Aughh!
She slapped her hand down on the art pad, her fingers poised to scrunch the paper into a wad. Her breath came in short spurts and once more she felt the loss of her grandmother acutely.

Babushka. I don’t know what I’m doing.
I can’t possibly pin Ivan’s hopes that Erik is still alive by these drawings. That would be so cruel.

Her heartbeat slowed down as she allowed the calm of memories of her grandmother to wash over her. She could hear her say,
“Accept the gift and believe in yourself.”
Warmth washed over her as she opened her eyes and peered down at the image.

She wondered if she should give them to Bart.
Would he want them or believe them?
They had made such progress in burying his misconceptions…
if he saw these drawings, would it send him right back to ranting about her pretending to be a psychic?

Sitting in the tiny room, she realized she was too much of a coward. The memory of the kiss they shared filled her mind, pushing aside all possibilities of ruining it.

Standing, she shoved the art pad into her large bag and, tossing it over her shoulder, headed down the hall to the teacher’s lounge. No longer willing to give up her originals, she made copies before driving home.

I’ll give the drawings to Mitch
.
He can do with them whatever he wants.
For a moment, she felt guilty that she was not going to give them to Bart, but they parted on such a peaceful note, she hated the idea of tearing down what they had built.

*

Faith sat across
from Mitch in the coffee shop, watching his face as he scanned the copies of the drawings. She already explained where they came from and her reticence to share them with Ivan.

“Have you shown these to anyone else?” he asked, flipping through the pages.

“No, no one.”

He looked up at her, flashing a smile, “Not even Bart?”

“No.” She saw the doubt in his face and she felt the need to explain, although, she did not want to. It felt too personal. Too raw. Sucking in a deep breath, she said, “At first, Bart didn’t seem to want my assistance and, to be truthful, since I’m no longer working with him, it made more sense to call you.”

Nodding, he said, “These are really interesting, Faith. Like you, I’ve got no idea if what you see in your mind has anything to do with Erik, but I’ll share these with Krustas. Who knows? He may recognize something.”

Releasing a breath, she had not realized she was holding, she nodded, “Good. Good. That’ll be the right thing to do, I’m sure.” Pausing for a moment, she then asked, “Mitch? What do you think? About Erik? I can’t help but think of that poor child, away from his home and frightened.”

“I honestly don’t know,” he answered. “It would be pure speculation to hazard a guess as to whether or not he’s still alive.” Seeing her wince, he added, “But the FBI is doing everything we can to find him, regardless of what Krustas thinks. Sure, we’d love to take down all the organized crime, but finding Erik is our priority.”

She nodded slowly, allowing the idea that her drawings were proof he was still alive to chase away her doubts. Checking her watch, she stood, saying “I’ve got to get home. My cat will be ready to gnaw my ankles if I don’t.”

Mitch stood with her, placing his hand on her arm. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to grab dinner somewhere?”

Gazing up at the handsome agent, she shook her head. “Thanks, Mitch, but I’m…” her voice trailed off as she realized she had no idea how to answer him.

“You’re taken?” he asked, his smile still in place. “Bart?”

“No, no, I’m not taken,” she answered truthfully. But smiling as she walked out of the cafe, she admitted to herself,
But I’m hopeful
.

B
art lay awake,
unable to sleep, thoughts of the unsolved mission and the beautiful Faith heavy on his mind.
Why did I imply to the guys I wouldn’t be seeing her again when the only thing I want to do is call her?

His phone vibrated on the nightstand next to his bed and, instantly alert, he grabbed it, seeing Jack’s name identified. “Boss?”

“Looks like you and Ms. Romani will be working together once more. Mitch called and said the FBI would like you two to interview Sergio Krustas. They are digging into him and he is rising to the top of their list. It seems as though he has a long reach outside of prison.”

Instantly the idea of Faith being not only in a prison, but in the presence of more filth, made him grimaced. “I can’t go alone?”

“You got a problem with working with her?”

“No, it’s just…I hate seeing her inside a prison and talking to one more crime lord asshole,” he responded.

“If it were up to me, I’d say she doesn’t need to be involved at all, but this is actually coming from Ivan himself.”

“Fuck, I know he’s desperate, but he’s seriously grasping at straws with her.” Sighing, he said, “Is the meeting set up for tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Krustas has already called her. You can pick her up about nine a.m. and you’re to be at the prison at eleven.”

Disconnecting, he lay back on the bed, throwing his arm over his head, sighing deeply.
I get this fuckin’ assignment over with, I’m asking her out on a proper date!

*

Pulling up to
Faith’s apartment building several hours later, he saw her coming out of the door before he had a chance to jump out of his truck. He hurried around to open the door for her.

She smiled shyly at him, uncertainty filling her expression. “Hi,” she said, offering him a travel mug of coffee.

“You’re a lifesaver,” he effused, taking a sip of the hot drink as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

“How long will it take us to get to the prison?”

“About an hour and a half,” he responded. Glancing to the side, he took her in. Her long hair was sleek and shiny, pulled back into a low ponytail. Her cheeks were rosy with the cool morning air. A navy coat cinched at the waist covered her clothes, but the grey pants with the heeled boots underneath caught his attention.
Fuck, and will catch the attention of every swinging dick in the prison…guards and inmates alike!

“I know you don’t dress provocatively, but I gotta ask because of the prison visitation rules. Your blouse, under that,” he nodded to her coat, “is it…um…does it cover everything?”

She saw the way he attempted to avert his eyes from her chest and she could not hold back the grin. “I went on the internet and checked out the visitation procedures, so I’m wearing a very boring blouse, I assure you.”

The thought of any blouse on her was provocative to him and there was no way it was boring even covering the assets that he now could not keep his mind off of. “Good,” he groused, adjusting himself in the driver’s seat.

Several miles passed in silence. He hoped, after the kiss, they would fall into an easy camaraderie, but she appeared tongue-tied this morning.
I didn’t contact her yesterday so she probably thought I was never going to call.
The realization that this was his modus operandi hit him. He never called a woman back. Stealing another glance at her holding her coffee with both hands as she gazed out of the window, he knew she was different from other women. He had not only lied to his friends…he had lied to himself.