Serial Love: Saints Protection & Investigation
Read Serial Love: Saints Protection & Investigation Online
Authors: Maryann Jordan
Tags: #romance, #Fiction
Saints Protection & Investigations Series
By
Maryann Jordan
Serial Love (Saints Protection & Investigation Series)
Copyright © 2015 Maryann Jordan
Kindle Edition
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.
If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, then you are reading an illegal pirated copy. If you would be concerned about working for no pay, then please respect the author’s work! Make sure that you are only reading a copy that has been officially released by the author.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design by: Andrea Michelle, Artistry in Design
Editor: Shannon Brandee Eversoll
Format: Paul Salvette, BB eBooks
ISBN: 978-0-9968010-1-0
I dedicate this book to my mother, who taught me to love, to live, to explore, to create. She was educated in a time when many women did not pursue education. She taught both kindergarten and college classes. She often greeted me home from school with homemade chocolate-chip oatmeal cookies. She listened when no one else would and understood me better than anyone. She was my first best friend, and still is. Alzheimer’s has taken her memory and wit, but cannot take her love.
Prologue
E
ight-year old Jack
Bryant walked along the gravel drive, shuffling his feet as he kicked at the red dirt. The school bus had already discharged the other children living in the big houses in town before making the long journey into the country to his parent’s farm. He could hear his father’s tractor in the field next to the driveway, but did not look over. The events of the school day, fresh on his mind, diverted his attention away from everything except his anger.
By the time he entered the kitchen in the large farmhouse, even the sight of his mother pulling out a tray of cookies did not make him happy.
“Jacques,” she said, warmly. “You look like you could use a cookie.”
He tossed his backpack onto the table and slumped into a chair. The aroma of chocolate chip cookies fresh from the oven made it difficult to maintain his pout, but he attempted it nonetheless.
“Fine, I’ll have one,” he grumbled.
She poured a tall glass of milk and placed the drink on the table along with a saucer filled with several cookies. Eyeing her son, she sat down at the table and helped herself to a cookie as well.
“Hey,” he complained, watching his mom eat the chewy goodness. “That was mine.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes while he quickly ate the other cookies and drank the milk. The snack had the desired effect—he relaxed slightly in his seat, his stomach now satisfied.
“So, do you want to tell me what had you in such a bad mood when you came home?” his mother asked. Her kind eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled at her only child.
“I hate being teased,” he blurted, feeling embarrassed at the admission.
Her son was tall for his age, often mistaken for being at least ten years old already. “Teased? Who’s teasing you?” she asked.
“Some of the kids.”
“And what are they saying?”
“It’s my name. It’s a stupid name,” he confessed. “No one else is named Jacques. Tommy Perks says so.”
“Who is Tommy Perks compared to God?” she asked, her expression full of compassion.
Jack sat quietly, knowing there was no answer to that question. Sighing heavily he nodded, dejection still on his face.
“My father was named Jacques,” she said, telling the story he had heard many times. “In the little village where your grandfather was born, the boys were named for saints. Your name…and his were no different.”
Jack had lifted his gaze from the empty plate to his mother’s smiling face before she plucked another cookie off the platter to serve him. Munching slowly, he focused on her words.
“St. James the Greater knew Jesus. He was one of his first followers. Do you understand how important that is?”
“Then why couldn’t my name be James? That sounds cooler,” Jack complained.
His mother’s laughter rang out in the kitchen as she nodded. “Yes, I suppose that does sound
cooler
to you.” Sobering, she continued, “When your grandparents escaped the Great War and moved to the United States, they brought with them the traditions of their beloved country. And in France, boys were often named Jacques for the Saint. He is also known as St. Jacobus.”
Jack did not remember his grandfather, but his grandmother had lived with them until she passed away last year. Just like now, she would sit in the kitchen and listen to how his day at school had been. She would tell him stories of her life in France when she was a little girl and the handsome village soldier she had married.
Jack’s mother added, “Since Jacques was your grandfather’s name…well, my son, it became your name.”
He sat, finished the last of the cookies offered to him, his full stomach taking the sting out of Tommy Perk’s words. “Yeah, I know,” he admitted. “At least I can be called Jack.”
“Yes, you can be called Jack,” she agreed, patting his hand. “You know, St. James was considered to be a very impulsive and self-centered man before developing an understanding of holiness.” She peered at her son carefully before adding, “You may follow in his footsteps.”
Sliding down from the chair, he turned to walk out of the door knowing his chores on the farm needed to be finished before dinner. With his hand on the doorknob, he looked over his shoulder at his mom still sitting at the table, her face gentled with a smile for him. Impulsively, he ran back throwing his body into hers as his arms wrapped around her middle. She held her only child tightly as mother’s tears slid from her eyes.
Then with the exuberance of a little boy, he was running outside ready to face the world once more.
Twelve Years Later
Jack Bryant stood
proudly at the bus stop as he waited to board. With an associate’s degree under his belt, he was prepared for the next phase of his career—the Army. The Greyhound bus rumbled down the street as he turned one last time toward his parents waiting with him.
His father, face lined and worn with years in the hot sun working on the farm, stood stoically as he lifted his hand to the son who was now a man. Jack glanced down at the hand offered, but pulled his father into a hug instead.
“Dad, I’ll make you proud,” Jack promised, noting the sting of tears in the back of his eyes as he embraced his father. A large man, not often given to outward signs of affection, surprised Jack as he returned his son’s hug.
As his father pulled away, he looked up at his son’s eager expression and replied, “Already have, boy. You already have.”
Jack turned to his mother now openly crying, and lifted his arms, allowing her to rush in as well. Trying to make light of the situation, he said, “Mom, I’ll miss you, but I’ll miss your cookies the most.”
She laughed through her tears as she hugged him tighter. As the squeal of the bus’ brakes interrupted their moment, she moved out of his arms, reaching into her pocket. He looked down at her outstretched hand, a silver pendant glistening in the sunlight.
Pressing it into his hands, she said, “It’s a St. James medallion. It was your grandfathers. I know you can’t wear it in the Army, but he is the patron saint of soldiers. I…I just want you to have it. May he keep you safe.”
Clearing his throat loudly to choke back the emotion, he clenched the pendant in his fist. Lifting his eyes to her face, he offered a smile. Nodding to both, he snatched his bag off the sidewalk and turned to walk to the bus.
With a glance over his shoulder, he said, “I love you mom. You too, dad.” As he settled into the seat looking out of the window, he noticed his father placing his arm around his mother in a show of affection and support. Realizing his hand still clenched the pendant, he opened his fingers. He rubbed his thumb over the silver, feeling the indentations, thinking of his name. St. Jacques. St. James.
Sucking in a huge breath and letting it out slowly, he shoved the pendant into his jean’s pocket. With a last wave goodbye, he headed toward his future. Army. Special Forces. Then? Jack was not sure, but with the medallion in his pocket, he breathed easier.
Ten years later
T
he three girls
left the bar, clinging to each other as they teetered on their high heels. Tipsy giggles were heard as they walked across the campus. Celebrating her twenty-first birthday getting drunk was so cliché, but Tonya Perkins loved it. She was the last of her friends to turn twenty-one, so they decided to go all out. Their short skirts and low tops left little to the imagination, but what the hell, it was a celebration. Starting with dinner where the servers sang
Happy Birthday
and ending with visiting several bars, each one offering the birthday girl free drinks, the trio now staggered back toward their apartment.
It was after midnight and the clicking of their heels resounded loudly, although the campus was hardly empty. Tonya loved Montwood College and recognized many of the faces passing by. Sybil and Alice had been her roommates since freshman year and while many college students did not get along with their first roommates, the three had been inseparable. Graduation was only a few months away and then real life would hit all of them. But for now? Continuing to celebrate was all she wanted to do.
Pounding footsteps came from behind and the three girls turned, still teetering on their heels as they saw two of the men they had been dancing with at the bar running toward them. Holding hands and giggling, they stopped as they waited.
“Damn, they’re one man short,” Alice said, recognizing the blond she had been tangled with on the dance floor.
Tonya saw that the two men approaching were the two that had been dancing with her friends. The blond-haired man that had been buying her continuous birthday drinks was not with them. The two men halted in front of the trio, eyeing Sybil and Alice.
“We thought you’d like to extend the evening,” one of them said, sauntering up to Sybil. The other threw his arm around Alice, slurring his words as he invited her back to his apartment.
“Guys,” Alice whined. “What happened to the guy all over Tonya? We can’t just leave her.”
The men looked confused for a second before one spoke, “He wasn’t with us. We thought he was her boyfriend.”
Tonya laughed and gave her friends a slight push toward the men. “Go on, bitches. I’m almost at the apartment and I’ll be fine. You two have fun and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“Well, then hell boys, you’re outta luck,” Sybil joked, “because she never does anything.”
Offering goodbyes, Tonya watched the foursome turn and walk in the opposite direction. She pulled her keys out of her purse and headed down the block to their place. The area was illuminated with streetlights and the security light at the front of their apartment building. The only dark spot was near the trashcans. Passing the alcove where the garbage dumpster sat back from the road, she gasped as hands reached out to grab her. A foul smelling cloth was placed over her nose and as her body slumped backward, the stars in the sky were the last sight she viewed before blackness descended.
*
