Seeing Love: Saints Protection & Investigations by Maryann Jordan Read Free Book Online Page A

him and Anton that Sergio can still be a threat.”
    “You talking to Ivan this afternoon?”
    “Yeah. I’m gonna talk to him about the psychic medium he’s hired.”
    “Just remember, you’re on the job regardless of who he’s pulled in.”
    “Got it,” Bart replied, disconnecting before tossing the phone to the console before running his hand over his face. Jesus, what have I gotten myself into? The more he thought about how she duped him with her innocent, doe-eyed appearance, the angrier he got. My job might not be to discredit you, but I sure as shit will work to do just that!
    *
    Faith drove to her apartment, angry tears streaming down her face. Oh, grandma. This is why I never told anyone what I saw when I was little. No one understands. She could not get the vision of Bart’s furious rant against her out of her mind. His accusations stung as his words sliced through her. Asshole! Who does he think he is? Pulling in a ragged breath, she parked her old car, leaning her head on the steering wheel for a moment before walking up the stairs to her apartment. Dropping her bag and kicking off her shoes, she walked the few steps to the worn sofa and plopped down. As she looked around at her meager surroundings, his words echoed. You won’t be getting rich off anyone else. She would have laughed if the situation were not so ridiculous. Rich? What does he think I do?
    Thirty minutes passed while she lay back on the sofa, trying to quell her racing thoughts. The images of his handsome face twisted in anger—in rage—were stuck in her mind. Pulling out her phone, she googled the name, Taggart. The first thing that popped up was an article about Arlene Taggart and other wealthy widows in Virginia Beach being taken in by a swindler who was caught before the women lost any money. Great. Just great. Arlene Taggart must be the grandmother he mentioned.
    Grabbing her art pad, she closed her eyes, willing her mind to focus. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she quickly began sketching, allowing her pencil to flow over the paper, freely drawing lines, circles, shapes, shades. Bart’s angry face rose from the page, his rage palatable in the portrait. She was panting by the time it was finished and tears of frustration came again.
    Tossing the pad on the sofa, she rose and moved toward the kitchen, which was no more than a row of cabinets ending with a sink, next to a stove and refrigerator, both the avocado color of a long ago era. Eating a quick lunch, she rinsed out the dishes, stacking them back onto the drying rack. I’ve never felt so alone. Not even after grandma died. Oh, Babushka, I miss you.
    Walking back to the sofa, she picked up the art pad turning to a clean page. This time, her pencil flowed without anger or frustration. Slow strokes crossing the paper. Another image began to take shape. Another image of Bart appeared, but this time with the flirty, crooked smile he flashed. Funny, he would wink at the waitress but didn’t pay any attention to her. But to me? This smile would come out constantly. For a while he focused on me…and it felt…special. Damn!
    Sighing deeply, she turned off the lights and walked back down to her car. It was a little early, but she wanted to make sure she got there in time. She would have to tell Mr. Krustas that she would be unable to work for him.
    As she headed down the road, she was restless as the image of a small boy, smiling in a windowless room filled her mind once more.
    *
    Bart arrived at Constance’s house early for their meeting. Mrs. Dukakas opened the door to him, and said, “Mr. Anton Krustas will meet with you in the study, but he isn’t here right now.”
    “Actually, I wanted to talk to Mr. Ivan Krustas.”
    A small smile crossed her face as she nodded and turned toward the dining room. Bart walked behind her, seeing Ivan sitting alone, at the end of the table. Ivan looked up and nodded toward the housekeeper.
    “Can you bring Mr. Taggart some refreshment,