Authors: Cait Jarrod
Kidnapped Hearts (4 page)
Jake dropped his empty bottle in the
cooler. “She shouldn’t be alone.” He paused, gaining his thoughts. “Hal, I
haven’t dismissed the fact that Pamela could be working with Sanjar. Either
way, if she’s working for him or not, I believe she’s in danger.”
“She’s not involved. I’ve known that girl
since she came into this world. She’s as good as gold, that one.” Hal finished
his beer. “Who’s with her now?”
“Agent Lever and a couple men are posted
near the front and back exits of The Memory Cafe.”
“The Bureau has your full cooperation in
this case, Jake?” Hal asked, the Director’s authoritative tone coming out.
Jake stared at the water. He wanted to
take Sanjar down.
Hal must have thought his silence meant
refusal. “Jake, this job is in your blood. It’s who you are.”
Jake pushed off the rock and faced the
man who offered him a job over a decade ago. “No, it’s not who I am, it’s what
I did, but the Bureau has my full attention.”
Hal nodded. “By the way, I don’t want
Donald knowing anything about this investigation just yet.”
Jake agreed. Years ago, he remembered
Donald Young’s reputation for his worry over his daughter. The man was
furiously protective where she was concerned. “Roger that.”
“Glad to have you home, son.” Hal slapped
Jake’s back then headed toward his car.
Jake slumped back on the rock. Home,
whatever that was. “See ya, Sir.”
Larry rose. “Man, I could stay here all
day, but I better go. An agent is picking me up any minute.”
“New guy?”
Larry nodded. “We had to replace you.” He
shoved off the tree and grabbed his cooler. “I’m taking the new guy to a bar
tonight. Want to go?”
“Can’t, I need to keep an eye on Pamela.”
“Make sure that’s all you do.”
Jake groaned.
“Remember the
Larry said over his shoulder as he walked toward the driveway.
A minute later, a dark sedan slowed in
front of his house.
Jake stared at the water. He had longed
for the time the FBI would release him from his seclusion, so he could avenge
Jennifer’s death and put an end to Sanjar’s criminal activity. This time one of
FBI’s Most Wanted wouldn’t get away.
Chapter
Three
Pamela seethed over the fact that Jake
had pawned her off on another agent. Did he not realize she had trust issues?
The agent, whose name she learned was
Lever, dropped her off at the front of The Memory Café, then went to park the
car. She glanced around and spotted other plain dressed agents standing across
the street and another leaning against the brick, reading the paper. She rolled
her eyes, opened the door, and smiled. The glass had been repaired. The
handyman had received her voicemail.
She entered the dining room as the front
door opened behind her. Agent Lever nodded then sat at a nearby table. Still
not wanting a babysitter, she screwed her mouth up, losing her smile, and shook
her head. Clearly, her foul mood wasn’t leaving anytime soon. She looked around
the room. The early afternoon sun mocked her with its cheery luster as it
reflected off the chrome lining the bar in the café. “Agh.” She grabbed the
day’s mail from the corner of the bar and marched into her office. She looked
at the first envelope in the pile.
Plop. It landed in the trashcan.
She accepted Jake’s help, but she didn’t
want the help of the other men who were taking up residence in her place of
business. Giving her trust to one man was hard enough.
The next envelope had the same fate as
the first.
Even though the other agents had the same
credentials as Jake’s, she wanted them gone.
She read the return address on the next
envelope, the electric company bill. She tossed it on her desk by her computer.
Sweat pebbled on her forehead. The
anomaly of the situation started to weigh heavy on her. The other agents
couldn’t stay at her townhouse. She couldn’t have it, wouldn’t have it. She had
convinced herself to let Jake help her, but outside him and the men of the
BOFs, she wouldn’t tolerate anyone else. The office walls felt as if they were
closing in, suffocating her.
She sucked in a breath, then released it.
The sensation subsided. Damn Sam for putting her life in turmoil!
She picked up a fitness magazine and
speared it at the trashcan, and the contents spilled onto the floor.
“I don’t want a babysitter,” she fumed,
as her shoulders slumped. Not able to stand the trash on the floor, she righted
the can, tossed the rest of the junk mail in, then proceeded to clean up the
mess on the carpet.
She needed her good friend and protector.
Steve would help solve this ugly prank. She stepped backed into her chair and
stared at the desk, her eyes unfocused. Steve Anderson had been to her rescue
ever since the time she contemplated jumping from the dock into the turbulent
water, putting an end to the sadness. Her mind jumped back to that terrible
day.
Pamela
had won a spelling bee contest and received a gift certificate to her mother’s
favorite restaurant. That day, instead of hugging her grandparents, as she
always did when she arrived at The Memory Café, she dashed by Grand Ben and
Grand Ann toward her mother’s office. Her mother wasn’t there. Instead, her
father sat in her mother’s chair with a piece of paper clutched in one hand.
The other hand supported his head as he sobbed.
She
took the note from his hand and read that her mother wanted to become a model
in
“Dad,”
Pamela called.
“Not
now, Pamela.”
At
fourteen, Pamela’s interpretation of the letter and her father not wanting to
talk was distorted. She believed Vivian was disappointed in her only child, and
therefore, had left, leaving her father broken-hearted. The guilt overwhelmed
Pamela.
She
tossed her schoolbooks on the floor and ran as fast as her legs would go until
she reached the city docks and peered over the edge. The turbulent
her sorrow.
“I
wouldn’t,” a voice commanded.
She
slid her hands over her cheeks, drying them, and faced the most popular boy in
school.
“I’ve
pondered it. There’s nothing that’s worth jumping in water with a strong
undertow.”
Ever since that day when Steve stopped
her from plunging into the water and she learned his mother was dying from
cancer, they became close friends.
“Pamela.” A
deep voice demanded her attention.
She cleared her
head and looked at the doorway, expecting to see Jake, but other eyes gleamed
at her. The man had dark hair, sun-kissed skin, exquisite.
The handyman,
A.K.A.
“Are you done?”
she asked, not having any reaction to him.
“Yep, is there
anything else you need me to do before I take off?”
The innuendo
wasn’t lost on her. He had asked her out previously, but it was right after the
whole Sam incident. Besides, she didn’t feel the same zing for him as she felt
for another dark-haired man. “I don’t think so.”
“I’ll send you
a bill.” He winked, turned, and left.
Pamela watched
him leave her office. A second later, her head waitress popped into the office,
though her gaze followed the jeans walking toward the front door. “Panama Jack
has one fine ass.”
At five foot,
her sassy head waitress knew how to be discreet, as a rule, but not this time.
“Sue, don’t talk so loud.”
“Are you afraid
we’ll embarrass him?” Sue slowly shifted her eyes away from the jeans cupping
his muscular butt and looked at Pamela. “I think he stopped being embarrassed
when he turned fifteen. Women have been throwing themselves at his feet ever
since I met him.”
Despite her
foul mood, Pamela laughed.
After regaining
her composure, Sue said, “I saw the vases on the bar. Do you want me to
distribute them on the tables?”
“Yes, I’ll
help.” Pamela pushed away from her desk and followed Sue.
“I love irises
and daisies in an arrangement together.” Sue lifted the container of vases off
the bar and followed Pamela.
“They’re my
favorite. Grand Ann paraded flowers every Saturday evening.” They proceeded
across the black and white tile floor, positioning the vases on each of the
white-clothed tables, then moved beyond the French doors to the warm sun, which
no longer irritated her. Her grandmother, Grand Ann as Pamela affectionately
called her, had been the biggest fan of Pamela going to college. If it hadn’t
been for Grand Ann’s consistent support in her studies, Pamela might have never
gone.
“Hate to break
it to ya, Boss, today’s Friday.”
Pamela smiled
at Sue. “I know. When my Grandparents deeded me the café…”
“On your
college graduation day,” Marge Bonin broke in as she joined Pamela and Sue on
the patio, “I love this story.”
Pamela smiled
at the woman who radiated warmth and affection. From the time Pamela could
walk, she remembered Marge at The Memory Café working for her grandparents.
Then, when her mother left, Marge was there nurturing her, as a mother should.
When Pamela took ownership of the café, Marge continued to work for her as the
head chef of The Memory Café. Marge had a special place in her heart that
couldn’t be filled by any other.
Pamela
continued, “My friends and I toasted my new business along with graduating from
the
positioned the last vase in the center of a glass top table. “We implemented Cocktail
Hour that afternoon.”
“As much as I
love reminiscing,” Marge moved in front of Pamela and touched her arm, her
expression serious, “We need to talk. Please sit down.”
With
questioning eyes, Pamela did what Marge requested. “Is something wrong? Are
your sons okay?” Marge had two sons that were fighting in
“Sue, you will
need to sit as well.” Marge’s intense gaze never wavered from Pamela’s as Sue
slowly pulled a chair from under the table.
“Marge, you’re
scaring me. What’s wrong?”
“Pamela, I’m
worried about you. You’re walking around The Memory Café as if nothing happened
last night. I haven’t heard details, but two windows are broken. Why?”
“I can’t say
what happened because I haven’t been able to make sense of it.”
Sue nibbled on
her lips and remained quiet. Pamela’s eyebrows narrowed at her head waitress.
Sue always had something to say.
Marge pressed
further. “FBI men are inside and surrounding the café. We have a right to know
what’s happening.”
“I, umm … I
didn’t know what to tell you, so I said nothing.”
“Well, you
better think of a story before Cocktail Hour tonight. Once the BOFs discover
the events of last night, they’ll be upset you didn’t call them.”
“Marge,” Pamela
exhaled. “A man peeked in the kitchen’s back window, scaring me. A man came to
my rescue, nothing more.”
“Poppycock. If
there’s nothing more then why is the FBI here?” Marge asked.
“This sounds
juicy.” Sue leaned closer. “Who came to your rescue?”
Pamela glimpsed
Sue’s wide grin before turning her attention back to Marge, whose eyebrows
arched. “His name is….”
“Lordy, now
there is one fine male specimen.”
Astonished by
Sue’s comment, referencing the entire man instead of a part of his anatomy, she
rotated to see the specimen.
“Jake Gibson.”
Marge’s hands clapped together as she stood. “I haven’t seen you in years.”
Jake crossed
over the low chain-link fence separating the patio from the sidewalk. “Ms.
Bonin.”
“Stop being
proper, call me Marge.” She wrapped her arms around him. “Jake, I’ve missed
you.”
He kissed her cheek.
“I’ve missed you too, Marge. How are your sons?”
Pamela’s
eyebrows edged together. “You know one another?”
“Honey, Jake is
a childhood friend of my boys.” Marge touched his hair. “I like this look on
you better.”
“I’m Sue.” She stretched her hand, and Jake
took it in his. Sue blushed, actually blushed, and glanced toward Pamela. “I
think he has Panama Jack beat in the delicious department,” Sue hooted,
slipping free of his hand, then strolled inside to the dining room.
The light bulb
came on. She remembered a longhaired man hanging around the café helping
Marge’s sons with busing tables. Pamela pointed her finger in his direction.
“No wonder your name sounded familiar to me last night. You’ve changed.”
