Kidnapped Hearts Page 3

  “Can’t, I need to keep an eye on Pamela.”

  “Make sure that’s all you do.”

  Jake groaned.

  “Remember the Alamo,” 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 New York City.

  “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 RappahannockRiver stirred below, offering to remove 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. Panama Jack, smiled at her.

  “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 University of Mary Washington.” She 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 Afgh
anistan.

  “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.”

  Jake chuckled. “My hair is a bit shorter.”

  Pamela closed her mouth. The man her mother had said to avoid came to her rescue last night. How had she not recognized him? Maybe because she hadn’t seen him in ages and, oh yeah, she had had the bleep scared out of her.

  A loud motor caught their attention. A motorcycle drove slowly past the café.

  Jake hissed and shifted in front of Pamela.

  The driver wore an emblem on the back of his jacket. Pamela leaned to get a better look, but Jake’s body blocked her view. She inched over, and he moved, preventing her from seeing. The dance continued until the motorcycle turned the corner.

  Jake looked at Pamela. “May I talk to you for a second in your office?”

  Marge looked from Pamela to Jake. “Are you the man who came to my Pamela’s rescue last night?”

  Pamela smiled at Marge’s never-ending devotion.

  Jake nodded.

  Marge cupped the side of Jake’s face. “I always knew you were a good boy.” A pat on the cheek followed.

  Jake chuckled and followed Pamela to her office.

  Once there, she stood behind the desk and looked at the man looming in the doorway. Panama Jack in all his splendor didn’t compare to this man’s natural good looks. Except for a small scar on his forehead, Jake had no other noticeable flaws.

  Jake closed the door then faced her. “How are you after last night?”

  “I’m fine.” He may have to know her whereabouts, but it didn’t include letting him into her mind.

  His eyebrows rose, studying her. “That good?”

  Maybe she answered him too quickly to be believable. She wanted their discussion to finish as soon as possible. This whole situation made her uncomfortable. “Who drove the motorcycle?”

  “You might want to sit down for what I’m about to say.”

  Pamela watched him. All humor had left his face. Actually, she hadn’t seen him smile since leaving Marge. Sweat pebbled above her brow. Her sweating was really becoming a problem. She slid a hand across the dampened skin and sat in the chair behind the desk. From the grim expression on his face, she knew she wouldn’t like what he had to say.

  Jake sat in the chair opposite her and linked his fingers in front of him. He looked about the small office before focusing back on her. “Before I elaborate on the man on the motorcycle, I need to see the other notes you’ve received.”

  “I don’t know where they are.”

  Jake’s elbow rested on the arm of the chair as his finger pressed against his temple, considering her. “Do you remember what’s on them?”

  The words on the notes played across her mind, day and night. However, up until now, the words hadn’t actually sunk into her brain as truly being dangerous. An eerie feeling slid through her body, and the overwhelming sensation that what she thought was a silly prank, a joke, was an actual threat, left her weak kneed. “I remember. I found the first one under my windshield wiper. The note said: Give back the bearer bonds. I didn’t understand it. I presumed teenagers in the neighborhood had played a prank on me.”

  Jake’s finger slid down his face and along his chin. “And the second?”

  “The second read: Leave the bearer bonds in the trashcan by the City Docks or your mother will suffer the consequences.” Pamela swallowed. “I knew the second note didn’t sound like a prank, but I don’t have much to do with my mother. Why would someone threaten her? We’re not close.” Pamela propped her elbows on the desk and cradled her face. “I don’t mean to sound heartless, but threatening my mother who lives in California doesn’t make much sense.”

  Jake studied her, remaining silent for several seconds before blowing out a breath. “I’ll need to see the notes.”

  “Like I said, I don’t have them.”

  His eyes questioned. “Okay.”

  A headache started to form. “I’m not lying.”

  “I didn’t think you were.”

  “Your eyes said differently.”

  He chuckled. “I’m thinking.”

  She applied pressure to her temples, trying to relieve the tension. “What are you thinking?”

  “That someone dragged you into dangerous territory, and I’m wondering why.” Leaning his elbows on his knees, he clasped his hands together and watched her.

  Why was he watching her so intently? She sighed, might as well tell him how careless she was at dismissing the threats. “I threw the notes away as soon as I got them.” She folded her arms on the desk. “Wait a minute.” The trashcan near her desk overflowed with paper and today’s mail. “The cleaning girl came down with the flu and hasn’t made it to work for a few days. I found each note on my way to work, so I might have thrown them in here.” Pamela dug hurriedly through the trash, spilling some of it on the carpet.

  Jake knelt in front of her and helped. One by one, they scanned each piece of paper until one piece remained. She nodded, and he uncurled the paper.

  “Give back the bearer bonds,” he grumbled. Standing, he glanced down at her. “I’ll take this for analysis. Where’s the other one?”

  “I don’t know. I must have tossed it somewhere else.” She put the trash back in the can and stood. “Jake, what’s happening?”

  “I don’t know. The FBI has a case investigating a terrorist named
Sanjar.”

  She gasped and slumped into her desk chair.

  “You’ve heard of him?”

  “Anyone who owns a TV has heard of him.”

  “Since I haven’t had a television in years, I’ll take your word for it.”

  That gave Pamela pause. Why? Ignoring the thought, another one seeped its way into her mind. Did he think she associated with terrorists? “Am I a suspect?”

  He shuffled his feet. “Every person is suspect, until they’re not.”

  Pamela stood. Her chair rolled behind her, hitting the printer table. “Excuse me.” Her finger hit the surface of her desk, punctuating her point. “I’m not in cahoots with any terrorist.”

  “I have to check every angle before I can dismiss a person.”

  “Well, you’re barking up the wrong tree looking at me.”

  He touched her shoulder and moved her until she faced him squarely, his gaze intent. “Maybe so, but in the meanwhile, I or one of the other agents has to keep an eye on you.”

  His eyes flicked to her mouth, paused, and then shifted back to her eyes. “No argument?”

  She shifted her gaze to his nose. Looking at his eyes unnerved her. What were they talking about? That’s right, he wanted to babysit her. “I told you last night that I don’t want a babysitter.”

  He rubbed his hand across the back of his neck and turned away as a hiss escaped him.

  She flopped down in her chair to put space between them, attempting to remove the heat radiating from him. Too late, the hypnotic beat of anticipation pulsed between her legs. She pressed them together and sucked in her lips.

  A second later, his face fierce, he clasped the arms of her chair and spun it until she faced him. His eyes met hers. The pulse turned to a throb, and she crossed her legs.

  He leaned in close.

  She couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. She waited for the unbearable image of Sam to form as it always did when a guy sought to kiss her since the attack. Jake cleared his throat, and all thoughts of Sam disappeared.

  “Listen to me. Sanjar is one evil son of a bitch, and until we have that asshole locked up, you’ll do whatever I tell you.”