No One Lives Forever

by Jordan Dane

  "Now's not the time. Be patient. We still need a diversion." Christian kept his voice low. He dared to hope he'd been wrong about Duarte, but the jury was still out. This could be nothing more than a falling out among thieves.

  Instead of responding to the chief's question, Captain Duarte did a strange thing. Christian watched as the man stepped toward the helicopter closest to him and opened the cargo bay door. He stood back from the aircraft and beckoned with a wave of his fingers.

  All eyes were on the shadowy cargo hold of the chopper. The fuselage rocked with a faint motion. Jasmine Lee slid from a seat in the dark and leapt to the ground with all the grace of a cunning feline on the prowl.

  "Am I the Asian bitch you referred to, Ricardo?" She narrowed her eyes. If looks could indeed kill, Chief Zharan would be slit cock to gullet with a very dull knife. "As you can see, Captain Duarte hasn't hurt me. In fact, he's been quite cordial. He made me see that we needed to talk. So I believe there's been a misunderstanding. And I, for one, would like to clear it up with the proper authorities as soon as possible."

  "This is bullshit!" Zharan spat. The man was more than angry. His charges against the captain would never hold up now. Like two gunslingers, Zharan and Duarte glared at each other, waiting for one to blink.

  But Jasmine tempered the tension with something else on her mind. Slowly, she walked across the clearing toward Nicholas as if no one else were there. Her stern expression and steely eyes melted as she approached him with each step, replaced by the face of a woman in love. Raven watched the two of them change before her eyes, influenced by a reserved dignity all their own. The amazing transformation in both of them surprised her. Ignoring all the danger, they held each other's gaze. Nothing seemed more important than feeling that first touch of a hand or catching the soft tremble of a lip fighting to hold back the emotion.

  Raven glanced over to Christian. He hadn't missed the exchange between his father and Jasmine. He still stood spellbound by it, and that made her smile. Even with a war on the verge of happening, the man Raven loved took the time to witness the quiet reuniting of two lovers.

  God, how I love this man!

  But no one else noticed Jasmine and Nicholas. With tensions high, Duarte sat on the proverbial powder keg, still trying to diffuse it. He made his point again.

  "As for what I want? I'd like for your men to lay down their weapons." He raised his voice so the men behind Zharan would hear. "As far as I'm concerned, they were only following orders."

  This caused a stir within the rank and file. Those able to speak English translated for those who couldn't. Duarte's offer swept through the men like a grass fire in high winds.

  "Don't make matters worse, Ricardo. Charboneau and his people are foreigners. Killing them would only stir up the American consulate, something our government would frown upon. And who would believe Mario Araujo, a man who had made his living off kidnappings at gunpoint? Advise your men to put down their weapons. We can settle this back in Cuiabá."

  Christian saw the tension mounting in Fuentes and pulled Raven closer. Duarte tried to downplay what lay in store for Zharan, but too much had happened. The captain had no idea of the friction building between Zharan and his top dog. Perhaps Fuentes had much more to lose with everything unraveling. The detective looked like a man faced with a harsh reality and all his options gone.

  Once again, Duarte yelled at the top of his lungs, "Put down your weapons and back away with your hands up!" He repeated his demands in Portuguese.

  But Zharan interrupted and countered with his own power play. "Anyone putting down their weapons will be shot. Do you hear me? " he screamed, red faced. "Fuentes? Captain Duarte is an armed fugitive. Take him into custody. If he resists, kill him."

  Most of the men backed off, but a handful near Fuentes reached for their weapons. In the second it took to raise them, a high-pitched whine shrieked through the air. Faint at first, then loud and distinct. It deadened with a sharp final crack. A man standing too close to Fuentes jerked to the right and pitched backward, but not before the back of his head exploded. A sniper with suppressed fire made the sound of silent death hard to forget. Fuentes had moved enough to change his fate.

  "Hit the deck!" Christian cried out, and hunched over, covering Raven with his body.

  But Jasmine had another agenda. And it had nothing to do with avoiding a fight.

  Even as men scrambled for cover, she ignored the risk to protect Nicholas. With a fist, she coldcocked the guy next to Nicky and grabbed the man's Taurus 1911 pistol. She had intended to disarm him and give the weapon to Nicholas, but two more men lunged for them.

  She shot one point-blank in the face. His blood spattered her cheek, making her flinch. When she turned, the other man had grappled Nicholas to the ground. They wrestled for a gun, but Nicky was bound in handcuffs. In seconds, it would be over if the bastard got off a shot. Jasmine wouldn't wait for the outcome. She could have shot him in the head, but a muscle spasm might force a nervous reflex in the man's trigger finger. She jammed the Taurus into the waistband of her pants and pulled a knife from a sheath on her belt.

  Jasmine knocked off the man's helmet and grabbed his hair. She yanked him back with one hand and gripped the knife hard in the other. In the same motion, she dug the blade deep under the man's ear and twisted it, severing the artery. His warm blood spurt up the knife and sprayed, but at least he released his grip on the gun enough for Nicky to grab it. The dying man clutched his neck and rolled to the ground, his face distorted with fear and pain. In a matter of minutes he would bleed out, but she wouldn't be around to witness it.

  Nicky tried to scramble to his feet, ready to do his part, but Jasmine wasn't done doing her duty. She had to get him to safety. Without hesitation, she grabbed his arm and hauled him behind one of the choppers, the nearest cover. Her sudden move caught him by surprise. Still off balance, he half-crawled to keep up and not be such a burden. Jasmine didn't have time to slow down. Moving targets were harder to hit.

  Nicholas was covered in blood, but she knew it wasn't his. When he was out of the line of fire, she breathed a sigh of relief and prepared to jump back into the fray to help Duarte end this, but something made her stop. For one brief instant, Jasmine stood over Nicky awash in euphoria. She had saved him, had done her job. She smiled, and in response, his expression softened into a crooked grin.

  But a shot rang out and took it all away.

  She felt a strong punch to her arm and chest. And the left side of her body flushed with heat. A bloom of red erupted on her chest. In shock, she looked down, the pain not yet registered. Her eyes rolled into her head and she collapsed onto Nicky. The blackness swallowed her.

  "Nooo!" he cried.

  Confined by handcuffs, Nicholas broke her fall as best he could. Once he had her, he gripped her hard to his chest as if he could make it all better by willing it done. He sat rocking her in his arms, his mouth gaped open with an unspoken Why? on his lips.

  Nicholas peered around the helicopter that Jasmine had used to protect him. She had shoved him to safety, leaving her in the open, a clear target. Across the clearing, Zharan stood with his gun still aimed.

  Nicholas blinked. He wanted to find a gun and shoot the smug bastard, but he only thought of one thing. Stop the bleeding! With his heart hammering in his chest, he laid her to the ground, cradling her head. Jasmine had a faint pulse and was barely breathing. He tore open her blouse and the body armor under it. In a fluke mishap, the bullet went through her arm and into her chest, bypassing her body armor via the armhole. As much as he hated seeing an exit wound, he knew enough to know it went clean through, preferable to a round that expended all its energy inside her.

  But no telling how close the bullet had come to her lungs or what arteries were hit. The handcuffs made his work almost impossible. He pressed both wounds, his hands spread as far as they would reach. Shooting and chaos swelled around him, but all he thought about was Jasmine.

  Her beautiful face blurred
through his tears.

  Damn it! She's not dead yet! Anger took control.

  "Don't leave me. Not now," he cried. "You hear me, Jasmine? Please . . . don't leave me."

  Nicholas blocked out everything. Now, nothing else mattered.

  But Christian couldn't say the same.

  Beside his father, a sniper round exploded and ripped through the chest of another of Zharan's men. Christian heard it from where he stood. It tore through flesh with a wet beefy sound. The hot smell of blood assaulted his nose, sickening and sweet. By the time the dead man hit the turf, a pool of crimson leaked out from under him, soaking the ground. Ignoring the horror, Christian lunged for the man's handgun.

  "Christian!" Raven screamed. "Look out!" Fuentes kicked the weapon aside and stood over

  him with a gun pointed to his forehead, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Christian stared down the barrel. He would die on his knees after all. But in that instant, a cold wave surged through his body, initiating from deep in his chest. Suddenly, he felt the weight of the talisman, fortifying him with its strength.

  It all rushed by in a blur, happening way too fast, until time abruptly stopped. The change punched him like a blow to the head, then muted to a calming hush.

  Christian felt every sensation as if he were the only one moving, like an out of body experience. In his head, he heard his own breaths and the rhythm of his heart, muffled and steady. And he saw Raven crying off to his right, her voice garbled. Two men had grabbed her arms and were pulling her away. Raven didn't fight back. She only watched the drama being played out between him and Fuentes.

  Near one of the helicopters, Charboneau was covered in blood and held Jasmine in his arms, but when his father cried out, no sound came from his mouth. Even Fuentes tensed his muscles and moved in slow motion.

  Christian saw everything with such clarity, as if he wasn't a part of it.

  But just as quickly the sluggish sensation came to a sudden stop. When it did, Christian stared into the barrel of a gun pointed between his eyes. And the sound of the detective's voice came through loud and clear.

  "See you in hell, Delacorte."

  That's when Fuentes pulled the trigger.

  CHAPTER 26

  Click. At the sound, Christian flinched. His breath caught in his throat, even with his heart thrashing in his chest.

  Fuentes's eyes flared, his face distorted with rage. Without hesitation, he slapped the bottom of the magazine, racked the slide of his weapon, and pulled the trigger. A glint of flying brass from the ejected live round caught the dying rays of the sun. All of it happened so fast, Christian had no time to react.

  Click. The gun misfired again.

  He wasn't about to give the bastard a third try. Christian shoved the man's arm aside with his cuffed hands and broke free from the line of fire. He leapt to his feet and moved in tight to Fuentes. Putting muscle behind it, he jabbed the man's throat with a brutal forward thrust of his elbow, cutting off the cop's air. Stunned, Fuentes dropped his chin with eyes watering and mouth gaped open. Spittle drooled from his lips. He grasped his neck.

  Christian wrenched the gun free from his other hand. It dropped to the ground. All he could do was kick it out of reach. He shifted his weight and drove an elbow back into the detective's stomach. When Fuentes doubled over, Christian turned to ram a knee high and sharp into his face. The man's head snapped back. He staggered backward like a drunk on a bender. Blood oozed from his nose and down his chin.

  "That's for me." Christian panted, his chest heaving with the adrenaline rush. "But this? This is for Raven."

  Fuentes shook his head and tried holding up a hand, but no words came from his mouth. Christian wasn't about to accept his surrender so easily. A flood of memories bubbled to the surface, fueling his fire. He lunged for Fuentes with a shoulder, picking the man off the ground with force. He slammed his back into one of the helicopters, then hit him with a flurry of punches to his body and face. Even with his hands restrained, he made every blow count.

  Fuentes cried out. "Arrghh . . . p-please."

  But Christian ignored his plea for leniency. He pictured Raven's face as the man degraded her in front of his men. Out of love, she came to Brazil to help, but Fuentes and his arrogant boss would have turned her good deed into tragedy by raping and killing her, leaving her body for the animals. And the images of the dead men back at the cave faded in and out of the shadows in his mind.

  He pounded and kicked the man's ribs until he heard a crack and felt one bone give. With the force of each blow, Fuentes's body lurched off the ground. His head lolled from side to side like a macabre rag doll. Fuentes could no longer defend himself. His arms hung limp at his sides. Only his legs kept him propped against the chopper.

  Christian shoved him to the ground onto his knees, then came up behind him. He wrapped his cuffed hands around the man's neck and yanked back. A fatal stranglehold or a crushed larynx, Christian didn't much care. With his head turning a deathlike purple, Fuentes grappled against his hands, grunting and writhing, the weight of his own body working against him. Christian pulled harder. As the man weakened, it got easier.

  "Christian . . . please." He heard a familiar voice, but couldn't stop.

  Even the tears he imagined in his father's eyes, when he looked him in the face for the first time, ramped up his anger. His father had narrowly escaped a living hell in that damned cave, only to be thrown into another nightmare, being forced to witness Jasmine dying.

  Christian's rage took hold and wouldn't let go. Not until he finally heard her voice.

  "Please . . . he's had enough. You're going to kill him!" Raven cried. "Please stop . . . for me. You're not like him. You're not a killer."

  When Christian looked up, he stared at her as if she were a stranger. She'd seen that look before and it always scared her. He loosened his grip and shoved Fuentes face first into the dirt. Raven reached for his arm and pulled him toward her, to reclaim him. He staggered, his chest sucking air. His fists were raw and covered in blood. When his rage finally subsided, he stared at Fuentes, unconscious on the ground. A bloody heap.

  Christian turned and shook his head, unable to look her in the eye or say a word. His shame took over. He'd given in to the dark beast he'd fought his entire life.

  Raven knew she had to distract him from his agony or the monster would find a foothold in his guilt. "Duarte's rounding up the rest of Zharan's men. It's over." Tears brimmed in her eyes. She couldn't believe it herself. They'd made it.

  The skirmish had been brief but had taken its toll with the number of dead and dying. Most of Zharan's tactical team had their hands up and knelt in the marshy sod, their faces young and scared. Duarte's men were searching them for weapons, then binding their hands with plastic restraints and shoving them to the ground. Those trained as medics were taking care of the wounded. The more serious were being loaded onto stretchers for the ride back.

  Zharan was handcuffed and under guard. By the looks of him, Duarte must have rearranged the chief's face with his fists after the man shot Jasmine. His hair was gnarled into a tangled mess and his polished smile was tarnished with blood and a chipped tooth. And that perfect nose now had character. A noticeable improvement all the way around.

  "It's over, but not for Jasmine, Christian." Raven fixed her eyes on Nicholas Charboneau, the man's hands and arms slick with Jasmine's blood.

  It didn't look good.

  Christian rushed by her and knelt near Jasmine. The sucking sound coming from the exit wound on her chest made his skin crawl. Unconscious, she struggled to breathe. Not a good sign. One of Duarte's men had an opened medical kit on the ground by her.

  The man had to act quickly. He fumbled through the packages of dressing and found what he needed.

  But soon, he cried out in broken English, "This . . . no good. Look for another." The young officer held out an occlusive dressing, an air and watertight trauma dressing used to treat sucking chest wounds.

  Christian saw wha
t he meant. The package had been torn open, exposed to the air. It made the blasted thing useless. The waxy coating of the dressing had dried out.

  "Get these off me. Hurry." Christian held out his hands. The young officer found his key and unlocked his cuffs, then did the same for Raven and Nicholas. With hands free, Christian rummaged through the med supplies for another one, but came up empty. "Damn it!"

  He remembered Zharan had ordered both helicopters be equipped with med supplies. Christian sprang to his feet and raced across the clearing. One of the field medics had the other kit, using it to treat a head wound. Christian knelt by the man and dug through the other medical supplies. All the while, the moist hissing of Jasmine's wound played on his nerves, a sound not easily forgotten.

  "Damn it," he cursed under his breath. The dressing he needed was missing from the second kit or had been used already. Now, he'd have to get creative. He grabbed what he needed and rushed back.

  "I got nothing, but maybe you can use these ... to improvise."

  The young man was still working on Jasmine to stop the bleeding and get two large-bore IVs into her. But when he looked up and saw what Christian held in his hands, he shook his head and shrugged.

  "How?" Pity edged his eyes. He'd probably received limited training, but had no idea how to make due with what he had.

  Christian looked down at the rubber gloves, empty IV bag wrapper, scissors, and tape in his hands. For a second, he shut his eyes. She needed a hospital and a chest tube, not his clumsy attempt at playing doctor.

  "What's happening? Why can't he help her?" His father tugged at his arm, smearing Jasmine's blood on his sleeve. When he figured out Christian was her last chance, his father asked, "Do you know what to do?"

  "Yeah, but I've got no time to explain." Christian nodded, acting more confident than he felt. "You gotta trust me."

  A cavity surrounded the lungs. Pierced by a bullet, the pocket would let air in and prevent the lungs from inflating right. To complicate matters, air wouldn't leave the lungs like it normally did, so each breath Jasmine took filled the cavity and the surrounding lung tissue with more and more air. If they left the wound untreated and waited for the trip back to a hospital, Jasmine would die from a growing pressure in her chest cavity, one that would push against her heart and twist the major veins and arteries closed. She'd strangle with the serious complications of a collapsed lung. Christian had seen it happen.