Divine Trilogy

by Cheryl Kaye Tardif

  He let out a huff. "Fine."

  "Look, I can cancel my―"

  "No." Natassia shook her head. "We'll hold down the fort."

  "We're having dinner at Red Lobster tonight," Ben said, jerking his head in Natassia's direction. "To discuss the case, of course."

  Jasi held back a chuckle. Based on the glint in Ben's eyes, he was finally warming up to their new partner.

  "Of course."

  "You could always join us later."

  Ben had a half-scared look on his face. Like a kid who was about to perform in front of a live audience. She'd never seen him so vulnerable. She liked it.

  "Sorry." She glanced at her watch. "I've gotta run."

  Natassia walked her to the door.

  "Do you think this outfit is too much?" Jasi whispered.

  "Depends on what look you're after."

  "What does this outfit say?"

  "Smart and sexy."

  Jasi buttoned the jacket.

  "Okay," Natassia said, making a face. "Skip the sexy."

  "Perfect. And by the way, I won't be late."

  "Stay out as long as you want." Natassia arched a brow. "This old friend of yours, does he have a brother?"

  "No."

  "I guess I'll have to make do with Ben's company."

  Jasi hesitated, wondering if she should say something. She glanced over Natassia's shoulder. Ben was watching them, probably wondering what they were whispering about.

  "Ben takes this job very seriously," she said finally. "He's focused on solving every case that comes his way. And he likes things a certain…way."

  "You mean he's old school."

  Jasi chuckled. "I guess you could say that."

  "Got any tips on how I can get on his good side? Providing he has a good side"

  "You might want to dress more…uh, conservatively."

  Natassia's eyes flared in mock outrage. "What, no skinny jeans or cleavage? Hell, that's no fun."

  "If it's fun you're after, Ben isn't your guy."

  Natassia nudged her into the hall. "Yeah, whatever you say. Have fun, Jasi. Don't come back early." She waved once, then closed the door

  In the hallway, Jasi mulled over Natassia's words.

  Have fun? She wasn't sure she knew what fun was.

  A quick look at her watch made her curse. She was nearly twenty-five minutes late―half an hour by the time she'd reach the dining room.

  On the way down to meet Zane, she thought of Natassia. Obviously her new partner was attracted to Ben. Did he return the interest?

  At the entrance to The Study Lounge in the Embassy Hotel, Jasi slipped past the customers who were waiting to be seated.

  A young woman intercepted her. "Can I help you?"

  "I'm meeting someone and I'm late."

  The hostess smiled. "Ah, this way please."

  She led Jasi toward a table in the back corner. Zane was sipping a glass of red wine, looking rather relaxed and as handsome as ever. He smiled and stood as she approached.

  "Sorry I'm late," she said hurriedly.

  "I thought maybe you'd changed your mind."

  He pulled a chair out for her. She sank into it, suddenly realizing that she was famished. The hostess passed her a menu, but Zane slipped it from her hands. "Allow me."

  With the suaveness that bespoke of a lifetime of dining out, he said, "We'll have the crab-stuffed mushrooms to start and a bottle of your best champagne."

  "Iced tea for me," Jasi said.

  Zane flashed a set of perfect teeth. "Champagne. We're celebrating, Jasmine. Besides, you're off duty now, right?"

  She sighed. "Yes, I'm off duty."

  When the hostess left, she said, "What exactly do you think we're celebrating, Zane?"

  "Being together, of course. Tonight it's just you and me."

  The light above their table shone down on Zane, illuminating the pale golden streaks in his hair.

  He's almost angelic looking, she thought.

  She suddenly recalled one of the steamy showers they had taken together in her old apartment. Nothing either of them had done that day was very angelic.

  Her face grew hot.

  "Something wrong, love?" he asked.

  "No, I…it's a bit warm in here."

  A waiter approached with a plate of mushrooms, two crystal flutes and a silver bucket containing the bottle of champagne on a bed of crushed ice. He efficiently set everything on the table and poured the champagne into the flutes.

  "Are you ready to order, miss?" he asked Jasi.

  "Two of your finest steaks, mate," Zane said without missing a beat. "Medium rare. Baked potatoes with the works and two Caesar salads."

  Jasi's mouth thinned. "I'm perfectly capable of ordering my own food, thank you."

  Zane gave her a wide-eyed look. "Of course you are. I happen to remember that we like the same things."

  "That was three years ago," she snapped. To the waiter, she said, "I'll have the shrimp fiesta pasta and a tossed salad with lemon juice."

  When the waiter was gone, she gritted her teeth. "Some things have changed, Zane. You shouldn't presume you know what I want."

  He reached across the table. "Come on. Truce. Let's just enjoy each other's company."

  Annoyed, Jasi picked at a mushroom. It probably would have tasted heavenly if she had been dining with anyone else, but for some reason the mushroom caught in the back of her throat and she had to wash it down with―what else?―the champagne.

  She took a sip and made a face.

  "Now what's wrong?" Zane asked.

  "You forgot. I don't really care for champagne."

  "I'll order some wine for you then."

  She sighed. "No, I'm good."

  There was a momentary lapse in conversation.

  "So tell me," she said finally. "What are you really doing here?"

  Zane's eyes burned into hers. "I'm here for business mostly. I'm meeting with a few clients this week, then heading back to New York for about a week. Actually, it could be a bit longer."

  "Ah, good ole New York, New York." She couldn't control the sarcasm that oozed from her words.

  Zane sighed. "Look, Jasmine…I'm sorry that last time I was away longer than I promised."

  "Away? You make it sound like you were only gone a week."

  "I did try to call you. A few times."

  "I never got any calls."

  "Every time I got your voice mail, I hung up. Call me a coward―"

  Her eyes narrowed. "I did."

  The waiter came back with the salads. As soon as he left, Zane said, "Yeah, I was a coward. I apologize. You deserved better."

  You're damn right, she wanted to say.

  Resentment clawed at her throat and she swallowed hard, willing her feelings into the background.

  "It's really good to see you again, Jasmine," Zane said softly. "I've missed you."

  "Could've fooled me. You seem to have moved on quite easily." She stabbed at a piece of cucumber with her fork. "You've been a busy boy. I heard that you testified in some heavy cases."

  He gave her a surprised look.

  "We do get the news in Vancouver," she said dryly.

  "Did you know that I no longer consult for the CFBI?"

  Now that surprised her.

  "No. What happened?"

  He shrugged. "I decided it was time to move on, work as an independent."

  "Really? So you're doing what―family therapy, couples counseling?"

  He smiled. "It's far more rewarding and definitely less stressful than dealing with serial killers."

  They were briefly distracted when their dinner arrived.

  "I saw your face plastered all over the news," she said. "You know, the Dubois trial?"

  Zane nodded. "Now that was one sick bastard."

  Sixty-year-old Andre Dubois owned a cattle ranch outside Edmonton's city limits. 'The best beef in Alberta' was his motto. 'Organically fed.' It took investigators years before they had enough evidence to charge D
ubois, exposing him as one of Canada's most ruthless serial killers.

  Dubois had raped and decapitated his victims―twenty-seven prostitutes―over a period of nine years. He kept the heads as trophies, wrapped them in brown paper and stored them in the freezer, alongside the grade A T-bones, ground beef and ribs. He even labeled the heads. 'Blade Roast.'

  She glanced at his steak and shivered. "I couldn't eat beef for months after they found out what he'd done with the bodies."

  "Is that why you don't eat steak anymore?"

  "I never said I didn't eat steak. I said I could order my own meal."

  "I really thought he'd buried the bodies or dumped them in the river," Zane said. "So much for organically fed cows. I'm glad I'm not a beef inspector. Can you imagine finding human remains in the feed?" He sliced off a juicy piece of steak and put it in his mouth.

  She picked at her salad. "No, I can't imagine."

  "Sorry," he said. "Not good dinner conversation, is it?"

  "Not really."

  She focused on removing the eight jumbo shrimp from a bamboo skewer and mixed them into the pasta. The linguine noodles were tossed in a white wine and cilantro cream sauce. Light and satisfying.

  Zane topped up her champagne glass.

  "I'm good," she insisted. "I still have notes to go over."

  He pouted. "The night is young, Jasmine. And so are we. I'm going to take you dancing afterward."

  "I don't dance."

  "Sure you do." He grinned. "I remember distinctly holding you in my arms. What was that song you liked so much?"

  "I don't remember. I have work to do tonight."

  "All work and no play―"

  "I know, I know. I'm a dull girl, Zane. But I don't have time to play."

  "The Jasmine I remember was anything but dull."

  She tried not to let his words affect her.

  "I'm not the same Jasmine." I'm not a pushover who sits by the phone every day waiting for you to call.

  "No, you're a workaholic," he said dryly. "There's more to life than work. You should go out, have fun, live life."

  "I am living my life. The way I want to."

  She couldn't allow Zane to gain any ground with her. Underneath all of his charm, he was a guy who would never commit to her, and she wasn't going to be used and tossed aside again.

  "It's obvious you still have trust issues," he continued. "You should work on that."

  "Don't analyze me, Zane," she said, gritting her teeth. "I am not one of your patients."

  "I know that. I'm trying to help you."

  "Help me?" She put down her fork, afraid that she might throw it at him.

  Why the hell had she agreed to have dinner with him?

  Why? Because you want closure, you idiot.

  "I have everything I want or need, Zane."

  He gazed at her for a long moment. Then he gave a nod and turned his attention to his meal. While they ate, she studied him discreetly.

  Zane Underhill was her Greek Adonis. That's what she used to think. Everything about him was too damned perfect. He had a smile that could melt even the most stubborn of hearts. His blond hair was luxurious and wavy. His body was fit, defined by daily workouts in his home gym. And his hands…

  She stared at them now. Tanned hands with long fingers. Piano player hands, she used to joke, even though Zane couldn't carry a tune, much less play a musical instrument.

  But he sure played me.

  Those hands had done things to her. They had caressed every inch of her, making her ache and cry out for more.

  She bit her lip. Stop it! Nothing good will come from thinking about what was, what used to be. It's over!

  However, one look in Zane's eyes told her she was wrong. He wanted her. A tremble swept over her as she realized something else. She wanted him too.

  "Fine," she said. "I'll go dancing. For one hour only."

  What the hell am I doing?

  "Jasi went out? With who?"

  Natassia eyed Ben. Was he jealous?

  "An old friend," she said. "She didn't mention a name."

  Ben stood near the window, glancing at the street below, making it impossible to judge his expression.

  "Are you hungry?" she asked.

  "Sure. Take out? Or do you want to go downstairs?"

  "Let's order in. I know a good Japanese restaurant. You like sushi?"

  "Good God, don't tell me you're into raw fish." His mouth turned down. "I'll have something cooked, with beef and noodles…or rice."

  Natassia grinned. "Chicken?"

  "No," he said, distracted. "Beef."

  She hid a smile.

  "I doubt Jasi will stay out late," he said. "We'll go over the case until she gets back."

  "Who says she'll be back tonight?"

  Ben eyed the door, a worried look on his face.

  "Here." She handed him a data-com. "It's Monty Winkler's. I've got Sampson's. I'm making notes on what I find."

  "I'll do the same then. We can compare notes later."

  His data-com beeped.

  "We've got a text message from Matthew," he said. "He finally got a hold of Deirdre Dailey. She's driving back from Niagara Falls tomorrow morning. She should be here in the afternoon."

  "She's number one on my list of possible suspects."

  "We also have a warrant for Winkler's legal documents. If that was a will Jasi saw in the briefcase, then we'll have a copy of it tomorrow."

  "It'll be interesting to see who Winkler's beneficiaries are," Natassia said.

  "I'm more interested in who killed him," Ben replied.

  And why.

  15

  The Belle Fleur Hotel, distinguishable by its green Normandy copper roof and prime riverside location, was located a few blocks east of the yacht club. Only four years old, the Belle Fleur was a luxurious hotel that catered mainly to celebrities and foreign diplomats.

  She'd stayed here once, shortly after it opened.

  With Zane.

  She entered the hotel's elegant bar. Crossing the dimly lit room, she stopped halfway to admire the view of the river from a floor-to-ceiling window.

  "Can I get you something, ma'am?"

  The man behind the bar was young―early twenties probably―and not bad on the eyes, but she still wanted to smack him for the, "ma'am."

  She held out her badge. "I need some information."

  "How about a drink first?" He gave her a Tom Cruise smile and tossed a towel over one shoulder. "You look like you could use one."

  "I'm on duty." She slid a photo of Porter Sampson across the bar. "Have you seen this man recently?"

  "Almost every night."

  "Really? Does he come here alone?"

  The bartender chuckled. "I never said I saw him here. He's the dude that's always on the news. Politics, right? Minister of something or other."

  Jasi scowled. "So he wasn't in here the past week?"

  "Not on my shift. Lysette takes over after six. She's in the back. I'll go get her." He vanished for a moment, then reappeared with a bleached blonde at his side.

  "Bonjour, mademoiselle," the blond said. "Can I help you?"

  At first glance, Lysette seemed to be in her early thirties, but upon closer inspection, Jasi realized she was probably closer to fifty.

  If that's what facial rejuvenation does for you, I might have to reconsider in twenty years or so.

  "Do you recognize the man in this photo?"

  "No, I never seen him before," Lysette said in a heavy French accent.

  "Thanks anyway."

  Jasi tossed a twenty dollar bill on the counter and eyed the bartender. "Buy a book on Canadian politics."

  In the lobby, she mentally crossed the Belle Fleur Hotel bar off the list. That's it then. No other bars in the area.

  She decided to grab a quick salad and iced tea in the dining room. Seated at a table near a window, she thought about the case while enjoying the mesmerizing view of the Ottawa River, the same river that Monty Winkler had dr
owned in.

  Does it hold some kind of special meaning?

  Winkler had made some enemies along his climb up the political ladder. Yet no one stood out.

  She was lost in thought, trying to put the pieces of the puzzling case together when someone called her name.

  She looked up. "What are you doing here?"

  Zane Underhill flashed his perfect white teeth. "Jasmine McLellan, are you following me?"

  "Not likely."

  "You couldn't wait for dinner?"

  "I thought you were staying at the Embassy Hotel."

  "I am. I had a meeting with a client near here." His eyes captured hers. "Ottawa sure brings back good memories. Remember?"

  "No," she said.

  She knew exactly what he was referring to. That one hot summer three years ago when Zane had coaxed her into taking a vacation in Ontario. He'd rented a yacht and they cruised around the Thousand Islands. He'd even taught her the basics―starting the twin engines, steering, navigation. She decided she was better at driving a car. A few days later, they had rented a Porsche and toured the Niagara Falls area before making their way to Ottawa for the Canada Day celebrations.

  A sudden image of sweat-soaked bodies writhing in passion amidst tangled sheets and spilled wine came to mind. Sex with Zane was like an intoxicating drug, and she'd responded like an addict, always hungry, always wanting more.

  "What I'd like to know is how you found me," he said with a grin. "I don't recall telling you I was coming here."

  "I'm not here for you," she said bluntly. "I'm following some leads."

  "Ah, I should've known. You're here for some secret CFBI case." He sat in the chair across from her. "Let's have some coffee and you can tell me all about it."

  "You know I can't discuss an investigation with you."

  Zane ran a hand through his hair. "You can trust me, Jasmine. I won't breathe a word to anyone."

  "Sorry, Zane."

  "How about a coffee then? We can catch up."

  She shook her head. "I agreed to dinner. You'll have to wait until later."

  "I see you are still as committed to the CFBI as you've always been. You know, I've helped put away my share of criminals."

  Zane was right about that. He had interviewed numerous serial killers, rapists and con artists. His psychological profiling had resulted in a high rate of convictions.