No One Left To Tell no-2

by Jordan Dane

  But while he focused on the second man, he had lost McBride. With all the sounds of men overhead and the mix of scents in the air, his sensory radar betrayed him. He strained to hear the sound of breathing. Where was McBride? Raising his chin, he sniffed the air. Still nothing.

  As Christian turned, he felt the knife. A gasp burst from his lips, the thrust stealing his breath.

  He felt searing heat from the blade as it punctured his belly. His eyes watered with the agony. McBride held him close, stepping in for the kill. The man twisted the blade upward, his breath warm on Christian's face.

  "Arrgghhh," Christian cried out. "Oh, God."

  Even through intense pain, he heard Raven's muffled cry, thankful she couldn't see. A bead of sweat trickled down Christian's cheek. It stung his eye as it mingled with a tear.

  "That's gotta hurt." McBride wedged an elbow into his throat, propping him against the wall. The man pulled out the knife, forcing another choked gasp from his lips.

  "You're mine." The whisper mocked him. "Don't fight me."

  Christian smelled the sickening sweet odor of his own blood. His legs grew numb. Only the weight of McBride held him in place. The chill of shock skittered across his shoulders as he sucked air into his lungs. His belly churned hot, slick with blood. He shoved against the man, trying to fight free. But his arms felt heavy and sluggish. Blood loss had taken its toll.

  All he could think about was Raven.

  "Shhh. Just let go. I'll make sure—" McBride never finished. The words hung in his throat.

  The mercenary howled, a long, wailing cry, then dropped to the floor. The haunted cry echoed, its sound pulsing through the emptiness. A low murmur of voices, too far away to hear.

  Without McBride to hold him up, Christian slid to the cement, his body deadened. Taunting his senses, he heard the lethal efficiency of a knife thrusting into flesh again and again. He fought for consciousness.

  What the hell was happening?

  So focused on the kill, the man never saw it coming. And Jasmine took her time, indulging in the moment.

  She only wished she'd entered the maze sooner, to save Nicky's son from getting stabbed. Not knowing how bad the wound was, she took it out on McBride.

  The man held her comrade in arms, pinning him to the barricade with a meaty forearm. She crept up behind him, knife poised. The bastard held an advantage with his height and bulk, but Jasmine knew how to remedy that.

  With a thrusting jab and a powerful slice across, she tore into his hamstring muscles, crippling him. McBride dropped like a rock, shrieking in pain. His terror fueled her with adrenaline. As he rolled onto his back, she kicked the knife from his grip, hearing it clatter across the floor.

  With conviction, she rammed a knee into his chest, clutching a fistful of his hair. The man quieted long enough for her to speak.

  "Blue Blood sends his regards."

  "Go to hell, bitch!"

  "You first."

  She slid the knife across his throat, bearing her weight into it. A warm spray baptized her, sticky sweet. The man's body rocked under the pressure, then surrendered to the blade. She committed every detail to memory.

  Nicky would want to hear it all.

  A stillness bathed the empty space. Even Raven had stopped thrashing. Christian felt death heavy in the stale air. Then a presence knelt by his side. Soft fingers touched his cheek. A woman's voice whispered.

  "You better not die on me. At least, not until we've been formally introduced."

  In spite of the pain, a smile shaped his lips. "My name is—"

  The beautiful Asian woman touched a finger to his lips. "Save your strength. I am a patient woman who loves a good mystery. I will find you, when the time is right."

  Her hand traveled down his chest, trailing to his wound. The metallic tang of blood lingered in the air.

  "Hold this in place. Help is on the way." She braced a cloth to his belly, applying pressure to stanch the bleeding. The muffled sound of police sirens filtered through the haze. The cavalry had arrived.

  He closed his eyes in relief, comforted by her gentle ministrations and soft voice. Then, she surprised him. Her lips touched his, stifling his gasp at the intimacy. He resisted, but she held firm, ignoring his objection.

  When she released him, he asked, "Why did you—?"

  "I possess the soul of an ancient warrior and the skill of a thief. I take what I want." She chuckled, a soft, feminine sound. "I had better leave before your woman discovers me."

  His woman. He liked the sound of that. The dark eyes of Raven filtered through the shadows, warming him with her light.

  "Not to mention the army of blue outside. The law and I do not always see eye to eye." She fumbled for his hand, placing it on top of the cloth to replace her own.

  "I can't imagine why." Even in his condition, he felt obliged to dole out the sarcasm. "You intervened, saved Raven and the priest. I owe you."

  From a distance away, her voice found his ear. She had started her prudent retreat.

  "And I will not forget that, my love. There may come a time when I collect on that promise, if you survive."

  A high-pitched ringing filled his ears, muffling the sound of her voice. As he slumped against the stockade wall, his heartbeat slowed, faintly thrumming in his head. With the blood loss, his sensory skills faltered to nothing. He never heard his mystery woman leave.

  The police tactical unit rammed the side door. Flashlights strobed the shadows. A dim haze flickered over the stockade wall like a surreal hallucination, the twilight end to a nightmare. The flurry of activity slowed to a crawl before his eyes.

  Still, Christian caught sight of Raven, tears shimmering on her skin. Or had he imagined her beautiful face? He pictured her dark eyes reflecting the luster from a single candle. Then darkness edged her radiant face, despite his attempt to stop it. Without the strength to pressure his wound, he felt his arm grow numb. His hand collapsed to the floor.

  He struggled to keep watch over Raven, but failed in the effort. His head too heavy to hold up any longer, he lowered his chin to his chest. With his release, pain ebbed from his body, fading with the rhythm of his shallow breaths.

  Finally, blackness won.

  CHAPTER 18

  For an instant, her gaze focused on the light up ahead. Emergency crews hustled to treat the wounded and haul off the dead, their faces bleak with the daunting task. And her fellow officers were busy rounding up the rest of McBride's men. The warehouse parking lot was a lesson in controlled chaos.

  Raven emerged from the darkened belly of the old warehouse, her body racked with pain. Drawing in a deep breath, she remembered how she'd felt just hours before, convinced she'd never make it back from Logan's hell.

  But Christian hadn't been so lucky. She squinted into the floodlights, holding up her bloodied hand to shield her eyes. With the other, she held Christian, his cold, lifeless fingers clutched in hers. She only hoped he would know she was with him.

  Strapped to a gurney, he wavered in and out of consciousness as the EMTs transported him to the ambulance. A plastic oxygen mask covered part of his face. Under the spiraling emergency beacons, his skin blanched in the light. A sickly pallor radiated over his skin, spreading like a disease.

  Seeing him like this, Raven felt a slow panic grip her heart.

  "Don't leave me, Christian. Not now," she whispered for his ears alone, squeezing his hand. As they neared the ambulance, his eyelids opened. The technicians loaded the gurney. Christian's gaze followed her as she stepped into the vehicle and knelt by his side.

  "Are you a-all right?" His voice weak and muffled under the plastic mask, he swallowed hard. "He didn't—"

  It pained her to see him striving to be heard through the breathing apparatus.

  "Can I?" She gestured to one of the EMTs, asking if she could remove his mask.

  "Just for a minute. Then I'm gonna need some room to recheck his vitals once we get under way." The man pulled back the blanket covering Christ
ian's bare chest, monitoring his breathing through a stethoscope. He spoke into a radio clamped to his shoulder. "Lungs still clear. Will draw some blood for type and cross match. We're heading home."

  The engine to the emergency vehicle rumbled. As they pulled away from the warehouse parking lot, the sirens wailed. The motion of the vehicle jostled Christian. She bent over him, lifting the breathing device. She felt the warmth of his breath on her skin.

  "I'm fine. Thanks to you." She touched a finger to his cheek, tears welling in her eyes. "You risked everything . . . for me."

  "Seemed like a good idea at the time." Hurt colored his eyes. "How's the priest?"

  "Father Antonio is okay, just really shaken. While they were stabilizing you, they took him to the hospital to get checked out. I just wish this never—" She choked on her regret.

  "This was all McBride. Don't take responsibility for what that sick bastard—"

  He coughed; pain surged across his eyes. "Oh, God," he gasped.

  "Christian ... I can't lose you. Please—" A sob lodged in her throat.

  "Don't worry. I'm pr-pretty st-stubborn. And you owe me . . . dinner, remember?"

  Every word was a struggle, his weakness more pronounced. But even with pain etched on his face, she saw through his attempt at humor, for her benefit. And she loved him all the more for it.

  "How could I forget?" Her fingertips longed for the feel of his skin. She gently pressed her lips to his, caressing his face with a hand. Then she gazed into his eyes, laying a palm to his chest to feel the soft, steady beat of his heart. "I love you, Christian."

  "What t-took you so long? You had me . . . when you ordered m-me to assume the position." He grimaced, his eyelids drooping. "Spread 'em, scumbag."

  She pressed a knuckle to her lips, suppressing nervous laughter.

  "I never called you that." She shrugged. "I thought it, maybe—"

  She wanted to keep him talking, fearing she might not hear his voice again. Every moment with Christian felt precious—a gift.

  "Raven?" He squeezed her hand, straining to stay alert. But he was fading fast.

  "I'm here, Christian." She touched his cheek. "I'm not going anywhere."

  He stared blankly ahead, as if he couldn't see her.

  "Want you to know, if s-something should h-happen. I'd do it again. No regrets. I love—" Slowly, his eyes fluttered closed, his head leaned to one side.

  Raven held her breath, letting his sweet words wash over her like a cleansing rain. She ran a finger across his lips, then repositioned the oxygen mask.

  With Christian passed out, she turned to the grim-faced ambulance attendant, trying to hide her fear. "What's our ETA?"

  Lakefront Memorial

  Downtown Chicago

  Raven paced the waiting room, bleary-eyed with the late hour. The surgery was taking longer than expected. Christian had been out of her sight more than four hours with no word on his condition. As ominous as that sounded, at least he was still alive. In her mind, no news was good news. Yet for her, time became a boundless chasm, one without a beginning or an end. Images came and went, her perception clouded by a suffocating fear.

  Would she ever see Christian again?

  Her thoughts turned to Fiona. In the ER, a nurse took what little patient history she knew of him, then asked a very simple question. "Is there anyone we can call? Now would be a good time to contact next of kin."

  Closing her eyes briefly, Raven filled her lungs to garner strength. "No. He has no one—not anymore."

  The nurse left after a curt nod, the door hissing as it closed behind her. Now, the empty waiting room echoed Fiona's betrayal. Alone to endure the vigil,

  Raven slumped into a chair. She had no idea how to contact the woman. Did Fiona love her son enough to come forward, risking possible arrest for the murder of her husband? Her involvement in the death of Charles Dunhill might never be discovered, but Raven vowed to uncover the truth, especially if Christian—

  She pushed the thought from her brain.

  Her mind waged war against the thought of living her future without him. Hell! Who was she kidding? Her life began the day they first met. He awakened something in her, something she had never felt before. As she leaned her head back against the wall, tears filled her eyes. She gazed up at the clock as it squandered precious minutes, struggling to keep her eyes open. Shutting them only reminded her of the ordeal she'd barely survived.

  A motion to her right caught her attention. The waiting room door opened. As Raven turned, a friendly face greeted her.

  "How is he, Detective?"

  "Father Antonio, please sit." She laid her bandaged hand on the chair next to her, forcing a weary smile. "He's still in surgery. Are you okay?"

  "Yes, thanks to Mr. Delacorte. I owe him my life."

  "Yes. I just hope—" She closed her eyes, demanding her brain to focus on the positive. He was still alive, still in surgery.

  "God does work in mysterious ways." The priest reached for her uninjured hand, tugging at it affectionately.

  "Yes, I've heard that said a lot lately." She smiled.

  "I know it's a cliche, but so true. God had brought your friend to my door on many occasions. I used to be afraid, perhaps intimidated by your Mr. Delacorte. Something in his eyes scared me, like death found refuge in him. But after what he did for us both, I can no longer believe that. I owe him everything. I just hope I get a chance to tell him how I feel."

  "He knows, Father."

  "No, you don't understand, most likely because I'm rambling." The priest glanced down at her hand as he held it, closing his eyes for a moment. He took another breath, then spoke softly. "In that room, in the dark, when I was by myself—I could do nothing but think. And I have to admit, I wasn't ready to die. I have never been so scared."

  He looked up and found her eyes. "But when you came, I found the courage to hope. You could have left me behind, but you didn't. I will always be grateful to you for that."

  "Father, you don't have to—"

  Father Antonio raised his hand to stop her. "Please let me finish. I need to say this, to fully grasp it myself." With a blank stare, he gathered his thoughts. "When your friend offered his life in place of ours, I have never seen such sacrifice—except in the Bible, of course. It gave me courage to face my own fear. In that moment, I felt a deeper connection to Christ. And I wasn't afraid anymore. I was ready to die."

  Raven understood the man's epiphany, and she had one of her own. "And when I saw what Christian had been willing to sacrifice, it had the opposite effect on me. I just wanted to live." She patted the back of his hand and crooked her lips in a smile. "I love him so much, Father."

  An odd sensation came over her. Just a short time ago, Christian had been a complete stranger. Yet now, she felt like she'd known him for a lifetime. He had risked everything to save her. Raven knew all she needed to know about the man she loved beyond all reason.

  The priest's voice drew her back. "I think after all we've been through together, you can call me Antonio." A shy grin warmed his face.

  "And you can call me Raven. I hope this is the start of a beautiful friendship, Antonio."

  "With such an auspicious beginning, how can it not?" His smile was fleeting. "Do you mind if I pray for your friend?"

  His simple request took a moment to sink in. Tears brimmed in her eyes as she nodded. She had no words for how she felt. Praying for Christian felt more like last rites. The finality of it scared her. Yet having Antonio by her side gave comfort all the same, a strange contradiction.

  Raven watched the priest mouth the words. The meaning clouded her mind. His familiar mantra soothed her, but an unsettling feeling of dread lurked beneath the surface of his kindness. A tear lost its grip and dropped to her cheek.

  She closed her eyes to shake the feeling, but a noise drew her attention. Raven turned her head toward the sound. As if in slow motion, the waiting room door opened once more. A man dressed in faded green stepped into the room.

>   Raven swallowed hard. Expectation took its toll. Her heart punished her eardrums. A rapid incessant beat. She gazed upon the doleful expression of a surgeon, his eyes depleted and unreadable.

  "Oh, please—NO," she cried, her voice drained of faith. She gripped the hand of the priest. "Antonio, I can't do this. I just can't—"

  CHAPTER 19

  St. Sebastian's Chapel

  Five Months Later

  Raven pulled the coat tighter around her neck as she walked, fending off the lingering chill in the morning air. The ground gave way with each step, still saturated from the runoff of melting snow. As blades of brown grass poked through, she noticed they were infused with tender green sprouts, a hint of the coming spring. She pushed open the wrought-iron gate that encircled the cemetery at St. Sebastian's. It creaked in protest and clanged when she shoved it closed behind her.

  This early on a Sunday morning, the cemetery was empty except for a tall, dark-haired man and a petite woman wearing a black hat, a veil covering her face. Dressed in long, dark coats, they stood with heads bowed, their backs to her. The image of grief left a memorable impression. She lowered her head, her gaze focused.

  In reverence, she neared the headstone marked Delacorte, then crouched in front of his. Raven ran a gloved finger along each letter, giving thanks to the man for his selfless act of courage. He had changed her life and touched so many others. Looking at the date on the marker, she commemorated his birthday with a dozen long-stemmed white roses, removing one for herself. As she stood, the fragrance of a single white rose filled her nostrils. Its velvety softness touched the tip of her nose.

  But she hadn't been the first to pay respects. A colorful batch of fresh flowers had already been placed on the grave, along with a new doll, replacing a worn, tattered one. The tiny cloth toy looked so lost in this place of death, a sad reminder of Christian's tragedy. It broke her heart.