No One Lives Forever no-3

by Jordan Dane

  He kissed the top of her head and laced his fingers through her hair.

  "Oh please..." she muttered. "Don't move. Anyone ever tell you? You make an excellent pillow."

  "Always happy to be of service." Christian smiled, breathing in the scent of her hair.

  "Oh, now that you've brought it up. Have I ever told you? You've really got that whole servicing thing down. Even better than the pillow thang."

  He heard the grin in her voice as she drew a finger over his nipple, making it hard. His bare skin erupted in goose bumps. The really good kind.

  "Speaking of bringing it up . . ." Christian pulled Raven to his chest, her naked body pressed against him. "You keep up the foreplay and you're gonna get a rise out of me."

  "And this is a threat. . . how?" she teased, nestling her chin on his chest. Her dark eyes stared into his. "You think I can't handle another go? I've got the ovaries to tackle anything you can dish out, bucko. Watch me."

  With a glimmer of the devil in her eye, Raven rolled on top and stared down at him, her legs between his. His body responded to her move. No doubt about it, he was up for the challenge.

  "Love to." Christian cupped her face in his hands, aroused by the warmth of her skin next to his. He kissed her long and hard, his tongue finding familiar territory. With her breasts pressed to him and her hips writhing between his legs, he wasn't sure he could hold back. His hands grasped her body, never getting enough of her.

  But like a quick douse of ice cold water, the phone on his nightstand rang, loud and shrill. His heart leapt at the abrasive noise.

  "What the hell?" For a split second he thought about not answering, but Chief Zharan had promised to get in touch. He kissed Raven again, saying, "I gotta take this."

  "Sure." She nodded and rolled off him, drawing a hand through her hair.

  "Hello?"

  "Is this Christian Delacorte?" A low quiet voice.

  Christian didn't recognize it. Whoever it was sounded nervous and about ready to hang up.

  "Yes. Who's this?"

  "Hector Salvador. You remember me . . . from the Guia Do Espirito?"

  Christian sat up in bed, a sudden jerking motion. The kid had the same last name as Bianca Salvador. A relative? Interesting.

  "Of course I remember. What's going on, Hector?" He tried to keep his voice calm and steady. Raven sat up beside him. Her eyes were fixed on his, reading into the importance of the call.

  "I have information you might find useful. Very timely, in fact." Hector let the silence build between them. The kid knew how to milk the moment. "Your pretty Asian lady friend might consider my call to be . . . beyond price."

  Hector was fishing for money and making no bones about it. And his English had improved . . . immensely. A regular scholar.

  "But I bet you have a price in mind. What do you want, Hector?"

  "I am a struggling student, working part-time at my aunt's store. In this economy, we could use the money. Perhaps what information I have would be worth your charity, to support my . . . education."

  "Call it what you want, Hector. Extortion is no way to fund your college tuition," he said, knowing he had to play this right. "Innovative, yes. Smart? Not so much."

  "This isn't only for me. I am motivated for a number of reasons."

  "Who are you kidding? Your motive is measured in U.S. dollars, nothing more." Christian found it hard to hide his skepticism.

  He knew when he was being played. The kid spoke so low, he barely heard him. Bianca probably stood within earshot, behind a nearby peephole. Or maybe Hector made the call with her complete blessing. Christian shook his head.

  "I'm not paying anything until I hear what you have."

  "That means I have to trust you."

  "Smart kid. See? You're learning already. The Hector Salvador college fund is working wonders." He switched the phone to his other ear and glanced at Raven. She leaned closer and touched a hand to his shoulder, a show of support. "If you have something good, we'll negotiate your college fund. You need a translator for that?"

  "No ... no, I don't."

  "Didn't think so. What's up, Hector? Spill it."

  Silence. Christian pictured him pondering his situation. He all but heard the slick wheels of Hector's brain working, greased by the promise of U.S. dollars. Or maybe he was conferring with his aunt. After a long moment he got back on the line.

  "Your lady friend . . . she was arrested outside the store ... on the street. Not ten minutes ago."

  Christian bolted upright, his eyes narrowed.

  "Jasmine arrested? By whom? Did you recognize the cop?"

  "Cops, but they were led by one man. She called him Captain Duarte. Your friend seemed to know him, and she didn't look pleased to see him. He took her away in handcuffs. Two unmarked sedans full of his men. One gray. One dark blue."

  Now he took a deep breath and shut his eyes. Jasmine had warned him some things were best accomplished alone. After he saw Raven at the suite door, he assumed she had meant accomplished by him. Now, he understood what she really had in mind. Jasmine saw this as her opportunity to go it alone, knowing he'd be . . . occupied.

  Damn it!

  Now he had no way of knowing where Duarte had taken her. The bastard had no grounds for an arrest, at least none that Christian knew of. If she weren't being held at police headquarters, he'd have no clue where to look. He might need someone on the inside.

  "Hector, I appreciate your help. If all this works out, I promise you I'll be plenty generous. You hear anything else, call me."

  Before the kid answered, Christian hung up the phone.

  "Bad news." Raven didn't phrase it as a question.

  Christian tossed aside the bed sheets and headed for the bathroom, his brain working on some semblance of a strategy. Without looking back over his shoulder, he answered, "Yeah. Get dressed. Jasmine's in trouble."

  Dressed in khaki shorts and a carao green tank and hiking boots, Raven crossed the living room to listen to Christian on the phone in the bedroom. He tried to get Captain Duarte on the line, but no one at police headquarters claimed to know his whereabouts. She knew a cover-up when she heard it. Cops across the globe protected each other's backsides, the universal code of her brothers in blue. And by the sounds of it, Christian had his bullshit detector on high gear. With voice raised, he didn't appear to be making much progress. She gritted her teeth, catching glimpses of him through the crack in the door.

  And what was up with this grand palace of a penthouse suite? Christian was used to this lifestyle, but the pretentiousness made her uneasy. The whole thing was bigger than her bungalow in Chi-town. And with the second bedroom door closed, she didn't have to guess about Jasmine taking up residence there. That made her downright mad. She trusted Christian beyond a doubt, but Charboneau's version of a female Kato was another story. The Asian beauty grated on her nerves.

  No, she didn't think much of Jasmine Lee, but Christian had obviously formed a bond with the woman while searching for his father, or else he would never have lived in such close quarters. Whether she agreed with it or not, she had to respect his feelings. Besides, Duarte sounded like a loose cannon. And a rogue cop made a deadly enemy.

  A soft knock at the suite door caught her attention. What now? After a peek through the peephole, she narrowed her eyes, unsure whether she should be grateful for the distraction.

  A handsome man in a sharp suit stood in the hallway, with another man at his side.

  "Yes?" she called out, not opening the door.

  "Police Chief Zharan to see Mr. Christian Delacorte."

  "Hold on a sec." Raven glanced over her shoulder to Christian, who was still on the phone, but she had his attention. "The chief of police is here to see you."

  He nodded and gave her a thumbs-up sign, talking fast and making excuses to end the call. Raven opened the door.

  "Come in . . . please." She forced a smile. "Christian is on the phone. He'll be off shortly."

  "I am Police Chief Ric
ardo Zharan, at your service, miss. This is one of my investigators, Detective Arturo Fuentes."

  Both men nodded a greeting and entered the foyer. Very gallant. Very formal.

  "I'm Raven Mackenzie, a homicide detective out of Chicago, back in the States. Pleased to meet fellow officers in Brazil."

  She kept a watchful eye on the half-open bedroom door, waiting for Christian to come out.

  "I had no idea Mr. Delacorte traveled with another woman . . . and one so beautiful. I have only met Ms. Lee. He is a lucky man to travel in such company." Zharan steadied his gaze on her.

  Raven ignored the chauvinistic flattery. Even wrapped in a seductive Brazilian accent, she knew the bullshit of a flagrant come on.

  "Actually, I only just arrived today." She kept the banter light, not wanting to broach the subject of Jasmine's disappearance or Duarte's alleged involvement until Christian joined them. As far as she was concerned, this was his turf. With her being a latecomer to the game, Christian knew far more about the situation than she did.

  The police chief meandered to the French doors for a look outside, showing only marginal interest in her explanation.

  "Sorry to keep you waiting, Chief Zharan. Can I get you or your man some coffee?" Christian offered, entering the room.

  "No, Detective Fuentes and I can't stay long," the chief said, declining for both of them.

  "You have anything new on Charboneau's abduction?" Christian caught her eye, giving Raven a vague sign to follow his lead.

  She knew him well enough to pick up on it. A rogue cop and a police chief he didn't trust entirely. Raven didn't need a wake-up call to know Christian should handle this. She went for the wet bar, poured a cup of coffee, and moved to the sofa.

  "Well, as I told you, we worked through the night following leads and backtracking Captain Duarte's investigation."

  When Christian heard Duarte's name, he jumped on the opportunity to ask about the man.

  "Excuse me for saying this, but if you had to backtrack Duarte, that must mean you questioned his work. Do you suspect him of something?"

  Zharan glanced to his man Fuentes with a pained expression. Clearly he did not feel comfortable speculating about one of his own men.

  "We don't have evidence to support that . . . yet. But it is not above our consideration." He looked away and cleared his throat. "I hope you know if there is any proof of his misconduct, steps will be taken. I assure you. I have made my career on stamping out corruption wherever I find it. No one is above scrutiny."

  "I appreciate your candor, Chief."

  Fuentes nodded in support of his superior officer. The detective held his hands behind his back, looking like ex-military, with a lean physique, thick neck, and buzz cut, his face stern and unreadable. Duarte had insinuated that Zharan might be more of a political figurehead, in name only. Yet from what Christian saw, the chief commanded respect from the men under his command, and got it. Another Duarte lie?

  "You said you worked through the night. Did you find anything new on Mr. Charboneau's case?"

  Chief Zharan laid out his exhaustive measures to stir up new leads, including an update on his communications with the American consulate and his plans for a raid on a tribal village in a remote area. Taking action held great appeal for Christian. Finally, someone with authority had taken control of the case.

  "So how good is your reconnaissance on this village? Any proof Charboneau is being held there?"

  "I'm waiting for confirmation now, but I've gotten pretty reliable statements from individuals who would have reason to know such things. Still, I want to be sure." The man shrugged, but maintained eye contact. "Mobilizing men in an area so remote is not an endeavor to be taken lightly."

  "Yes, I agree." Christian gave a quick glance to Raven. "In the spirit of our newfound cooperation on this case, I have something to share, Chief Zharan."

  "Oh? Please." The man nodded, gesturing for him to continue.

  "It's come to my attention . . ." Christian didn't know how to phrase it. No matter how he did it, the chief would know he'd held back until now. "Someone called me to say Duarte arrested Jasmine on the street earlier today. I've been trying to locate her, to get a lawyer if need be, but no one at police headquarters has been able to give me information on where Duarte booked her. Frankly, I'm worried. Can you help locate her? I could sure use someone on the inside."

  "Captain Duarte arrested her? On what grounds?"

  "The caller didn't say."

  "Who reported this?"

  Christian hesitated, unsure about giving up Hector's name.

  "Please, I know you have no reason to do so, but you must trust me." Chief Zharan snapped his fingers, and Fuentes turned his eyes toward his boss. "Detective Fuentes, call headquarters and see what you can find out. If Duarte cannot be located, advise me. We will not hesitate to put out a bulletin for his whereabouts."

  Fuentes pulled out his cell phone and punched in numbers.

  "Hector Salvador works at a Macumba store called Guia Do Espirito. He witnessed the arrest firsthand and called me."

  "How did he know to call you, Mr. Delacorte?"

  Fuentes interrupted, a convenient distraction. "Sir, I can't get a good signal for my cell phone here in the hotel."

  "Try the balcony, or downstairs if necessary," the chief suggested.

  The detective headed for the French doors, rattling in Portuguese once he got outside.

  "You've been very generous with your communication, and I appreciate all you've done," Christian offered, his eyes shifting from the chief to Fuentes on the balcony.

  "I can imagine your frustration at having to sit and wait. I see it is not in your nature." The man smiled. "You have a stubborn streak, I would imagine."

  "Guess that's true enough."

  When Fuentes came in from the balcony, all eyes were on him. The man shook his head and explained, in English this time.

  "Captain Duarte is nowhere to be found. And Ms. Lee has not been booked."

  Chief Zharan tensed his jaw. His anger could not be contained. Trying to regain his composure, he turned to Christian.

  "I will get to the bottom of this. When I return to headquarters, I'll put out a bulletin on the captain. In the meantime, we will confirm our plans for the raid on the village. I'll be in touch."

  Zharan and Fuentes headed for the door, but the chief turned when he got there.

  "I hope for the sake of Hector Salvador that Captain Duarte does not know of his involvement. He may be tempted to make another . . . arrest."

  "Well, he's not gonna hear it from me." Christian shook hands with both men and shut the door behind them.

  He pulled Raven to his chest and held her in silence. What the chief said shocked him, the honesty of it. The man showed more of his cards and didn't cover up his obvious disdain for Captain Duarte. That made Christian worry all the more for Jasmine. Normally, the woman could take care of herself, but with Duarte, she'd be severely outnumbered.

  This time, Jasmine may have met her match.

  Perhaps Hector was right, age had caught up to her. Bianca hadn't heard much through the door. Either that or Hector had gotten better at keeping his secrets. With dust rag in hand, she emerged from the storeroom, keeping an eye on her nephew. In time he would tell her all she wanted to know. It was his way. And she was a patient aunt.

  "You look happy." She smiled at the handsome young man, her dead sister's son. "Like a cat with a belly full of canary."

  Even in the pale light of the store, his dark eyes gleamed and he fought back a grin. His smile always reminded Bianca of his mother, her beloved younger sister Pilar.

  Hector had been the product of an out-of-wedlock union with her sister never naming the father. So when a virulent cancer claimed Pilar's life ten years ago, Bianca took her son in and adopted him, giving him a name. She shamed the rest of her family into accepting Hector. Eventually, it worked. An uphill battle she hid from him.

  When Hector came to work for he
r, he put in hours that would not hinder his schooling. Her offer had become more than an opportunity for employment and a means of support. The boy needed a woman's hand. Although Hector bore his grief like a man, at times he let his guard down enough to reveal the hurt eyes of a child. She had become a surrogate mother to him and had learned to read his moods.

  Now, without being asked, Hector joined her and took up a cloth.

  "Do my eyes deceive me? Hector Salvador stooping to do woman's work?" She shook her head and raised an eyebrow. "To what do I owe this honor?"

  One of her decanters of cemetery dirt was only half full. She'd grabbed the depleted jar and headed for the back room to fill it when her nephew opened his mouth.

  "My luck is about to turn. I can feel it." He teased. "Maybe that talisman around your neck will bring us good fortune."

  Ah, the exuberance and bottomless optimism of youth.

  Bianca fingered her talisman and rolled her eyes, but before she left, Hector grabbed her arm and kissed her cheek. The boy was devoted, but the sudden display of affection caught her off guard. Her cheeks bloomed with heat and she laughed out loud, stroking her fingers across her pearl necklace.

  "Sometimes . . . you make me feel like a young woman, Hector." She beamed, then furrowed her brow and waggled a finger at his mischievous face. "But most days, you remind me that youth is wasted on the very young."

  Before she turned away, he called after her. "Aunt Bianca?" His face turned serious. "One day, I hope I can repay all you've done for me."

  For an instant they had a moment. He held her gaze without a wisecrack. And Bianca returned it with a mother's pride. Eventually she shrugged and smiled.

  "You don't owe me anything, sweet boy."

  She fought a knot in the back of her throat. Before Bianca ducked into the stockroom, she glanced at Hector and caught his shy crooked grin, no doubt an asset when courting young ladies.

  Yes, baby sister had done well.

  At the counter, Bianca poured herself a half cup of coffee, careful not to let Hector see. The boy worried she wasn't sleeping, and the caffeine wouldn't help. At her age, sleep was only a distant acquaintance, but a rich cup of coffee was an old familiar friend.