by Jordan Dane
His next breath wedged deep in his throat. He swallowed hard. When she reached for his tie, Phillips tensed, grounded where he stood. Like staring into the hypnotic eyes of a cobra about to strike, he couldn't turn away ... or move. His feet were rooted.
"I suppose you are wondering how I knew where you lived." Charboneau's so-called bodyguard tugged at his tie, drawing it tight around his neck. A slow, deliberate move. "You'd be surprised what I know about you, Doc. Mr. Charboneau makes it a habit to know his associates."
"Please . . . my family is downstairs. Don't hurt them," he begged, despising the tremble in his voice.
"That is entirely up to you, as it's always been." Her voice was low and throaty.
Jasmine released the tension from the tie and initiated the knot, not looking at her handiwork. She kept her gaze drilled on him like a weapon. Even though he outweighed her, something in her eyes told him that he wouldn't stand a chance if he resisted.
"Tell me where they have Nicholas Charboneau." She wrapped the wide end of his tie over the narrow part, tugging at his neck. When he didn't answer fast enough, she added, "Surely your family means more to you than keeping their secret."
"Please ... don't do this," he begged. "I don't know who is pulling the strings or where they're keeping Mr. Charboneau. They threatened to kill my family if I didn't cooperate. If I knew more, I'd tell you. I'm not a brave man. Please believe me."
"Oh, that, I do believe, Dr. Phillips. Go on." She pulled one end of the tie under and over, tucking it through a loop. Her eyes never drifted from his.
"Some time back I started getting phone calls. The kind that made my skin crawl. He threatened my family and sent messages home with my kids. It made me sick." Phillips grimaced. The veins at his temple pulsed. "I've never met the guy. All I know is he's local and has a Brazilian accent. He calls me. Communication is a one-way street. I don't have a number for him."
"How is this man connected to Santo ... the one who took Nicholas?"
"I told you the truth when I said I didn't recognize Santo. I have no idea who he is."
She tensed her jaw, not happy. "And the clinic? How did he get you to add the medical facility if you never met? Mr. Charboneau didn't know about it . . . or approve the capital expenditure." Jasmine finished the knot and tightened it, yanking him forward to make her point. She cut off his air with a twist of her fist around the tie. "You better start making sense, Doc."
"Before I got the first call, someone contacted me asking to verify my passport. They said they were from the government and the inspection was just a formality, standard protocol. They wanted to see not only my passport, but for every member of my family." His eyes glazed over, bitterness reflected in them. "Several men in suits came to my office at Genotech, part of the arrangement. When I presented our documents, they confiscated them without giving me a reason. After that, the calls began. Now, even if I arranged for my wife to visit her parents back in the States, I couldn't get them to safety."
A voice muffled outside the bedroom door.
"Honey, your breakfast is getting cold," his wife called from downstairs. "You better get moving."
"Oh, God." His heart thrashed in his chest.
In reflex, Phillips pulled away from Jasmine's grip. His back hit a wall, giving him no place to go. Anticipating his move, she swept a foot under him and toppled him to the floor, using the tie for leverage. His hip hit the tile and sent a jolt of pain down his leg.
"Arrghh."
Before he knew where it came from, Jasmine held a knife to his throat and used his dress tie to pin him down. She shoved a knee to his chest. Her long hair hung over him, shadowing her menacing face.
His lungs burned and his face rushed with heat. She cut off his air, choking him.
"You make a move like that again . . ." She glared with fierce eyes. ". . . you're gonna mess up my tie. And that is no way to repay my . . . good deed."
The tip of the blade stung his neck. A warm trickle rolled along his jaw and the coppery smell of blood filled his senses. Oh God, she's cut my throat.
"Don't . . . p-please." He forced his arms to the floor, raising them above his head. A complete show of submission. "Just don't . . . hurt my . . . family."
He barely got the words out. No air.
"This silent partner of yours. He must be linked to the police." She loosened her grip on his tie so he could breathe. "We saw you take two homeless men into your lab last night, with the help of local cops. Guess that little point slipped your mind. What else are you leaving out, Doctor?"
Damn it! The man had told him Delacorte and Lee were under surveillance and everything was under control. He should have been warned when they lost them. Phillips saw where he ranked in priority. Rock bottom. All of it was coming undone. And he'ci be caught in the middle ... if he survived.
"Look, I told you. He threatened to kill my family. I couldn't—"
"And what do you think I'm going to do? You think this is a social call? You think I came to shop with your sweet little wife? Attend a PTA meeting?" She pressed on the blade and drew more blood. The necktie tightened, worse than before.
"Okay . . . okay." He gagged. "The guy is connected all over town. He knows everything. And yes, I think he's with the police, even though I can't confirm it. The bastard has you and Delacorte under surveillance."
"Had us under surveillance," she corrected with a wicked smirk. "We ditched his watchful eye last night to do the reconnaissance at Genotech. And as you can see, I avoided his scrutiny this morning to pay a call on you and your lovely family. In case you hadn't noticed, no one is safe."
Jasmine moved the edge of her blade down his cheek. His raspy breath filled the inside of his head, along with the throttling punch of his heart. When she traced the knife under his eye, a tear rolled across his skin and into his hair.
Oh,God... No!
"Now you're gonna tell me what's really happening at the lab . . . and at that clinic. And believe me, I'll know if you leave anything out." She pressed her knee into his chest. "Start talking."
To Jasmine, the setting was as foreign as Brazil, another place for her to feel like an outsider. Dense trees surrounded the split-level home. Suburbia, Brazil-style. Sunlight danced through branches and along pale yellow stucco walls and a red terra cotta roof. A stone terraced walkway led to the front door, a massive portico bordered by flowers.
The picture of domesticity.
She watched the Phillips villa for a long while after his wife took the kids to school with a stop for groceries after. Jasmine overheard the woman's plans when she told Phillips on the front driveway. She had a pretty good idea of the family routine.
All looked normal, whatever that meant.
Jasmine had stuck around to see if the good doctor would stir things up, call for reinforcements. Phillips had plenty of time to make contact and report the incident with her, but no cops showed. Unfortunately, his connected partner remained a mystery.
Her gut instinct? Phillips had been a scared little man, more fearful for his family than himself. Commendable but pathetic. He would have told her anything he knew, and made up the rest, if he thought she'd buy it. No doubt the man behind Nicky's abduction knew this about Phillips and kept him in the dark.
But the meeting with the doctor hadn't been a total waste of time. At least now she knew more about Genotech, the plans beyond Nicky's original purpose.
Jasmine watched Phillips leave his home. He'd changed shirts, favoring a pale blue one without bloodstains. The man could have taken a lesson from her on how to tie a Windsor knot. After he took off in his car, presumably for work, she eventually came out of hiding in the park across the street. She stuck to the treeline and headed through the greenbelt, away from the quiet residential neighborhood.
She glanced at her watch and wondered about Christian. A lazy smile softened her face as images of last night in the dark stirred her mind.
"Raven Mackenzie," she whispered. "You are a lucky woman."
Such memories only reminded her of Nicky. And the heartache of regret returned with a vengeance. She had to remain focused—and strong—for him. She'd catch a cab soon and head back toward town to the Guia Do Espírito.
Hector hadn't been truthful and held something back. She sensed it. And without Christian's interference, or his damnable ethics, she'd get her answers using her own methods. As she told Delacorte, some things had to be done alone. This time the gloves would be off.
Nicky's life depended on it, and nothing else mattered to her. Nothing.
The first time they made love, Raven couldn't get enough of Christian. Nothing was too hard or too fast for her. His urgency only matched her driving need. As much as she gave herself to him, she let her body demand from him in return.
Christian filled her now, thrusting into her, slow and deep. His skin glistened with a sheen of perspiration. The weight of his muscular body intensified his surges.
"I love you, Raven," he whispered in her ear. "... missed you."
His warm breath on her neck sent a ripple of chills over her body. He had that effect on her. Christian touched her in every way.
As he took her earlobe between his lips, she cried, "I love you too."
The words came out too intense, more a cry of surrender. But when his tongue penetrated her ear, mimicking the steady pounding motion he made inside her, she lost it completely.
Oh, God!
Raven wrapped her legs tight around his hips, using him as leverage to move. The rush of an orgasm gripped deep in her belly and jolted through her body, wave after wave. She flexed the muscles of her legs, toes curled in pure ecstasy.
"Oh . . . Christian," she moaned. Raven held onto him, not letting go. "Ahhh."
She felt his body react. An urgent release. Christian arched his back and spilled into her, shuddering in violent swells.
"Aarrgghhh." He jerked in a torrent of spasms, every shove another gift to prolong her pleasure. "Oh . . . Raven."
After his body quieted, he collapsed onto her. Cradling her in his arms, Christian pulled her to his chest and rolled onto his back. He covered her with bed linens and kissed the top of her head, stroking her hair with his fingers.
In this place, Raven had lost all track of time. The flight to Brazil had been a grueling overnighter, especially not knowing how Christian would react to her surprise visit. Now, the rhythm of their panting filled the room, coupled with the musk of sex. And she had her answer. She lay in the crook of his arm, rapt in his love.
"I feel so lucky to love you." His deep voice rumbled through his rib cage, teasing the ear she had pressed to him.
"It's more than luck, Christian. We're . . . blessed." Raven smiled and nestled her cheek to his chest. "It's like I've spent my whole life waiting for you to come into my life. I've never felt so loved."
After a long moment she closed her eyes and listened to the gentle pulse of his heart. A sweet steady rhythm. When she felt certain Christian had drifted off to sleep, she joined him, forgetting the horrible reason that had brought her to Brazil.
Every moment with Christian was a precious gift, like they were living on borrowed time. No matter what tomorrow would bring, she would have this moment alone with him. It might have to be enough to last a lifetime.
In broad daylight, any move Jasmine made held the risk of being spotted by a surveillance team. She had taken great pains to make sure she wasn't followed from the Phillips villa. A half block from Guia Do Espirito, she would soon have what she wanted. Private time with Hector.
Hiding in an alleyway down the street from the Macumba store, she searched the street, her eyes vigilant. No one stood out. No one watched her. Moments earlier she'd tried the back of the shop, hoping an alley might give her anonymity from the street, but the door was locked.
Jasmine didn't want to break in and find the store had customers or other witnesses. And she couldn't afford to be arrested, not now. With her eyes searching the street and every car, she made her final move and meandered onto the sidewalk, heading for the store. Posing as a shopper, she kept an even pace, not wanting to draw attention.
When she got within a few feet of the storefront, she heard a screech of tires behind her and turned in time to see two unmarked cars pull to the curb. Two sedans. One gray, one dark blue. Dressed in similar colors, stern-faced men in suits emerged from the cars and moved toward her.
"Hands up. Now!" one man yelled. He held her at gunpoint while another man raced closer, his weapon drawn. "Do as I say, Ms. Lee."
They knew her name. Slowly, she raised her hands. Her eyes searched the vehicles, knowing she'd soon find a familiar face. She recognized the last man to get out of his car. A slow smile emerged, having nothing to do with humor or a warm greeting.
"Captain Duarte. I wish I could say it's a pleasure to see you again."
The captain returned her gesture, his dark eyes relishing the moment.
"The feeling's mutual, Ms. Lee." Duarte's lip twitched into a faint sneer. "Check her for weapons and be thorough."
As one man patted her down, another retrieved her weapons—a gun and a knife. With her hands behind her back, Jasmine felt one of Duarte's men slap handcuffs to her wrists. She could have fought and made a run for it, but a part of her wanted to discover the truth only Duarte would know. Jasmine tensed her jaw and gave in to their demands.
But before she got shoved into one of the unmarked cars, Jasmine caught a motion from the corner of her eye. Hector's face peeked out from the shop window. He cowered in the shadows, barely letting her see him. Yet his move looked deliberate.
Jasmine smiled at the young man, appreciating the irony.
Only a moment ago, she wouldn't have shown Hector any mercy in demanding what he knew. Now she prayed he'd take pity on her and call Christian, to let him know what had happened to her.
It might be her only hope.
CHAPTER 15
By the looks of the pretty Asian woman, being hauled off in handcuffs by a stone-faced cop was commonplace in her world. She smiled at Hector, as if she flirted without a care. The same could not be said for him.
He ducked back into the shadows of the store window, careful to avoid being seen. Of late, Hector had heard stories about the military police—stories of the missing and unaccounted for—men arrested and never seen again.
"What's happening?" Aunt Bianca called from the back storeroom. The door stood open. The old woman had been restocking her inventory and dusting the shelves, a daily ritual.
"Nothing. A driver was careless," he lied, barely looking over his shoulder. She had probably heard the screech of tires out front. "He almost hit a car when he pulled from the curb. There's nothing to see now."
Hector walked back to the counter, his thoughts in a jumble. After a long moment, he knew what he had to do. He sorted through his wallet for the business card, searching for the man's name. Christian Delacorte. He claimed to stay at the Hotel Palma Dourada. Hector remembered writing that on the back of his card.
"If you can afford such accommodations, you can surely toss some coin my way," Hector muttered under his breath. And the American had no idea he knew about the reward for information on the rich man recently kidnapped from the hotel. Word about money traveled fast in his town.
Hector slid behind the counter and found his aunt working in the storeroom at her desk in the back. He kicked away the wooden block that held the door open. It shut with a hiss. He didn't want to take the chance of her overhearing his plans. She wouldn't like what he had in mind, but he had to do what he thought best. She'd done so much for him, this might be his way to repay her.
Hector looked up the phone number for the hotel and dialed it, glancing over his shoulder again to watch for Aunt Bianca. She had a habit of turning up when he least expected it. He grinned as he dialed, smelling the opportunity practically dumped on his doorstep. Times like this, he almost believed in the spirits his aunt revered. Fate had indeed played a hand.
He
would be a fool to ignore the Orixás now.
Sitting at her desk, Bianca looked up from her inventory work, hearing the low murmur of a familiar voice. It puzzled her. She hadn't heard the customary ring of the bell over the front door, warning her a client had entered the premises.
Who was Hector speaking with?
When she turned, she noticed the storeroom door had been shut. The boy thought he fooled her with his maneuverings. Many times Hector claimed her age had something to do with her forgetful memory, but she knew better. When she chose to act her age, she did so, but always to her advantage. They played this game, each by their own rules, only she was much better at it than Hector.
Bianca crept toward the door and peered through the peephole, on tiptoe. Instead of clutching the pearls at her neck, she held a charm at the end of a chain—a recently conjured talisman. She had prayed for Ayza the Protector to keep Hector and her people safe. And guide the stranger Delacorte.
With the talisman in her grasp, Bianca pressed an ear to the door, listening. She knew Hector would not approve, but at her age she had earned the right not to give a damn.
No woman had ever worn him out, through and through, like Raven Mackenzie. In the dim light of his bedroom, he opened his eyes and embraced the moment of complete exhaustion. Wrapped up in Raven, he felt her arm over his chest and a leg entwined in his. The faint scent of her perfume played second fiddle to the sweet fragrance of her skin.
Although he felt the stirrings of another erection and wondered if he'd be up to the challenge, mostly he wanted to hold her. And listen to her breathe as she slept.
For many years he felt alone in his grief. Death had invaded his life and taken hold of it. Raven made him see how much he had given in to the loneliness. She made him want to reclaim his life and so much more. She hadn't been wrong.