No One Lives Forever no-3

by Jordan Dane

  With the glass jar wedged in an arm, she enjoyed a few sips of coffee, her guilty pleasure. The storage door hissed closed behind her. She wandered to her desk and set down her cup, saving her indulgence for after her chore.

  Bianca busied herself, scooping cemetery dirt into the decanter, careful not to lose any. To be careless would be disrespectful. Worse, she believed it would bring bad luck. She barely heard the bell tinkle overhead. Someone had entered the front door to the shop.

  Voices muffled. Angry voices.

  She turned her head and listened, sure she had misunderstood. When the noise continued, she pulled the light string over her desk and the storeroom turned pitch-black. Bianca couldn't wait for her eyes to acclimate to the dark. She held her hands out in front of her, trying to find the door. A small pinpoint of light from the peephole guided her. At the door, she stood on tiptoe and squinted, clutching her Ayza talisman and holding her breath as if someone might hear her.

  Before she got a good look, something heavy hit the storeroom door. Thud!

  In a panic, she almost fell backward.

  "Oh, my God."

  Cowering, Bianca covered her mouth to stifle a scream. Her heart hammered her ribs and chills ravaged her skin. She worked up the courage to take another peek—for Hector's sake. What she saw stole her breath.

  "Hector," she sobbed, her voice a raspy whisper.

  CHAPTER 16

  A bald-headed thug had cold-cocked Hector. A savage blow. Now he yanked him off the floor by the collar. Seeing stars, Hector was too weak to fight. He felt a warm stream roll down his chin and smelled blood. Tears of pain flooded his eyes.

  "Anyone ever tell you to mind your own business, cabrão?" The guy balled his fist again and slugged Hector.

  He fell against the storeroom door, jamming an elbow. A jolt of pain shot through his arm and he slid to the floor. This time, the bastard nearly dislocated his jaw, loosened a tooth. His face felt on fire.

  "Aargh." Hector held up his good arm and waved a hand. He searched for mercy in the faces of the three men standing over him, his eye swollen. "Please . . . st-stop. Why are you doing this? If it's money you want—"

  Cold dead eyes stared back. He would find no mercy. Fear gripped him. Aunt Bianca hid behind the door he'd fallen against. He felt her presence and prayed these men would not search the store. If they found her, she would not survive such treatment.

  "Not so simple, asshole. You should've followed your own advice and stopped before you got involved."

  "Involved in what?" he pleaded, spitting blood. "What are you talking about?"

  The man rolled Hector on his belly and rammed a knee into the back of his neck. Yanking his arm back, the jerk almost separated his shoulder. When he felt the handcuffs slammed to his wrists, Hector's eyes grew wide.

  "You guys are cops?" He raised his voice, a warning for his aunt. "But I didn't do anything wrong. Why am I being arrested?"

  The three men were dressed like a street gang. He thought they would rob him. None of them looked like military police. Now all the rumors of men disappearing off the streets flooded his mind. Cops had been rumored to be behind the conspiracy. His stomach lurched. He fought back the urge to throw up. He'd brought this on himself, with his grand scheme for money and taking care of his aunt as the man of the house. Big ego, Hector, you idiot.

  He had only wanted to help. Now his foolishness might cost his life . . . and Aunt Bianca's. Hector started to cry. Tears mixed with blood.

  But damned if he'd take his aunt down with him.

  "Okay . . . okay. I'll go with you. Just let me close the shop and lock up."

  "Vai a merda! We'll take care of that." The guy sneered. "See what you get when you resist arrest?" The men laughed. A perverted and cruel joke.

  The mean son of a bitch hauled Hector to his feet and shoved him into the next man. Hitting a wall of muscle, Hector stumbled, his legs not working. Two men grabbed his arms and dragged him to the front door, not waiting for him to stand.

  "I'll search the place. Take him to the car."

  Oh, God . . . no! Hector craned his neck, catching a glimpse of the man who'd beat him. The guy headed behind the counter . . . toward the storeroom. As they hustled him out the door, dragging him across the threshold, the bell tingled overhead and made a mockery of his predicament. The noise barely registered.

  Between the steady thud of his heart, Hector listened to a faint whisper. And as the men shoved him into the backseat of a dark sedan and locked the door, the sound grew louder in his head. More urgent.

  It took him a while to recognize . . . the sound of his prayer.

  Cramming his pockets with cash from the register, Eduardo Silva opened the door to the supply room, looking for anything else to steal. Side benefits to the job. In the back, it looked like only more of what stocked the shelves in front. Roots, dried herbs, preserved animal parts floating in murky liquid, and macabre religious figures with faces twisted in agony. He'd grown up with superstition. This shithole reminded him of everything he hated from his childhood.

  And to think, some people paid good money for a shot at redemption. What a waste!

  He had almost made up his mind to forget about the back, but in the quiet, he thought he heard a faint rustle of fabric. It reminded him of the rats skittering through the walls of the bedroom he had to share with his three brothers when he was a kid.

  What the hell? Fuckin' place gives me the creeps.

  "Tem alguém aqui? I could use some help up front. . . anyone back there?" he cried out. "Hello?"

  He didn't need any complications.

  Silence. Nothing moved. Eduardo peered into the dark corners of the room. From what little he saw, wooden shelves lined the main aisle and a ladder leaned against them. A small desk in the back. It smelled of herbs and an underlying foul odor, like something musty or dead. He wedged the door open with a wooden block to let in the meager light of the storefront. Not much to speak of, but every little bit helped. When he found a chain dangling from the ceiling, he pulled the cord and the small desk was washed in a harsh light.

  "Jesus." He squinted, letting his eyes adjust.

  Someone had been working. A pen atop a pad of paper, scribbled with a list. An inventory. The handwriting looked too neat to belong to the kid. A woman's touch, he guessed. Eduardo spied a coffee mug on the desktop and ran his fingers along the liquid line outside the cup. Still warm. His senses went on full alert.

  Did the kid drink coffee or was someone else here?

  He pulled open every drawer in the desk, tossing files and shoving aside paperwork until he found a purse in the bottom drawer. A grin spread across his face. The kid wouldn't have one of these. Dumping the contents on the desktop, he tossed the purse aside and nabbed the wallet, scrounging for a photo ID.

  After he pocketed the money in the wallet, he gazed at the face on the driver's license and read the name: BIANCA SALVADOR.

  She had to be here somewhere. His eyes searched the gloom. Slowly, he walked down the aisle, peering through the massive shelves. Then he bent over and hustled down the row, shifting his moves in hopes of catching anyone lurking in the shadows. The inventory of the supply room looked eerie in the gloom.

  Eduardo didn't consider himself a superstitious man, only a cautious one.

  After a long while, he gritted his teeth and scratched his bald head. Did he have a witness to the kid's so-called arrest or had the bitch stepped out before they got there? He hated loose ends.

  "Hey, you done?" one of his men called from up front. "We gotta roll."

  Fed up, Eduardo turned and headed for the front door, but his eye caught something out of place, a job left undone. Set atop a workbench was a tall jar with dirt in it. A scoop lay on the soil, propped against the inside lip of the container. Superstitious crap! With a sneer, he dumped the contents onto the floor and smashed the decanter. Dirt and shards of glass spilled everywhere, making a mess.

  That's when he heard the creak of a d
oor. A soft muffled sound.

  Eduardo jerked his head and searched the darkness. His hand went instinctively for his Taurus 1911 pistol, tucked under his T-shirt at the small of his back. He pulled out the .45 caliber weapon and flexed his grip, his palms slick with sweat.

  Against inky black, the bright light overhead played tricks on his eyes. Images drifted in the shadows, but why hadn't he seen any lights when the door opened? Maybe he'd missed it. That pissed him off. If the old lady hid in a closet, he'd make her pay for putting him through the extra effort. Teeth gritted and gun in hand, he headed toward the noise. And the darkness swallowed him.

  CHAPTER 17

  It broke Bianca's heart to leave Hector behind. She slipped out the back door and into the light of a fading sun. Squinting, she held up a hand to block the glare and get her bearings. Soon it would be dark, but not soon enough to help her escape. She thought she heard heavy footsteps behind her, or perhaps it had been her imagination.

  But wishful thinking could get her in plenty of trouble.

  Absentmindedly, she clutched at the talisman around her neck as she ran down the alley. She gasped for breath with the effort, her heart pounding. Deep inside she knew there wasn't much time, no doubt the voice of Ayza the Protector.

  As she ran toward the nearest door, the sound of her feet hitting the pavement was soon replaced by the horror of Hector's beating. It replayed in her head, over and over. Even now she flinched at the brutality of the shocking blows. Her precious boy. His pleas to warn her gripped her throat, making it hard to breathe. And her eyes filled with tears.

  She grabbed the doorknob of a shop down the alley. Locked. With her hand clenched in a fist ready to pound on the door, Bianca looked over her shoulder, back the way she'd come. When the back door to Guia Do Espirito opened with a faint yet familiar creak, she changed her mind about calling attention to herself.

  Time had run out.

  She ducked behind a Dumpster near a corner to the alley that branched off. She crouched behind the metal refuse bin, the stench of it stifling her breath. In the distance, she heard the crunch of gravel underfoot. Too late to move.

  Was he coming? Had he seen where she hid?

  She didn't dare look. Bianca pressed her back against the brick wall behind her and prayed. She shut her eyes and held the talisman to her lips. Her throat dry, her breathing labored. She had to calm her heart or the man would hear her for sure. She cowered behind the Dumpster, too scared to budge.

  Most of all, she prayed for strength. Bianca turned herself over to Ayza, trusting in his benevolence and power. In the end, it was all she had.

  Taking a risk, Eduardo Silva shoved the door open and leveled his weapon, but the sun's glare blinded him, watering his eyes. He held up a hand to see, looking up the alley and down. In the distance he spotted foot traffic near a busy street, but it was too far away to matter. Sounds of the city closed in.

  "Foda!" he swore under his breath.

  Had he been wrong about hearing the creak of the door? Old buildings played tricks with your head. Anger had gotten the better of him. Lowering the gun to his side, he picked a direction and walked. His eyes searched for movement.

  How far could an old woman get?

  Heading for the nearest door, he tried to anticipate where a scared old lady would go. If he was right, this one had nerves of steel to stay quiet so long. Reaching out a hand, he gripped the doorknob and turned. It didn't budge.

  Eduardo caught a shadow near the Dumpster. He clenched the grip of his weapon and crept closer, careful not to make a sound. The metal refuse bin lined up near a brick wall, square with it. But it had a noticeable gap from the wall, big enough for someone to hide behind. He held his breath—listening— filtering out the sounds that didn't matter.

  A slow sneer slid across his face.

  In a sudden burst he lowered his shoulder and shoved against the huge metal container. The groan of steel echoed down the alley, resonating off the walls. It slammed against the brick in a loud thud. He didn't wait for a scream.

  Gun drawn, Eduardo raced around the bin and found . . .

  Nothing. Damn it! Absolutely nothing.

  After a long moment, he quit gnashing his teeth and lowered his gun, tucking it in the waistband of his pants. His men were waiting out front and they had to get the kid off the street. Before he left, Eduardo reached into his pocket and pulled out the ID he'd found in the purse, memorizing Bianca Salvador's face. This wasn't over. He'd meet the old woman on his turf.

  He hated complications.

  Bianca had trusted the spirits. And Ayza told her to run, even when everything in her gut yelled, No, stay put! Hesitation would have gotten her killed. She knew it as surely as she understood the Orixás were with her.

  Using the Dumpster as a shield, she had stayed low and crept along the wall, heading for the corner ahead. It felt like forever, but she eventually made the turn. The talisman swung from her neck. She felt its burden. Bianca grabbed the hem of her skirt and watched every footstep, avoiding broken glass or the scuff of a shoe that might give her away. After she'd gotten far enough from that place, she picked up the pace and never looked back.

  Bianca ran.

  She felt the steady thump of the talisman against her chest, in perfect rhythm with her frantic heart. Every breath pained her. And tears made it hard to see.

  Still, she ran.

  If the police had taken Hector, she would be on her own. As she saw it, she had only one place to go. And she would not doubt the spirit Ayza now. Her only hope to save her nephew lay in the hands of a man with striking green eyes, the one laden with a heavy aura of death. Her rational mind told her it was foolhardy to trust a stranger, but blind faith had gotten her this far. In truth, she had no other choice.

  She had made the talisman for a reason. Now she understood its purpose.

  CHAPTER 18

  "I can't stand waiting. I'm no good at it." Christian stalked the suite, dragging a hand through his hair.

  "Good to know we have something else in common." Raven's oddball humor didn't defuse the stress of the situation. Christian may not have heard her at all.

  The late-afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting shadows into the room. Raven watched him from the couch, understanding the frustration he must be feeling. She felt it too.

  "What can we do?" She leaned forward. "If you have a plan, I'm with you."

  He stopped and stared, his mind working.

  "Maybe they have Jasmine at Genotech." Christian narrowed his eyes and chewed a corner of his lip, hands on his hips. "That place is a damned fortress. Plenty of security. And Duarte probably has a holding cell there. Those addicts I told you about wouldn't last long in a hospital ward. They'd find a way to escape if they weren't confined."

  "Makes sense." She nodded. "You trust Chief Zharan?"

  A simple question without an easy answer.

  "I've got no choice. I need someone on the inside. Someone with resources." He shook his head. "Duarte's not a guy to mess with, not without a game plan. And this is his home turf. He's well connected . . . been ahead of us all the way. Can't believe I let Jasmine out of here on her own. Damn it! I should've known she was up to something."

  He clenched his jaw and pinched the bridge of his nose. A tension headache brewing.

  "Don't blame yourself." Raven stood and walked toward him. She put an arm around his waist and caressed the side of his face with her hand. "I got a feeling that woman rarely hears the word no. She must've played a hunch. You and I might've done the same."

  Christian closed his eyes and nudged her hand with his cheek, a tender gesture she'd grown to love. But the moment didn't last.

  "This waiting is killing me." He lowered his head, glancing at his watch. "Can't imagine the chief launching an operation this time of day. It's gonna be dark soon."

  "Jasmine being taken by Duarte has been a real distraction from Charboneau's case." Raven shrugged. "Maybe that's the whole point."

&n
bsp; After a long moment she asked, "How about the ransom? You have it arranged?"

  "I told Fiona not to pay until she heard from me. If the kidnappers got the money early, my father's life wouldn't be worth a dime. I had hoped to know more by now."

  The reality of his deadline hit Christian hard. He would have to contact Fiona soon if he thought paying the money would help Charboneau's chances. If not, there would be a point of no return that he'd take upon himself. Could he live with the guilt if he guessed wrong? The muscles of his shoulders knotted with tension. He wrapped his arms around her, but comfort wouldn't come so easy.

  Suddenly, the phone rang, making Raven jump. His anxiety was contagious. Christian kissed her forehead and rushed across the room to answer it, expecting it would be Chief Zharan.

  "Yes?"

  "Is this Christian Delacorte?" The timid voice of a woman.

  "Yes. Who is this?" He shook his head and shrugged to Raven. What now? he wondered.

  "We've never met, but I need to speak to you. Please." The woman cleared her throat, the sound more of a sob held in check. "My name is Bianca Salvador. Something has happened—"

  Christian heard sounds in the background, but the woman never finished.

  "Where are you?" He listened and looked up, locking eyes with Raven. "Stay put. I'll be right there."

  Raven stepped closer, standing by his side. Her dark eyes narrowed. When Christian hung up the phone, he grabbed her hand and kissed it, her skin warm to the touch.

  "When I come back, I'll introduce you to someone I've been dying for you to meet."

  It wasn't easy to spot her. Dressed in a dark floral skirt and a white blouse, a woman cowered near the guest phones across from registration. The huge lobby with its activity dwarfed her tiny frame, obscuring her presence. Her gray hair was mussed, her dark eyes wary. She looked as though the devil would swoop to claim her soul if she didn't stay vigilant. As he stepped closer, Christian saw something else. Draped off her neck, the woman wore a chain with a peculiar leather pouch dangling from it. Strange, but what could be expected from an owner of a Macumba shop? Even though they'd never met, Christian knew he'd found Bianca Salvador.