No One Lives Forever no-3

by Jordan Dane

  He stopped directly in front of Charboneau, grinning. His father glared back, losing none of his attitude, but that didn't stop Zharan.

  "Shortly, you will mean nothing more than a full belly for some jaguar or puma after they rip the meat off your bones and devour your entrails, their muzzles red with your blood. Nothing will go to waste, I understand."

  Hands in front with wrists cuffed together, Christian stood next to Raven, his gut twisted with guilt. An overwhelming rush of powerlessness swept through him, compounding his agony. One of Fuentes's men had searched him and confiscated not only his Glock 19, but also his Marine Corps Ka-Bar knife and his backup gun, a .357 short-barreled revolver he had in an ankle holster strapped to his leg. The man also took away his international cell phone.

  Bad enough to be stripped of his weapons, but now Raven would be searched and Fuentes took over, knowing what it would do to Christian. The bastard took his time. From the corner of his eye, Fuentes toyed with his reaction.

  His father watched from a distance. In a subtle move, he shook his head to get him to cool down, but that only fanned the flames of Christian's anger. He wouldn't stand for this, not with Raven.

  "Get your hands off her."

  "Christian, please. Don't." Raven tried to intervene, more for his sake than her own. "I can handle it."

  "Yes. Listen to your woman, Christian." Fuentes grinned and flashed a wink at him. "Besides, maybe she wants to handle what I've got. Or perhaps one man isn't enough for her."

  The men around Fuentes laughed, a low guttural sound that quickly died when their eyes trailed down her body like unwanted fingers. Hiding her terror, Raven glared at the detective, but defiance didn't stop him.

  She gritted her teeth when the cop plunged a filthy hand down her shirt, manhandling her left breast. With his other hand, he squeezed her ass, letting his fingers probe deep between her legs. Raven held herself rigid, but there was nothing she could do. The rest of the men closed in, some licking their lips with eyes following every move Fuentes made. Any minute, Christian would lose it. Raven saw it in his eyes. And if he did, Fuentes would not hesitate to kill him here and now.

  Fire raged in Christian's eyes. His fear for her had taken over. Christian knew everything could change in a heartbeat. One spark. One nod from Zharan and these men could pounce on Raven and take what they wanted. And he could do nothing to stop them. His heart pumped rapid fire in his chest. He gasped for air as if he was drowning.

  When he took a step toward the bastard, Zharan's men grabbed his arms and held him in place. He jerked and tried to break free, but more men grappled him into submission. Finally, a beefy guy emerged from the rabble and punched him hard in the stomach. Once. Twice. Three times. It got his attention.

  Fuentes smiled at Christian, doubled over in pain. Then the man looked down at Raven and rubbed her body harder, undeterred. She fought the degradation and the pain, trying not to show how much it hurt.

  "I'm gonna bring you down, Fuentes." The words were out of Christian's mouth before he realized he'd said them. The voice of the predator. "Some way ... somehow. I'm gonna take you out."

  "You threatening me, Delacorte?"

  The dirty cop laughed again, but didn't stop abusing Raven. He held her against his chest, an arm around her throat. In crude fashion, Fuentes ground his pelvis into her backside, giving Christian a tormenting preview of what would happen. Christian charged the bastard, nearly toppling the men holding him back.

  "You talk big when you've got me handcuffed with men holding me down. Come over here and bring it, you coward."

  From across the clearing, Nicholas Charboneau had watched the whole exchange and finally had enough. When he burst out laughing, all heads turned.

  "No, that's not a threat, you ignorant jerk." Directing his comment at Fuentes, his father grinned and shook his head. "I'd say that sounded like a promise worth keeping." Then he shrugged and cocked his head. "Ricardo? Who's in charge here? You're gonna kill us anyway. Do you have to subject us to this damned Brazilian soap opera? Really, man. I know it's hard, but show some class."

  Christian did a double take, unsure whose side his father was on. But when Zharan waved Fuentes off, Christian knew his father had done the right thing.

  "Get off her, Arturo," the chief ordered, waving a hand for another man to resume the search for weapons and identification. "Be patient. If things go as planned, you and your men will get your chance with her. And you can make him watch." Zharan pointed at Christian. "In the meantime, follow orders and finish up. We pull out in five minutes."

  His father had only bought a cease-fire. Once they got back to the clearing, all bets would be off. If Christian orchestrated a plan, he'd have little time to do it. His mind raced with ideas until a strange sensation churned heat across his skin, a slow and steady buildup.

  The talisman Bianca Salvador had made for him began to burn. And he felt the weight of the trinket against his chest. He'd forgotten it was there. What the hell was happening? In his confusion, he shifted his gaze toward Raven. Her eyes fixed on him with a questioning look, but how could he explain what he didn't understand himself?

  Bound and defenseless, Christian should have felt the building anxiety of his childhood terror—being powerless. Instead, he discovered a newfound clarity to his thinking and strength he found only when he hunted, the predator alive within him.

  He'd get one moment to act and he'd take it, regardless of the risk to him. Raven's life would depend on it.

  Although if anyone asked about it point-blank, Christian would deny any belief in Bianca's talisman, yet he'd still hedged his bet and worn the damned thing hidden under his shirt. How could a charm calling upon a protective spirit make things any worse?

  Today, he'd confront superior numbers with greater firepower than the gangs on the south side of Chicago. And believing in himself made more sense than giving up. So when it came time to putting faith in something tangible, Christian thought of the special ops shock troopers' motto.

  Always outnumbered, seldom outgunned, but never outclassed.

  Today he'd be outgunned with hands cuffed, not exactly an even playing field. But if these men wanted to hurt Raven Mackenzie, he'd show them what Chicago tough was all about. To get to her, they'd have to come through him. Easier said than done.

  CHAPTER 24

  A cold razor edge of tension sliced through the muggy air of the jungle. Pinpricks of goose bumps rippled across Raven's skin, feeling like needles beneath the surface.

  The return trip to the clearing was happening way too fast. And the reality of knowing when and how she and Christian would die had dominated her mind and robbed her ability to appreciate what little time they might have left.

  Christian walked behind her. Raven took solace in listening to every footstep he made and hearing each breath he took. She knew he'd picked that spot to watch over her. Even now, she felt his love.

  Araujo and Charboneau were ahead of her. Fuentes led the way and had a small cadre of men dedicated to keeping his prisoners moving and in line. His men were well-armed and trudged through the jungle in silence with stern faces, a few stealing glances of her when they thought she wasn't looking. On occasion, the more aggressive ones didn't bother to hide their hunger. They raked their eyes over her, taking what she would never give, as if they had a right.

  Soon, they would. She'd be nothing more than an afternoon's entertainment, a token reward for their lack of shame. Raven knew precisely what Fuentes and Zharan had in store for her. And damned if she'd be led to slaughter with her chin down. She deliberately let them believe they had won. Her body language gave them no cause for alarm.

  But Raven kept her head in the game and eyes alert. And above all, she trusted and believed in Christian. They weren't going down without a fight.

  It all happened so fast, Christian never saw what instigated Raven's accident. She stumbled and fell to the ground in front of him. He'd been too preoccupied, streaming various escape sc
enarios through his mind like fast forwarding a movie.

  He rushed to her side. When he helped Raven to her feet, she came up with a limp and lunged for a fallen tree along the trail, a place to sit.

  "Ow . . . sorry. Can't believe this," she cursed under her breath.

  Christian knelt in front of her and started to remove her boot to assess the injury. His handcuffs made it awkward.

  Fuentes walked up and stood over his left shoulder. "Don't take it off," the man said. "If it's sprained, the boot will keep the swelling down. Either way, we're not stopping."

  Christian looked up, keeping his face unreadable and his tone civil. "At least let her sit for a minute. And she could use some water. We all could." He pleaded his case, hoping Raven had staged her fall and would milk the stall tactic for all its worth.

  "Ouch. Watch it . . . please." She laid a hand on her shin.

  Rattling off some Portuguese, Fuentes grunted his irritation and snapped his fingers. Two men gripped their weapons and stood at attention, ordered to pull guard duty while the rest took a breather. Another young man came up with a canteen.

  Raven took it and thanked him with a nod and a faint smile. Christian couldn't imagine what was going through her mind. Shortly, that kid with the canteen would be standing in line to rape her with wild eyes and his brain turned to mush. The blinding urges of his libido would give in to the chaos of mob mentality and the animal cries of his fellow officers. But to look at him now, the kid smiled and blushed like a shy teenager. Unbelievable.

  Christian wiped the image from his head. He tried to stay focused, holding back his anger. As Raven drank small sips of water from the canteen, he felt her ankle and played with her bootlaces.

  "Are you okay?" he muttered under his breath.

  "Yeah. Could use an AR-15 or a Browning M2 right about now, but hey, a girl can dream, can't she?" She shrugged, keeping her voice down. "Thought we should talk."

  "Smart girl." He winked. "We need to pick our spot and come up with a diversion. Any ideas?" He gazed into Raven's beautiful eyes, as if he were speaking to her, but also directed his comments to the other captives. "We won't get a second chance at this."

  Araujo and his father closed ranks, moving slowly so they wouldn't generate suspicion.

  "Are you in on this?" he asked the native man. When he nodded, Christian went on. "What's Fuentes doing?" He didn't dare turn around. Christian relied on Raven to be his eyes and ears. "And where's Zharan?"

  "Fuentes has a cell phone in his hand," Raven said. "He just pulled it from his vest." She narrowed her eyes and grimaced with a show of pain, as if Christian had just hurt her. "Zharan hasn't come up the trail yet. Can't see him. What's with that phone? Fuentes looks pissed."

  "Is he making a call?"

  "No. Looks like he's scrolling. Doesn't look like your phone, Christian."

  Araujo jumped in. "No. It's mine."

  "Yeah, and he's fascinated with your hardware, my friend," Nicholas chimed in, keeping his voice low. His lips were concealed behind another water bottle and his cuffed hands. "You got a calling plan we should all know about? Care to share who's in your circle?"

  "You are a strange one, Nicholas Charboneau." Araujo shook his head. "I don't understand your questions, but I only use that phone to contact one person."

  "Your broker? The Psychic Hotline?" Charboneau raised an eyebrow.

  Araujo narrowed his eyes in question, but his expression softened into a fleeting smile.

  At that moment, Chief Zharan came over the rise and Fuentes went to meet him. The two men pulled off the trail, away from the rest. An intense conversation followed, the strain very apparent. Araujo took the opportunity to fill them in on his mystery caller, the man who'd made contact to cut himself in for the ransom. When he was done, Christian glanced over his shoulder to Zharan and Fuentes, then back at his father.

  "You thinking what I'm thinking?" He smiled.

  "Don't think you're in need of that much psychiatric help, but I'd bet serious cash Fuentes recognized the phone number on Araujo's phone."

  "And?" he prompted.

  His father thought about it, then continued, "Ricardo isn't known for working and playing well with others. No doubt a big disappointment to his mother, but I think he's been flying solo on a very lucrative side business that Fuentes is only just figuring out."

  Christian nodded. "I think we've just found a chink in their armor. Maybe we can capitalize on it, parlay it into a diversion when the time comes."

  They fixed their eyes on him, making their silent pledge to back him up. When the time came, he knew they'd have his backside. They were still outnumbered and would probably not make it. But in his book, going down fighting edged out two to the back of the head any day.

  "Damn it. What the hell.. . ?" Christian tugged at his shirt. The talisman had begun to burn again. He pulled it out and rubbed the skin of his chest, unsure what to make of it. Mario Araujo reached for the dangling charm.

  "Ayza the Protector. Who made this for you?" the man asked.

  "Bianca Salvador. She insisted I wear it." He tucked it back into his shirt. "But the damned thing burns like hell. I must be allergic to something she used."

  "Or maybe Ayza is only trying to get the attention of a nonbeliever." Araujo smiled and cocked his head. "Perhaps our predicament is not as hopeless as it appears."

  "Not you too." He grimaced, his chest still feeling the effects.

  But the native man only shrugged.

  Christian shook his head, then took a discreet look over his shoulder. Zharan yanked Araujo's cell phone from the hands of his number two man and didn't look like he planned to return it. The chief turned his back and ended their conversation, but nothing looked resolved for Fuentes.

  "Looks like our break is done. Follow my lead and be ready to move," Christian whispered.

  Fuentes stalked up the trail. When he passed his prisoners, he yelled to his men.

  "Fall in. Move. We're heading out." And to Christian, he threatened with a finger thrust inches from his face. "If she slows us down, I will personally drag her by the hair off this ridge. Do you understand me?"

  Christian returned his glare, his only reply.

  The men scrambled. And he and Raven were hauled to their feet. Fuentes didn't say another word. He looked like a man with something far more urgent on his mind.

  Up ahead, a third helicopter occupied the marshy clearing—the end of the line. With rotor blade motionless, the aircraft faced them and sat apart from the other two, its engine long since cooled. One guard in uniform leaned against the craft, then stood at attention as they approached.

  It's now or never, hotshot. What's the plan?

  Christian let his eyes strafe the treeline, his senses on hyper alert. All the way back, he'd pictured how this might play out. In his hip pocket, he had the new intel of a rift between Zharan and Fuentes. A theory, nothing more. And he needed a diversion. Once he got it, he'd have to move, no hesitation.

  He'd given thought to overpowering one of the guards in the jungle and making a run for it through the brush. But it would've only been a matter of time before they got a bullet to the back or been run down by the much younger men in Fuentes's horde.

  And even though the clearing had little cover, it had the helicopters, their best means of escape. If they launched a quick assault and took one or two weapons, they might stand a chance to use the choppers for cover in the interim and as a means of escape later. He knew enough about flying one to get them off the ground.

  Outnumbered as they were, they'd have to hit hard and fast, taking out command personnel like Zharan and Fuentes first. Next, they'd have to target key weapons experts and neutralize any with long range capability or grenade launchers. A nearly impossible feat since they didn't know these men or have a clear inventory of their firearms.

  Scenarios played through his head, but the reality of these men returning fire interfered with the outcome. Christian needed something to tip the sc
ales in his favor. That's what was on his mind when the lone guard patrolling the aircraft turned to face them. And the sneer of Captain Luis Duarte stopped him dead in his tracks. Hell, the man stared right at him.

  "Ah, shit!" Christian muttered. "This day just keeps getting better."

  All hope drained with the same sickening effects of rapid blood loss. What the hell would they do now?

  CHAPTER 25

  "Good afternoon, Chief Zharan." Duarte moved away from the aircraft. Dressed in fatigues, he looked like one of the men. Surprisingly, he was alone. "I've been listening to the chatter on your radio frequency. You've had an excellent day, it would appear. But all good things come to an end, I'm afraid."

  For a second, the chief flinched his surprise at seeing Duarte, but he recovered quickly. "What are you talking about?" Zharan stepped forward and faced the captain. "You're a wanted man, Duarte. What are you doing here?" The man spoke with all the casualness of meeting an acquaintance at a cocktail party.

  "Ah, the best defense is a good offense, is that it?" The captain's smile broadened to a grin. "Funny. I feel the same way."

  Fuentes got the reference and understood the implications. He searched the thick vegetation of the jungle, craning his neck to get a better view. His face tightened. His nerves wired. He gripped his weapon and pulled it from his holster, leaving it by his side.

  Christian exchanged a quick glance at Raven, his father, and Araujo. They stood ready.

  Duarte continued, "Detective Eduardo Silva sends his regrets, but he was unable to make it. If he survives, he might be willing to share what he knows for immunity. Who's to say?"

  "Even a man as loyal as Detective Silva would say anything under torture. You have nothing admissible in a court of law." The chief opened his mouth to go on, but Duarte raised a finger.