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.

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 Ricardo 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?"