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.
"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."
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.
The older woman spotted him, confirming his suspicions that she'd been the one behind the peephole the other day.
"Mrs. Salvador?" Christian waited for her to extend a hand. She didn't. The woman only nodded, not looking him in the eye.
"Yes. I'm sorry to intrude, but I didn't know who else might help." Bianca lowered her voice.
"Please believe me, this is no imposition; quite the contrary. Follow me. We'll have more privacy in my room."
She followed him, keeping a step behind. And she never said a word during the elevator ride. The silence felt awkward, yet unavoidable. Something he read in her body language made it clear she preferred the quiet. Once they got to the suite, the woman looked shocked to see Raven. She stopped and almost turned away. Christian interceded.
"It's okay. Please, I'd like to introduce you to Raven Mackenzie from Chicago, Illinois."
Bianca stared at the man with the green eyes as he touched the shoulder of the beautiful woman, clearly a sign of affection. In Bianca's mind, these two fit. They had a connection, unlike the Asian woman he'd brought to her store.
"Raven? This is Mrs. Bianca Salvador. She owns the Guia Do Espirito, a local store specializing in spirit ritual and religious artifacts."
"Pleased to meet you." The young woman smiled.
"Can I get you anything to drink?" He extended his hand and directed Bianca to take a seat on the sofa.
She nodded. "Please. A glass of water."
While he stepped behind the wet bar, Bianca caught her reflection in a mirror and wondered what these Americans had thought of her frazzled appearance. She pressed flyaway hairs with her fingers, her mind racing. After he handed her the water, the American sat and waited for her to speak. Since she had no time for pleasantries, it didn't take long.
"The military police, they took my Hector, my nephew." With a voice low, she choked back a sob and pressed a hand to her lips. "They beat and dragged him from the store. Maybe he couldn't walk on his own. I don't know how bad—" She grimaced; reliving the horror brought pain.
"When did this happen?"
"Earlier this afternoon. I ran straight here. I didn't know where else to go."
"Did you see any of the men who took him?" he asked. "Do you know Captain Luis Duarte?"
"No, I saw no one. And I do not know the captain you mentioned."
"Did you see their vehicle? Get a license tag?" the young woman asked.
"I'm afraid I won't be any help. I only heard the attack from the stockroom, from behind a closed door." Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. " I was too afraid to stop it. I would have called the police, but Hector made sure I knew those men
were
the police. He sacrificed himself to protect me." A strained moment passed as Bianca wept. In a quiet voice, the man named Delacorte broke the stillness.
"For reasons I can't get into right now, I believe Captain Duarte took Hector. He's on the police payroll, but I think he's found a way to subsidize his income."
"So much corruption in my country. I wish it were not so."
"And we believe this captain took a friend of mine, the one who visited your store the other day. He called it an arrest, but we have proof he never booked her. We don't know where she is."
"Do you think this woman is dead?" The reality of her question hit too close to home, reminding Bianca of Hector.
"I have nothing to back up my claims, only a hunch. But maybe the chief of police can do something about it. I can tell Chief Ricardo Zharan what happened to your nephew. He might be able to find Hector. He's looking for Duarte and Jasmine now."
"You would do this thing for me?"
"Yes, I don't know what good it'll do, but it may help. Being a foreigner here, I don't have much choice in the matter."
The American stared at her. Finally, Delacorte reached for her hand. She drew from his strength before she pulled away.
"Hector is a good boy. Sure, he has grand schemes. What young man doesn't? He has the body of a virile man, but the tender innocence of a child. He has so much to learn." Bianca fought back the fear that her nephew wouldn't get the chance to learn life's lessons. "Hector only wants to take care of me. And he's not patient. He probably thought that money was his big opportunity."
"That money? What do you mean?"
"He knew of the reward money you offered for information on the kidnapped man." She forced the words from her mouth, hating how they sounded aloud. "I think the wrong people heard of his interest. Maybe they were afraid he'd learn something to hurt them and say too much."
"Actually, I have another theory. Hector contacted me here earlier today."
Bianca wasn't surprised. She'd heard her nephew on the phone, but never knew where he placed the call.
"I do not mean to pry, but can you tell me why he called you, Mr. Delacorte?"
"He called to tell me about my friend Jasmine. He witnessed her arrest outside your store today. He heard her mention Captain Duarte by name." His green eyes fixed on her. "Hector wanted money for the heads-up. I thought he wanted it for himself, but after listening to you, I think he wanted it for your sake. Guess I was wrong about him."
Delacorte exchanged a glance with the young woman sitting next to him. In turn, she reached a hand to him in consolation. These two were definitely in love. Love was always a gift meant for sharing. And it brought back memories.
"Hector's mother died of cancer years ago. My baby sister. Her boy is like a son to me." She fought the lump in her throat.
"How can I help you? You came here for a reason."
Even with all his troubles, Delacorte offered his help. Bianca knew she'd come to the right man. The spirits had been right about him.
"This may sound strange." Bianca didn't know how to explain to a non-believer. "I cannot go to the police. To do so might get Hector killed, if he is not already—"
The thought of Hector dead tore a hole in her heart. Bianca fought for composure. She sipped water until she could continue.
"The day you came into my shop, I saw you from the storeroom in the back. For security, we installed a . . . how you say?" She gestured with her finger, pointing to her eye.
"A peephole," Christian offered.
"Yes, a peephole. We put one in the door." She nodded. "When I saw you, you intrigued me, but something about you scared me. I didn't understand at first, but now I think I do."
"Understand what? why would I scare you?" he asked.
"You are the vessel for Ayza, the Protector, one of the Orixás. I don't know how you'll help Hector, but I trust in the spirits. They've spoken to me."
By the skeptical expression on Delacorte's face, she knew she'd lost him. Bianca reached across and squeezed his hand.
"I have made a strong talisman for Ayza and you must wear it, Mr. Delacorte. I know you aren't a believer, but I'm asking for your trust. Please take my gift and wear it, even if you don't understand. What harm can it do? My talisman is yours. Once you put it on, don't take it off. Please, I beg of you."
Bianca reached for the charm she wore. Pulling the chain over her head, she held the leather pouch, a sacred fetish. Her fingers trembled with her burden.
"Will you allow me?" She held out the chain.
Eventually, Delacorte nodded. Bianca stood and placed the chain around his neck with all the reverence she had in her. She bestowed him with Ayza's talisman and tucked it inside his shirt next to his skin. After it was done, she sat. Delacorte was a broad-shouldered, masculine man, with fierce intelligent eyes. He could intimidate men or soften a woman's heart. Now the compassion in his eyes warmed her heart and made her believe Ayza had been right about him.
"You have a place to stay for a while?" he asked. "You can stay here if you like. I don't think you should go home."
Bianca shook her head. "Oh, no. I could not impose. I have friends in the city and won't go home. I'll be fine."
"Then here, take this. You'll need money." Christian stood and pulled out his wallet. Bianca raised her hand.
"No, please. You've been more than generous. My friends will take care of me. They're like family." She wiped her eyes and took a breath. "I'll call this hotel and leave a message where I can be reached. Please call me if you have news."
"I will," he promised.
His woman friend smiled. A kind face with trustworthy eyes. A woman in love. Bianca returned her gesture. One last time, she touched Delacorte's chest with trembling fingers, feeling the talisman under his shirt. He gave her that moment without embarrassment. She relied on her faith, but more depended upon the strength of Christian Delacorte.
"Thank you. I pray we will see each other soon. Good fortune in your journey," she said as she stood.
He cocked his head and looked at her with questions in his eyes, but he didn't ask them. Both Americans walked her to the door and allowed her to leave on her own. Bianca rode the elevator to the ground floor, avoiding eye contact. Once she got to the lobby, she pushed through the revolving door and onto the crowded street, in step with a group of businessmen. She had done what she came to do.
Now Hector's life was in the hands of Ayza—and a stranger.
Sitting in a silver Fiat Siena sedan, Eduardo sucked on a cigarette, taking his last drag. He flicked the butt out the window and blew smoke out his nose, his eyes fixed on the plump ass of a young woman strutting down the street. A real handful. No, make that two. In his mind, the urban landscape faded to black and the noise of traffic died.
He pictured himself humping her—hard and fast. The sound of flesh slapping flesh filled his brain. His skin beaded with sweat, the veins of his neck distending. She clawed his back, wanting more, crying out his name. In his fantasy, he was always a wanted man.