"Look, you and I are men who bend the rules when it suits us, but what you're suggesting seems foolhardy and risky. Who is this witness you speak of? Let me confront my accuser. Isn't a man's life worth the extra effort?" He pleaded his case, voice raised.
"That won't be necessary." Another man's voice came from the shadows. Low and threatening.
On instinct, Nicholas rushed to the back wall of his prison cell. His captor reached under his tunic, no doubt in search of a weapon.
The other two native men turned with a start. One raised a flashlight and the other reached for a knife. A shot rang out. Then two more. The one with the knife took a round to the face. His head snapped back and twisted. His body followed the momentum and convulsed when it hit the ground. His brain was dead but the rest of him hadn't gotten the message.
The second man collapsed backward with shock forged in his eyes. The sound of bullets hitting his chest center mass echoed through the cave long after his heart stopped beating. Two meaty thuds. Once a man hears a sound like that, he never forgets it.
The pungent smell of gunpowder hung heavy in the air. It infused with the coppery sweetness of blood and the foul stench of human waste, the familiar melange of violent death.
"Hold it. Drop your weapon. State of Mato Grosso police." A guy in fatigues materialized out of the dark like a ghost. He held his weapon on the tribal leader, his eyes hard-edged and unflinching.
The man with the painted face and ceremonial robes laid his gun down. His eyes were fixed on the dead men at his feet. His men. In shock, he didn't appear to care what happened next.
"What are you doing? You didn't have to shoot 'em." Another voice came from the dark, but Nicholas couldn't see the man.
He barely heard the words of their exchange. His ears still rang. The sudden brutality left him stunned, yet Nicholas knew what it took to execute men this way.
"Don't worry. No one will hear the gun fire this deep in the cave, especially with the waterfall outside," the guy with the gun and the upper hand insisted. A soul incapable of guilt.
"That's not the point," the other man argued.
When he emerged from the shadows, the second man came into focus. Those eyes. That face. Like standing in front of a mirror that shed twenty years from his age.
It took Nicholas some time to recognize the face of the son he'd never met.
Christian stared into the eyes of his father for the first time. Until now, he'd been preoccupied with the rescue and hadn't thought about how this would feel. The reality of the moment hit him hard. He stepped closer to the metal bars, unable to take his eyes off Nicholas Charboneau. He searched for the young man that had stolen his mother Fiona's heart all those many years ago. Most of all, he wanted to find his connection to the man. His father.
"You okay?"
With disheveled clothes and hair and a gaunt face, Charboneau looked like hell. And in the dim light, Christian thought he saw a glimmer of tears welling in the man's eyes. Or maybe it was only his imagination, stirred by his own feelings.
"I am now." He nodded. "How did you . . . ? Can't believe you came."
"How could I not?" Christian smiled, but the quiet moment between them faded.
"My name is Detective Arturo Fuentes. I'm with the military police for the state of Mato Grosso. Can you walk, Mr. Charboneau?" Fuentes asked, still holding his gun on the native man.
"Yes. Please . . . get me out of here," Nicholas answered, but hadn't taken his gaze off Christian. Those penetrating eyes took in every detail, as if he wanted to capture the moment. But then again, maybe he was reading into it.
"With all that face paint, I barely recognized you. You must be Mario Araujo," the detective said with amusement in his voice. "Keep your hands up and kick that gun to me. No fast moves."
Araujo did as he was told. The gun skittered across stone to the feet of the detective, but he didn't pick it up. He stayed focused on the tribal leader.
"I know you have the keys. Open the cell." When the man hesitated, Fuentes added, "I can search your body for them. It makes no difference to me."
Araujo slowly moved his hands toward his tunic.
"Be careful, old man," Fuentes threatened, shifting his aim to the man's head. "Real slow."
The native man pulled out the key and opened the lock. Nicholas stepped through the cell door, but stopped in front of Araujo.
"I meant what I said about that clinic. And I don't know anything about people taken off the streets for experiments."
The native man looked up in surprise with eyes narrowed, but didn't say anything.
"Mr. Delacorte. Please assist me by handcuffing this man." The detective held out a set of cuffs, but kept his gun on Araujo. "I will take care of the rest."
After Christian secured the man's hands behind his back, Fuentes picked up the loose gun and searched his prisoner to make sure he didn't have any other surprises. When he found a cell phone, the detective pulled it out and looked at it with interest.
"Nice phone. Who would you need to call from out here?"
Araujo kept his face unreadable. "I use it for emergencies only. For my people."
Fuentes glared at him with skepticism. "We'll see about that."
Once he was satisfied with his search, the cop stuffed the cell phone in one of his vest pockets and tried his com set, but got no reception. The cave caused interference.
"I'll try again when we get out of here. If you would see to Mr. Charboneau, I will take care of Araujo." Fuentes picked up a flashlight from the ground. He stepped over the dead man who had once held it, without giving him a second look. "Grab the other light. You may not need it, but Mr. Charboneau might appreciate it."
Fuentes smirked and holstered his weapon. He yanked Araujo by the arm and hauled him back the way they'd come, taking half the light with him. The cavern grew dark. Shadows stretched across stone. For the sake of his father, Christian reached down and picked up the other flashlight with reluctance. Flecks of blood and tissue covered the still burning light. He couldn't help but look into the accusing eyes of the second dead man. The smell of death hung heavy in the air. Fuentes could have avoided taking the shot. He didn't have to kill. The cop never even gave a warning.
"What did he mean by that? About not needing the light?" his father asked.
"Nothing. Let's get out of here." Christian wiped his hands on his pants and walked beside Charboneau, careful to shine the light on the path in front of him.
"Please tell me something." His father reached for his arm and pulled him to a stop, letting the detective and Araujo stretch their lead. "If you're here, that must mean Jasmine told you what happened, right?"
"Jasmine did ask me to help, yes. And Fiona was willing to put up the ransom."
"So Jasmine must be okay. He let me believe she'd been killed, but somehow I knew. Where is she? Why isn't she here?"
Christian saw the urgency in his eyes. He felt it in his grip. The man had more concern for Jasmine than for his own safety. And that told him a lot.
"I wish I knew." Christian shook his head. "We've got a lot to talk about."
The downpour had come in waves, from a gentle patter to a gully washer. It kept the mosquitoes to a minimum, but had no other redeeming qualities as far as Raven was concerned. Now the rain came steady and unrelenting. She'd have mixed feelings about taking a hot shower when this day ended. The skin of her fingertips had begun to prune.
Drenched head to toe, she kept watch over the villagers with binoculars, yet Chief Zharan drew her attention whenever he moved or spoke into his com set. She hadn't known the man long, but felt his agitation even from a distance. Christian and Fuentes had been gone for what seemed like an eternity. Soon, the villagers would notice the missing men and might go looking for them. They were sitting on a time bomb of their own creation.
And Zharan knew it.
Forcing a confrontation with these people would be hard to explain if Zharan's intel wasn't complete and Charboneau wasn't being held here. So much was riding on word from Detective Fuentes. When it finally came, she felt a fraction of the chief's relief. No one took it quite as hard as the guy in charge.
"Fuentes reports he and your Mr. Delacorte have freed Nicholas Charboneau and he is able to walk. And Mario Araujo is in custody." He smiled.
"That means we can pull out, right?" she asked. "These people have no need to know we were ever here."
"Yes. I've ordered my men to fall back. We will meet Fuentes at the base of the waterfall and continue from there, back the way we came. It's been a good day." He tapped her lightly on the shoulder.
She returned his smile. "Yes, it has."
After the police chief left, Raven took one last look at the natives below while the tactical team maneuvered by her in silent retreat. The simplicity of the villagers' lives intrigued her, but their leader fascinated her even more. Given the choice of so-called civilization and this simpler existence, Mario Araujo had chosen to live here with his people. Not the mind-set of your typical kidnapper. The pieces to this puzzle didn't add up.
But another thought shoved aside her questions about Araujo and his people.
She found her heart racing with the prospect of resuming her life with Christian.
Her future.
He had rescued his father and now would have time to get to know the man. She understood the importance of family. And with Christian, she had a shot at starting one of her own. In that instant, Raven felt the pain and the joy of every moment she had shared with him and came to one conclusion. Finding Christian had been worth it all.
"Yeah, I'd say it's been a very good day," she whispered, then moved out with the rest of the men.
Fighting the lump in her throat, Raven forgot about the rain and the miserable conditions. None of it mattered. She couldn't wait to see Christian. He had anchored her world with his love. Now they would have a lifetime to figure out the rest.
"This Captain Duarte, is he the kind of man who would kill Jasmine?"
It took a long moment for Christian to answer his father's question. Charboneau had been through so much and didn't need this extra burden of guilt, yet his very lifestyle had exposed his bodyguard to this type of danger. What did he expect?
"I really don't know." In the end, he couldn't lie to the man.
"I have to get back. Find her," his father vowed.
Christian nodded. "I'll help." But he doubted Charboneau heard his offer.
His father clenched his jaw. Raindrops beaded on his face, then drained down to drip off his chin. He didn't bother to wipe them away. Kneeling at the water's edge, Nicholas stared across the undulating pool at the base of the falls, his mind as unsettled and turbulent as the water's surface.
Clearly, the man didn't like what he'd heard about Captain Luis Duarte and the new situation with Jasmine. Christian got the distinct feeling it would not be a good move to trade places with the Brazilian cop. He had no idea what drove the enigmatic police captain, but Charboneau was another story. His loyalty to Jasmine, and whatever else he felt for her, would far outweigh his sense of right or wrong, assuming he had a conscience at all. Christian trusted his gut instinct. And it told him his father was a far more dangerous man than Duarte. How he knew this, he couldn't quite put a finger on it. Yet he knew it with certainty.
Nicholas continued cleaning up, his emotions contained once again. "You haven't told the police I'm your father, have you?"
Nicholas didn't wait for his answer. He scooped water into his hands and splashed it onto his face, scrubbing his skin. The rain had turned to drizzle, not enough to do the job. A layer of sweat and grime came off, and he doused his wavy hair, leaving it wringing wet.
When he didn't reply, his father looked over his shoulder, prompting him with an expectant stare.
"No. I thought it would . . . complicate things." Christian straddled a fallen tree and flicked a flat rock along the surface of the water. It skipped four times.
"Or maybe you'd rather distance yourself from someone like me."
"I don't want to pass judgment." The lack of conviction in his voice was hard to miss.
"You may not want to, but it's hard not to have an opinion, isn't it?" his father pressed. The unusual violet color to his eyes turned to midnight blue under the overcast sky. "I'd rather we clear the air. It's more my style, and I hope yours too."
Christian didn't answer at first. He took a quick glance to his right. Fuentes had taken Araujo and given them a wide berth. And with the rumbling waterfall, they would have their privacy. But they'd have little time alone. According to Fuentes, Zharan and his men were only minutes away.
If his father wanted the truth, he'd lay it out for him—his way.
"Why did you come here ... to Brazil?" he asked. "You've got a connection to Genotech Labs. You admitted that to Araujo. I heard you in the cave." Everything came out in a rush. Indignation mixed with hostility. "Hell, it doesn't take a genius to figure out you're manipulating genetics for the drug addicted, like they aren't already living in a hell on earth."
Christian tossed another stone but didn't watch where it landed. He wasn't done.
"And that so-called clinic? I caught some of the late-night action with Jasmine. Araujo was right. The cops were taking drug addicts off the streets and turning them over to Phillips. I got the distinct feeling it was a one-way trip."
"Whoa." With a grimace, Nicholas raised both hands. "Good thing you aren't here to pass judgment. I'd hate to think what your opinion of the old man might be if you thought I was a lying conniving bastard who took advantage of poor helpless meth heads."
"Don't try taking me on a guilt trip. I'm not buying a ticket." He piled on a heaping dose of sarcasm. "And do us both a favor. Don't deny you have a connection to drug trafficking. My father, the pusher."
Christian hadn't realized the depth of his anger. Everything he'd learned about his father after coming to Brazil had welled to the surface. He tossed another rock across the water. This one sank.
"Makes me wonder what Fiona ever saw in you. Correct that. Still sees in you." There it was. He'd said it.
They sat in silence until Charboneau said, "Believe me, I wonder that myself. I never deserved her love, but oh, how I wanted it."
Nicholas sat back on his haunches and stared at Christian, straightforward and unflinching.
"Perhaps the best way to answer your question is to say I have many regrets in my life." Nicholas stared off into the distance, past Christian, his mind rooted in the past. "But the way I treated your mother is at the top of that long list. She was the road not taken. My dear sweet Fiona will haunt the rest of my days. It's the one constant in my life."
He shut his eyes and sighed, but he wasn't finished.
"And you? She never told me about you, for good reason. She was always the more pragmatic and rational one." Nicholas shook his head, then fixed his eyes on Christian. "It took a lot of guts to risk your neck for someone you don't know or respect. For whatever it's worth, I want to thank you for what you did."
Christian hadn't expected to hear Charboneau talk about regrets with such openness. Sad, but he had no idea if he could trust the words coming from his father's mouth. No matter how much he wanted to.
"Thanks for sharing that . . ." Christian had no idea what to think. "But your involvement with this med clinic at Genotech is so damning."
Indignation flashed across Charboneau's eyes. "Look, I already told Araujo I had nothing to do with any clinic at the lab. What's it going to take to—"
He didn't get a chance to finish. Zharan and his men came up the trail and overtook the small clearing.
When Nicholas saw a smiling Chief Zharan, he slowly stood with hands on his hips, a look of disbelief set in his eyes. "Well, I'll be damned. What the hell are you doing here?"