"Surviving a vacation? Sounds like a pitch for a new reality TV show." Raven shrugged into her windbreaker as she stood on the top step. After zipping the lower half of the jacket, she adjusted the waistband over her Glock and the detective's badge fastened to her belt. "It's hard to picture Christian doing the whole vacation thing."
"You mean the camera around the neck, plaid Bermuda shorts, black socks and sandals thing?" Tony reached for the sunglasses in the pocket of his jacket. But before he slipped them over his dark eyes, he grimaced. "God, I just got a mental picture of my uncle Ray in that touristo gear. That's an image I didn't need."
She shook her head and heaved a sigh, infusing her lungs with fresh air. After pulling an all-nighter, she knew that stale coffee and the smoke-tainted air of the bullpen had permeated her clothes. It shaded her disposition with a funk that even Tony's humor couldn't cure.
"It's just that Christian's been so busy setting up his new business, meeting new clients, hiring people, and getting all the renovation done on his new home. Sometimes I think . . ."
Tony squared off in front of her, hands in his slacks. Even through the dark glasses, she saw the concern in her partner's eyes. "What? You can tell me, Mac."
Raven stepped aside, leaning up against the metal railing of the stairs, her eyes on Tony. She had no secrets from a man she considered family. He had proven himself trustworthy on so many fronts.
"I know how he feels about me, Tony. And the way I love him, it scares me sometimes." She stared out toward the lake, its undulating waves glistening in the morning light between the office buildings. A gust of wind caught her next breath, making her shiver. "But he's never shared his grief with me, even after he's grappled with one of his nightmares. It's like a black hole. A bottomless pit that's all bottled up inside him. I can see a memory flash across his eyes, when he thinks I'm not watching, and he looks so lost."
"You ever ask him about that?" He sat next to her, so close she felt the reassuring warmth of his shoulder against hers.
"It's never felt like the right time, so I don't push it. I keep . . . waiting. And you know how much I love the waiting game."
For a moment Tony fell silent. He gazed straight ahead, then dropped his chin to speak, "He's probably still working it out for himself. Guys do that. It gives us an aloof mystique. Women can't resist it. Maybe when the puzzle starts to take shape, he may ask you to help him finish it." He drew her attention when he made eye contact again. "But whatever it is you're feeling, it might be a rift that's permanent. He may never open up. Can you live with that?"
Raven tilted her face toward the sun. She closed her eyes, letting the warmth caress her skin. Her partner was a very perceptive man, latching onto the very question she'd been asking herself for weeks. When she opened her eyes again, she nudged his shoulder with her own.
"I don't know. I want to help him. It's torture to sit back and watch him go through it alone."
"He's not alone. He's got you. And I'm sure he feels your support. Give him time, Mac. Christian loves you. I can see it. But a pain like that takes time." Tony stared down at his boots, nudging the tip of one over a crack in the cement. "It amazes me he's as normal as he is. You talk about having the rug pulled out from under you. A ten-year-old kid having to deal with the massacre of his family overnight, then finding out the ugly reason all those years later. It takes a pretty strong person to pull through it like he has. I admire the guy."
"I don't know if I'm doing him any favors by standing on the sidelines."
"You've got good instincts when it comes to people. Trust yourself. Just be there when he needs to talk." Tony lifted the corner of his mouth into a crooked grin. "You seeing him with what's left of your weekend?"
"Yeah. I've got a stop to make first, but I'm heading over for a little one on one." She returned his smile.
"Just take it a day at a time, Mackenzie."
"I hear ya, partner. And thanks for listening."
"Anytime."
She walked with him down the steps and onto the sidewalk in front of the station house. Heading for her car, she parted company with Tony knowing he was right. She considered every day with Christian a blessing.
Yet why did it feel like those precious days were numbered?
Christian hit the zone where his body reacted on pure instinct, even without the benefit of eyesight. A dark blindfold covered his eyes, yet he sensed absolutely everything from the sweat trailing down the small of his back to the cool air raising the hair on his taut forearms. Holding the sharp
katana
sword in a two-fisted grip, he cut through air, drawing a whisper from the blade. A distinctive sound.
Wearing only the black Samurai pants known as the Hakama, and an
iai obi
—a traditional sword belt cinched at his waist—he moved across the wooden floor of his dojo without effort. As part of the drill, he pictured an imaginary enemy, adapting his
kata
movements to combat his foe. The blindfold made it easier. Only the soft rustle of the wide pant legs accompanied his steady breaths and the lethal murmur of the blade.
When he hunted, he felt true freedom. Fear forged an alliance with discipline, allowing him to focus on his target. With an appreciation for irony, he understood this process infused him with serenity. A balance and symmetry to the art.
He had studied Kenjitsu for years using his favorite
katana,
an elegant, sleek sword. But he also developed his skill with spears and throwing knives. Despite his preparation with weaponry, he preferred the avoidance of conflict—the art of self-defense. Such discipline reflected his own conflict between the violence that fettered his earlier life and his pursuit of tranquility to redirect his future.
The hum of the elevator broke his concentration. Yet he persisted with the blade, cutting at angles to battle his relentless adversary. Vertically down . . . then up in fluid motion. A decisive thrust, forward and back. Rotating his attack, he quickened his cuts.
As the elevator came to rest on the second floor, its wooden freight doors rattled open. He heard her step onto the dojo floor. Almost imperceptibly, the wooden planks echoed her approach.
His blade came to rest in his right hand. In a single motion he resheathed the weapon when she drew closer. And as she instructed, he kept the blindfold in place, awaiting the cool touch of her fingers.
He wasn't disappointed.
"Good timing. I missed you," he said in a hushed tone. His words echoed in the stillness of the large chamber.
Without a word, she placed both hands on his broad chest, splaying her fingers across his muscles. Slowly, she moved down his taut stomach. Minus his eyesight, the move caught him by surprise. He gasped.
"That feels good." His chest heaved in an increasing rhythm. His reaction had more to do with his excitement at having her so near—and the prospect of what would follow. He had lost himself in the moment. Forgetting his discipline, he pleaded, "Don't stop."
He gulped air, almost choking on his hunger.
Still, she did not speak. Her tantalizing game. Instead she moved around to his back, trailing the tips of her fingers up his arm and across his shoulders. Cool satin floated over his inflamed skin. Her nails prickled his body with anticipation. Christian felt a subtle difference in the way she touched him. Raven was usually more direct. The woman's desires matched his need, but this teasing-prolonged fore-play stimulated all his senses. A new level of sensuality.
Amazing!
Silence fueled his imagination as he conjured up erotic images of Raven, the blindfold enhancing his perception. Vivid mental pictures spawned from his memory. Creamy pale skin and enticing curves of flesh tempted his lips. Dark hair and hypnotic eyes shoved reason from his brain, compelling his body to react. And as her finger traced his left nipple, making it constrict, blood rushed below his waist and hardened him with a familiar sensation.
God, this woman knew bow to punch his hot button!
His brain raged with pleasure.
"Awhh . . .
yes," he gasped. Her hands found the clasp to the sword belt. She undipped it and released the weapon.
"Oh God, Raven. You're driving me insane. How long do I have to—" Before he finished his question, the distant sound of a slamming door distracted him.
"Those stairs are murder. Why didn't you leave the elevator—"
He recognized the voice. Even from under his blindfold he knew something was terribly wrong. And a loud crash confirmed it.
"What the hell!" he bellowed.
"Am I interrupting something?"
The distinctive voice and sarcasm of Raven Mackenzie came from across the room. Christian spun toward her as he yanked the blindfold over his head. He found himself staring at an angry woman wearing a gun and badge. Hands on her hips, she stooci over a bag of groceries strewn across the floor. Eyes flared.
"How did you—" He knew by the look of her. For Raven to have been his seductress, she would have to possess skills in teleportation. She had just stepped through the outside entrance off the fire escape using a key he'd given her as backup if the elevator was out of commission.
A woman's voice came from behind him.
"I am sorry for my innocent deception. Seeing you in that blindfold, I could not resist."
He turned his head to gaze upon a familiar face marred with a nasty bruise on her left cheekbone. The beautiful Asian woman slipped a hand conspira-torially through his arm.
"Innocence and you parted company long ago, lady," he said. "I don't appreciate you barging in here." He yanked his arm from her in protest and stepped aside. His reluctance only amused his intruder. And she wasn't doing a very good job of hiding it.
"And I thought you and I were such good friends." Her eyes appraised him. "It's nice to see you in daylight, my love. You are even more handsome than I remembered." The woman smiled like an accomplice, no doubt enjoying her hoax. Dressed in a vivid red silk pantsuit, she looked stunning with her dark features and shoulder-length black hair. "And you are well skilled in the art of Kenjitsu . . . among other things. This pleases me."
Sidestepping a carton of cracked eggs and a melon, Raven narrowed her eyes in disbelief and bounded across the floor in record time.
"I've got skills too, and I'd sure like to demonstrate a few, but by the looks of your face, someone beat me to it. Pun intended." Raven stepped closer to the woman, standing nose-to-nose. "Must be your charm. So who the hell are you?"
Raven's ploy had little effect, despite her attempt at intimidation. Jasmine only returned her glare, not backing down. Having seen the deadly assassin in action, Christian would not have expected otherwise.
"My name is Jasmine Lee. Although I did not share my identity at the time, Christian remembers how we met, don't you?" She shifted her gaze to him, her eyes taking in the length of his body. The gesture added fuel to an already blazing fire.
Not one to back down, Raven inched closer. But before she voiced an opinion, Christian interceded by answering the woman's question.
"Yes, I do," he said, his voice tempered by the gratitude he felt. In reaction to a memory, phantom pain radiated from the scar on his belly, a souvenir from his brush with death nearly a year ago. "I owe her more than I can ever repay."
"I'm glad you remembered, lover . . . and that you are so very grateful." She raised an eyebrow and tilted her head. "I was afraid your memory might be a little . . . vague on some points."
He understood the underlying meaning in her cryptic message—heard it loud and clear.
He could tell by her expression and the innuendo in her voice. Jasmine suspected he hadn't told the complete truth about what happened. Being a cop, Raven wouldn't have understood why he kept his involvement with an assassin to himself. Their pact had been unspoken, for they both had killed that night. He understood
his
motivation, but why Jasmine killed was still a mystery.
In the meantime, ground rules had to be set.
"No matter how grateful I may be . . . that doesn't mean you can barge in here unannounced. I don't appreciate your head games." He pointed a finger at Jasmine. His raised voice reverberated off the walls. "So knock it off."
Slowly, she nodded in acknowledgment, making a graceful gesture with her hand. A sign of her concession. But the smile lingered, flavoring her truce with a heaping dose of ridicule.
"I have come to collect on my marker. You owe me, Christian. And I am afraid
no
is not an option. I do not have the luxury of time on my side."
Something in the woman's eyes changed, almost imperceptibly. He heard the urgency of her message. Yet laced between her words, he found an intriguing vulnerability. And in that instant the all too familiar sensation of dread and nervous energy gnawed deep in his gut. This couldn't be a good sign.
Something was terribly wrong in Jasmine's world— something frightening and out of control. Whatever it was, he had a feeling it would turn
his
world upside down.
Although the woman kept her distance, the room could never be large enough for Raven's preference. While Christian's shower rumbled in the background, Jasmine Lee wandered through his home, leafing through books and handling his personal photos like she belonged. Nothing could be further from the truth. Underneath vivid red silk, the woman's body moved with sensuality, displaying an enviable feminine confidence.
Jealousy reared its ugly head. Raven conjured up a million ways to undermine that confidence with a liberal dosage of
Fear Factor
reality TV. Slithering worms and roaches, steep cliffs, and meaty bull testicles came to mind. She smiled.
Ob, yeah. Now you're talkin'.
As the coffee maker gurgled fresh aroma in the air, Raven sat at the breakfast bar with an elbow on the armrest of a bar stool, observing Jasmine's every move. The woman would be trouble. Of this she was certain. And the cop in her would not stay silent any longer.