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 scenarios 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 scales 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.

"Perhaps, but before you insult my intelligence again, I would like to share the reason I'm standing here in this clearing with you and not taking cover in the trees like the rest of my team."

Zharan's men suddenly realized their vulnerability, standing in the open. They fidgeted and started to talk. The chief raised a hand, but that didn't stop the commotion. He was losing control.

"Say it, Luis. No more melodrama," Zharan demanded.

"I have snipers positioned in the trees. Once you left the jungle, they closed the gap and now have you completely surrounded. They've been given their orders whether I'm alive or not, but I had to look you in the eye to deliver the news. An indulgence I couldn't resist."

Zharan shrugged and held out both hands in question. "What's this all about, Captain Duarte? Revenge?" The man had the audacity to laugh. The sound of it was as abrasive as nails on a chalkboard. "Charges can be dropped. I can restore your good name with the stroke of my pen. And if you killed that Asian woman, you won't hear any complaints from me. The bitch had it coming—if not for this, then something else. What do you want? Name your price."

At the mention of Jasmine, his father stepped forward with venom in his eyes, but Christian and Raven held him back.

"Now's not the time. Be patient. We still need a diversion." Christian kept his voice low. He dared to hope he'd been wrong about Duarte, but the jury was still out. This could be nothing more than a falling out among thieves.

Instead of responding to the chief's question, Captain Duarte did a strange thing. Christian watched as the man stepped toward the helicopter closest to him and opened the cargo bay door. He stood back from the aircraft and beckoned with a wave of his fingers.

All eyes were on the shadowy cargo hold of the chopper. The fuselage rocked with a faint motion. Jasmine Lee slid from a seat in the dark and leapt to the ground with all the grace of a cunning feline on the prowl.

"Am I the Asian bitch you referred to, Ricardo?" She narrowed her eyes. If looks could indeed kill, Chief Zharan would be slit cock to gullet with a very dull knife. "As you can see, Captain Duarte hasn't hurt me. In fact, he's been quite cordial. He made me see that we needed to talk. So I believe there's been a misunderstanding. And I, for one, would like to clear it up with the proper authorities as soon as possible."

"This is bullshit!" Zharan spat. The man was more than angry. His charges against the captain would never hold up now. Like two gunslingers, Zharan and Duarte glared at each other, waiting for one to blink.

But Jasmine tempered the tension with something else on her mind. Slowly, she walked across the clearing toward Nicholas as if no one else were there. Her stern expression and steely eyes melted as she approached him with each step, replaced by the face of a woman in love. Raven watched the two of them change before her eyes, influenced by a reserved dignity all their own. The amazing transformation in both of them surprised her. Ignoring all the danger, they held each other's gaze. Nothing seemed more important than feeling that first touch of a hand or catching the soft tremble of a lip fighting to hold back the emotion.

Raven glanced over to Christian. He hadn't missed the exchange between his father and Jasmine. He still stood spellbound by it, and that made her smile. Even with a war on the verge of happening, the man Raven loved took the time to witness the quiet reuniting of two lovers.

God, how I love this man!

But no one else noticed Jasmine and Nicholas. With tensions high, Duarte sat on the proverbial powder keg, still trying to diffuse it. He made his point again.

"As for what I want? I'd like for your men to lay down their weapons." He raised his voice so the men behind Zharan would hear. "As far as I'm concerned, they were only following orders."

This caused a stir within the rank and file. Those able to speak English translated for those who couldn't. Duarte's offer swept through the men like a grass fire in high winds.

"Don't make matters worse, Ricardo. Charboneau and his people are foreigners. Killing them would only stir up the American consulate, something our government would frown upon. And who would believe Mario Araujo, a man who had made his living off kidnappings at gunpoint? Advise your men to put down their weapons. We can settle this back in Cuiabá."

Christian saw the tension mounting in Fuentes and pulled Raven closer. Duarte tried to downplay what lay in store for Zharan, but too much had happened. The captain had no idea of the friction building between Zharan and his top dog. Perhaps Fuentes had much more to lose with everything unraveling. The detective looked like a man faced with a harsh reality and all his options gone.

Once again, Duarte yelled at the top of his lungs,
"Put down your weapons and back away with your hands up!"
He repeated his demands in Portuguese.

But Zharan interrupted and countered with his own power play.
"Anyone putting down their weapons will be shot. Do you hear me? "
he screamed, red faced. "Fuentes? Captain Duarte is an armed fugitive. Take him into custody. If he resists, kill him."

Most of the men backed off, but a handful near Fuentes reached for their weapons. In the second it took to raise them, a high-pitched whine shrieked through the air. Faint at first, then loud and distinct. It deadened with a sharp final crack. A man standing too close to Fuentes jerked to the right and pitched backward, but not before the back of his head exploded. A sniper with suppressed fire made the sound of silent death hard to forget. Fuentes had moved enough to change his fate.

"Hit the deck!"
Christian cried out, and hunched over, covering Raven with his body.

But Jasmine had another agenda. And it had nothing to do with avoiding a fight.

Even as men scrambled for cover, she ignored the risk to protect Nicholas. With a fist, she coldcocked the guy next to Nicky and grabbed the man's Taurus 1911 pistol. She had intended to disarm him and give the weapon to Nicholas, but two more men lunged for them.

She shot one point-blank in the face. His blood spattered her cheek, making her flinch. When she turned, the other man had grappled Nicholas to the ground. They wrestled for a gun, but Nicky was bound in handcuffs. In seconds, it would be over if the bastard got off a shot. Jasmine wouldn't wait for the outcome. She could have shot him in the head, but a muscle spasm might force a nervous reflex in the man's trigger finger. She jammed the Taurus into the waistband of her pants and pulled a knife from a sheath on her belt.

Jasmine knocked off the man's helmet and grabbed his hair. She yanked him back with one hand and gripped the knife hard in the other. In the same motion, she dug the blade deep under the man's ear and twisted it, severing the artery. His warm blood spurt up the knife and sprayed, but at least he released his grip on the gun enough for Nicky to grab it. The dying man clutched his neck and rolled to the ground, his face distorted with fear and pain. In a matter of minutes he would bleed out, but she wouldn't be around to witness it.

Nicky tried to scramble to his feet, ready to do his part, but Jasmine wasn't done doing her duty. She had to get him to safety. Without hesitation, she grabbed his arm and hauled him behind one of the choppers, the nearest cover. Her sudden move caught him by surprise. Still off balance, he half-crawled to keep up and not be such a burden. Jasmine didn't have time to slow down. Moving targets were harder to hit.

Nicholas was covered in blood, but she knew it wasn't his. When he was out of the line of fire, she breathed a sigh of relief and prepared to jump back into the fray to help Duarte end this, but something made her stop. For one brief instant, Jasmine stood over Nicky awash in euphoria. She had saved him, had done her job. She smiled, and in response, his expression softened into a crooked grin.

But a shot rang out and took it all away.

She felt a strong punch to her arm and chest. And the left side of her body flushed with heat. A bloom of red erupted on her chest. In shock, she looked down, the pain not yet registered. Her eyes rolled into her head and she collapsed onto Nicky. The blackness swallowed her.

"Nooo!"
he cried.

Confined by handcuffs, Nicholas broke her fall as best he could. Once he had her, he gripped her hard to his chest as if he could make it all better by willing it done. He sat rocking her in his arms, his mouth gaped open with an unspoken
Why?
on his lips.

Nicholas peered around the helicopter that Jasmine had used to protect him. She had shoved him to safety, leaving her in the open, a clear target. Across the clearing, Zharan stood with his gun still aimed.

Nicholas blinked. He wanted to find a gun and shoot the smug bastard, but he only thought of one thing.
Stop the bleeding!
With his heart hammering in his chest, he laid her to the ground, cradling her head. Jasmine had a faint pulse and was barely breathing. He tore open her blouse and the body armor under it. In a fluke mishap, the bullet went through her arm and into her chest, bypassing her body armor via the armhole. As much as he hated seeing an exit wound, he knew enough to know it went clean through, preferable to a round that expended all its energy inside her.

But no telling how close the bullet had come to her lungs or what arteries were hit. The handcuffs made his work almost impossible. He pressed both wounds, his hands spread as far as they would reach. Shooting and chaos swelled around him, but all he thought about was Jasmine.

Her beautiful face blurred through his tears.

Damn it! She's not dead yet!
Anger took control.

"Don't leave me. Not now," he cried. "You hear me, Jasmine? Please . . . don't leave me."

Nicholas blocked out everything. Now, nothing else mattered.

But Christian couldn't say the same.

Beside his father, a sniper round exploded and ripped through the chest of another of Zharan's men. Christian heard it from where he stood. It tore through flesh with a wet beefy sound. The hot smell of blood assaulted his nose, sickening and sweet. By the time the dead man hit the turf, a pool of crimson leaked out from under him, soaking the ground. Ignoring the horror, Christian lunged for the man's handgun.

"Christian!" Raven screamed. "Look out!" Fuentes kicked the weapon aside and stood over

him with a gun pointed to his forehead, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Christian stared down the barrel. He would die on his knees after all. But in that instant, a cold wave surged through his body, initiating from deep in his chest. Suddenly, he felt the weight of the talisman, fortifying him with its strength.

It all rushed by in a blur, happening way too fast, until time abruptly stopped. The change punched him like a blow to the head, then muted to a calming hush.

Christian felt every sensation as if he were the only one moving, like an out of body experience. In his head, he heard his own breaths and the rhythm of his heart, muffled and steady. And he saw Raven crying off to his right, her voice garbled. Two men had grabbed her arms and were pulling her away. Raven didn't fight back. She only watched the drama being played out between him and Fuentes.

Near one of the helicopters, Charboneau was covered in blood and held Jasmine in his arms, but when his father cried out, no sound came from his mouth. Even Fuentes tensed his muscles and moved in slow motion.

Christian saw everything with such clarity, as if he wasn't a part of it.

But just as quickly the sluggish sensation came to a sudden stop. When it did, Christian stared into the barrel of a gun pointed between his eyes. And the sound of the detective's voice came through loud and clear.

"See you in hell, Delacorte."

That's when Fuentes pulled the trigger.