No One Left To Tell

Relishing the thought, she smiled. Nicky always did know how to please a woman.

But as she inched her way along the wall, toward the rear of the building, she heard a faint sound. Almost undetectable.

A single beep, loud enough to spoil her plan. The sound carried on the cool night air. Unsure of its origin, she peered through the dark, searching the shadows for any sign of movement. As she neared a corner, Jasmine squared her back to the wall, cautiously moving forward. With a turn of her head, she edged close enough for a sideways glance. The space had once been some kind of storage unit. Its door hung lopsided, off one of its hinges. Adjacent to the main building, it did not give access to McBride's stronghold, so she considered it useless. Oddly enough, the noise came from within. Perhaps she'd dismissed the importance of the room too hastily after all.

She looked inside.

The place conjured up an old memory. Broker of Death. Nicky had called her that once. Being a death dealer, Jasmine believed it far better to give than to receive. But with the interior of the bunker completely black, it possessed all the qualities of a crypt. It felt more like an omen of her mortality, leaving her edgy. Yet with the door wide open and busted, a bluish haze cast into the space, reassuring her. She would be in and out quickly.

In the far corner, an object lay on the cement floor. It reflected a pale light onto a brick wall, partially hidden under refuse. It looked as if someone had dropped a cell phone. As she stepped within earshot, the beeping sound took on a rhythm, a steady chirp. It wasn't intimidating in the least, but its power-driven nature sent a clear message.

Someone had been there.

Crouching low, she checked her surroundings one final time. Trusting her instincts, she sensed no one and slipped closer to the object, eyes focused on the glow. She removed debris, making the light more conspicuous. A phone? By the time she laid her hands on it, she realized her fatal mistake. Impaired by the light, her night vision was temporarily useless.

Then she heard it.

The door of the bunker wedged shut, throwing her into total darkness, except for the dim glow of the phone's display. She shut it down, not wanting to draw attention to her location. Fortified for the kill, she moved left, relying on her senses to guide her.

The air felt thick with a presence, the sensation elusive and indefinable. Most remarkable!

Even the faintest sound reverberated inside the compact structure. She held her breath, not giving any advantage to her new adversary. Although cornered, she prepared to fight. Her hand reached for the gun in her thigh holster. A voice emerged from the void, deflecting off the walls.

'No need for the gun. I'm just here to talk.' The man whispered, moving as he spoke, making it impossible to pinpoint his location.

Her eyes followed the sound as it rebounded off the walls. But even more disturbing—the voice sounded familiar. Normally, she prided herself on composure under fire. Yet this completely baffled her.

And how did he see her movements? Surely the darkness encumbered him in the same manner. The man moved too quietly to be laden with night-vision gear. Very intriguing!

She must know more.

'Why do you hide in the shadows? I am only a defenseless woman, more afraid of you than you should be of me.' Using her femininity to bait the trap, she would draw him out, a practiced maneuver. She knew from experience that his ego would do the rest. But to her surprise, the man stifled a laugh, a low, sensual sound with a familiar ring of intimacy.

'Lady, you scare the hell out of me, but I'd still like to talk.'

'The cell phone. Is it yours?' she asked.

'Yes. Just my way to reach out and touch someone.'

As he replied, she powered up the cell and hit the function menu to find his name in the registry, allowing her body to be edged in light. But the only name on the display caused her to rethink killing him.

Dunbill Corporation.With keen interest, she searched for the man, eager for a glimpse.

'You move well.' She tempted him with flattery. 'Come closer so we may talk.'

'As appealing as that sounds, this is not a game for me.' The man changed his tone, forgoing the subterfuge of his whisper. He stepped forward, risking a show of good faith. She admired strength, a quality so few possessed.

'I have someone inside who needs my help,' he admitted. 'So I have one thing to say.'

'This promises to be interesting.' She resorted to her usual sarcasm.

But as the man drew near, curiosity won out. She took a risk of her own, powering up the cell phone to shine its light. As his face emerged from the shadows, she nearly forgot to breathe. The uncanny resemblance stunned her—the strong jawline, the full lips, and those most expressive eyes. She swallowed, hard. It took great discipline to hide her reaction. Still, there remained no doubt in her mind.

Nicholas Charboneau bad a son.

Softening her voice, Jasmine encouraged him. 'Please, enlighten me.'

'You either help me or get out of my way. I don't have time for a debate.'

His confidence fascinated her. And his underlying message held much more than an idle threat. She saw it in his eyes. A smile curved her lips. Suddenly, things had gotten much more interesting.

A woman. She wouldn't give her name. And he returned the favor, keeping his anonymity. This wasn't a social occasion.

With a watchful eye, Christian followed her to a rusted Dumpster. Behind it, she stashed her gear and knelt beside it, rummaging through the contents.

By the light of the moon, he observed the woman. Dressed in black with a Kevlar vest for added protection, she wore a thigh-holstered Glock and a knife in her belt. If Christian didn't know better, he'd swear she looked like part of a police tactical team. But something in her manner told him she wouldn't play by anyone's rules, especially on the side of law enforcement.

And what connection did she have to the men inside? He didn't have time to find out.

'I'd like my phone back.'

'I do not believe it would be in my best interest to comply. You might call the authorities,' she reasoned.

'With or without your cooperation, that's done. If I don't make a call saying my friend inside is safe and sound, my man has been instructed to call the cops'— he glanced at his watch, illuminating the dial with the push of a button—'in thirty minutes. But I can't wait for the cavalry, not knowing what's happening inside.'

The woman quit rifling through her belongings and stiffened at the mention of police.

'I can't be a part of this if the police come. Once I see flashing red cherry, I don't care what's going on. I'm out.'

'Not a part of this?' He found her eyes in the dark. 'Then why are you here?'

'I have my reasons.' Her voice low, she focused on her bag once again.

'Not good enough, lady.' He didn't appreciate her evasive response. And time had run out. The urgency of his predicament tested his tolerance.

'You don't have a say in what I do.' She narrowed her eyes in defiance. 'I scouted this location, and I know another way in. It will take longer to get into position, but you will like the advantage. As I see it, you need me.'

'Need you for what exactly?' He didn't wait for an answer. 'I'm gonna ask you again. Why are you here?'

For a moment, he thought she would refuse to answer. But eventually, she explained. 'I am only after one man. Once I have acquired my target, you are on your own. I have no interest in the woman or the little priest.'

'Priest? What priest?'