No One Lives Forever

'Thank you, Fie. I'll let you know how things turn out.'

He headed for the door, avoiding her scrutiny. Just walk out . . . only four steps. Before he made his escape, she stopped him with her words.

'You're going with her... to free him. Aren't you?' Her voice choked with insight. She knew him well.

Christian couldn't turn around. If he looked in her eyes, he might never do what must be done. Clinching his fists, he stood still for a moment, the muscles in his back rigid with regret. He wanted to comfort her, to hold her in his arms. But that was not possible. And he knew no words would console her. So he chose silence as his only reply. He walked out the door, leaving his mother in a prison far worse than the law would ever impose. He had no choice.

'Strength . . . and quiet endurance, Mother,' he whispered, his prayer for her as he walked down the hallway. 'One day at a time . . .'

Now, time to face Raven.

Their meal was over ... maybe even before it had begun. In denial, Raven's eyes focused on a stain smack dab in the middle of her good lace tablecloth, a faded spot of red wine. She'd been so preoccupied, she hadn't noticed it when she set the table earlier. Staring at it now, she couldn't remember when or how it had happened. Her thoughts turned to spot removal, anything but the trouble at hand.

Across from her, Christian sat in stone cold silence—a million miles away. Brazil, to be exact. She looked up and caught her own reflection in an antique mirror on the wall of her formal dining room. And she didn't like what she saw. Avoidance. Totally not like her. Only a damned ostrich would stick its head in the sand this deep.

Meet it head on, woman! Face it. . . deal with it.

She shifted focus to the remnants of their dinner, congealed on her mother's best china. She had hoped for a quiet dinner at her bungalow in the 'burbs, a chance to reason with him. Instead, neither of them had eaten much. Her pasta Alfredo sat cold on the plate, with salads nearly untouched. Ivory candlesticks had melted down, their flicker casting shadows on his handsome face.

Christian had been overly polite, awkward around her. She thought she'd seen the last of that behavior . . . so long ago. Now it returned with gusto. Something lay in ambush within his brain. She saw it coming—like a train wreck.

'You've been quiet. And you haven't said much about the visit you had with Fiona today. Want to talk about it?'

He shook his head, staring into his wineglass, rolling the crystal stem between his fingers. Candlelight speared through swirling chardonnay, its golden haze dancing over lace. 'I don't know how you can love somebody so much . . . and hurt them like that.'

'Being a member of law enforcement, I can't condone what she did . . . but Fiona acted out of love.'

'I'm not talking about what she did to hurt me. I'm the bastard who dished it out today.' Darkness shrouded his face. He avoided her eyes. 'I used her . . . to get what I wanted.'

'To help your father, Christian. There's a big difference.'

Struggling for words, he looked at her, his jaw torqued in anger. 'It doesn't feel so different, Raven.'

'Look. This is not a good situation. None of it. Will you let me inside long enough to help? Can we talk about this?'

She pleaded her case, laying it all out as plain as the red stain on lace.

His gaze drifted to her, a somber, unreadable change. The stillness of the room wedged between them. Only the soft ticking from a wall clock tempered the silence. Time slipping away. Too much time. She knew by his reticence she had lost him.

'Nothing to talk about. I gotta go. Thanks for dinner.' He wiped his mouth with a linen napkin and tossed it on the table by his plate. When he stood and started to help her clear off the table, she stopped him.

'Please don't. Leave 'em. I want to talk.'

Christian hesitated only for a moment, set his plate down and said, 'Sorry. I can't stay. I've got a lot to ... think about.' He headed for her front door, looking eager to be free of her accusing stare.

'Oh, no. I'd say the thinking has been done. You've made up your mind, haven't you?'

Voice raised, she kept pace with him, maneuvering through her small living room. By his actions, he had drawn a line in the sand. A line he didn't want her to cross.

You should know better, Christian!

Framed portraits of her family witnessed their argument. Her father posed in police uniform, the photo taken a month before he was killed in the line of duty. The face of a mother she never knew, smiling. They had been the foundation of her life, but Christian . . . She hoped he'd be her future.

You're my family now, Delacorte . . . like it or not.

In her experience, life never played fair. After her family had been taken from her by tragedy, she developed a pretty tough hide over the years. Yet with Christian, she'd let her guard down, not wanting any barriers to stand between them. Hell, love made you downright defenseless. And he was the one man who could hurt her . . . deeply. But in her heart, she trusted him not to.

'You're shutting me out. Why?' she demanded. 'If you're so hell-bent on doing this, then I'm going with you.'

Her words stopped him dead in his tracks, something logic and common sense couldn't do. Christian turned to face her.

'Yeah? Well, what if I don't want you to go? Do I have any say in the matter of my life?' he argued, gesturing to make his point. 'I'd just be worrying about you . . . maybe make mistakes that could cost both of us. I couldn't live with that.'

He grimaced as if he were in pain, raked a hand through his dark hair. 'Don't make this harder than it needs to be . . . please.' His gaze softened for only an instant. 'I love you. That hasn't changed.'

'But not enough to stay here . . . with me.' She blurted out those words, without thinking how needy she sounded. In her brain, the clock ticked louder, harsh and abrasive. The sound mocked her. It reminded her that those precious days with him might have been numbered all along.

'Don't make me choose between the life of my father ... and you.' In the dim light, his green eyes muted to dark gray.

Raven crossed her arms, clutching them to her chest. She paced the floor and blocked his escape.

'I don't trust Jasmine, Christian. She'll have a million dollars and the Dunhill jet at her disposal ... and you. She could parlay the money, up the ante on her next victim.' Raven raised her voice, heaping any argument before him. Desperation hammered her sense of reason. 'If Fiona would pay a million bucks for her precious Nicky, what would she pay for you? And what if Jasmine is behind your father's kidnapping? I don't like it.'

'And I can't walk away.' Christian matched her tone, squaring off in front of her. 'I'm not gonna start a new life here and wonder whatever happened to my . . . He's the last piece to this puzzle of my life. I have to do this. Why can't you understand?'

'I do understand, Christian. I just wish you'd let me help. Let me go with you,' she pleaded. But when she stepped closer, he raised a hand to stop her.

'Out of the question.' He shook his head and stepped around her to grab the door, but stopped when she spoke.

'When it comes to your family . . . and the hurt you've got festering inside, you shut me out, Christian.' She let her words hang in the air, waiting for him to face her.

With head down in profile, he sighed as he stood in the open doorway, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. A gust of cool night air drifted by him and soothed her cheek with its caress, making her ache for his touch.

With barely a glance back, he said softly, 'I'll call you when we get there. That is, if you're still speaking to me.'

He would leave her behind. Gritting her teeth, she responded in kind, letting anger get the better of her. 'Try calling collect. If I don't accept the charges, then you'll know.'

He narrowed his eyes and raised his chin in defiance, but didn't say another word. He shut the door behind him, leaving her feeling empty.