'God, Christian. You'd better come back to me.' She knew him well enough to believe if he didn't return from Brazil, there would only be one reason. And that reality made her heart ache with regret. 'Damn it.'
He'd taken a shot to the gut, the wind knocked out of him. Seeing the hurt in her eyes felt every bit as painful.
Christian gripped the steering wheel, glaring out his windshield with only the drone of his SUV's engine and his self-recriminations to keep him company. Center lane stripes zipped by his wheels, illuminated by his headlights. He set a course for downtown with the anonymity of darkness closing in—the faces of Fiona and Raven haunting his conscience.
Today, he'd hurt the two people he loved most. And Raven's voice replayed in his head, over and over again. Picking a fight with her had been deliberate on his part.
For her sake, he had severed their tightening bond, knowing she would've tried to accompany him to Brazil. The trip would be risky enough, given the scenarios Jasmine presented. He wouldn't give Raven the option. He loved her too much.
For much of his life, he felt alone even in a crowd. Raven tempered the feeling after Fiona had been sentenced to prison, giving him a reason to look forward to each and every day. A miraculous gift. But with the possibility of losing her now, the hollowness of being lonely, once again stretched across his horizon—an endless, familiar chasm.
He couldn't face such a bleak future—not now. Somehow, he'd make it up to her, become the kind of man she deserved. With great effort, he cleared his mind, dismissing the guilt and the emptiness.
He started to compile lists in his head, things he would need. Plans took shape. As it was, he'd be up half the night, packing and making arrangements. Only the mission to rescue Charboneau would take center stage now.
But aligning himself with Jasmine would be tricky. With the holes in her story, he might bring down the wrath of Charboneau's syndicate on his head. And the dangerous tri-border area of Brazil would be no place to outrun a well-funded criminal organization. With his main operation in Chicago, what the hell was Charboneaii doing in Cuiaba, Brazil? Maybe he could pull something off the Internet. One more item to add to his growing list of things to do. Yet the answer to that question might be the key.
His mind conjured up images of a face he'd never seen—his father.
If he would ever see Raven again, he'd have to dig deep and rely on his discipline and training to steer clear of trouble. He glanced into the rearview mirror, seeing his face wavering in and out of shadows. Given his distrust of Jasmine and the corrupt world of his notorious father, he found his only ally staring back.
CHAPTER 5
Dunhill Hangar, Chicago
7:47 a.m., Day five
He smelled foreboding in the air like impending rain. A steel gray morning cleaved to an ominous night sky. Clouds darkened the horizon, masking the downtown Chicago skyline. He imagined the storm carried its usual rumble, but the incessant drone of airplane engines flying in and out of the private airstrip muffled the distant thunder. The ground crew had worked efficiently as they prepared the Dunhill jet for departure, but now the flurry of activity on the tarmac dwindled. Christian knew it was only a matter of time.
Raven's dark eyes haunted him without mercy.
Slow and deliberate, Christian sipped his black coffee. Holding the steaming mug close to his lips, he stared out the window of the small waiting area, letting the heat linger on his skin. He half expected to see her.
'You looking for someone, boss?' A familiar voice drew him back. As he looked over his shoulder, he heard the Dunhill man say, 'We've got the jet loaded. Waiting for anyone else?'
A faint smile crossed his lips. 'I'm not your boss anymore, Coop.' When the man shrugged and returned a grin, he added, 'And no, not expecting anyone else.'
Christian turned back toward the window, his eyes on the front gate of the hangar. The cyclone fence gaped open. No sign of Raven. A part of him felt grateful she remained behind and would stay safe, but a nagging selfish side of his nature prayed like hell she'd drive through those gates, ready for round two. No such luck.
'How's Mrs. Dunhill?' Cooper asked.
'Holding up . . . considering. Thanks for having the balls to ask about her. Everyone's been walking on eggshells around the subject.'
Fiona being in prison, serving time for an age-old murder for hire scheme, had become the elephant standing in the middle of the room that everyone chose to ignore. Cooper's candor struck him as refreshingly honest by comparison.
Once he'd uncovered the truth about Fiona being his mother, he kept the information to himself. No one needed to know. Most people asked too many questions, more out of morbid curiosity than from any real concern. Only a handful of Dunhill employees knew the real story of why he'd quit. He preferred it that way.
'I've been working for Mrs. Dunhill too long not to ask about her. Doesn't mean she's not in my prayers.' Cooper smiled, then added, 'Anytime you're ready.'
Christian nodded his acknowledgment, gulping more coffee as the man left the room. Alone and rapt in his thoughts, he watched the gate, eyes fixed. Then a scent teased his awareness. He felt a subtle shift. A presence displaced the air in the room. Closing his eyes for an instant, he focused on his senses, waiting for her.
With expectation tugging at his gut, he turned, fighting a smile as his heart lifted. But his mood quickly changed.
'The detective isn't coming?' Jasmine entered the room so quietly he almost hadn't noticed.
'No,' he replied.
The woman didn't bother to hide her amusement. It hit him the wrong way.
'Don't read anything into it. Thelma isn't making the road trip, Louise. That's all.' With eyes downcast, he looked into his empty mug and muttered. 'It's for the best.'
Christian got a refill on coffee and stared steadfast at Jasmine. 'I did some research last night on the Internet. Got a lot of hits off the name Charboneau.'
As expected, the woman flinched, a slight move he might have missed if he hadn't been watching. Feeling encouraged, he went on.
'That genetics research facility Charboneau has been associated with? It was one of the organizations working on the human genome-mapping project, identifying the gene linked to drug and alcohol addiction a few years back.'
He stepped closer to her, a hand in his pocket. He nursed his coffee and waited for the right moment to bait her.
'But I find it hard to believe a man who allegedly makes a living off the drug-addicted fringe of society would suddenly have a change in heart. How do you explain that?'
'Ah, the key word is 'allegedly.' But as you well know, I am only a bodyguard. I know nothing about—'
'Just . . . stop.' He raised a hand and shook his head. 'Save the bullshit for someone who might buy what you're slinging.'
