The woman stood her ground, not backing down. To the contrary, she smiled and stepped closer. Jasmine placed a hand on his chest. A bold move.
'Despite my preferences toward complete candor, I won't betray him,' she said, her voice throaty and sensual.
He clenched his jaw. Whatever she peddled, he wasn't buying. 'Oh, yeah, you're a beacon for truth and the American way.' Then out of the blue, a thought occurred to him, something he'd read between the lines. He followed his gut instincts and tossed out a zinger from left field.
'Do you love him?'
For an instant, surprise registered across her dark eyes. Recovering, she masked the reaction. Her expression morphed into her usual distant facade. She turned her back and walked to the window, arms clutched to her chest.
'He is my employer.'
'Answer the question.' He pressed, knowing he had crossed the line.
She spun toward him, eyes flared with indignation. 'That is none of your business.'
Her strong reaction forced him to replay something she'd told him yesterday about the enduring connection between Fiona and her old flame. Before he could stop himself, he voiced his theory. 'You love him, but he still loves my—'
'Don't say it.' Cutting the distance between them, Jasmine strut closer with a finger raised in challenge. 'Let's get something straight between us. We are here to intervene in Nicky's destiny, to save his life. That is all. If you have another agenda, then you're out . . . now.'
Her face suddenly animated, he got a glimpse of what it would be like to suffer the woman's anger. Most probably, he deserved her outrage for intruding on personal turf, but the woman bluffed—big-time.
'Pretty cocky for someone who came begging for my help yesterday. And with the short fuse on this trip, you can't afford a Plan B.' He called her bluff, punctuating his gall with a swig of coffee.
Jasmine raised her chin in defiance. She spoke in a quiet rock-steady voice, eyes aimed with deadly accuracy.
'It would not be in Nicky's best interest... no. But make no mistake. I will not tolerate mutiny, regardless of your connection to him. I would answer such a threat with my blade.'
Now standing within inches of his chest, she toyed with a button on his shirt. Normally, the gesture would be flirtatious and seductive, but he'd seen the woman at work. Her moves had the signature of a coiled rattler, fangs bared, waiting for him to turn his back.
Slowly, her eyes trailed up his chest. Nails in glistening red tugged at his shirt. Her expression softened with her voice. 'Besides, you're curious about your . . . new father. Admit it. You have to know just how far you've fallen from the base of that magnificent tree, don't you, little acorn?'
Anyone catching the scene might have assumed he was having an intimate conversation with a lover. But Jasmine worked best up close, her words as cutting as her lethal knife. Especially when her incisions stung with the harsh reality of truth.
Still, he fought to maintain control.
'John Delacorte will
She raised an eyebrow and curved her lips into a smirk. 'Perhaps you should be the one to conserve on the bullshit, Christian. We might find a market for it in Brazil.' In jaunty arrogance, she turned toward the door, not looking back. 'Can we go?'
Without waiting for his reply, she stepped out of the room, heading for the plane. In her wake, sounds of the airport intruded upon the stillness of the room, then dissipated as the door shut behind her. Dressed in pressed jeans and boots, Jasmine clutched at her blue windbreaker, drawing it to her body. He watched her walk toward the jet, her long dark hair wafting in the breeze.
'If there's a market for bullshit in Brazil, I'd be a wealthy man,' he mumbled under his breath. 'But you, Jasmine, would be Oprah.'
Taking one final look toward the gate, Christian looked off into the distance and sighed before heading for the door.
Cuiaba, Brazil,
Marechal Rondon Airport
8:58 P.M.
Christian didn't need this. The airport was a hive of activity . . . and not in a good way. After flying via private jet, he'd hoped for a simpler process to disembark. But the last bank of commercial planes arrived at the gates about the same time the Dunhill jet touched down. The influx of people crowded customs and bottlenecked the process.
Bad luck followed him like a shadow, hard to shake.
Despite the hour, travelers with places to go hauled bags through the bustling corridors . Their faces told a mixed tale. Some were energetic and filled with impatience to begin their Brazilian adventure, while others looked frustrated and tired.
Christian identified with the latter.
Several large groups of tourists arrived in a rush and were now being ushered to buses waiting on the curb outside baggage claim. The terminal echoed with the language of Portuguese, Spanish, and other dialects. Christian heard very little English spoken. The predominance of dark skin and hair, coupled with the bulk of the facial features appearing native, reminded him of his foreigner status.
By the time he got through customs and the baggage claim process, he felt every hour of travel deep in his bones. Even Jasmine, the Queen of Serene, couldn't hide her exhaustion. It showed in her eyes and in her sullen mood.
'I have to make a stop.' She led him to a large locker along one of the corridors off the baggage claim area. She fished a key from her pocket, inserted it into the lock, and opened the door. A black duffel bag inside. And another smaller carryon. 'This is the special arrangement I spoke to you about. We'll need a porter now.'
Weapons and whatever else she carried. The woman always came prepared. She either maintained the locker year-round or had arranged it before she left Brazil a few days ago. She hailed a man in an airport uniform hauling a cart. As the man approached, Christian reached into the locker for the smaller bag on top. Feeling its weight, he shook it and turned his attention to Jasmine.
'What's in here? It's lighter than I expected.'
At first he wasn't sure she'd answer. Eventually, she did.
'Nicky's clothes. He'll need something fresh when we rescue him.' The words made her sound self-assured, but her eyes betrayed her.
'Good idea,' he nodded, unsure what else to say.
Acting as a convenient and well-timed distraction, the smiling porter loaded their bags onto his cart and followed them through the airport, jabbering in broken English. Christian only understood every fifth word, his mind too fatigued to listen.
Outside, the dense air felt like a wall of moisture, the heat sustained even after dark. With evening temps like this, what would tomorrow bring? Diesel fuel and smoke mingled with humidity, making it hard to take a full breath.
Several uniformed men directed traffic with exaggerated hand gestures and the shrill sounds of whistles. The porter took control, stepping in front of Christian and ordering a taxi with a shout and a commanding wave of his hand.
Two cabs surged forward from the mix of vehicles, nearly colliding to gain advantage in driving the foreigners to the city. Neither driver blinked in their game of chicken. After a few well-chosen hand gestures and an exchange of colorful local lingo, one man reaped the spoils. He leapt from his taxi with a smile and a nod, now the picture of hospitality.
