No One Lives Forever

He had no proof, but he suspected she glared at him from under her sunglasses. No way she'd answer his sarcastic attempt to get a rise out of her.

'You saw something in those med charts. Talk to me.'

She kept her silence for a long time. Finally, she said, 'You raised a good point at the lab. Maybe we haven't seen everything going on there, only what they allowed us to see. With the focus of that clinic on pregnant mothers, especially the young ones or women unable to afford good health care, it makes me wonder. They could be conducting illegal embryonic and fetal stem cell research without the consent of these women, not to mention what they might be doing with the discarded umbilical cords. How would that poor young girl know any better?'

'I'm taking a wild guess here, but you're not a doctor, are you?'

Nothing about Jasmine would have surprised him at this point.

'I know enough. Hear me out.' She leaned closer, elbows on the table, and glanced over her shoulder to make sure no one overheard. 'When you said other backers of this facility may be behind Nicky's abduction, it made me think. Someone is operating in the shadows, escalating the research with this clinic and its so-called humanitarian efforts. With all the advanced technology at the lab and an abundance of human tissue to harvest, the opportunity may be too tempting to pass up. And like your Raven, I do not believe in coincidence.'

Hearing Raven's name sent a sharp pang of guilt through Christian. He missed her. He took a deep breath to purge his system of her memory, for now.

'Don't try and convince me your precious Nicky is an innocent pawn in all this. You may be right about someone operating on the side and dealing him out, but Charboneau is just as guilty of raping and pillaging this country and its people. Don't whitewash his involvement.' He had a growing headache and Jasmine wasn't making things easier.

'I knew you wouldn't understand.' For an instant anger swept her face—biting like a winter chill over Lake Michigan—then it was gone. 'If Nicky knew they were conducting research on women and babies, he wouldn't condone it. Some lines should never be crossed.'

This coming from an assassin?

'What kind of research, Jasmine?'

She sat back in her chair and crossed her arms, unwilling to betray him. Christian shook his head and stared across the street. His father lived in a strange world, one with double standards. He made his money off peddling addiction, a vile soul-robbing commodity. And yet, according to Jasmine, he would defend a pregnant teen?

As if she read his mind, Jasmine said, 'Please, do not judge him. You know nothing. I am here to save Nicky's life. If you've changed your mind about helping, I can and will do this alone.' In a distant voice, she added, 'I have to.'

Christian searched for her eyes beneath the dark shades, looking for some semblance of humanity. He only saw his own reflection. Being on the wrong side of this fight could get him killed. And yet, he wouldn't turn his back on his father. If they were lucky enough to find Charboneau and free him, he would worry about the morality of his decision later. Right now he had a job to do.

'I'm still in, but you better be telling me the truth. You hold back now and both of us could get killed. Whoever is behind this thing has invested big bucks. And they won't stop at killing to protect their investment.'

She nodded and whispered, 'Thank you.'

'Let's go.' Christian left money on the table for a tip and started to stand, unraveling his aching muscles. Jasmine reached for his arm. She had his attention.

'You asked me before—' She stopped. 'I do love Nicky, but he doesn't know. You have to understand I'm walking a fine line to protect his interests. Now, I'm asking you to trust me.'

Ay, there's the rub. His very action of following her to Brazil demonstrated some level of faith, but she had to earn his trust. And so far she'd shown no aptitude for the task.

'I could ask the same of you, but we both know how that would turn out.' He hit home with a double barrel shot, dead center.

Jasmine heaved a sigh and looked toward Guia Do Espirito, resigned to losing her small verbal skirmish with him. 'Let's go. We are burning daytime.'

He grabbed his carryon bag and followed her to the voodoo store, walking off a fresh limp. From weird science to black magic, his day kept getting better.

He didn't have the heart to correct Jasmine's bastardized version of the old saying 'burning daylight.' Sometimes a guy had to know when to quit. He only hoped that when it came time to let go of his obsession with the tragedies of his past, he'd be able to do it.

CHAPTER 11

Late afternoon

Downtown Cuiaba

'So what's it mean . . . the name on the store?' Christian asked. He winced as he flexed his aching shoulders. And Brazil's heat had inflamed his abrasions and bruises.

'Spirit Guide, I think.' Jasmine's dark hair wafted in the marginal breeze as she walked across the street toward Bianca Salvador's Macumba shop. 'And before you ask, I've never been inside. I'm not exactly the religious type.'

'Oh, don't sell yourself short, J. I bet you've put the fear of God into plenty of men.'

When Christian looked down at Jasmine, he caught her sly smile as he opened the door to let her pass. A bell tinkled overhead.

Looking over her sunglasses, she stopped in front of him, blocking his way into the store.

'I prefer to think of it as improving the gene pool.' She winked, the smile gone. He shook his head and followed her in.

When Christian closed the door behind him, the darkness took over. He fought an unexpected panic, his usual reaction to the dark. Removing his sunglasses, he let his eyes adjust and slowed his breathing. Veiled in murky shadows, the room closed in. In this place, time stopped dead. Off the beaten path of the tourist trade, the store was a throwback to another century, an ancient dwelling operating the same way for a very long time.

If he had any preconceived notions what Guia Do Espirito looked like inside, those images disappeared faster than loose cash on a subway. The words controlled chaos came to mind. Every square inch of the store accommodated its inventory, no space unutilized. And although the shelves looked cluttered to his way of thinking, they were clean and dusted. Someone had laid out the store in a grand scheme and maintained it.

The heavy aroma of incense and herbs made the air thick and smell stagnant. But on the side of good news, the incense masked an underlying odor probably best left to the imagination. Closer to the front door, rows of candles in every color were mixed in with tall glass jars and an amazing array of religious statues. Pretty tame stuff, which he'd seen before. But as his eyes wandered into the deeper shadows toward the back, the creep factor kicked into high gear. Jars and glass containers were filled with unnamed roots, herbs, feathers, and animal parts. Rows of them. Small vials contained a dark oozy substance bearing an uncanny resemblance to blood. No labels.

Some things you're better off not knowing.

Flickering candles called attention to altars that commemorated graphic and bloody crucifixions. Martyred faces of Catholic saints twisted in agony and stood alongside fierce pagan monsters and spirits he didn't recognize. A religious alternative universe, Guia Do Espirito peddled fear and redemption at retail prices.

Jasmine seemed oblivious to the macabre spectacle as she took off her shades and tucked them into a pocket. She had targeted the young man behind the register like a deer hunter dressed in blaze orange on opening day. Christian only hoped she had a limit of one.