No One Lives Forever

Christian was a sucker for her blindfold game, Raven's sensual idea of foreplay.

'Can't wait.' He laughed softly at her teasing directed at his workout routine.

She had witnessed how he immersed himself in total darkness with a blindfold to hone his hunting skills. His self-contrived method to overcome his fear of the dark had been his redemption and his curse, isolating him from others. But Raven never criticized him for his fixation. She accepted him—demons and all. One of the things he loved most about her. Only one item on a growing list.

After hanging up the phone, he threw the covers back and sat on the edge of his bed, his thoughts lingering on her.

Yet even she couldn't distract him enough to shake the feeling that had plagued him for days. Anxious would not begin to describe the hollowness he felt— or the inexplicable anticipation. The combination punch of dread and exhilaration manifested itself in waves of nervous energy and lack of focus. Something had to give. He needed a workout in the worst way. Only complete exhaustion might remedy the unsettling sensation.

Dressed only in his pa jama bottoms, he headed for his bathroom. A faint murmur forced him to stop. A premonition tugged at his awareness. Surrendering to the moment, he looked back over his shoulder until his eyes found what he searched for with his heart.

A black and white photograph of Fiona Dunhill hung on a far wall.

Her eyes found his from across the room. The noise he heard earlier held a familiarity. It had sounded like the whisper of a woman, or perhaps merely a distorted recollection. It nudged his consciousness, more of an illusion with words indistinct. Whatever headed his way had something to do with the woman he recently discovered was his mother. As he gazed at her photo, the feeling of dread swelled in his chest and confirmed his suspicion.

He feared the worst. One of his many demons stood at the threshold of his mind. And Christian felt certain it wouldn't wait for an invitation to walk through the door.

A cool morning breeze swept off Lake Michigan and through the city, stirring vitality in its wake. The pale orange dawn prodded the last vestiges of the night sky aside, leaving the wakening sun to spear its brightness across the skyline of downtown Chicago, spreading its warmth. Raven Mackenzie squinted as she stepped out the glass door, the front entrance to Central Station, with Tony Rodriguez at her side. It had been a very long night, but her partner was working off a caffeine high in his usual fashion, sharing his unique view of the world.

'All I'm sayin' is, you should take a vacation together. Now that's a real test. Maybe a little heart-shaped hot tub action in the Poconos or helping each other pick sand out of every nook and cranny on Waikiki beach, slathered in coconut oil. If you survive that, then maybe it's meant to be.'

'Surviving a vacation? Sounds like a pitch for a new reality TV show.' Raven shrugged into her windbreaker as she stood on the top step. After zipping the lower half of the jacket, she adjusted the waistband over her Glock and the detective's badge fastened to her belt. 'It's hard to picture Christian doing the whole vacation thing.'

'You mean the camera around the neck, plaid Bermuda shorts, black socks and sandals thing?' Tony reached for the sunglasses in the pocket of his jacket. But before he slipped them over his dark eyes, he grimaced. 'God, I just got a mental picture of my uncle Ray in that touristo gear. That's an image I didn't need.'

She shook her head and heaved a sigh, infusing her lungs with fresh air. After pulling an all-nighter, she knew that stale coffee and the smoke-tainted air of the bullpen had permeated her clothes. It shaded her disposition with a funk that even Tony's humor couldn't cure.

'It's just that Christian's been so busy setting up his new business, meeting new clients, hiring people, and getting all the renovation done on his new home. Sometimes I think . . .'

Tony squared off in front of her, hands in his slacks. Even through the dark glasses, she saw the concern in her partner's eyes. 'What? You can tell me, Mac.'

Raven stepped aside, leaning up against the metal railing of the stairs, her eyes on Tony. She had no secrets from a man she considered family. He had proven himself trustworthy on so many fronts.

'I know how he feels about me, Tony. And the way I love him, it scares me sometimes.' She stared out toward the lake, its undulating waves glistening in the morning light between the office buildings. A gust of wind caught her next breath, making her shiver. 'But he's never shared his grief with me, even after he's grappled with one of his nightmares. It's like a black hole. A bottomless pit that's all bottled up inside him. I can see a memory flash across his eyes, when he thinks I'm not watching, and he looks so lost.'

'You ever ask him about that?' He sat next to her, so close she felt the reassuring warmth of his shoulder against hers.

'It's never felt like the right time, so I don't push it. I keep . . . waiting. And you know how much I love the waiting game.'

For a moment Tony fell silent. He gazed straight ahead, then dropped his chin to speak, 'He's probably still working it out for himself. Guys do that. It gives us an aloof mystique. Women can't resist it. Maybe when the puzzle starts to take shape, he may ask you to help him finish it.' He drew her attention when he made eye contact again. 'But whatever it is you're feeling, it might be a rift that's permanent. He may never open up. Can you live with that?'

Raven tilted her face toward the sun. She closed her eyes, letting the warmth caress her skin. Her partner was a very perceptive man, latching onto the very question she'd been asking herself for weeks. When she opened her eyes again, she nudged his shoulder with her own.

'I don't know. I want to help him. It's torture to sit back and watch him go through it alone.'

'He's not alone. He's got you. And I'm sure he feels your support. Give him time, Mac. Christian loves you. I can see it. But a pain like that takes time.' Tony stared down at his boots, nudging the tip of one over a crack in the cement. 'It amazes me he's as normal as he is. You talk about having the rug pulled out from under you. A ten- year-old kid having to deal with the massacre of his family overnight, then finding out the ugly reason all those years later. It takes a pretty strong person to pull through it like he has. I admire the guy.'

'I don't know if I'm doing him any favors by standing on the sidelines.'

'You've got good instincts when it comes to people. Trust yourself. Just be there when he needs to talk.' Tony lifted the corner of his mouth into a crooked grin. 'You seeing him with what's left of your weekend?'

'Yeah. I've got a stop to make first, but I'm heading over for a little one on one.' She returned his smile.

'Just take it a day at a time, Mackenzie.'

'I hear ya, partner. And thanks for listening.'

'Anytime.'

She walked with him down the steps and onto the sidewalk in front of the station house. Heading for her car, she parted company with Tony knowing he was right. She considered every day with Christian a blessing.

Yet why did it feel like those precious days were numbered?

Christian hit the zone where his body reacted on pure instinct, even without the benefit of eyesight. A dark blindfold covered his eyes, yet he sensed absolutely everything from the sweat trailing down the small of his back to the cool air raising the hair on his taut forearms. Holding the sharp katana sword in a two-fisted grip, he cut through air, drawing a whisper from the blade. A distinctive sound.

Wearing only the black Samurai pants known as the Hakama, and an iai obi—a traditional sword belt cinched at his waist—he moved across the wooden floor of his dojo without effort. As part of the drill, he pictured an imaginary enemy, adapting his kata movements to combat his foe. The blindfold made it easier. Only the soft rustle of the wide pant legs accompanied his steady breaths and the lethal murmur of the blade.

When he hunted, he felt true freedom. Fear forged an alliance with discipline, allowing him to focus on his target. With an appreciation for irony, he understood this process infused him with serenity. A balance and symmetry to the art.

He had studied Kenjitsu for years using his favorite katana, an elegant, sleek sword. But he also developed his skill with spears and throwing knives. Despite his preparation with weaponry, he preferred the avoidance of conflict—the art of self-defense. Such discipline reflected his own conflict between the violence that fettered his earlier life and his pursuit of tranquility to redirect his future.