She had taken great pains to make sure she wasn't followed from the Phillips villa. A half block from Guia Do Espirito, she would soon have what she wanted. Private time with Hector.
Hiding in an alleyway down the street from the Macumba store, she searched the street, her eyes vigilant. No one stood out. No one watched her. Moments earlier she'd tried the back of the shop, hoping an alley might give her anonymity from the street, but the door was locked.
Jasmine didn't want to break in and find the store had customers or other witnesses. And she couldn't afford to be arrested, not now. With her eyes searching the street and every car, she made her final move and meandered onto the sidewalk, heading for the store. Posing as a shopper, she kept an even pace, not wanting to draw attention.
When she got within a few feet of the storefront, she heard a screech of tires behind her and turned in time to see two unmarked cars pull to the curb. Two sedans. One gray, one dark blue. Dressed in similar colors, stern-faced men in suits emerged from the cars and moved toward her.
'Hands up. Now!' one man yelled. He held her at gunpoint while another man raced closer, his weapon drawn. 'Do as I say, Ms. Lee.'
They knew her name. Slowly, she raised her hands. Her eyes searched the vehicles, knowing she'd soon find a familiar face. She recognized the last man to get out of his car. A slow smile emerged, having nothing to do with humor or a warm greeting.
'Captain Duarte. I wish I could say it's a pleasure to see you again.'
The captain returned her gesture, his dark eyes relishing the moment.
'The feeling's mutual, Ms. Lee.' Duarte's lip twitched into a faint sneer. 'Check her for weapons and be thorough.'
As one man patted her down, another retrieved her weapons—a gun and a knife. With her hands behind her back, Jasmine felt one of Duarte's men slap handcuffs to her wrists. She could have fought and made a run for it, but a part of her wanted to discover the truth only Duarte would know. Jasmine tensed her jaw and gave in to their demands.
But before she got shoved into one of the unmarked cars, Jasmine caught a motion from the corner of her eye. Hector's face peeked out from the shop window. He cowered in the shadows, barely letting her see him. Yet his move looked deliberate.
Jasmine smiled at the young man, appreciating the irony.
Only a moment ago, she wouldn't have shown Hector any mercy in demanding what he knew. Now she prayed he'd take pity on her and call Christian, to let him know what had happened to her.
It might be her only hope.
CHAPTER 15
By the looks of the pretty Asian woman, being hauled off in handcuffs by a stone-faced cop was commonplace in her world. She smiled at Hector, as if she flirted without a care. The same could not be said for him.
He ducked back into the shadows of the store window, careful to avoid being seen. Of late, Hector had heard stories about the military police—stories of the missing and unaccounted for—men arrested and never seen again.
'What's happening?' Aunt Bianca called from the back storeroom. The door stood open. The old woman had been restocking her inventory and dusting the shelves, a daily ritual.
'Nothing. A driver was careless,' he lied, barely looking over his shoulder. She had probably heard the screech of tires out front. 'He almost hit a car when he pulled from the curb. There's nothing to see now.'
Hector walked back to the counter, his thoughts in a jumble. After a long moment, he knew what he had to do. He sorted through his wallet for the business card, searching for the man's name. Christian Delacorte. He claimed to stay at the Hotel Palma Dourada. Hector remembered writing that on the back of his card.
'If you can afford such accommodations, you can surely toss some coin my way,' Hector muttered under his breath. And the American had no idea he knew about the reward for information on the rich man recently kidnapped from the hotel. Word about money traveled fast in his town.
Hector slid behind the counter and found his aunt working in the storeroom at her desk in the back. He kicked away the wooden block that held the door open. It shut with a hiss. He didn't want to take the chance of her overhearing his plans. She wouldn't like what he had in mind, but he had to do what he thought best. She'd done so much for him, this might be his way to repay her.
Hector looked up the phone number for the hotel and dialed it, glancing over his shoulder again to watch for Aunt Bianca. She had a habit of turning up when he least expected it. He grinned as he dialed, smelling the opportunity practically dumped on his doorstep. Times like this, he almost believed in the spirits his aunt revered. Fate had indeed played a hand.
He would be a fool to ignore the Orixas now.
Sitting at her desk, Bianca looked up from her inventory work, hearing the low murmur of a familiar voice. It puzzled her. She hadn't heard the customary ring of the bell over the front door, warning her a client had entered the premises.
Who was Hector speaking with?
When she turned, she noticed the storeroom door had been shut. The boy thought he fooled her with his maneuverings. Many times Hector claimed her age had something to do with her forgetful memory, but she knew better. When she chose to act her age, she did so, but always to her advantage. They played this game, each by their own rules, only she was much better at it than Hector.
Bianca crept toward the door and peered through the peephole, on tiptoe. Instead of clutching the pearls at her neck, she held a charm at the end of a chain—a recently conjured talisman. She had prayed for Ayza the Protector to keep Hector and her people safe. And guide the stranger Delacorte.
With the talisman in her grasp, Bianca pressed an ear to the door, listening. She knew Hector would not approve, but at her age she had earned the right not to give a damn.
No woman had ever worn him out, through and through, like Raven Mackenzie. In the dim light of his bedroom, he opened his eyes and embraced the moment of complete exhaustion. Wrapped up in Raven, he felt her arm over his chest and a leg entwined in his. The faint scent of her perfume played second fiddle to the sweet fragrance of her skin.
Although he felt the stirrings of another erection and wondered if he'd be up to the challenge, mostly he wanted to hold her. And listen to her breathe as she slept.
For many years he felt alone in his grief. Death had invaded his life and taken hold of it. Raven made him see how much he had given in to the loneliness. She made him want to reclaim his life and so much more. She hadn't been wrong.
He kissed the top of her head and laced his fingers through her hair.
'Oh please...' she muttered. 'Don't move. Anyone ever tell you? You make an excellent pillow.'
'Always happy to be of service.' Christian smiled, breathing in the scent of her hair.
'Oh, now that you've brought it up. Have I ever told you? You've really got that whole servicing thing down. Even better than the pillow thang.'
He heard the grin in her voice as she drew a finger over his nipple, making it hard. His bare skin erupted in goose bumps. The really good kind.
'Speaking of bringing it up . . .' Christian pulled Raven to his chest, her naked body pressed against
