bull testicles came to mind. She smiled.
As the coffee maker gurgled fresh aroma in the air, Raven sat at the breakfast bar with an elbow on the armrest of a bar stool, observing Jasmine's every move. The woman would be trouble. Of this she was certain. And the cop in her would not stay silent any longer.
'So how do you know Christian?' Raven asked, raising her voice to make sure the woman heard her across the room.
With her back to the kitchen, Jasmine stopped her pacing, standing near Christian's bed when she turned around. With a deliberate motion she ran her fingers along his bedspread, inch by inch from the pillow to the foot. Red glistening nails set against pale skin tortured Raven. The strange woman's eyes never wavered in their insolence.
'Just lucky, I guess. Lucky for Christian, that is.' Defiantly, she sat on the corner of his mattress, crossing her shapely legs with a flaunting smile on her face. 'I would have expected you to be more . . . grateful. Christian certainly is. Have you not heard of looking a gift horse in the mouth?'
About the same time, the coffee stopped brewing and the shower ended, leaving Jasmine's not so subtle message hanging in the air. Raven knew she'd been asked to mind her own business. And that had to be the equivalent of waving a red flag in the face of a cranky bull. She hated this woman shared a past with Christian ... a secret.
'Oh, I've heard of it. I'm just afraid I'm staring at the other end of the horse. The part that produces all the fertilizer.'
'You sound like an expert.'
The gloves were off, on both sides. Raven preferred it that way. Subtlety took way too much energy. And besides, a full frontal attack felt more honest. Yet Jasmine was anything but honest. Raven suspected the woman would avoid answering any question she had.
Raven trusted Christian with her heart—and her life. And she knew he loved her, enough to risk his life to save her. That kind of love . . . that kind of man, she should have been grateful to have him in her life. But what Christian hadn't shared with her weighed heavy between them, like an impenetrable wall.
And Jasmine only rubbed salt in the wound. Her cop instincts tingled with ferocity as she stared at the unwanted intruder sitting on Christian's bed. She'd have to grease the skids with motor oil to let this one slide.
'It appears we both possess the ability to recognize a heaping pile of horse hockey when we hear it.' Raven stepped down from the stool and meandered closer to Jasmine, sitting on the leather sofa in the center of the room. 'My horseshit detector is firing on all cylinders.'
'The feeling is mutual. And I have no fondness for police.'
'I'm a homicide detective with the Chicago PD.'
'Yes, I know.' Jasmine raised an eyebrow and crooked a wily smile. 'My statement stands.'
Taking a page from Raven's book, Jasmine rose from the bed and walked toward the living area. Under the guise of complete boredom, she plopped down on the other end of the sofa, across from Raven. Yet her focus told a very different story. The mysterious woman drilled her with a steady gaze, without an ounce of contrition showing in her vague expression.
'In case I have been unclear, you and I have nothing in common. And I do not wish to talk to you. So perhaps it is best you leave Christian and me to discuss our business in private ... as it should be.'
Anger surged under Raven's skin, bringing heat to her face. Just as she prepared to respond to the woman's arrogant audacity, a deep baritone voice filled the space between them.
'Whatever you've come to say, you'll do it in front of Raven. If this is not acceptable, then you should be the one to leave. Hit the bricks . . . now.'
Christian Delacorte's appearance was bad timing for Jasmine. Now she risked alienating the one man she needed most. She hoped to be discreet when it came to her open resentment toward the detective's involvement. She would have to be craftier to pry Christian free of this woman's interference. A worthy goal.
Yet when her eyes met his, she nearly forgot to breathe. Every nuance of his face stirred a memory, a bittersweet reminder of why she had sought him out in the first place. Indeed, his face triggered a pang of regret and flooded her with an overwhelming sense of familiarity. So much so that she had to remind herself that this was a very different man. And as he walked toward her with anger in his gaze, a sweeping fragrance of herbal soap and the essence of his skin preceded him, reviving her to the present with all the subtlety of a sharp pinch to tender skin.
He moved with masculine ease, yet his gaze remained guarded and alert. His eyes never wavered from her face. Broad shoulders and narrow hips dominated her imagination. Even with the oversized furniture in the living area, Christian eclipsed the space with his presence, his height well over six feet. She had nearly forgotten how impressive he was. And once again, she found herself drawn in, completely captivated by the similarity.
His dark wavy hair, still damp from the shower, framed a handsome face. A strong jawline with a day's growth of beard gave him a rugged edge, offset by the sensuality of full lips. Dark lashes accentuated the deep green of his eyes, a complex blending of flecked gold and striations of azure. From this distance, combined with the blue of his chambray shirt, she could not discern the natural color of his most expressive eyes. Although the eye color was vastly different, the resemblance was striking.
His masculinity reminded her of—
'Well? What's it gonna be?' he demanded. His gaze drilled her like a weapon.
'It seems I have little choice in the matter.' Jolted back to reality, she forced a smile. 'May I trouble you for some coffee? It smells delightful.'
He raised his chin and narrowed his eyes. After a long moment of silent deliberation, he finally offered, 'Yeah. I'll get it.'
Christian stepped toward the kitchen, leaving her to face a very perturbed woman at the other end of the sofa. Raven had seen through her subterfuge and her feigned pleasantry. She was too damned smart for her own good and much too inquisitive—annoying qualities in an adversary. Christian would be difficult enough to handle without the added complication of a shrewd police detective.
Yet the emotion the woman wore on her sleeve made her vulnerable. Perhaps it could be used to her advantage, when the time was right.
So much depended upon this meeting with Christian. She could not afford to be distracted again by this woman or thwarted by his stubbornness. Failure was simply not an option. Fear wedged in her throat when she contemplated the consequences. She swallowed hard. Her throat tightened with emotion.
'You are my last hope,' Jasmine blurted out as Christian handed her a cup of coffee. She held her cup and saucer in both hands, as he handed Raven her cup, trying to hide the betraying sound of porcelain in trembling hands. 'The American Consulate in Brazil and the State Department have refused to intervene. They would prefer to turn a blind eye to the whole distasteful affair. And I have run out of time . . . and resources.'
From the kitchen, as Christian served himself coffee, he said, 'Hey, you better back it up. Tell me why you're here. I don't understand.'
'Yes, of course.' She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. The side of her face still felt swollen as she moved her head to face him. 'My employer, Nicholas Charboneau, was kidnapped three days ago in the city of Cuiaba, Brazil. If I don't wire a million dollars in U.S. currency to a Swiss bank account in seven days, he will be killed.'
With a puzzled look, Christian stopped mid-gulp, lowering his coffee mug. But the woman detective interceded. 'Wait a minute. I know that name. Charboneau heads up a crime syndicate here in Chicago. He's a tough guy to catch 'cause his assets cover legitimate businesses. As I recall, he makes his money the old-fashioned way, drugs and illegal arms trading mostly. A real specialist. What was he doing in Brazil? Arms trading? Drug dealing? And why do you need help from Christian?'
Jasmine had expected such questions from him, but the intrusion of this woman proved irritating. For now, she had no other option but to tolerate it.
'Mr. Charboneau does not confide his business affairs to me. I am his personal bodyguard. That is all.'
With a doubtful expression, Christian chimed in, 'I don't know. Someone in your position must see and hear quite a bit. And you look like a smart enough woman to do the math. I think you know
