No One Lives Forever

He held his father, making up for lost time between a father and a son.

And it felt good.

With Nicholas in his arms, he looked down at Jasmine, her face a ghastly gray. He thought of the old saying—Those who live by the sword, die by it. Jasmine had certainly lived by it, but if she died, Christian had a feeling she'd haunt his dreams out of spite. And he knew she'd enjoy every minute of his hellish torment.

To her credit, Jasmine had done it. She'd rescued his father and saved his life.

Would they be too late to return the favor?

CHAPTER 27

HOSPITAL DA ClDADE

Cuiaba, Brazil

Jasmine had been in surgery for several hours. And there had been no word when it would end. Not knowing was killing him. Nicholas realized he'd never known what the phrase 'hell on earth' meant until now. The clock on the ICU waiting room wall ticked with an abrasive noise, a mundane and monotone mockery of the passage of sweet time.

If anything good came of this, it would center on Christian.

Nicholas watched him return from the bank of phones down the hall. His son's face looked grim, worry forged in the dark shadows under his eyes. When Christian wasn't looking, he fixed his eyes on his son, taking in every detail of the man he'd become.

His son.

He marveled at the words and let them resonate in his head. Ever since he'd met Christian, he hadn't had the nerve to say them aloud. Perhaps in time. Thanks to his son, Jasmine, and many others, he might have that time. Time he didn't deserve.

He had a son, a courageous and trustworthy man. The irony of that fact wasn't wasted on him. He knew he had one woman to thank for such a gift, a woman he'd misjudged.

'How is your mother?' Nicholas asked.

Christian seemed surprised by the question.

'She's . . . better.' He nodded. Resting his elbows on his knees, he leaned forward in his seat, one down from him. His son glanced at the clock on the wall . . . again. 'Ever since I left, Fiona's been going through hell.'

An awkward silence built between them. An announcement over the PA system filtered down to the waiting room, muffled yet persistent. Life went on, even though his world had stopped as cold and final as death.

'Then you'll have to make it up to her,' Nicholas offered. He ventured a hand to his son's shoulder. He took it as a good sign Christian didn't flinch. 'A man like you can be counted on to do the right thing.' After a beat, he added, 'Lord knows you didn't get that quality from my side of the family. You have Fiona to thank for that.'

Christian dropped his head and stifled a soft chuckle.

'Yeah? Kind of worried about the flip side to the coin. What did I inherit from you?' He crooked his lip into a grin and let the question hang in the air. Neither of them wanted to hear the answer, but Nicholas ventured one anyway.

'I'd pray you inherited nothing from me, but the powers that be stopped listening to me long ago.' He squeezed his son's shoulder again and let go. 'For what it's worth, I'm proud of you, Christian. Proud of the man you are, despite all the odds stacked against you. Fiona did the right thing to keep us apart. You be sure and tell her I said so.'

'Maybe you should tell her yourself.'

Nicholas furrowed his brow at the thought of seeing Fiona in that place, dressed in prison garb and plagued by the haunted eyes of the institutionalized.

'I never intended for her to pay for her sin. I only wanted to protect her.' Nicholas hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud.

'What are you talking about? Protect her from what?' Christian asked.

Nicholas had played a part in Fiona's incarceration as surely as if he'd turned state's evidence against her. He had nothing to do with the murder of her husband, Charles Dunhill. That had been her choice. She'd shown such strength to do what must be done back then. But when he'd learned about what she did, he had no idea of the real reason behind the killing and jumped to the wrong conclusion.

He didn't find out the truth until it was too late. Fiona had only been trying to save her child . . . their child. Christian.

Anger and a taste for revenge had colored his motives, but for the most part, he had arranged for the killing of the hit man that she'd used to assassinate her husband in order to protect her. The man was a loose thread and she hadn't the strength to cut it off. In the end, he had shed light on the old Dunhill murder-for-hire case.

Fiona's guilt proved to be too much for her. He should have known better. The very vulnerability he had tried to protect her against had also been her downfall. A self-inflicted wound. He couldn't shield her from her own conscience and the pervasive guilt that had been eating away at her all those years.

Guilt made a person weak. He found it a mercy not to be troubled by such things.

Nicholas didn't try to reply to his son's questions. Instead, he shifted his gaze down the hall. Showered and changed, Raven Mackenzie headed their way, carrying two small bags.

'She's lovely, you know.' He jutted his chin in her direction. Christian turned to see what he meant. 'Women like her don't come along every day. I hope you don't let her go.'

Christian kept staring down the hall, smiling at the woman he loved. 'Don't intend to. And you could take a little of that advice yourself.'

He turned and smiled at his father. It felt surprisingly comfortable to sit with him like this.

'Any word? Is she out of surgery?' Raven asked, hope in her beautiful eyes.

Christian stood and shook his head. 'None yet. What's in the bags?'

'I brought a change of clothes for you.' She handed him a carryon. 'And I thought Nicholas could use some things also. I went to the hotel, looking to pack a bag, and found one already done. Did you do it, Christian?'

'No.' He looked down at his father, 'Jasmine did.'

At the mention of her name, the harsh reality of the situation hit home. Christian set his bag down and glanced at the clock once again.

'I'll stay until you get back,' he offered, leaning up against a wall with arms crossed.

'Thank you for your kindness, Raven.' His father's smile came and went. 'I think I'll do us all a favor and freshen up. Excuse me.' He stood and went to the nearest washroom, but turned at the last minute. 'Please come get me if anything . . .' He couldn't finish.

'Yeah, we will.' Christian nodded. After his father left, he said, 'Waiting is pure torture, but I know it's been harder on him.'

'Then he's lucky to have you here. So am I.' She walked toward him with arms open wide.

'Risky business getting this close to me. I don't smell much better than . . . my father.'

'I'll take my chances. Some things don't require second thought.'

She nuzzled into his embrace, her familiar warmth washing through him like a cleansing summer rain. It felt good to hold her. He burrowed his head into her neck and breathed in the scent of her skin.