"Lady, you scare the hell out of me, but I'd still like to talk."
"The cell phone. Is it yours?" she asked.
"Yes. Just my way to reach out and touch someone."
As he replied, she powered up the cell and hit the function menu to find his name in the registry, allowing her body to be edged in light. But the only name on the display caused her to rethink killing him.
Dunbill Corporation.With keen interest, she searched for the man, eager for a glimpse.
"You move well." She tempted him with flattery. "Come closer so we may talk."
"As appealing as that sounds, this is not a game for me." The man changed his tone, forgoing the subterfuge of his whisper. He stepped forward, risking a show of good faith. She admired strength, a quality so few possessed.
"I have someone inside who needs my help," he admitted. "So I have one thing to say."
"This promises to be interesting." She resorted to her usual sarcasm.
But as the man drew near, curiosity won out. She took a risk of her own, powering up the cell phone to shine its light. As his face emerged from the shadows, she nearly forgot to breathe. The uncanny resemblance stunned her—the strong jawline, the full lips, and those most expressive eyes. She swallowed, hard. It took great discipline to hide her reaction. Still, there remained no doubt in her mind.
Nicholas Charboneau bad a son.
Softening her voice, Jasmine encouraged him. "Please, enlighten me."
"You either help me or get out of my way. I don't have time for a debate."
His confidence fascinated her. And his underlying message held much more than an idle threat. She saw it in his eyes. A smile curved her lips. Suddenly, things had gotten much more interesting.
A woman. She wouldn't give her name. And he returned the favor, keeping his anonymity. This wasn't a social occasion.
With a watchful eye, Christian followed her to a rusted Dumpster. Behind it, she stashed her gear and knelt beside it, rummaging through the contents.
By the light of the moon, he observed the woman. Dressed in black with a Kevlar vest for added protection, she wore a thigh-holstered Glock and a knife in her belt. If Christian didn't know better, he'd swear she looked like part of a police tactical team. But something in her manner told him she wouldn't play by anyone's rules, especially on the side of law enforcement.
And what connection did she have to the men inside? He didn't have time to find out.
"I'd like my phone back."
"I do not believe it would be in my best interest to comply. You might call the authorities," she reasoned.
"With or without your cooperation, that's done. If I don't make a call saying my friend inside is safe and sound, my man has been instructed to call the cops"— he glanced at his watch, illuminating the dial with the push of a button—"in thirty minutes. But I can't wait for the cavalry, not knowing what's happening inside."
The woman quit rifling through her belongings and stiffened at the mention of police.
"I can't be a part of this if the police come. Once I see flashing red cherry, I don't care what's going on. I'm out."
"Not a part of this?" He found her eyes in the dark. "Then why are you here?"
"I have my reasons." Her voice low, she focused on her bag once again.
"Not good enough, lady." He didn't appreciate her evasive response. And time had run out. The urgency of his predicament tested his tolerance.
"You don't have a say in what I do." She narrowed her eyes in defiance. "I scouted this location, and I know another way in. It will take longer to get into position, but you will like the advantage. As I see it, you need me."
"Need you for what exactly?" He didn't wait for an answer. "I'm gonna ask you again. Why are you here?"
For a moment, he thought she would refuse to answer. But eventually, she explained. "I am only after one man. Once I have acquired my target, you are on your own. I have no interest in the woman or the little priest."
"Priest? What priest?"
Part of him wanted to understand her involvement, another part wanted to leave her behind, bound and gagged. He resisted the latter. She might prove to be useful. But who was this man she wanted to kill? He realized he made an assumption she would kill him. From what he'd seen, the woman didn't come to chat. And who the hell was this priest?
Damn it! He had to remain focused. Raven needed his help.
"They took a priest from St. Sebastian's, used him as bait to lure the pretty detective. Who knows? Maybe the men inside felt the need for confession."
Her smile lacked any real humor, no doubt spawned more from a perverse nature.
"How do you know the woman is a detective? And that the priest was abducted from St. Sebastian's?"
He remembered Bill giving him the coordinates for the church. He'd recognized the address from his frequent visits to the cemetery. But according to his security man, the SUV didn't stay long. Now, things were beginning to make sense.
"I know a lot of things." Her only reply.
"Just do what you came to do, then get out. I can take care of the rest." He knelt by her, gazing down at the canvas bag. "And I don't want any casualties from friendly fire. What kind of firepower did you bring?"
Friendly? The more he knew about this woman, the more the word "friendly" failed to apply. She wasn't the warm and fuzzy type. Far from it. He watched as she powered up a small flashlight. She held it in her teeth to free up her hands, shining the small beam into the black rucksack. To his astonishment, the light reflected onto a small arsenal.
"Flash bangs, grenades— Who the hell were you intending to fight? A small third-world country?" He touched her shoulder to get her attention. "They've got hostages. You can't use the grenades in such tight quarters."
She took the flashlight from her teeth, switching it off. "I will admit the hostages do pose a complication. Just think of my preparedness as . . . overkill. Besides, I had no intention of being a hero. I only want the one."
If Christian thought she would help, that hope crumbled into a thousand pieces. With the woman's only goal being her mission, he'd be on his own.
Detecting his reaction, she liberally dosed him with sarcasm. "Butch and Sundance. Good movie, but I work alone. Now what can you use? We're running out of time."
"I'll take the knife . . . and a flash bang." His hand retrieved what he needed, then he stood. "That's it."
Mentally preparing for the next step, he held the flash bang in his hand. More of a diversionary device used by police tactical teams, the weapon would be useful to render night vision useless for a time. A fuel-air explosive, the device ignited particles of aluminum powder through small holes in the bottom of the canister, reacting with oxygen to produce an acoustic pulse and a brilliant flash of light. Once it was activated, detonation would occur within two seconds. The device would set off a deafening explosion of blinding light, leaving anyone within range of the blast dazed and seeing stars for up to six seconds, his hearing temporarily out of commission. Perfect for what he had in mind. But he'd have to pick his spot to use it. The effects of the blast would be temporary.
Diversion. His plan centered on it. He would stall until the police arrived.
"I've got night-vision binoculars with a built-in boom mic. You sure you don't want something more high-tech?" She pocketed what she needed in her tactical vest and gazed up at him. After zipping the bag, she stood and hoisted it over her shoulder.
"That'll only slow me down." He shook his head, slipping the canister in the pocket of his coat. "In the dark, muzzle flash will blind you, so be careful. If you have to shoot, no ricochets. Make damned sure of your target. I don't want anything to happen to the hostages . . . or me."