No One Lives Forever by Jordan Dane Page A

their actions. Convenient, I think. But I suppose for me, superstitions are hard to ignore. I grew up with them." His face settled into a frown. "I see the evil eye cast on the street, I take a wide path around it. It is no different than you avoiding a walk under a ladder, is it not?"
    Christian smiled. "I suppose so."
    He felt content to wait for Duarte to make the first move, knowing the man would eventually get around to business. Biding his time, he fixed upon the local color again, catching a commotion ahead. Duarte slowed down, putting both hands on the wheel. Cars lined the narrow streets of a pedestrian plaza with shoppers strolling by retail store windows in their leisure, without a care for the late hour.
    "Does this place ever shut down? I'd expect shops to be closed by now," he asked his self-appointed host.
    "You'll find we do things differently in my country, Mr. Delacorte. It is our way. We do things at our own pace." The captain finally began to make his point. Cryptic as it might be, Christian didn't miss the message.
    "Sometimes a slow pace doesn't get the job done." He looked Duarte in the eye. "Maybe a busy man of responsibility could use some help."
    The police captain gripped the steering wheel, not appreciating Christian's underlying meaning. "Those wishing to help sometimes get in the way, maybe get themselves killed in the process. And that would require countless administrative forms to be completed. I wouldn't appreciate the added work ... or the extra attention from my government."
    Duarte turned down a side street, beyond the central square. The taxi followed.
    "I don't suppose we're talking about the street merchants anymore," Christian said. "Unless the competition for sales in this town is that brutal." Christian shifted in the seat and turned toward the man. "Is the economy that bad or are you threatening me?"
    "I had hoped to be more subtle." The policeman pulled into the circular drive of a posh hotel. Valets and bellhops jumped to attention, standing along the curb, but Duarte waved them off. He wasn't done delivering his message. "I would advise you to respect our laws. Do not test me. You are a guest in my country. Do not forget that."
    Seeing a movement out the side mirror, Christian spotted Jasmine stepping from the cab behind them. She paid the cabbie and gave direction to a hotel valet to unload the luggage onto a cart. Her eyes remained on him as he sat in Duarte's car.
    "Subtle or not, message received loud and clear. But let me deliver one of my own." Taking his eyes off the reflection of Jasmine in the mirror, he leaned toward the captain, an elbow propped against the seat back. "I'm here to find Charboneau. I'm sure it would be in my best interest to abide by the law, as you say, but this is a matter of life or death. With or without your help, I'll find the man and bring him back with me."
    Captain Duarte curved his lips into a sneer. "Do not make me angry, Mr. Delacorte. You would only disappoint me. And you'll find I'm not a tolerant man. I have been told I make a formidable enemy."
    "I have no doubt of that, Captain. So let's agree to cooperate with each other. Then maybe we won't discover how truly ruthless we can be as enemies." He shoved open the car door and stepped out, leaning in for one last exchange. "Thanks for the lift."
    "I will be keeping my eye on you. Do not disappoint me, Mr. Delacorte."
    "Wouldn't think of it."
    Christian shut the car door and watched the man drive away. More than likely, he'd made his first enemy, and he hadn't been in town five minutes. Narrowing his eyes, he stuffed his hands in his jeans.
    Jasmine nudged his arm with her shoulder. "See what I mean? Duarte is a snake, lower than a reptile. The man can't be trusted."
    Christian stared at the red taillights of Duarte's car as it headed down the street and turned a corner. Without glancing at Jasmine, he filled his lungs with muggy air.
    "I'll be the judge of that."
    Benign dark eyes stared