Free No One Lives Forever by Jordan Dane Page A

the baggage claim area. She fished a key from her pocket, inserted it into the lock, and opened the door. A black duffel bag inside. And another smaller carryon. "This is the special arrangement I spoke to you about. We'll need a porter now."
    Weapons and whatever else she carried. The woman always came prepared. She either maintained the locker year-round or had arranged it before she left Brazil a few days ago. She hailed a man in an airport uniform hauling a cart. As the man approached, Christian reached into the locker for the smaller bag on top. Feeling its weight, he shook it and turned his attention to Jasmine.
    "What's in here? It's lighter than I expected."
    At first he wasn't sure she'd answer. Eventually, she did.
    "Nicky's clothes. He'll need something fresh when we rescue him." The words made her sound self-assured, but her eyes betrayed her.
    "Good idea," he nodded, unsure what else to say.
    Acting as a convenient and well-timed distraction, the smiling porter loaded their bags onto his cart and followed them through the airport, jabbering in broken English. Christian only understood every fifth word, his mind too fatigued to listen.
    Outside, the dense air felt like a wall of moisture, the heat sustained even after dark. With evening temps like this, what would tomorrow bring? Diesel fuel and smoke mingled with humidity, making it hard to take a full breath.
    Several uniformed men directed traffic with exaggerated hand gestures and the shrill sounds of whistles. The porter took control, stepping in front of Christian and ordering a taxi with a shout and a commanding wave of his hand.
    Two cabs surged forward from the mix of vehicles, nearly colliding to gain advantage in driving the foreigners to the city. Neither driver blinked in their game of chicken. After a few well-chosen hand gestures and an exchange of colorful local lingo, one man reaped the spoils. He leapt from his taxi with a smile and a nod, now the picture of hospitality.
    "Welcome. Where you go?" The cabbie hustled to open the door.
    Jasmine avoided looking at the man. "Hotel Palma Dourada," she answered as she slid into the backseat of the bright yellow cab, fanning herself with a map of the city. The cabbie left the door open for Christian to join her.
    Still standing on the curb, Christian watched the porter load up the last of their bags into the cab. With the trunk slammed shut, he slipped U.S. dollars into the porter's hand and started to join Jasmine. But an unmarked police car rolled past the tour buses to block the taxi from taking off, a rotating beacon of red fixed to the dash. A car door opened and one man emerged.
    "Welcome to Cuiabá, Mr. Delacorte." Hands against the police car, a lean man in khaki uniform with steely black eyes glared at him. No cordiality on his face. "Please allow me to accompany you to the hotel. You ride with me."
    Christian raised his chin and eyed the man with wariness.
    "How do you know my name? And my ETA?" He asked the questions, but suspected only one answer. No doubt the man had an informant within customs.
    "You will find nothing escapes me in my town. I make it my business to know such things. Please ... I must insist." The man gestured with a hand, indicating the passenger door.
    "He's the police captain who followed me," Jasmine whispered from inside the cab. "Be very careful. I do not trust him."
    Seeing the woman's reaction to the cop raised a red flag. On the issue of being trustworthy, Jasmine hoisted stones from her house of glass. By his way of thinking, if she didn't trust the police captain— that alone would be a ringing endorsement—making the cop the lesser of two evils. Yet by the looks of the man's stern expression, Christian couldn't tell if he'd be friend or foe. The guy looked scrappy, a street fighter. Not as tall as Christian, he had a muscular build, looking native, with his dark skin and hair. His piercing stare commanded respect. An age-weathered face framed the severity of his