Divine Justice (20 page)

"Lucky guys," Jasi muttered under her breath.

"Back to the customers, Stella," Ernest snapped.

With that, the stripper sashayed back to the dance floor, her breasts bouncing in time to the dance music. A second later, she was gyrating in one man's lap.

Jasi looked away, catching Ernest's gaze. "Nice place."

He shrugged. "It pays the mortgage and alimony."

Imagining Ernie with a mortgage and possible family didn't quite fit. But the ex-wife sure did.

She stepped outside and gulped in a huge breath of fresh air. Well, as fresh as the city could get. Even the smell of vehicle exhaust was a welcome reprieve from the reek of the stripper bar.

"Note to self. Give Ben the stripper assignments."

Walking back to the car, she sat with the engine idling and thought of Porter Sampson. So far, she'd struck out. No one had seen him.

So where the hell did he go to get drunk?

15

The Belle Fleur Hotel, distinguishable by its green
Normandy copper roof and prime riverside location, was located a few blocks east of the yacht club. Only four years old, the Belle Fleur was a luxurious hotel that catered mainly to celebrities and foreign diplomats.

She'd stayed here once, shortly after it opened.

With Zane.

She entered the hotel's elegant bar. Crossing the dimly lit room, she stopped halfway to admire the view of the river from a floor-to-ceiling window.

"Can I get you something, ma'am?"

The man behind the bar was young―early twenties probably―and not bad on the eyes, but she still wanted to smack him for the,
"ma'am."

She held out her badge. "I need some information."

"How about a drink first?" He gave her a Tom Cruise smile and tossed a towel over one shoulder. "You look like you could use one."

"I'm on duty." She slid a photo of Porter Sampson across the bar. "Have you seen this man recently?"

"Almost every night."

"Really? Does he come here alone?"

The bartender chuckled. "I never said I saw him here. He's the dude that's always on the news. Politics, right? Minister of something or other."

Jasi scowled. "So he wasn't in here the past week?"

"Not on my shift. Lysette takes over after six. She's in the back. I'll go get her." He vanished for a moment, then reappeared with a bleached blonde at his side.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle," the blond said. "Can I help you?"

At first glance, Lysette seemed to be in her early thirties, but upon closer inspection, Jasi realized she was probably closer to fifty.

If that's what facial rejuvenation does for you, I might have to reconsider in twenty years or so.

"Do you recognize the man in this photo?"

"No, I never seen him before," Lysette said in a heavy French accent.

"Thanks anyway."

Jasi tossed a twenty dollar bill on the counter and eyed the bartender. "Buy a book on Canadian politics."

In the lobby, she mentally crossed the Belle Fleur Hotel bar off the list.
That's it then. No other bars in the area.

She decided to grab a quick salad and iced tea in the dining room. Seated at a table near a window, she thought about the case while enjoying the mesmerizing view of the Ottawa River, the same river that Monty Winkler had drowned in.

Does it hold some kind of special meaning?

Winkler had made some enemies along his climb up the political ladder. Yet no one stood out.

She was lost in thought, trying to put the pieces of the puzzling case together when someone called her name.

She looked up. "What are
you
doing here?"

Zane Underhill flashed his perfect white teeth. "Jasmine McLellan, are you following me?"

"Not likely."

"You couldn't wait for dinner?"

"I thought you were staying at the Embassy Hotel."

"I am. I had a meeting with a client near here." His eyes captured hers. "Ottawa sure brings back good memories. Remember?"

"No," she said.

She knew exactly what he was referring to. That one hot summer three years ago when Zane had coaxed her into taking a vacation in Ontario. He'd rented a yacht and they cruised around the Thousand Islands. He'd even taught her the basics―starting the twin engines, steering, navigation. She decided she was better at driving a car. A few days later, they had rented a Porsche and toured the Niagara Falls area before making their way to Ottawa for the Canada Day celebrations.

A sudden image of sweat-soaked bodies writhing in passion amidst tangled sheets and spilled wine came to mind. Sex with Zane was like an intoxicating drug, and she'd responded like an addict, always hungry, always wanting more.

"What I'd like to know is how you found me," he said with a grin. "I don't recall telling you I was coming here."

"I'm not here for you," she said bluntly. "I'm following some leads."

"Ah, I should've known. You're here for some secret CFBI case." He sat in the chair across from her. "Let's have some coffee and you can tell me all about it."

"You know I can't discuss an investigation with you."

Zane ran a hand through his hair. "You can trust me, Jasmine. I won't breathe a word to anyone."

"Sorry, Zane."

"How about a coffee then? We can catch up."

She shook her head. "I agreed to dinner. You'll have to wait until later."

"I see you are still as committed to the CFBI as you've always been. You know, I've helped put away my share of criminals."

Zane was right about that. He had interviewed numerous serial killers, rapists and con artists. His psychological profiling had resulted in a high rate of convictions.

"I can't talk about any case I'm investigating, Zane. Not even with you."

Zane's smile faded. "There was a time when you could tell me anything."

Not everything, she wanted to argue. She had never told him that she was a psychic in the PSI Division. As far as he knew, she was simply a CFBI agent. And that suited her just fine.

"I'll see you at dinner then," he said, standing.

She watched him go. She wanted to stop him, but she knew that doing so would only lead to her emotional destruction.

I'll deal with him later.

She rubbed her arm again.

Why does it ache so much?

16

Wednesday, July 4th, 2012

~ Vancouver General Hospital, Vancouver, BC

Natassia stood aside as Jasi's father and brother
approached the hospital bed. There was no change in Jasi's condition. She was lost somewhere in a comatose limbo.

It broke Natassia's heart.

Come on, Jasi. Wake up.

"Let's get a bite to eat, Natassia." Ben touched her arm. "You need more than just coffee in you, and Jasi needs to be with her family."

"You're both as much her family as we are," Jasi's father interrupted gruffly. "You've seen more of my girl than I have in the past year."

"Pop's right," Brady said. "You're family too."

Ben patted the younger man on the back. "Thanks, bro."

"We'll come back in an hour," Natassia said. "We can take turns watching her today."

She stood up shakily. She'd been at the hospital since 7:00 that morning.

"Lunch in the cafeteria?" she asked Ben.

He nodded, then leaned forward and kissed Jasi's cheek.

"Don't go anywhere, Jazz."

Natassia gave him a wry look. "Where would she go?"

There was a pained expression in his eyes. She knew that he was petrified that Jasi wouldn't pull through.

"She'll be right here when we get back," she insisted.

Following him out of the room, she stared at the worn carpet during the ride in the elevator and thought about Jasi and Ben. They'd been good friends for almost four years. Just friends, Ben had insisted. Yet, sometimes she wondered if they'd ever been more than friends. Sometimes she had to restrain the green-eyed monster when she saw them together, laughing and so much at ease in each other's company. It was impossible not to be jealous.

She's interested in someone else. Brandon.

As Ben steered her toward the cafeteria, she thought back to the previous case.
The Gemini Murders
, nicknamed by the press because of the Gemini lighters that a vengeful murderer had left at each arson scene, had ended with the arsonist's death. Afterward, Brandon Walsh, the Chief of Arson Investigations, disappeared with his tail between his legs, abandoning Jasi when she needed him most.

The coward!

Natassia had known that something was going on between the two of them. If there was one thing she could spot a mile away, it was sexual tension.

She peeked under her lashes at Ben.

Like the tension between us.

"Soup or sandwich?" he asked without looking at her.

"Both. I'm starved."

She heaped up a tray with two bowls of clam chowder, two sandwiches, a veggie tray and two bottles of ice tea.

"I hope that's not all for you," he teased.

She handed him the tray. "Watch it, mister. I'm hungry enough to eat everything on that tray. Lucky for you, I'm in a sharing mood." She stifled a yawn.

"You look exhausted. You need a good night's sleep."

"Is that all I need, Ben?"

She was thinking of something else, and it wasn't sleep.

"Yeah, at least ten hours," he said, oblivious.

"I can think of something even better than sleep."

She grinned, knowing her not-so-innocent words would push a button.

"Natassia…" He gave her a warning look.

"I know, I know. Our relationship is taboo."

"Only when we're out in public."

"You know, I don't really understand what the big deal is. No one's going to care if we're together." She set her hands on her hips. "Are you worried about what Jasi will think?"

She'd already let it slip to their partner that she and Ben had kissed. Jasi didn't need to know that things had progressed beyond kissing. Not yet anyway.

"Jasi will be happy to see me happy," he said.

She raised a brow. "You're happy then?"

"Of course I am." But his expression was anything but happy. "I'm afraid for her, Natassia. I've never seen her look this…"

"Vulnerable?"

He nodded and veered off toward an empty table. As soon as they were seated, he removed his gloves and set them beside his plate.

"My, you're being bold today," she said, grinning.

She remembered the first time they had made love. It had happened a week ago. He'd driven her back to her apartment in Burnaby and she'd invited him in. They hadn't even made it to the bedroom. Instead, she found herself lying on the oriental carpet in front of the fireplace.

Ben hadn't even removed his gloves.

When she had mentioned this, he warned her that his visions were unpredictable, often sparked by touching skin or an object close to a victim. Both of them knew that Natassia carried enough baggage to qualify as a 'victim.'

"I can't take my gloves off around you," he told her.

She never pushed the issue. The last thing she wanted was for him to stop doing all the tantalizing things he'd been doing to her body. If truth be told, she rather enjoyed the sensuous feeling of cool leather on her bare skin.