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defined him. No one would replace John Delacorte in his role as his real father. Still, Fiona confirmed what he'd already suspected, having kept the identity of his biological father from him for a reason.
    Perhaps that reason had a name: Nicholas Charboneau.
    "I knew it the moment I set eyes on you, the night we first met. You look just like him. But don't trust me. Talk to your mother. Tell her Nicky is in trouble, or she might continue to keep her secret and deny his . . . contribution. But whatever you do, please . . . make it fast."
    Nearly spilling his coffee, Christian collapsed into a nearby chair, unable to take his eyes from Jasmine. The strange sensation he'd been feeling over the past several days bubbled to the surface, churning his stomach with the reality of his life.
    Setting down the mug, he shut his eyes. His mind reeled with a flood of old conversations. Fiona's words replayed in his memory. No matter how many times he begged for the true identity of his father, his mother kept her silence. After seeing the pain in her eyes, he knew she would never disclose the truth, as if she were protecting him.
    And with what Raven revealed about Charboneau and his connection to organized crime, maybe she had gooci reason. Yet Fiona's gall boggled his mind. She herself was a matriarch to an enterprise rooted in crime, perhaps a direct rival to Charboneau's. Her disapproval of him as a father made no sense, not if she examined her own life under such scrutiny.
    It struck him. He had spent much of his life living in the shadow of her lies. She had kept him apart from "the life," limiting his involvement in the Dunhill family business all those years. Now it appeared he had never fully grasped the depth of her secrets.
    Raven's voice yanked him from his dismal thoughts.
    "If your employer kept his affairs to himself," she said to Jasmine, "without confiding in you, as you've said, then how do you explain knowing so much about Christian? That seems like pretty sensitive information for a mere bodyguard to have."
    "Very perceptive, Detective. I may have misrepresented my relationship with Christian's father. But I will not compromise Nicky by revealing certain aspects of his business affairs. It would be unprofessional . . . and unwise."
    Intently, Christian watched the woman speak, as if she communicated in a different language. Perhaps she did. Her world was steeped in shadow and deception. Honesty would be a rare commodity.
    "Your instincts are correct, Raven," he said. "This is a woman with secrets. Trusting her would be a mistake." Resentment colored his tone. He glared at Jasmine, searching the subtleties of her face to find a glimmer of the truth.
    The woman flashed indignation. "You trusted me once. That night. I could have led you into an ambush."
    He stood abruptly and turned his back, crossing his arms over his chest. Looking at her only made him angry. "I was desperate. I had no choice."
    "Now you see my predicament. I am out of options as well." Jasmine stepped toward him. Her voice lowered as she pleaded her case. "This is not about me. Nicholas will die in seven days. What would you have me do? How can I prove myself to you? I am only a messenger, speaking for a man who cannot. Please do not condemn him for Fiona's error in judgment."
    "What do you mean?" He narrowed his eyes, reading between the lines of her persuasive argument. "And why didn't he want you to contact me?"
    "He never really said, but I know him. I believe he resented the fact Fiona kept your birth a secret from him. He didn't find out the truth until only . . . recently."
    "And I suppose you want me to take your word for that . . . that he only just found out about me?" Christian turned toward her, searching her eyes for an answer.
    "I hope you will, yes." Jasmine touched his arm and spoke in a hushed tone. "She never allowed him the choice—to take his rightful place as your father. Until he examined his heart, I believe he wanted time to