by Cynthia Eden
wouldn’t.” So he really thought that of her, huh? Not surprising. Most people had been sure she was just trash all her life. Just like dear old mom. “He gave me the specs to get in to the casino. I told you, he had the blueprints.” Blueprints that she’d discovered when she did a bit of snooping on his computer. “I knew about his demolitions past, okay? And I just put two and two together when you told me that someone was back at your casino. I wanted to make sure everyone was safe.”
He had no clue what she’d just done. Maxwell would discover that his devices had been found. He’d also soon connect the dots and realize that she was the person who’d seen the blueprints. She’d been the one in his office. He would know that. She’d had access to his computer, and getting past his computer’s security system had been all too easy for her.
When he realized what she’d done, Maxwell would come after her.
I’m a dead woman. None of her connections would be able to save her this time.
“It’s not like he rose to power easily in Vegas.” She’d read the newspaper stories. Had done her own research. “He told me once that he had to fight his way to the top of the pack.”
“You’re working with him.”
She shook her head. “I took one job for him. I was supposed to get that business intel on your computer. Nothing more. I swear, I swear, I would never do anything to hurt anyone.”
“You crawled into bed with the wrong man.”
She flinched at that. The memory of being in Drake’s bed was too strong. I can still feel him on my skin. In me.
“I’m going to destroy him,” Drake told her flatly. “No one comes after me like this. No one.”
He pushed her away. As if he didn’t want to touch her anymore. Then he turned his back on her. Left her out there on that balcony.
“Drake?” She took a quick step forward.
He didn’t turn at her call.
Jasmine hurried after him. “Drake, please, it’s not what you think—”
He didn’t answer her. Didn’t talk to her. Didn’t even stop in the den. He left the big, cavernous house. Left her standing there, with her arms wrapped around her stomach.
He said he’d protect me.
But he was leaving her. He’d fucked her, just like he’d said he would.
More like fucked me over.
Jasmine felt as if she were about to shatter into a million pieces.
Maxwell planted bombs in the casino. People could’ve died. He wouldn’t be done, not yet. His attack hadn’t worked, so he’d make a new plan. That was how he operated. Why he was so very dangerous.
He didn’t stop, not until his enemies were eliminated.
She hurried toward the phone in the den, her whole body shaking. Picking up the phone on the nearby table—Jasmine’s phone was some place back in Vegas—she called him blindly.
Maxwell answered on the second ring.
“What have you done?” Jasmine whispered.
“Jasmine…”
“Bombs, Max? Dear God, there were people in there!”
“You found my plans…naughty girl.”
She’d found blueprints. She hadn’t realized just how important they were, not until that moment in Drake’s bedroom. A robbery was one thing. A bombing was another. “I’m going to the cops.” She’d tell them everything she knew about Max.
“The cops won’t save you.”
Goosebumps rose on her arms.
“You know how I deal with betrayal, Jazz.” Jazz…a nickname that had followed her for so long that it had become her codename in the business.
You wanted information retrieved from a rival…call Jazz.
You needed a computer hacked…call Jazz.
You need a life destroyed…
A sob rose in her throat. “I’m telling them everything. You’re done. You should just…you should get on a plane and get the hell out of the country. Run, while you still can.”
His low laughter slipped over the line. “My, but you must be upset…because you didn’t even try to block this number when you called me. Such an amateur mistake. But then, I already knew you were with him in New Orleans.”
The sob choked her. No, she hadn’t tried to block the call. What would have been the point? When she’d been on Maxwell’s computer, she’d seen the file he had on Drake…a file that had contained the addresses and telephone numbers for all of Drake’s homes. This place in the Quarter, the estate in Vegas, the—
“I know where you are, Jazz, and I’m coming for you.”
No. No! “Stay away from me. Stay away from Drake!”
“I’ll be seeing you in the Big Easy, love. I’ll find you, and then I’ll finish my business with Drake.”
He hated Drake. She didn’t even know why. Surely this wasn’t just about business?
“I’ll show you just how beautiful I can make the flames,” Maxwell promised her. “They’ll be nearly as beautiful as you.”
He’s coming to kill me.
“Stay away from Drake,” she repeated as she swiped at the stupid tears on her cheeks. “And you need—you need to run. You think he was the only one that I hacked? I was in your office, too, Max. I’ve got your files. I’ve got your business. I’ve got your life.”
Silence, then… “You’re playing out of your league.”
“I didn’t want to be in this nightmare at all. You forced my hand.” Now…turnabout, asshole. “Stay away from him.”
He hung up on her.
Her gaze flew around the house.
Then Jasmine did the only thing she could…she ran. It was a good thing that she’d had plenty of practice at running.
I ran away for the first time when I was fifteen. I wasn’t going to let her use me…wasn’t going to let those men touch me.
I ran then.
And she would keep running, for as long as it took. She’d run until she was safe.
***
Drake stared down at the crowd in his casino, the Masquerade. The New Orleans place was his crown jewel. Right on the riverfront, perfect for the tourists. Perfect for those looking to live on the edge.
The floor was mostly empty below him. Dawn had come, and in a few hours, the place would begin to fill.
Coins would fall into the slot machines. The tables would be surrounded. Roulette, Black Jack, Craps…
They’d come for the thrill. The thrill drew them back again and again.
Like moths to the flame…they’d all get burned sooner or later.
“We all do,” he muttered as he turned away from them.
He’d been burned. Jasmine. She was so tangled up with Maxwell. A lying, deceiving, murderous—
“Mr. Archer? There’s a…a federal agent here to see you.”
He turned at his assistant’s hesitant voice. Janet stood in the doorway, her hair pulled back in its usual elegant twist. Her hands hovered nervously in the air. “He said it was urgent.”
Great. Just what he didn’t need then. Trouble with some government jerk. “Tell him I’m not available—”
“Like I’d buy that BS,” a male replied as he shouldered in after Janet. The man’s sharp gaze flickered assessing over Drake. “Especially since I saw you saunter up here five minutes ago.”
Janet had actually brought the guy to his office?
“It’s the badge,” the fellow said with a hard grin. “And the gun…they tend to get action.”
“I’m sorry,” Janet whispered.
“Forget it.” Drake rolled back his shoulders. “Just shut the door on your way out.” He’d have this guy hitting the street in moments. Not like it was the first time an agent had paid him a visit. Sometimes, the visits were about his past. About the missions he’d done. And sometimes, they were even about Uncle Sam needing him to help again.
You couldn’t really leave the business. Not for good. Some ties were never broken.
The door softly closed behind Janet.
Drake took his seat and motioned for the agent. “Didn
’t catch your name—”
The guy flashed his ID. “Special Agent Victor Monroe.”
The name meant nothing. “And what can I do for you this incredibly early morning, Agent?” Drake didn’t bother keeping the impatience from his voice.
The agent eased into the chair across from him.
“I was informed of the…scare you had at your Vegas casino recently.”
Drake let his brows climb. That had been very recently. “Your intel is fast.”
“Three bombs,” the guy reminded him. “That’s the kind of news that has to pass quickly.”
Drake waited for the agent to continue.
Victor cleared his throat. “I couldn’t help but notice those bombs were found rather easily, as if you had a map leading straight to them…”
Drake kept staring.
Victor leaned forward. “Tell me where she is.”
The hell, no. “Who?”
“We’re alone in here, so cut the bull. I need to find Jazz.”
Jazz? The agent’s tone had far too much familiarity for Drake. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Cut the crap. She left Vegas with you. My intel put her on your plane, and the way you found those bombs, so damn fast, I know she told you about them.”
“This little visit is over.” Drake rose and glared at the guy. Get the hell out of here.
“I’m taking her in,” Victor said as he stood. The guy was almost as tall as Drake. Victor’s hair was a dark brown, and his eyes, a light blue, were hard with intensity. “So save me some time and tell me where she is. If she’s here at the casino—”
“Find criminals on your own time. Not mine.”
Victor’s jaw hardened. “Ah, so you know what she is?”
“Find her on your own,” he gritted out again. He’d walked away from her. There was no way she was still at his house.
Hell, he hadn’t even locked the door on his way out. Hadn’t even put a guard on her.
Because I don’t want her anymore. Because I won’t let another beautiful, lying woman try to destroy me and the people close to me.
I. Don’t. Want. Her.
And there was no one there to call him a liar.
“Ah, I don’t think you actually grasp the urgency of the situation.” Victor leaned over Drake’s desk, resting his hands on the old wood. “I need Jazz, and I need her now. She’s to be placed in federal custody immediately.”
“And she said that she wasn’t running from the law,” Drake muttered. “Another lie.” How unsurprising.
Victor’s eyelashes flickered. “I don’t think you understand—”
“Yeah, I understand just fine. Jasmine is a liar and a thief, and she’s not my problem anymore.” The words were hard. They had to be.
He would not think of the way Jasmine had looked when he’d last seen her on that balcony. The pain that he’d heard in her voice as she called out after him.
She was playing him.
Just like—
No. He slammed the door on that memory.
The FBI agent pulled out a card. Tossed it on his desk. “If you should see the liar and thief, call me. I’ll take her off your hands.” But Victor’s whole manner had changed. The guy seemed pissed.
Join the club, buddy.
Victor gave him a little salute then he strode from the office. Did he mutter “Dick” on his way out? Drake’s eyes narrowed. The door closed with a near slam.
Drake waited about twenty seconds, then he grabbed his phone. The text he shot to Trace was blunt.
What the fuck did you find?
His fingers drummed on his desk. He waited for a text back, but instead, his phone vibrated. He answered immediately. “You called back, so I know the shit is bad.”
“I’m still working on the details, okay? Your girl’s past is tangled and twisted.”
“She’s not,” Drake managed to push out, “my girl.”
Silence. “Well, that plays, since I’m getting rumors she’s been claimed by Maxwell Case.”
His blood burned, then turned straight to ice in Drake’s veins. “She’s his lover?”
“That’s what I’m picking up, and, man, that guy is trouble.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” Jasmine and Maxwell. Jasmine fucking Maxwell. His hand was a fist on the desk. His temples felt as if they were about to explode.
“I don’t have proof on that relationship, just rumors. But it’s looking like—”
“He sent her to me.”
I’m not a whore. Grim pride had cloaked around her as Jasmine spoke those words to him.
He pushed back his shoulders as he tried to shove her image away.
“She was born in Kendall, Texas. Her mother was Shirley Bennett, and no father was listed on her birth certificate. Shirley had over a dozen arrests for prostitution so—”
I’m not a whore.
His fist slammed into the desk. That pain in her voice had been real.
“So maybe Shirley didn’t even know who Jasmine’s father was. Seems your gir—uh, Jasmine ran away when she was fifteen, and that’s when things get harder to track.”
Fifteen? He straightened. “What about before then?”
“Uh, before? She was just a kid—”
“What was she like?” Why had he just asked that shit?
“Straight A’s, actually. I got access to her grades. Schools are always the easiest to hack. She was one of those never-in-trouble types.”
His thief had been a good girl?
“She was taking AP classes in math and science and her teachers had been hoping she’d be able to get a scholarship, but then she…left.”
Ran away. To something?
Or ran from something?
“I’ll keep digging but the woman’s life after fifteen—”
“She’s good with computers.” He rubbed his hand against his throbbing temples. “Very good. So good I think she—”
“Might be able to cover her own trail.” Now Trace was annoyed. “You should have mentioned that point before.” He rallied quickly. “Don’t worry. I’ve got my own team of hackers. It’ll take us some time, but we’ll discover her secrets.”
Drake headed out onto the balcony that overlooked Canal Street. Glancing down below, he saw Victor storming from the Casino. “An FBI Agent named Victor Monroe just left my office. He was looking for her.”
“And did you give her up?”
“She’s not mine to give. I don’t know where she is.” Her image flashed before him once more. On that balcony, her face had been so pale. She’d almost looked…broken. Appearances can be deceiving. “She’s definitely working with Maxwell. I won’t let another woman set me up for death.”
“Well, if she’s working for him, then how come she told you all about the bombs?”
Of course, Trace would already know about them. After the visit from the FBI guy, Drake was wondering who didn’t know. “She told me about them because Jasmine didn’t want anyone at the casino to get hurt.”
“Wow, quite the cold-blooded bitch, isn’t she?” Now Trace’s voice was mocking. “Just like Anna Jean.”
“Don’t,” Drake bit out. “Don’t say her name to me.” Because he was so sick of remembering. Anna Jean’s lies. Anna Jean’s life.
Her death.
At his hands.
“Not every woman is like her,” Trace’s voice was soft.
“You mean your woman isn’t like her.” Skye. Trace had been obsessed with Skye for years. But the bastard was lucky—Skye loved him, too. Enough to risk her life for him.
Silence hummed on the line, then Trace said, “It wasn’t your fault.”
Drake had to laugh at that even as he kept staring at the street below. “Really? You mean someone else drove the knife into her? Because I sure as hell remember her blood being on my hands.” The agent had disappeared. “Call me when you learn more.”
“Wait man, look, don’t do anything stupid, okay?”
> What?
“You take too many risks. You’ve been walking on the edge for a while, and I don’t want you falling over.”
Too late. He’d gone over the edge long ago.
“Maybe Jasmine can help you,” Trace added. “If she’s valuable to Maxwell and the guy is gunning for you, then maybe you should team up with her and—”
Valuable. The wheels began to spin in his head. “Maybe I can use her.” The idea had whispered through his mind once before.
“No!” Trace’s voice was a bark. “That’s not what I meant. I said work with her. But wait until I can find out more, okay? Leave this to me and you—”
“I’ll be waiting on the edge.” Drake ended the call. Maybe he had been too hasty when he walked away from her. If Maxwell was screwing Jasmine, wouldn’t the guy plan to come after her? And to think, Jasmine had tried to act afraid of the fellow.
I’m dead…
The fear had sounded so real to him. She was one fine actress. Maybe even better than Anna Jean had been.
She’d asked Drake to protect her from Maxwell. She’d given him her body. Told him enough to keep his casino safe. Yes, he could use her. He could learn more.
And he would make absolutely sure that he never gave the woman the chance to betray him again.
***
Jasmine hadn’t expected the sheer number of people who packed Bourbon Street at nightfall. They drifted in and out of the bars, some hung over the edge of the balconies, and some made out in doorways. Drinks were flowing heavily. Laughter filled the air, and everywhere Jasmine turned, bodies seemed to brush against her.
Getting lost in the crowd here would be easy. It would be—
Her gaze fell on a brightly lit doorway. A woman stood there, barely dressed. Only the woman looked young. So very young. She was motioning toward some frat boys, inviting them in for a dance.