by Cynthia Eden
Drake stood rooted to the spot, unable to believe what had just happened. Jasmine had given herself up, sacrificed herself for—him?
“I’ll be back,” Detective Taggert promised as she pointed at him. “And maybe even with that warrant.”
He growled out some kind of response as the cops left. Like the threat of a warrant scared him.
Janet hovered nearby. When the coast was clear, she whispered, “What do you want me to do?”
Get Jasmine back.
But Jasmine was gone. Heading off with the cops.
He rushed out onto the balcony. He stood there, waiting, furious, and in a few moments, Jasmine was led out of the Masquerade. The cops loaded her into the back of a squad car. The wind caught her hair, tossing it lightly around her face.
She’d wanted to see the city. Now she was going where—jail?
“Drake?” Janet queried.
“You don’t have to do anything,” Drake said as he watched the door slam and seal Jasmine in the car. “I’ve got this.”
Like he was really just going to sit back while Jasmine vanished from his life.
Hell, no. He’d get her back, and he knew just who he’d use to help him. He spun away from the balcony and pulled out his wallet. The card he needed was inside.
Federal custody, my ass.
He’d be the one watching over Jasmine.
***
They hadn’t handcuffed her. Hadn’t barraged her with questions. They’d just locked her in an interrogation room. Then the cops had appeared to forget about her.
Her chair was hard and cold and after about two hours, Jasmine’s ass was definitely aching, so she marched around the tiny room. She tried to peer into what she was sure was a two-way mirror. She leaned in nice and close, cupping her hands around her eyes—
The door to the interrogation room opened with a click behind her.
“Well, well…aren’t you a hard woman to find.”
She whirled around.
FBI Special Agent Victor Monroe stared back at her. Tall, handsome, all law-abiding and solid-looking.
That was Victor.
His square jaw locked as he crossed the room to her side. His dark brown hair was swept away from his high forehead. “I hear you’ve been causing trouble.”
“I’m rather good at that.” Her best talent.
He leaned in toward her. His blue eyes swept over her face.
“How the hell am I supposed to get you out of here?” he whispered.
Ah, but it was good to have some friends in the right places.
“You’re the special agent,” she murmured back, keeping her voice low. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” Then she smiled because it was nice to finally be with someone who trusted her.
Even if he shouldn’t.
Too bad Victor had never seemed to learn that lesson.
Chapter Eight
Jasmine was being led out of the police station in handcuffs. Drake staggered to a stop at the sight of her. He’d been trying to call the FBI Agent all morning, but that jerk Victor hadn’t answered, and now Drake saw exactly why the agent had been dodging him.
Victor was the one pulling Jasmine toward a dark SUV. Victor had one hand securely on Jasmine’s shoulder. As he walked, Victor’s jacket parted, and Drake glimpsed the gun holster beneath the man’s arm.
Detective Taggert stood a few feet back, up at the top of the steps, and she was frowning as she watched Victor and Jasmine.
She was just letting the guy take Jasmine away?
“Stop!” Drake called out.
“Uh, I don’t think we should interfere here…” His lawyer muttered nervously from his position beside Drake.
“Screw what you think right now.” Drake rushed toward Jasmine. Her head had lifted at his call. Why did she look so shocked to see him? Had she really thought that he’d just let her walk away?
Before he could reach out to her, Victor stepped in his path, totally blocking Jasmine’s body. “You need to back away, Archer,” Victor told him curtly. “You don’t want to get involved in federal business.”
Didn’t he? “Why are you taking her?” Drake demanded.
“Because she’s involved in some active investigations that we’re working,” Victor responded smoothly. “Now, get out of our way.”
Drake put himself in their path even more. “I need to talk with Jasmine.”
“The liar and the thief?” Victor tossed back. “I don’t know why you’d want to waste your time with her.” He eased to the side a bit, glancing back at Jasmine. “I mean, that is what you said, right? That she was ‘a liar and a thief,’ and she wasn’t your problem any longer.”
Pain flashed on Jasmine’s face.
“That’s not what I meant,” Drake snapped.
“Sure about that? Because I think those words were exactly what you meant.”
Jasmine’s gaze jerked away from Drake. As if she couldn’t stand to look at him in that moment.
What the hell? Why do I feel like shit right now?
Because Jasmine turned herself in to the cops…because she was trying to protect me.
She could’ve stayed silent at the Masquerade. Could’ve let him be dragged off. Then Jasmine would’ve had her opportunity to run.
She hadn’t.
The woman had sacrificed herself for him, even after he’d told her about his past. He didn’t understand why she’d done it, and not understanding was driving him crazy.
“You were right,” Victor told him as he put one hand on Drake’s chest and pushed. “She’s not your problem anymore. She’s mine from here on out.”
There was something in the guy’s voice. A deeper note that set off alarms in Drake’s mind.
Possessiveness.
Drake glared down at the hand pressed to his shirt-front. “Move it.”
“Or what?” Victor wanted to know. “You’ll assault a federal officer?”
“Uh…” Footsteps rushed toward them. Drake’s lawyer huffed closer. “Sir, sir, I’d really advise against that!”
Screw Thomas Morley’s advice. Drake had pulled the guy down there to help Jasmine, not so the man could get in his way.
“I have to go, Drake,” Jasmine said, her voice soft. “It’s time.”
No, no, it wasn’t.
He needed to know more about what was happening. He needed…her.
“What are you going to do?” Drake asked Victor. No, the question should have been…“What has she done?”
He’d told Jasmine his crimes. Didn’t that mean he deserved to know hers?
“You’re better off not knowing,” Victor said. “Ignorance is damn bliss, right?” Then he leaned in close to Drake. “Just pretend you screwed an angel and not a devil in disguise.”
Fury erupted in Drake. He pulled back his fist and drove it right at the agent’s smug face.
“No, no, no!” The frantic voice of Thomas Morley shouted.
Victor didn’t even take a swing back at Drake. “Poor impulse control.” He motioned to Detective Taggert. She was already running down the stairs. “You and your men should take him inside. Get him to calm down.”
Drake lunged for the guy again.
But Jasmine was there. She stepped in front of Victor.
Drake froze.
“I’m a liar and a thief,” she whispered and her eyes had never seemed so dark. “And I’m not worth what you’re about to bring down on yourself.”
His jaw hardened even more. “I think you are worth it.” That was the problem. She’d inched beneath his skin. Gotten to him when she shouldn’t have ever been able to pierce his armor.
Her dark eyes widened. “Drake?”
“I’m not pressing charges,” Victor said.
“Thank God,” Morley muttered.
He seriously needed a new lawyer. One with some balls.
“But I want this man held until he cools off…” Victor pulled Jasmine away when uniforms surrounded Drake.
�
��This isn’t over!” Drake called out to her.
She shook her head.
“It isn’t!”
Victor opened the passenger side of the SUV. Jasmine slipped inside, still wearing the cuffs. When the door shut, she glanced back at Drake through the window.
Her hand lifted and touched the glass. Then Victor drove her away.
“Why don’t we go work on that calming down…” Detective Taggert said.
Screw calming down.
Drake didn’t take his eyes off that SUV.
***
When his phone rang, Maxwell knew it was the call he’d been expecting. The cops had been tipped off, the stage had been set…and Drake Archer should be getting a little taste of hell.
“Were the reporters there when Archer was hauled to jail?” he asked as he put the phone to his ear.
“No reporters,” Saxon told him flatly. “And he wasn’t the one the cops brought in. They pulled in Jazz.”
Maxwell shot up. He’d been lounging in bed with a slumberous blonde. Sex always took the edge off for him. The blonde mumbled something and tried to reach for him, so he kicked her ass right out of bed. “Jazz?”
“Only she’s not with the cops now. She just left with an asshole I think you know…Special Agent Victor Monroe.”
His temples were about to burst. “Monroe has been trying to nail me for years.”
“Yeah, well, he’s got Jazz. And now I’m wondering…is he going to get her to turn on you?”
“She won’t have the chance,” Maxwell vowed. And it was also time that he eliminated Monroe. That bastard had been a thorn in his side for far too long. “Follow them, and wait for orders.”
“Yes, sir.”
Saxon had been friends with Jazz, but there was no hesitation in his voice now. Maxwell knew the man realized that Jazz couldn’t be given the chance to turn on them.
Death was her only option.
***
“So how much longer do I have to wear the cuffs?” Jasmine asked Victor as they rolled through the city. The traffic seemed to pass her in a blur. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. Being led out in handcuffs was a nice touch.”
“I thought so,” Victor said, voice a bit amused as he kept his eyes on the road. He was taking them away from the busier streets. The traffic around them began to thin. “Made us look all official.”
She looked down at the handcuffs around her wrists. “They’re a little tight.”
“Well, they aren’t supposed to be fashion bracelets.” He braked at a red light and reached for her wrist. A quick turn of his key, and the handcuffs popped off. His fingers slid over her wrists, massaging quickly right before the light changed to green.
The SUV shot forward. This time, they were the only car on the road. Victor knew how to find all the forgotten streets in a city—that was his talent.
We have to vanish, and he’s making that happen.
“How’s your jaw?” she asked him quietly.
“Throbbing like a bitch,” was his immediate reply. “Archer has a killer punch.”
“He boxes,” she heard herself whisper. Her lips quirked at that. “Or at least, he said he did.” Would Drake be surprised to know just how much she knew about boxing? Maybe she’d tell him. Maybe—
He’ll never know. Jasmine swallowed and tried to push the lump in her throat far, far down.
“Jasmine?”
She straightened in her seat. “Th-thanks for not having him arrested.”
“I might be able to use him later. Figured it was to my advantage to have the guy owing me.”
Yes, Victor did like to use people. Use or be used…that was his motto. Always had been. “I’d…prefer that you didn’t.”
His gaze slid to her when he braked at another deserted light. The buildings around them were all old, boarded up. A street that had been forgotten after the hurricane.
“Let him have his life,” Jasmine said. “Just leave him alone.”
Victor laughed at that. “Ah, Jazz, don’t go soft for him. He told me you were little better than trash and that he wanted you out of his life.” He accelerated once more.
Her chest burned. “It doesn’t matter what he said about me. I want you to leave him alone.”
“A little late for you to be making demands, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s not because I’m the one here with all of the—”
Gunfire erupted.
The SUV’s front windshield shattered. Jasmine screamed. Victor swore and jerked the wheel to the left, and as the vehicle lurched, a hail of gunfire slammed into Jasmine’s side of the SUV.
“Get down!” Victor yelled.
She was already in the floorboard. “Get us out of here!” Jasmine yelled right back at him.
The SUV’s engine revved and—
Then the vehicle lurched once more. Harder this time.
“Tires,” he snarled. “They shot at—”
The SUV twisted, turned, and Jasmine clamped her lips shut to hold back her screams as they flew toward a tall, metal lamp post.
Then more gunfire erupted…
***
Drake’s foot shoved down the gas pedal as he raced through the back streets of New Orleans. Jasmine and that FBI Agent didn’t have much of a lead time on him. He sure as hell hadn’t planned to stay at the station with Taggert and calm down.
Jasmine had looked so hurt. Victor was a prick, and Drake wanted to do more than just drive his fist into the guy’s face.
Jasmine had been cuffed. Helpless. He’d just wanted to take her away. To protect her.
He turned another corner, his gaze scanning the empty streets. They were gone. Dammit. Finding them now was going to be nearly impossible.
Rat-a-tat.
When he heard the sound of gunfire, Drake didn’t slow down. He sped up even more as his heart thundered in his chest. He cleared the next set of red lights, and then his heart nearly stopped.
The FBI Agent’s SUV was on its side. Glass littered the narrow street, and two armed men—wearing black ski masks—were pulling someone from the wreckage.
Jasmine.
She was fighting them. Kicking, twisting her body, but they were dragging her toward a gray van that waited just a few feet away.
He slammed on his brakes. Grabbed for his own weapon—good thing he’d brought it from the Masquerade—and rushed out of his car. “Let her go!”
One of the men turned at his shout. The guy lifted his weapon and took aim at Drake.
The other masked asshole heaved Jasmine back against him and nearly succeeded in tossing her into the van.
“Drake!” Her scream chilled him.
Drake dove to the ground, and the bullet missed him. But in the next instant he was firing, and Drake found his target. The jerk who’d shot at him grunted and staggered back.
Then Drake was moving again. Staying low and going in fast, he raced right toward Jasmine. Her hands had locked around the side of the van and she was kicking out at her captor.
The guy was so busy keeping her in check that he didn’t turn to face Drake, not until it was too late. Then Drake hit him hard and fast, and the guy’s head slammed into the side of the van.
“Drake,” now her voice was a stunned whisper.
He grabbed her and pulled her into his arms. She was shaking and there were scratches on her hands, but she seemed okay.
He locked his hand with hers and rushed back to his car. He pushed her into the passenger seat.
“Victor!” She grabbed for Drake, holding on tightly. “You have to make sure he’s okay. He-he wasn’t moving when they took me.”
She was worried about the FBI agent?
Giving a grim nod, he spun back around. The two jerks who’d tried to take Jasmine were retreating into their van. They thought they’d just get away? Oh, the hell, no.
He took a lunging step toward them, his weapon up.
“Help!”
That cry was coming from the wreckage. The agent?
/> “I’m stuck, and I smell gasoline—help me!” Yeah, that was definitely the agent.
And he was right. Drake could smell the acrid odor filling the air. Shit, shit.
He took aim at that van. Fired. Once, twice. The van careened when the bullets crashed into the back, but it kept going.
Drake rushed to the wrecked SUV. He heard the clatter of footsteps behind him. He spun— “I put you in the car!” So she’d be safe.
“And I got myself right out!” Jasmine tossed at him. She tried to shove by him.
He pushed her right back. “There’s gasoline leaking out. You need to stay back.” He quickly shoved his weapon in to the back waistband of his jeans.
Fear flashed across her face. “We have to get Victor out of there!”
In the distance, he heard the wail of a siren.
This street was deserted, but someone must have heard the shots and called the cops. The question was…would the cops get there in time?
Jasmine broke free of his hand and the woman ran right to the driver’s side. “I’m here, Victor!”