by Addison Fox
As someone who saw all too often how children could get stuck in the system, Jasmine found it gratifying to see a story that had a far happier ending.
Jasmine knew there was a bit more to it than that—and a collective history each man had to work through on his own—but all had truly ended well. As an added bonus to seeing her best friend the happiest of her life, Jasmine had added a pack of new people who’d accepted her into the fold as if they’d all always been friends.
She enjoyed this new dimension to her social life tremendously, but until that moment hadn’t realized just how much Daphne had begun to hold back with her typical tart responses when there were others around.
“I’m not pining,” Jasmine shot back at Daphne.
“Replace pining with something else. Worrying. Obsessing. Feeling guilty because you don’t want to rip Gardner Cross’s very fine clothing off of his very fine ass. Take your pick.”
Jasmine did a quick glance around, but no one nearby was paying any attention to their conversation, and Emma was still bellied up to the bar. From the smitten look on her face, she was happily flirting with her fiancé while waiting for the next round of margaritas, which only added to Daphne’s not-so-subtle poking.
“You know I’m right.” Daphne said, a cheese fry waving in her hand.
“There aren’t enough margaritas in the world for this discussion.”
“Booze isn’t your answer. Sadly.” Daphne shook her head before downing the last sips of her margarita—her first, thank God. When she finally came up for air, she finished her thought. “My brother’s penis is the answer.”
“Daphne!” Jasmine did glance around the bar this time, convinced she was about to become the laughingstock of Park Heights. Their nearby tables were still full of happy conversation and animated bar patrons, all blessedly oblivious to Daphne’s weird train of thought, which had obviously jumped the tracks.
Even if the image Daphne painted—one she absolutely did not need to paint—warmed Jasmine to the very depths of her toes and other far-less-innocent places.
“We’ve been over this too many times to count. Enough with the comments about your brother.”
“I’m just saying.”
“Just saying what?” The good humor she’d managed to carry through the conversation evaporated, but Jasmine refused to let the tears that tightened her throat have a place in their discussion. They’d had this conversation so many times she was sick of it.
Sick of hearing herself talk. And of hearing how Cade just needed to see reason. And worst of all, how they’d be perfect together if Cade would only open his eyes.
They weren’t perfect. And they sure as hell weren’t together.
“He’s ignorant. And he’s keeping you from taking things to the next level with Gardner.”
“He’s not doing anything of the sort. Gardner’s my business.”
Daphne’s dark gaze sharpened, her bullshit detector on high alert. “So that means you’re going to make him your business.”
“The time hasn’t been right.”
“The time’s never right for a big, crazy romance. They’re loud and messy and time consuming. But when it’s right, you dive in. The fact that your feet are firmly planted on the side of the pool screams how uninterested you are.”
“Aren’t you the one who a few short months ago was telling me I needed to date Gardner?”
“Yes.” Daphne mumbled as she reached for a fry.
“And weren’t you also the one who told me to date the guy and enjoy myself? No strings? No pressure?”
“Maybe.”
Jasmine kept on, the skills she’d honed in court serving her well. “So why the sudden change of heart? Why the push for strings and all this pressure? I thought he was the perfect summer fling.”
“Summer’s nearly over.”
“You’re impossible. And don’t rush it, we still have quite a few dog days to get through.”
“Pots and kettles.” Daphne softened the words with a smile before reaching across the table, linking their hands. “I want you to be happy.”
“And I appreciate it.”
“So be happy.”
Jasmine was prevented from saying anything else by the arrival of round two of foamy, frothy margaritas. Emma’s gaze narrowed when she caught sight of their linked hands, but instead of saying anything, she brightened her smile and set down the heavy, icy bowls full of the green nectar of the gods. “Nick made these himself.”
“The house specialty,” Daphne said as she reached for her glass.
“He’s especially proud of his Sazerac.” Emma’s gaze drifted toward the bar, a particularly sappy smile on her face.
“Someone’s smitten.” Daphne teased, her wide smile infectious.
“I think you’re all smitten,” Jasmine couldn’t resist adding, pleased when the thought left her with nothing but happiness. She’d felt like such an emotional downer lately and took some solace in the fact that feeling genuine happiness for others was a sign she was still the person she hoped to be.
Even if she wasn’t acting like the person she should be when it came to Gardner.
For all her protesting, Daphne’s arguments weren’t off the mark. Jasmine cared for Gardner and she enjoyed their evenings out, but it was more the sort of enjoyment one found with a friend. Not the raging excitement that quivered around Daphne and Emma when their gazes drifted toward the corners of the bar, looking for their men.
Jasmine took another sip of her margarita, allowing her gaze to slip toward the corners as well. Nick still managed the bar, his smile easy as he pulled beers while talking to patrons. She kept her gaze moving, making small observations as she watched the various groups who filled the bar. Fender and Landon reappeared from the direction of what she knew to be Nick’s office, Landon’s tall, lanky frame next to Fender’s solid musculature beneath his usual uniform of a black T-shirt.
Without conscious effort to do so, she mentally compared the physicality of each man against Cade. All were attractive men, physically in their prime without being overly macho about it. But to her irritatingly besotted eye, none could quite compare to the thick, rough-and-tumble frame of Cade Rossi.
The man had the look of a brawler. Tough. Hard. Unrepentant. Cade had been a solid kid, and he’d carried that heft into adulthood, with thick shoulders, impressive biceps, and a broad chest that narrowed down to slim hips.
She shouldn’t be attracted to that. Shouldn’t find the man’s ability to defend himself and anyone else in the near vicinity attractive. But she did. She always had. And it was increasingly looking like she was never going to work her way past it.
She’d nearly turned her morose gaze back to her margarita—determined to drink up and at least enjoy the rest of her evening engaged in girl talk and laughter with her newly expanded group of friends—when something almost psychic had her shifting her attention a bit farther, past Fender’s left shoulder.
Only to land on the deep, rich, coffee-colored gaze of Cade Rossi.
* * *
“This looks like trouble.”
Cade strolled up to the table of beautiful women, his focus on the only one who looked like she’d rather kick him out than welcome him to the party.
“Fancy seeing you here, big brother.” Daphne slid off her seat and gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek, the light scent of lime wafting off her lips. His sister was a moderate drinker, usually more than aware of her responsibilities to the NYPD, whether on or off duty, but she seemed unable to resist the lure of her soon-to-be brother-in-law’s margaritas. Especially when in the company of what Cade was coming to think of as her coven.
Cade dutifully kissed his sister’s cheek in return before bestowing his very best charm on Emma Bradley. Her bright smile and light giggle was a soothing balm for his battered-knight’s heart.
And then he turned to Jaz. He wasn’t sure how, but she looked even more beautiful in a simple tank top and jeans than she had in the printed wrap
dress she’d worn at dinner. Her dark skin was shown off to perfection beneath the pretty peach color of her top and his gaze traveled over the toned lines of her biceps, which had fascinated him for years. How could someone so physically capable still retain every ounce of feminine beauty and softness?
“Jaz.”
“Cade.”
He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, her skin soft beneath his lips. “I thought you were in for the night.”
She shrugged, the delicate expanse of her collarbone rising and falling with the motion. “I felt like going out.”
Since he’d felt the same he could hardly say anything, but for reasons he couldn’t fully identify, the pissy mood he’d walked in with roared back in full force.
His evening had sucked—he’d own that, as he’d had a deliberate hand in ruining it—but he had expected a bit of escape by coming into the End Zone. All he’d wanted was a bit of peace from the sudden, endless clamoring in his head. A private place to be miserable without anyone caring or noticing. At minimum, he’d expected a chance to drown his misery in a few beers, no questions asked.
So what the hell was Jasmine Shane doing here, laughing and drinking it up as part of his sister’s merry band of not-quite bachelorettes?
“Cade!” Landon slapped him on the back as Fender dragged over an extra chair from a nearby table. In moments they had him seated and the End Zone’s best barmaid, Patty, had a beer topped with fresh foam settled in front of him.
Conversation spun out easily, the topics tripping from the Mets to a bridal shop in Brooklyn Heights that had recently opened, to a new rib place in Greenpoint that was purported to have a two-hour wait to get in. Cade listened to it all, cataloguing the conversation and filing it away with the same clinical detachment he gave his job.
Addresses. Business names. All mapped in his mind like location pins dropping into place. He did it as naturally as breathing and wasn’t even aware he’d begun to zone out when Daphne elbowed him in the ribs. “You’re in a fine mood tonight.”
Patty’s arrival with another round of beers gave him a chance to lean over, his voice a fierce whisper. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You got here and haven’t said three words. Why go out?”
“I’m listening.”
“Oh yeah? What was said?”
With a triumphant smile Cade rattled back the evening’s Met’s score, the address of the bridal salon and the name of its new owner, and mentioned how hungry he was for ribs.
“Jerk,” came hissing back.
“Sore loser.”
He nearly laughed, his mood improving considerably at the battle with his sister. They’d been at it for years—much to his mother’s great frustration—and stumping her never got old. “I also think Nick spiked your margarita. You’re practically giddy.”
Daphne’s smile returned in full force, her laugher easy, their battle forgotten. “I’m in love. It’s far more potent than the finest tequila.”
“It’s something to see—” Cade broke off, his gaze alighting on Jasmine. Her brown eyes had gone wide, her shoulders hunching up in immediate defense.
“Jaz?”
Before she could say anything, something prickled at the back of his neck, and Cade was off his seat in a flash, instinct taking over.
“Cade!”
She called him back, her voice sharp over the heavy din of the bar, but he refused to turn around. He would not turn back.
Not when Jasmine’s tormentor stood on the other side of the bar, his stark gaze positioned square on their table.
Chapter Four
Paul Barrow? He was here? He was out of jail?
Those questions jockeyed for space, seeming to fill up Jasmine’s mind, soaking their way into each and every crevice. Raw-boned fear cratered her stomach, and a distinct sense of cold swept through her, reminiscent of that December evening that still haunted her.
How was he free? And why wasn’t she told? She worked in the DA’s office. She kept alerts on her email accounts and on all search engines. She should have been told, damn it.
She should have known.
Yet here he was. In a bar, within ten yards of her, both choices likely breaking any probation requirements he might have been under.
Cade was already marching through the bar, weaving his way through the crowd that had thickened in the last hour. As Jasmine watched his large frame bob and weave through the throng, Paul turned on his heel and hightailed it for the door. Cade’s shout was barely evident over the din, and she watched Paul slip through the door before Cade had even cleared the last cluster of tables.
“Jasmine?” Daphne came up beside her and pulled her close, her concern and Cade’s sudden departure beginning to register to their small party.
“What’s going on?” Landon spoke first, his dark brown eyes full of concern before they tracked Fender’s departure for the front door, directly behind Cade.
“It’s Barrow.” Daphne said, her voice low.
“The one who hurt Jasmine?”
So Daphne had shared some secrets. She might hold back in front of their new friends, but she’d obviously clued Landon in on the details.
“Yes, that was him.”
“Let me go talk to Hector and we’ll see if we can’t run him down.”
“Landon, no—” Daphne’s protests went ignored as Landon followed in after his brother.
“Well, shit.” Daphne gave Jasmine one final squeeze. “Even two margaritas in, I’m still the cop here. Let me call it in and see what we’re dealing with. Paul Barrow shouldn’t be in here, and the fact that he was—with witnesses—won’t reflect well.”
Daphne took off and Jasmine was left with Emma. The woman hesitated, a mix of emotions storming through her gaze, before she seemed to settle on something. “You’re entitled to your privacy, but if you need to talk about this, I can listen.”
“Thank you.” Jasmine nodded, touched by the sincerity. While she had no doubt Emma was interested in what had just happened, Jasmine also believed she would have been content to just sit there in solidarity and support.
It was that certainty that encouraged her to speak.
“Paul Barrow attacked me in my dance studio last December.”
The look of alarm quickly gave way to action, and Emma moved in to wrap her arm around Jasmine’s shoulders. The warmth and the hand that reached for hers added to the sweetness of the moment for Jasmine, and in the gestures, she realized the new friends she had gained over the past few months had progressed to confidantes. People who cared about her just for herself. Friends who wanted her to be happy and safe.
“You dance?” Emma asked.
“I did when I was younger. Ballet. I was pretty good, but didn’t have the interest or desire to fully pursue it. But it’s great exercise, and it’s been a great way to give back. I teach classes for underprivileged kids in the area. That man, the one who was in here, had a problem with me teaching his estranged daughter.”
“He was put in jail?” Emma asked.
“I thought so, until tonight.”
Emma’s hand tightened on Jasmine’s arm before she leaned in closer, pulling Jasmine into a tight hug. “Cade and Daphne will do something about this. I know they will.”
“Sure. Of course.”
Emma’s fervent belief was real, and Jasmine didn’t have the heart to argue with her. But she’d worked in the justice system long enough to know that not everyone got punished.
Even the ones who deserved it.
* * *
Cade covered ground swiftly, fumbling with his phone to call for backup as he ran. He kept missing the correct area of his screen to tap as his gaze stayed on the retreating back of his quarry, and eventually the phone was forgotten in his rush to keep Barrow in sight.
By the time he hit his eighth block with no sign of the man, he slowed down.
“Fuck.” Stabbing at the face of his phone, he called in the incident, barking orders at the dispat
cher on the desk taking incoming calls.
He walked back toward the bar, the night air wrapping around him, stifling in its intensity. It would change soon, the cooler weather of September putting an end to the heat as summer gave way to fall. But for now . . .
It was still summer.
Which meant it was too damn soon for Paul Barrow to be roaming the streets of Park Heights.
Hector, Landon, Fender, and Daphne intercepted him as he turned the last corner to the End Zone.
“What happened? Where is he?” As he expected, Daphne spoke first. As he also expected, any trace of her margaritas had vanished, replaced with nothing but cop. “I called it in, and dispatch just called me back to confirm you called it in as well. You lose him?”
Where that same question would have irritated their brother Tony to no end, Cade let it roll off him. Daphne might make him crazy, but she was a good cop and she asked questions to assess a situation and understand as much as she could, not to belittle or demean.
“Bastard had too big a head start on me. He disappeared around Bank Street.”
“Damn, he was fast.” Daphne tapped her phone against her leg, the only outward sign of just how nervous and upset she was.
“Jaz okay?” He asked the question, not caring if it set off his sister’s radar. Jasmine needed their help, and he was damned if he was going to let whatever weirdness that had seemed to characterize their time together keep him from asking about her.
She needed help.
“I left her with Emma.” Daphne said, her hand on his arm. “Let’s go talk to her.”
Landon chose that moment to take over, his long strides eating up the distance to the entrance to the bar. As the door swung open under his hand, McGee’s focus was absolute. “We’re all going to look out for her. She’s one of us now.”
* * *
Frank and Giavanna Rossi’s home in Park Heights had been a central part of the neighborhood for as long as Jasmine could remember. As a kid, after she and Daphne had first met and become joined at the hip, she’d never considered the perpetually swinging front door and the people taking up spots at the kitchen table as anything but life at the Rossis’. It was different from her home, but Daphne had assured her early on it was because they were a big, loud Italian family, and that it was normal.