by Cynthia Eden
***
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 hi
s 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.
A private dance.
Jasmine’s gaze slid to the left. Another brightly lit doorway. Another woman beckoning for a dance.
It wasn’t just the drinks that were flowing on Bourbon Street.
Jasmine stared at those women, and her own past stared back at her.
Mama’s tired tonight, and he…he likes you, baby. Why don’t you help me out? Just do a little dance for him. Come on…he’ll pay you.
Jasmine turned away from those women and she began to shove her way through the crowd. It had been the perfect place to hide earlier, but now, now this place was suffocating her. Too many bodies. Too many hands brushing against her.
Too many memories that she could never forget.
“Hey, where’s the rush?” A man was in front of her. Blond hair, just like Drake’s, big with stretching shoulders. Only…he wasn’t Drake.
Drake was gone. No protection. No hope.
“I’ve got a date,” she muttered as she tried to step around him.
But he stepped with her. “I can be your date.” He had an overflowing drink in his hand, and under the streetlights, his eyes gleamed. “I can be anything you want me to be.”
I want you to be out of my way. She bit those words back and gave him a weak smile. “Not gonna happen tonight, handsome. I’m taken.”
He shrugged and eased aside, moving off in search of new prey.
Jasmine exhaled heavily and took a step forward.
“Taken?”
She stilled. That voice was low and deep, and she knew it could only belong to one man. Because that voice—that man—had been the one to break through the careful wall that she’d put around herself.
He’d hurt her. When no one else had, not in so very long.
The crowd seemed to part around him. Drake wasn’t wearing his expensive suit and coat. He wore jeans. A battered jacket. He looked big and tough and dangerous. Sexy, damn it.
“Didn’t realize you were taken. Didn’t realize you belonged to someone.”
That seemed to be anger hardening his voice and eyes.
Good. She had plenty of her own anger.
You made me feel like a whore. No, she would not say those words to him. But when he’d left her there at that house, her body still humming with pleasure even as fear swamped her, and he hadn’t looked back…Drake had changed everything for her.
“You don’t know me, Drake. And you never will.” This time, she was the one who turned on her heel and walked away. See how it feels, jerk.
“Jasmine.”
He said her name like it was a demand. No, a command. Like she was just supposed to stop because he was there and actually speaking to her again.
Screw. You. Jasmine lifted her hand, waving one fun finger back at him, then she picked up her pace. So what if she’d just left this particular corner not two minutes ago? She could retreat this way if she wanted.
Her gaze slid over to the right and she noticed that the women weren’t in those doorways anymore. Wait, new women were there.
She swallowed.
Drake didn’t call her name again. She didn’t look back to see if he was still standing there, a big, unbreakable statue, or if he was following her.
When she hit the next intersection, Jasmine turned and snaked down the other street. A much quieter street. Then she ducked into an alley. Sure, she was almost running now, but she’d left the bustle of Bourbon behind her. Actually, by just heading over a few blocks, she’d seemed to leave everything behind.
Silence surrounded her.
Shadows loomed.
And…
“Jasmine.”
That voice hadn’t come from behind her. A man stepped from the shadows. “We always seem to meet in alleys,” he said.
It was just not her night.
That voice didn’t belong to Drake. It belonged to another man who she’d hoped to never see again.
Wayne Hardin. So-called bounty hunter.
Hired thug.
“You followed me? All the way
to New Orleans?” Jasmine had thought that she had a little more time on her own. She slanted a quick glance around the area. She didn’t see anyone else. Thankfully, there was no sign of Maxwell.
There was also no sign of Drake. She figured he was still back on Bourbon Street. Maybe he hadn’t even been looking for her out there. Maybe he’d been looking to party. He’d been dressed casually, and he hadn’t exactly fallen at her feet and begged for forgiveness…
“I don’t stop until I bring in my bounty.”
Her breath felt cold in her lungs. “I’m not in the mood for another knife wound.”
He lifted his hands toward her. “Got my orders. You’re to be brought in, with not so much as a scratch on you.”
Now that was just a mistake. He shouldn’t have told her that. Because she planned to do more than just scratch him.
“The boss wants you,” Wayne added.
“We can’t always have what we want.” She reached into her bag. A cute little bag that she’d picked up in town at a boutique next to a Voodoo shop.
She’d also picked up something else. Not at the Voodoo shop, but from a very helpful man she’d met.
Jasmine drew out her gun. “Here’s how this will play out. You’re going to turn around and walk away. You’re going to tell Maxwell that you never saw me. And, in return, I won’t shoot you. I’ll be super generous and call us even.”
He laughed at her. “You’re not gonna shoot me. You don’t have the guts.”
Idiot. This wasn’t the time to insult her. “Of course, I do.”
“You hack computers. Snoop in files…” He was closing in on her. “You don’t get blood on your hands.”
She kept a tight grip on the weapon. “Turn around and walk away.” He couldn’t scratch her. She could shoot him. The wound in her side seemed to throb. It would be both payback and self-defense.
“What’s he gonna do, when Maxwell gets you back?” Wayne asked her as he kept closing in. “I don’t get to hurt you, but I’m betting he does.”
She wasn’t planning to find out. “I’m going to count to five, and if you aren’t out of here by the time I get to five…I will shoot you.”
It was too dark for her to see his face.
“One.”
He was still coming toward her.
“Two.”
Jasmine heard a faint rustle of sound. Close by. But she wasn’t about to look away from the threat before her.