“There was a plan, Jazz. A plan. Now it’s all screwed.”
Because of her.
“There’s no way out. Not for you. Not for me.” His gaze slid toward Drake. “And not for him.”
“Please.”
Would begging even work?
Saxon cranked the vehicle. “Maxwell’s waiting on you, and sweetheart, what he’s got planned won’t be pretty.”
***
They were idiots. Fucking idiots. They didn’t cuff Drake’s hands. Didn’t tie him. Didn’t restrain him at all.
They loaded him into the backseat of that SUV. Idiot Number One sat beside him, with a gun shoved into Drake’s side. Idiot Number Two climbed into the front seat and cranked the engine.
“You got him?” Number Two called back.
The gun dug deeper into his side. “Hell, yeah.”
The SUV shot forward, sending mud flying in its wake.
The others were behind them. Still at the scene. Collecting the wounded. Watching the cabin burn.
Assholes. You’ll pay for that fire.
Jasmine was in the SUV in front of him. He didn’t want to be away from her. Drake needed to make sure she was safe.
“Hope that piece of ass was worth all the trouble…” Idiot Number One muttered. “Cause you’re gonna be in a world of hurt soon…”
Drake waited until they’d put some distance between the SUVs and the cabin. Was Trace on his way? Had to be. And since there was only one old dirt road that led to his cabin, his buddy might even be waiting for them up ahead.
“Always thought Jazz would make for a good screw,” Idiot Number One told him.
Slowly, very slowly, Drake turned his head to stare at the man. “She was more than good.”
The guy’s mouth dropped open, then he gave a surprised laugh. “Hell, yeah!” The gun slipped away from Drake’s side, just a few inches. “With that red hair, I knew—”
Drake slammed his head into the man’s face. Then he rammed his elbow into the jerk’s throat. The gun discharged, but Drake had already heaved up, and the bullet blazed past him, shattering the window. The man in the front seat was yelling, trying to turn and grab his own weapon.
Not going to happen. Drake surged toward the front seat even as the SUV started to careen toward the trees.
***
“What in the hell…?”
The sound of a crash had Jasmine jerking around in her seat. The second SUV had just plowed into a tree. “Drake!”
Saxon slammed on the brakes. His head snapped back as he glanced at the wreckage behind them.
And as they watched, Drake emerged from the vehicle. Only Drake.
He was armed.
“Interesting new boyfriend you have,” Saxon murmured. He started to lift his own weapon.
Jasmine’s fingers clamped around his wrist. “No, not him.”
Saxon’s gaze held hers.
“Let’s go,” she whispered. “It ends now.”
“Jazz…”
“Not him.” She was pleading again.
“Give me Jasmine!” Drake yelled.
Saxon’s foot slammed down onto the gas pedal and they lurched forward.
She glanced back once more at Drake. He was running after them. Bleeding from a cut high on his cheek. This would be her last sight of him.
“Thank you,” she told Saxon.
“Don’t thank me.” His voice was hard. “Because you’re going to die.”
***
Drake ran after the SUV. “Give her back to me!”
The SUV was flying fast, and Jasmine was vanishing. “No!” Drake roared.
The SUV didn’t stop.
Neither did he. He ran back to the wrecked SUV. Shoved the two limp bastards out of the vehicle, got that piece of shit working, then gave chase.
There was no way that he’d just let Jasmine go back to Maxwell. He knew what the man would do to her. Jasmine would suffer. She’d hurt. Jasmine should never hurt.
He drove as fast as the beat-up SUV could travel, but it just wasn’t fast enough. When he hit the main road, there was no sign of Jasmine.
Drake glanced to the left. To the right.
He turned right. Tried to floor the SUV, but that was then the thing died on him. “Sonofabitch!” Smoke billowed from under the hood. Drake got out. Started running.
He was still running when Trace and Noah found him. Only they weren’t alone. Detective Taggert was with them.
Their vehicle pulled to a stop right in front of Drake. He stood there, chest heaving, the gun still in his hands.
Trace was the one who approached him first. “Drake…want to tell us what the hell is happening?”
Drake’s gaze slid to Noah. Her brother. “They took her.” The words were like knives in his own chest. “I’m sorry…so sorry…they took her.”
Slowly, Taggert advanced. “I need you to lower that gun.”
And he needed Jasmine. “I’ll get her back,” he promised Noah, frantic. “I swear, I’ll get her back.” His gaze shifted to the long, twisting expanse of road. I’ll get her back.
He’d destroy anyone who tried to stop him.
Chapter Twelve
Her arms were tied to the chair behind her. The rope was rough and thick, and it had made her wrists bleed. Jasmine could smell the river, and when she strained really hard, she could even hear the faintest sound of music. Jazz music.
“I expected more from you,” Maxwell said as he walked around her, moving in a slow circle. The guy reminded her of a tiger, closing in on his prey.
“Sorry to disappoint,” Jasmine managed. But she wasn’t sorry. Not at all.
“It was a simple job. Get close to Archer. Use him. Help me to wreck him.”
She hadn’t looked Maxwell in the eyes. “You-you shouldn’t have set those bombs at the Arrow. Innocent people could’ve died—”
He lunged toward her. Maxwell grabbed the arms of the chair and put his face right in front of hers. “Do you think I give a shit about those people?”
She had to meet his white-hot gaze then. Jasmine shook her head. “I don’t think you care about anyone.”
“You screwed that up for me. The Arrow should’ve burned—the place was meant to blow—”
“Because of you.” Jasmine wouldn’t let him see her fear.
He smirked at her. “Because of me.”
“How many others have you attacked?” Jasmine wanted to know, even though she feared the answer. “With your bombs…with fire?”
Laughter was his answer. “Oh, Jazz, I don’t always need those tactics. Destroying a man’s life is easy these days. A matter of business.” His right hand lifted and picked up a lock of her hair. “I use tools. Tools like you. I hack into accounts. I learn secrets. I use them.”
She hated his touch. Her gaze slid away from him. Saxon was in the room with them, and he watched impassively from his position near the door. There was no expression on his face. Not even pity.
And pity had been there before, when he’d tied her up.
“Why did you betray me?” Maxwell asked her. “I was paying you well.”
“There’s more to life than money,” she murmured.
He stopped stroking her hair. Instead, he yanked it, twisting it in his hold as he jerked her head back. “Why?”
Tears stung her eyes. “Why did you want to go after Drake? Because of some dead ex-lover—”
The blow took her by surprise. The pain was fast and hot, just as fast as his punch had been.
Not a slap. A punch.
Fury bubbled inside of her because she could taste blood in her mouth. Jasmine lifted her head up. She saw that Saxon had lunged away from the wall.
She shook her head.
“He told you about Anna Jean,” Maxwell said, his voice as sharp as a knife. “Did Drake confess to you? Did he tell you how he killed her?”
She had to be so careful what she revealed. “He told me that she’d betrayed his unit and that she came after Trace Wes
ton’s wife—that Anna Jean was crazy and had to be stopped—”
His fist came at her again and Jasmine tensed.
But the blow didn’t land. Saxon had caught Maxwell’s fist before it could make contact with her again.
***
“We need to be out there!” Drake snarled as he paced the small confines of the interrogation room at the NOPD. “This is bullshit.” He stopped to glare at Trace and Noah. “If it were Claire or Skye, you two bastards would be ripping apart the town.” Instead, they were standing in his way.
And they were in the police station of all places.
“You shouldn’t have told Taggert anything.” Drake wanted to punch and destroy. Maxwell could be hurting Jasmine right then. “You shouldn’t—”
“She already knew everything.” Noah’s voice was quiet. His expression appeared worried as he stared at Drake. “Man, you have to get your control back—”
“The way you had yours when Claire was in danger?” He couldn’t look at Noah, not too long, because the guilt knifed through him every time he peered into Noah’s eyes. His sister. “You don’t know how important Jasmine is!”
“Easy,” Trace told him as he put a hand on Drake’s shoulder. The guy almost lost that hand, friend or no. “We get that she matters to you.”
“She—” She does. And when had that happened? When had she gotten beneath his skin?
“Taggert had intel she shouldn’t have possessed,” Trace continued in his annoyingly calm voice. “The detective contained the scene at the airport.”
He wasn’t about to jump on the Taggert bandwagon. “She’s a cop. She’s just going to slow me down—”
The door opened. Taggert stood there. Only Taggert wasn’t alone. FBI Agent Victor Monroe was right behind her. Taggert advanced into the room. Using crutches, Victor followed her. The door shut behind them, sealing their group inside.
“I briefed Detective Taggert on the Maxwell Case situation,” Victor said. The guy looked like shit. His face was bruised and scratched and a cast covered most of his right leg. “She’s working under my authority now.”
“Who the hell are you?” Noah wanted to know.
“FBI Special Agent Victor Monroe.”
Noah didn’t look impressed. He never did.
“Noah York.” Victor nodded toward him. “Trace Weston…Weston, I’ve certainly admired your work.”
Trace lifted his brows.
“Fantastic.” Drake’s fury erupted. “How about you all just stand here and shoot the breeze all day while Jasmine dies.” Drake stormed toward Victor. “Maxwell has her. She betrayed him. Just how long do you think he’ll let her keep living now?”
“Hopefully, long enough…”
When Drake lunged for the FBI Agent, Trace leapt forward. Trace’s arms locked around Drake before he could do more damage to that FBI prick.
Amusement flashed over Victor’s battered face. “Relax, Archer.”
Screw that. “Cops should be out searching for her!” He fired a glare at Taggert. “I should be searching for her!” Instead, he’d been dragged in for questioning. “Make those bozos you took into custody talk.” Back at the cabin, a few had been left—conscious enough—to talk. The police had swarmed on them before they’d all had a chance to clear the scene.
Victor shook his head. “Those men won’t turn on Maxwell Case. They’re too afraid of him and of what he’ll do.”
Drake could make them talk.
“But we don’t need them,” Victor said as he leaned forward on his crutches. “I already know exactly where Jasmine is.”
“And we’re just standing here?” Drake gritted through clenched teeth. “What. The. Hell? Do you want her to die?”
Victor’s face hardened. “I have a man on the inside. He’ll make certain that Jasmine survives.”
As surprise hit him, Drake’s jaw dropped. “An inside man?”
“Um…the FBI has been working to take down Maxwell Case for a very long time.” He glared at Drake. “And you almost screwed up that takedown.”
***
Jasmine’s breath came out in hard, heaving gulps as she stared up at Saxon and Max.
“What are you doing, Saxon?” Maxwell demanded, voice silky with menace.
“You keep hitting her, boss, and you’ll just get your DNA all over Jasmine. If the cops find it, they’ll tie her death to you.”
Max’s eyes narrowed. “There’s not going to be a body to find, so DNA evidence doesn’t matter to me.”
Saxon dropped his hold. “My mistake.”
Maxwell crossed his hands over his chest. “Was it?”
Saxon stared back at him.
“You never like it when the women get hurt, do you, Saxon?” Maxwell pushed. “Noticed that about you. A weakness, for a man who should have none.”
Maxwell’s attention was shifting too much to Saxon. In another moment or two, Jasmine knew that Maxwell would be totally turning on the guard. And if he turned on Saxon…Saxon would die.
“I don’t think she loved you,” Jasmine blurted.
There. Those words had Maxwell’s furious stare swinging back to her.
“Your Anna Jean. The woman who caused this whole hell.” She licked her lips and tasted blood once more. “I don’t think she loved you or Drake…or anyone.”
“You don’t know a thing about her—”
Jasmine laughed and proceeded to BS her way straight ahead. “I’m a hacker, remember? As soon as I found out about Anna Jean, I dug up every piece of intel on her that I could.” If she’d actually had access to a computer, Jasmine would have done exactly that job. Since she hadn’t… “You two were working together for years, weren’t you? Drake and the others—they thought she was on their side, but she was always betraying them.”
He gave a sly nod. “I met Anna Jean right after my enlistment. She was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen.”
Wonderful. Fantastic. “Was her psychotic nature part of the appeal?”
He leaned toward her. “She had an edge.”
Right. An edge of insanity. “Like to like,” Jasmine mumbled.
Maxwell frowned at her. Well, at least he wasn’t punching her. For the moment. “When she started turning on Drake and his team, you were the one helping her, right?”
“It paid to play both sides,” he said, shrugging. “I didn’t join the military for the glory.”
No, she suspected he’d done it because he wanted power. Violence.
“The paydays were big, and it should have lasted forever.” His jaw hardened. “Then they ruined everything.”
“You mean Anna Jean did, when she tried to kill Drake—”
“He left her for dead! He and York and Weston—they left her bleeding out in the snow. Hell, even I thought she was dead. All that time. Until she walked into my place in Vegas.” His eyes flickered as he seemed to remember. “She looked different, but when I touched her, I saw right beneath the mask.”
“Did you?” She wasn’t so sure.
“She told me what they’d done to her, and I gave her everything she needed. I knew she wanted to go after Trace and—”
He stopped, but she wasn’t about to let that go. “You were all for taking him down, right? Bet you thought a slice of that Weston fortune would be coming your way.”
“I was backing the right player in that game.”
Anna Jean.
He shrugged. “And more than just a slice should have been coming to me. I should have gotten it all.”
Her hands twisted against the ropes. Saxon could’ve given her a little wiggle room. “Instead, Anna Jean died.”
“And I got nothing.”
“Maybe you should’ve cut your losses.”
“No.” He caught her chin between his fingers as he glared into her eyes. “Anna Jean made me the man I am.”
Um, that was a good thing?
“She gave me the money I needed. She set up the contacts. I owed her.” He gave a grim nod. “And I pay
my debts.”
“Even to the dead? Because I don’t think they’re so concerned with collecting.”
“I loved her,” he said flatly and…she believed him. Anna Jean might have been jerking this guy around just like she did all the others in her life, but Maxwell had cared for her—in his twisted, warped way. “And those who took her…they will suffer.”
Right. “Is that why you bombed Noah York’s plane?”
His lips curled. “Seemed an easy enough way to get rid of him and Weston.”
He was confessing all to her. Because he planned to kill me. She tried to clear her throat. “S-sorry I got in the middle of your war. I didn’t realize what was at stake.”
“Now you do.”
Love for a woman long dead.
***
When Drake grabbed Victor, the crutches hit the floor with a hard clatter. “You know where she is? And we’re just standing here with our thumbs up our asses?”
Trace didn’t try to pull him away this time. Taggert did. She put her hand on Drake’s arm, sighed, and said, “Do you think we don’t have a rescue plan?”
Victor’s eyelids flickered slightly.
“If you do, then we need to get moving.” Drake’s hands had fisted in the guy’s shirt. “Now.” Or did the jerk like knowing that Jasmine was in pain?
I don’t. It’s tearing me apart.
“My team will handle her rescue,” Victor said. “I’ve got agents in position now.”
Taggert tapped Drake’s arm. He still didn’t release the FBI agent.
“Tell those agents to act!” Drake nearly roared.
“I will,” the agent snapped back. “As soon as we have Maxwell Case’s confession on record. My man has a wire on in there—this is the chance we’ve been waiting for. We can nail him for so many crimes—”
Drake slammed the guy into the nearest wall. “He’s kidnapped Jasmine! Nail him on that shit! And stop playing with her life!”
Victor’s breath heaved out. “You’re not the only one who cares about Jazz.” His voice was low, pitched to only reach Drake’s ears.
“Jasmine,” he forced out. “Her name is Jasmine, and you’re going to tell me where she is. Right now. I’m not waiting on your team. I’m not waiting on a confession. I’m going to get her out of there.”
A knock sounded at the door. Seconds later, a woman poked her head inside. Her blonde hair was pulled away from her face, and her eyes glinted behind the frames of her glasses. “We got him, sir. The confession was recorded.”