***
Dammit. Wayne slammed his car door shut. He turned the key, but the old engine didn’t spark to life. Not on try number two or three. On the fourth try, the thing finally sputtered to life.
Good.
He had a meeting, one that he was way overdue for, and the boss sure wasn’t going to like the news that Wayne had to share.
He didn’t have Jasmine.
And Drake Archer did.
Wayne swiped his hand over his face. His nose throbbed like a bitch. He’d be sure to pay Archer back for those blows. So he’d cut Jasmine a bit. Wasn’t like it was the first time she’d been roughed up. He’d read her file. The woman spent most of her nights on the wrong side of town and with the wrong people.
Archer had enemies. Plenty of them. Did the fool even realize how intimately connected Jasmine was with those who wanted the casino mogul taken down?
“The bigger they are…” Wayne muttered. The more they should suffer when they fall.
***
Drake drove through the heavy gates that led to his estate. A new acquisition, much like the Arrow. Drake didn’t like staying in hotels. That was his buddy Noah’s bit. Hell, hotels were Noah’s life. Drake needed privacy. A sanctuary away from the rest of the world.
Guards waved to him from their post at the gate.
“Uh, want to tell me what’s happening?” Jasmine's voice was low.
He pulled up near the front of the house.
“Drake.” Now anger vibrated in her voice. “Answer me. You’ve been dead silent the whole drive. Talk to me.”
He killed the ignition and slowly turned to face her. “You said no hospitals, so I brought you here.” He paused. “And you know it’s my house. The way I figure it, you must have conducted some research on me. So I’m sure you recognize this place.”
She didn’t deny the charge. Instead, Jasmine asked, “Why would you bring me to your house?”
“You mean…why would I trust you enough to let you inside? Princess, it’s not about trust. Because I don’t trust anyone.”
He caught the faint flicker of her eyelashes.
“You know I made a phone call on the way here.” She’d asked who he called, but he hadn’t told her. He’d been too pissed for much talking. Pissed at her, at Wayne, at himself. Why am I keeping her so close? “A friend of mine is waiting inside for you.”
He slid from the car. She didn’t move. He hurried around to her side of the vehicle. When he opened her door, the Porsche’s interior light came on, and as the illumination poured down onto Jasmine, he realized that she’d turned pale. The gold of her skin was a pallor that he didn’t like.
Drake reached for her.
She pulled back. “Is this…friend…a cop?”
“You sure have some cop issues.”
“Yeah, I do.”
She rose from the car. Swayed a bit. He grabbed her, and she just felt so slight in his arms. He’d noticed it before. A delicacy that he didn’t expect. Back at the Arrow, she’d seemed full of energy and life, but when he’d touched her, Drake had thought…I have to be careful.
“Is the friend a cop or not?”
Then her knees buckled.
He held her easily. Lifted her into his arms. “Dammit, you’re worse than you said! You need—”
“Don’t let…anyone take me away.”
He hurried up the steps. The front door opened as if on cue for him.
“That’s something I didn’t expect to see…” An amused voice drawled from the doorway.
Drake’s hold tightened around Jasmine. “He’s not a cop. He’s a doctor.”
“A doctor who had other plans for the night,” Carson Thorn muttered as he stepped out of the doorway. “I left one very hot blonde in the lurch, and you so owe me for that.”
Drake grunted. Carson could be an ass, but he was one useful commodity. Drake had discovered early on that it paid to have connections—legal, social, and medical. In Drake’s world, there were plenty of times when a doctor’s services were needed.
Jasmine isn’t the only one who doesn’t always trust the cops.
He had an agreement with Carson. Carson took care of Drake’s employees and any…unusual situations that might occur. And Carson kept a fat bank account.
“I’ve got your bedroom set up for her.” Carson waved his hand down the hallway. “Standard rate will apply, of course.”
Drake carried Jasmine down the hallway. He carefully arranged her on the bed, and when he pulled back, he saw her blinking groggily. Hell, had the woman passed out for a few moments? Just how much blood had she lost? His hand went to the hem of her shirt. Blood was thick on her side, soaking the material.
She tried to bat his hands away.
“Do I need to sedate her?” Carson asked. He already had a syringe in his hand.
Jasmine’s head turned at his voice. Her eyes widened. Sounding utterly horrified, she demanded, “Why is a GQ model coming at me with a needle?”
Carson flushed a dark red.
Drake laughed. “He’s the doctor, and he’s coming at you because he’s worried you won’t stay calm while he sews you up.”
“I’ll stay calm.” She shook her head. “Not my first time…to be stitched.”
His eyes narrowed at that. “You get sliced up a lot?”
Carson put down the syringe. He arranged his instruments, and then his gloved hands reached for Jasmine’s shirt. He cut the shirt away when it stuck to her.
Drake’s teeth clenched as he got a look at the damage. That was sure no little scrape. “He wanted to hurt you.”
“He didn’t like being out—outsmarted at the Arrow.” She hissed out a breath when Carson started probing her wound, but her eyes didn’t leave Drake’s face. “It was his payback.”
Carson was carefully cleaning the wound. “She’s gonna need about five, maybe six stitches. Not nearly as bad as I thought it would be. I’ve seen a lot worse.”
“So have I,” Drake said. Back when he’d been in the military, he’d seen images so brutal and bloody that they still chased him into his nightmares. And after he’d left duty, well, his business dealings hadn’t exactly gotten any prettier.
His gaze slid over Jasmine’s wound, then up…almost helplessly. She still had on a bra, a black, lacy thing that pushed up her breasts. Fabulous breasts. She was hurt and weak and he shouldn’t be noticing them but he did and—
“At least this side will match the other,” Carson said, voice droll. “Guess someone likes to play with knives, huh?”
Drake’s attention immediately shifted to her left side. Sure-damn-enough, there was a faint white scar there.
“I’m not the one who plays.” Her voice was quiet. “I’m the one who has the bad luck to get hurt.”
His gaze came back to rest on her face.