Mine to Crave (Mine 4)

No. No! “Stay away from me. Stay away from Drake!”

“I’ll be seeing you in the Big Easy, love. I’ll find you, and then I’ll finish my business with Drake.”

He hated Drake. She didn’t even know why. Surely this wasn’t just about business?

“I’ll show you just how beautiful I can make the flames,” Maxwell promised her. “They’ll be nearly as beautiful as you.”

He’s coming to kill me.

“Stay away from Drake,” she repeated as she swiped at the stupid tears on her cheeks. “And you need—you need to run. You think he was the only one that I hacked? I was in your office, too, Max. I’ve got your files. I’ve got your business. I’ve got your life.”

Silence, then… “You’re playing out of your league.”

“I didn’t want to be in this nightmare at all. You forced my hand.” Now…turnabout, asshole. “Stay away from him.”

He hung up on her.

Her gaze flew around the house.

Then Jasmine did the only thing she could…she ran. It was a good thing that she’d had plenty of practice at running.

I ran away for the first time when I was fifteen. I wasn’t going to let her use me…wasn’t going to let those men touch me.

I ran then.

And she would keep running, for as long as it took. She’d run until she was safe.

***

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.”