At first, she didn’t think he would. That glittering gaze of his seemed to weigh her and judge her. How many times had she been judged before and found lacking? Too many. She tried to stiffen her shoulders and straighten her spine. If he closed her out, then fine, she’d walk away. She wasn’t going to just hang around for nothing.
“The first time she died, we were in a wasteland of snow and ice. On a mission gone bad, bad because she’d betrayed my team. She’d set us all up to die so that she could make away with a fortune.”
“The…first time?” Just how many times could one person die?
His gaze stared into the past, and, judging by his expression, she knew it wasn’t a pretty sight. “I was taken on that mission. Held. Tortured because they wanted more intel on my team.”
“Your team?”
“My buddies and I formed our own covert reconnaissance group after our tours were over.”
His buddies…Trace Weston and Noah York.
“Trace and Noah came for me. They got me out—them and Tucker.” His voice roughened on the last name. “Anna Jean was supposed to be Tucker’s girl. Of course, he didn’t know that I’d taken her behind his back. One time.” A muscle flexed in his jaw. “I was drunk and I woke up afterwards, hating what I’d done. But Anna Jean…she was the kind of woman who could get beneath your skin.”
She pulled her hands away from him.
“She wanted me to be with her. Only I wasn’t going to betray Tucker like that again…hell, maybe that was why she was so eager to sell us all out. I pissed her off, and she got her payback.”
“The scars on your back…” The scars that she’d felt in the darkness. Felt but hadn’t seen. Her hands had stroked more scars, too. On his stomach. His chest. So much pain. So much hell.
“Those scars are mementos from my captivity. They remind me of the price for betrayal.” He exhaled on a rough sigh. “Noah and Trace got me out of there, but before we could make it to safety, we came under enemy fire. Enemies were all around and Anna Jean…she used that moment to come at me. I turned and saw her gun, and I did the only thing I could…”
She couldn’t breathe.
“I stabbed her. She fell back into the snow, and Tucker—he went crazy. He shot me. Cause I deserved it.” He raked a hand over his face. “I don’t remember much after that. Noah and Trace got me out, but…they had to put Tucker down because he wouldn’t stop. He was too crazed over Anna Jean. Even knowing that she’d sent us all to die, he still loved her—and he…he died with her that day.”
Goosebumps rose onto her arms. “So you stabbed Anna Jean. It…it was self-defense—”
“Anna Jean was an unusual woman.”
Did he even realize how he sounded when he spoke of her?
“Beautiful, deadly. She could fly any plane or chopper, and she could bat her eyes and make men fall at her feet.”
Men like you?
“Somehow, she even managed to make it out of that pile of snow and death in Russia.”
What?
“She survived and came looking for her vengeance. Only she didn’t realize that I’d been the man who put that knife in her chest.” His lips curled in a humorless smile. “Funny thing about those life or death moments…when you’re bleeding out in the snow, your mind will play tricks on you. She blamed Trace for what happened. She thought he’d attacked her and killed Tucker.”
Jasmine wet her lips. Her muscles were aching because she held herself so still.
That mocking smile slipped away. “She went after Trace’s fiancée, Skye. Anna Jean was going to kill her. His whole life, Trace has only loved one person on this earth, and no matter what I had to do, I wasn’t going to let Anna Jean take Skye away from him.”
Her lips were bone dry. She licked them and managed, “You talk about him…as if he’s a brother to you.” The emotion in his voice revealed so much about his relationship with Trace and Noah.
“Brothers in battle,” he muttered. His shoulders rolled back. “Anna Jean wanted some payback. She nearly gutted me with a knife, then she went after Skye. I was Skye’s protection, and I’d promised Trace I would keep her safe. That I would do anything necessary to protect Skye.”
She nearly gutted me.
“I could barely move, and she was attacking Skye right in front of me. There were only seconds left. Seconds. And I had to make a choice…”
“Drake…”
“When I stabbed Anna Jean that time, I didn’t miss her heart.”
Jasmine’s body swayed a bit.
“I killed her, and I didn’t hesitate.”
She blinked away the moisture that wanted to fill her eyes.
He turned away from her, giving her the broad expanse of his back. “Still think I’m some kind of hero? Because I’m betting heroes don’t go around killing women like that. Heroes don’t do half the shit I’ve done.”
In that instant, she could only stare speechlessly at him. Jasmine just didn’t know what to say. Because he was right. Heroes wouldn’t do half the shit he’d done.
“That’s what I thought,” Drake murmured.
A loud peal of—a doorbell?—reached her ears and Jasmine jumped at the sound. Drake just slowly sauntered off the balcony as he headed back inside. He walked toward the apartment’s front door. Jasmine ran to keep up with him, hurrying through his quarters.
The pealing cry was soon followed by a fierce pounding on the door. Drake glanced through the peephole at the entrance, then swung the door open.
Swung it open…
As if he didn’t have a care in the world.
As if he hadn’t just confessed the darkest secret of his past to her.
Maybe that’s not his darkest secret. Maybe there are more secrets.
Jasmine wasn’t sure she could handle more right then.
“Janet,” Drake said softly to the woman in the well-cut suit who stood there, wringing her hands and looking terrified, “why are there cops behind you?”
Jasmine backed up a step.
“Because a body was found on your property this morning,” another woman said as she pushed into the suite. A woman with light blonde hair and a cold, gray gaze. “I’m Detective Nancy Taggert, and I’ve got a few questions for you, Mr. Archer.”
Not so much as a ripple of surprise crossed his face as he looked from Nancy Taggert to the two uniformed officers who still shadowed the woman he’d called Janet.
“A body?” Drake repeated. “At my home?”
Jasmine was pretty sure her blood had turned to ice.
“Um…yes.” Detective Taggert was watching him like a hawk. “Seems a bounty hunter named Wayne Hardin was shot on your property. A neighbor called to report hearing shots fired, and then we found Hardin spread-eagle on your walk.”
No, no.
“Were you acquainted with Mr. Hardin?”
“Our paths may have crossed.” Wow. Talk about having no emotion in his voice.
“It appeared as if Mr. Hardin had been the victim of a recent…physical altercation. His nose was broken. Bruising clear on his face, and well, I can’t help but notice…you’ve got some bruising, too.”