“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.”