“Only she’s not with the cops now. She just left with an asshole I think you know…Special Agent Victor Monroe.”
His temples were about to burst. “Monroe has been trying to nail me for years.”
“Yeah, well, he’s got Jazz. And now I’m wondering…is he going to get her to turn on you?”
“She won’t have the chance,” Maxwell vowed. And it was also time that he eliminated Monroe. That bastard had been a thorn in his side for far too long. “Follow them, and wait for orders.”
“Yes, sir.”
Saxon had been friends with Jazz, but there was no hesitation in his voice now. Maxwell knew the man realized that Jazz couldn’t be given the chance to turn on them.
Death was her only option.
“So how much longer do I have to wear the cuffs?” Jasmine asked Victor as they rolled through the city. The traffic seemed to pass her in a blur. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. Being led out in handcuffs was a nice touch.”
“I thought so,” Victor said, voice a bit amused as he kept his eyes on the road. He was taking them away from the busier streets. The traffic around them began to thin. “Made us look all official.”
She looked down at the handcuffs around her wrists. “They’re a little tight.”
“Well, they aren’t supposed to be fashion bracelets.” He braked at a red light and reached for her wrist. A quick turn of his key, and the handcuffs popped off. His fingers slid over her wrists, massaging quickly right before the light changed to green.
The SUV shot forward. This time, they were the only car on the road. Victor knew how to find all the forgotten streets in a city—that was his talent.
We have to vanish, and he’s making that happen.
“How’s your jaw?” she asked him quietly.
“Throbbing like a bitch,” was his immediate reply. “Archer has a killer punch.”
“He boxes,” she heard herself whisper. Her lips quirked at that. “Or at least, he said he did.” Would Drake be surprised to know just how much she knew about boxing? Maybe she’d tell him. Maybe—
He’ll never know. Jasmine swallowed and tried to push the lump in her throat far, far down.
“Jasmine?”
She straightened in her seat. “Th-thanks for not having him arrested.”
“I might be able to use him later. Figured it was to my advantage to have the guy owing me.”
Yes, Victor did like to use people. Use or be used…that was his motto. Always had been. “I’d…prefer that you didn’t.”
His gaze slid to her when he braked at another deserted light. The buildings around them were all old, boarded up. A street that had been forgotten after the hurricane.
“Let him have his life,” Jasmine said. “Just leave him alone.”
Victor laughed at that. “Ah, Jazz, don’t go soft for him. He told me you were little better than trash and that he wanted you out of his life.” He accelerated once more.
Her chest burned. “It doesn’t matter what he said about me. I want you to leave him alone.”
“A little late for you to be making demands, isn’t it?”
“No, it’s not because I’m the one here with all of the—”
Gunfire erupted.
The SUV’s front windshield shattered. Jasmine screamed. Victor swore and jerked the wheel to the left, and as the vehicle lurched, a hail of gunfire slammed into Jasmine’s side of the SUV.
“Get down!” Victor yelled.
She was already in the floorboard. “Get us out of here!” Jasmine yelled right back at him.
The SUV’s engine revved and—
Then the vehicle lurched once more. Harder this time.
“Tires,” he snarled. “They shot at—”
The SUV twisted, turned, and Jasmine clamped her lips shut to hold back her screams as they flew toward a tall, metal lamp post.
Then more gunfire erupted…
Drake’s foot shoved down the gas pedal as he raced through the back streets of New Orleans. Jasmine and that FBI Agent didn’t have much of a lead time on him. He sure as hell hadn’t planned to stay at the station with Taggert and calm down.
Jasmine had looked so hurt. Victor was a prick, and Drake wanted to do more than just drive his fist into the guy’s face.
Jasmine had been cuffed. Helpless. He’d just wanted to take her away. To protect her.
He turned another corner, his gaze scanning the empty streets. They were gone. Dammit. Finding them now was going to be nearly impossible.
Rat-a-tat.
When he heard the sound of gunfire, Drake didn’t slow down. He sped up even more as his heart thundered in his chest. He cleared the next set of red lights, and then his heart nearly stopped.
The FBI Agent’s SUV was on its side. Glass littered the narrow street, and two armed men—wearing black ski masks—were pulling someone from the wreckage.
Jasmine.
She was fighting them. Kicking, twisting her body, but they were dragging her toward a gray van that waited just a few feet away.
He slammed on his brakes. Grabbed for his own weapon—good thing he’d brought it from the Masquerade—and rushed out of his car. “Let her go!”
One of the men turned at his shout. The guy lifted his weapon and took aim at Drake.
The other masked asshole heaved Jasmine back against him and nearly succeeded in tossing her into the van.
“Drake!” Her scream chilled him.
Drake dove to the ground, and the bullet missed him. But in the next instant he was firing, and Drake found his target. The jerk who’d shot at him grunted and staggered back.
Then Drake was moving again. Staying low and going in fast, he raced right toward Jasmine. Her hands had locked around the side of the van and she was kicking out at her captor.
The guy was so busy keeping her in check that he didn’t turn to face Drake, not until it was too late. Then Drake hit him hard and fast, and the guy’s head slammed into the side of the van.
“Drake,” now her voice was a stunned whisper.
He grabbed her and pulled her into his arms. She was shaking and there were scratches on her hands, but she seemed okay.
He locked his hand with hers and rushed back to his car. He pushed her into the passenger seat.
“Victor!” She grabbed for Drake, holding on tightly. “You have to make sure he’s okay. He-he wasn’t moving when they took me.”
She was worried about the FBI agent?
Giving a grim nod, he spun back around. The two jerks who’d tried to take Jasmine were retreating into their van. They thought they’d just get away? Oh, the hell, no.
He took a lunging step toward them, his weapon up.
“Help!”
That cry was coming from the wreckage. The agent?
“I’m stuck, and I smell gasoline—help me!” Yeah, that was definitely the agent.
And he was right. Drake could smell the acrid odor filling the air. Shit, shit.
He took aim at that van. Fired. Once, twice. The van careened when the bullets crashed into the back, but it kept going.
Drake rushed to the wrecked SUV. He heard the clatter of footsteps behind him. He spun— “I put you in the car!” So she’d be safe.
“And I got myself right out!” Jasmine tossed at him. She tried to shove by him.
He pushed her right back. “There’s gasoline leaking out. You need to stay back.” He quickly shoved his weapon in to the back waistband of his jeans.
Fear flashed across her face. “We have to get Victor out of there!”
In the distance, he heard the wail of a siren.
This street was deserted, but someone must have heard the shots and called the cops. The question was…would the cops get there in time?
Jasmine broke free of his hand and the woman ran right to the driver’s side. “I’m here, Victor!”
Part of the driver’s side window had shattered. Victor pushed his hand through the hole there and his fingers curled around Jasmine’s. “Dammit, baby, I was afraid they were going to take you, and there wasn’t anything I could do.”
Drake stiffened. That didn’t sound like an FBI agent talking to his charge.
Jasmine isn’t wearing handcuffs.
“But it’s too dangerous,” Victor snarled. “There’s gasoline pouring on the ground, and I can…I can smell smoke…”
Drake’s gaze shot to the rear of the SUV. The rear…and the front. Tendrils of smoke were escaping from both areas. The SUV had been littered by bullets and some of those bullets had hit with a very, very dangerous impact.
The driver’s side door had slammed into a lamp post, and it was a dented heap.
“My left leg is pinned,” Victor said, voice gruff. “Archer, I need you to break out the rest of the driver’s side windshield and see if you can help me get free.”
“Victor…” Jasmine’s voice was low. And scared.
Drake grabbed a chunk of metal that had fallen down—part of the SUV’s front bumper?—and headed toward the driver’s side. Jasmine stepped back when Drake slammed the metal into the glass. The rest of the windshield shattered easily as it rained down on Victor.
The smoke grew thicker. The wail of the siren seemed to be coming closer. But it wasn’t close enough.
From the corner of his eye, Drake thought he saw the flicker of flames. He ignored that flicker and crawled half-way into the car. The air bag was in his way, so Drake used the knife he normally kept in a sheath at his ankle, and he cut right through it.
“Hold on, Victor,” Jasmine whispered.
The agent’s leg was caught all right, the dash had thrust in around him, and the steering wheel sagged, keeping the guy trapped.
“Jasmine,” Victor’s voice was low and calm. The guy had blood dripping down his face, and Drake was pretty sure the man’s leg was broken, but the agent didn’t sound as if he were in any pain. “I want you to wait for me in Archer’s car, okay?”
“I’m not leaving you,” she said right back. “I’m not.”
Drake’s gut clenched. “Hold still,” he ordered Victor. “Don’t make me cut you more than I have to—”
“What?” Victor barked. “Wait, hold the hell up—”
“The vehicle is about to blow, and we both know it.” Drake was half-in, half-out of the car. He drove his fist into the remnants of the dash, determined to push it back, then he sliced out with his knife, trying to make the material weaker. “Hold. The fuck. Still.”
“Get her out of here!” Victor yelled. “I can see the flames!”
Jasmine’s hands had locked around Drake’s hips. She was helping to hold him while he fought to free Victor.
“It’s too late,” Victor snapped at him. “Leave me. Get her out or we’ll all burn!”
Jasmine was yanking on him. “Drake, Drake, you need to run! I’ll get him! You have to go—I don’t want you hurt. Go!”
She thought he’d just leave them both there?
He dropped the knife onto the floorboard—well, what was left of it, then he drove his fist into that dash again and again and again—
“Drake!” Jasmine yanked him back with a surprising force, and they tumbled onto the sidewalk.
Flames were racing over the front of the SUV. When they merged with that gasoline…
“I’m free,” Victor gasped out.
Jasmine let go of Drake. He reached for the other man and hauled the guy through the driver’s side window. But when Victor’s feet touched the cement, the guy’s right leg crumbled. Definitely broken.
So Drake put the jerk in a fireman’s carry even as he locked one hand around Jasmine’s wrist. They ran forward, as fast as they could as the flames grew behind them.
As he looked ahead, Drake saw the flashing lights of police cars rushing down the street.
The cops would be there in moments.
A boom sounded behind him. The blast knocked Drake off his feet, and he hit the ground.
“Get…her…out…Get Jazz…” Victor had crashed right along with him. Jasmine was on her knees beside Drake. “Before the cops…come…get her…”
The SUV was blazing behind them. The men who’d attacked Jasmine and Victor were long gone, and now the FBI agent wanted him to help a supposedly wanted woman escape?
Since that had been his plan all along, Drake rose and pulled Jasmine with him.
“But you need help,” Jasmine said as she stared down at the injured man. “Victor, your leg—”
“I’ll come to you, Jazz. Just…go!”
She turned with Drake and they ran for his car. In seconds, they were inside the vehicle and racing away from the blaze. The heaving sound of their breaths filled the car. When Drake glanced in his rear-view mirror, he saw smoke and flames and the blue lights of patrol cars.
He sped up and turned hard to the right. He knew these roads—streets usually not traveled by many because this was the side of town that the tourists avoided.
Drake didn’t know if the cops were following him or not, but, either way, he wasn’t going to leave a trail for them.
Jasmine’s hands were clenched in her lap. She didn’t speak, and small shivers shook her body every few moments.
“You should…you should probably drop me off somewhere,” she finally said, her words hushed.
What?
“That corner looks good.” She pointed.
“I’m not,” Drake snarled out, “dropping you off any place.”
