Mine to Crave (Mine #4)(68)

Drake grunted. “I was about to slug him…crutches or no.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Noah said, shoving back his shoulders. “I don’t want any cops breathing down our necks. Not with what’s coming.”

What’s coming…their attack. They weren’t going to let Case get away. It was personal for Drake. Personal for Noah. As for Trace…

Hell, maybe he was just in it for fun.

No, he’s in this fight because we’re friends. Brothers. Not of blood, but from a bond that went deeper than that.

When they left the station, they passed Victor. The guy threw a glare Drake’s way right before Victor headed into Detective Taggert’s little office.

Drake knew he wore a glare of his own. Your time will come, too.

Because he wasn’t done with that agent.

***

“Are you…are you sure you want to hear this?” Trace asked softly when they were back in Drake’s apartment above his casino. “Maybe I should just review things. I mean, if the shooting is on here—”

“You sound like Victor. Just play the damn thing.” Drake downed his second glass of whiskey. Noah was already on his third.

Trace tapped a few keys on the computer.

“This is the last sixty seconds of the recording. We should go back and hear it all to see—”

“Play it.”

Trace exhaled and hit another key.

“The Feds are coming for you, and you’re going away for a long time.” Jasmine’s voice. Only she didn’t sound scared. She sounded…satisfied. “You’re not going to burn anything. You’re not going to break anyone. And you’re not going to get your precious payback for Anna Jean.”

“A ghost,” Noah said, voice rough, “still trying to drag us all into her hell.”

Not anymore, she wasn’t.

“I’ve got you.” Jasmine’s voice had dropped to a whisper.

“What?” That snarl was Maxwell’s.

“You didn’t even search me when they brought me in. Just tied me up…and talked your mouth off.”

Drake stiffened as he started to realize what was happening.

There was a gasp, the sound of something tearing—what the hell?—then…

“Surprise,” Jasmine said.

Drake couldn’t move.

Trace’s lips curved the faintest bit. “I’ll be damned. I thought it might be her…inside man…”

“No!” Rage thundered in Maxwell’s voice. “No, this isn’t how it ends for me! Shoot her…Right in the heart. Kill her and then get your ass out of here.”

Drake took a step toward the computer. “Who is he giving that order to?”

In the next instant, Drake had his answer as Jasmine said, “Saxon, Saxon, don’t…”

Then the man replied, softly, sadly, “I’m sorry, Jazz.”

The gunshot made Drake jerk.

“Right to the heart.” Saxon’s voice. Flat. Cold.

“Good…now let’s get the hell out of here! Come on!” Maxwell’s footsteps thundered away.

Only…it sounded as if he were the only one to leave.

Silence.

Then… “Jazz?” That was Saxon’s whisper.

Drake’s gaze flew to Trace.

“Jazz, we don’t have much time. You okay?”

Drake couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move.

“I’ll be fine…once you get me out of these ropes.”

“Sweet hell,” Noah whispered. “The bullet didn’t kill her!”

The recording stopped.

“Did the fire kill her?” Noah wanted to know. “Shit, it did. They found her remains, and—”

Trace shook his head. “That FBI agent is protecting his informant”

Drake sucked in a deep breath. “She’s still alive.”

Trace held his gaze. “She could be. There’s only one person who can tell us if Jasmine got out of that fire…”

FBI Special Agent Victor Monroe.

Hope burned in Drake, melting through the ice. “Let’s make him talk.”

“If she is alive, he’s not just going to give up that information.” Trace tapped his fingers against the desk. “We’ll have to be careful.”

“Screw careful,” Drake retorted as his heart thundered I his chest. “I want her back.”

***

“Will I get a funeral?” Jasmine asked because she was curious about that.

Saxon grunted. “I don’t think I had one.”

Sighing, she turned to face him. Saxon had been her constant—and only—companion for the last week. He’d hustled her out of New Orleans before she could blink, and now they were holed up in a cabin nestled in the Smoky Mountains.

The view was phenomenal. Almost like touching heaven.

And the ache in her heart? It wouldn’t go away.

Her hand lifted to her side. Her stitches were gone now. Everything about her past was supposed to be gone. If only it were easy to shove away the memories.

“Have you been crying again?” Saxon demanded, his voice sharp. He always got pissed when she cried.

Ah, Saxon. Friend. Protector…Annoyance.