He had some business to take care of first.
He was also still holding Jasmine’s hand. She seemed to realize that fact at the same instant he did because she tried to pull away from him.
He let her go. She was in his house. In his bed. The woman wasn’t going far. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”
Her lips lifted in the faintest of smiles. “Since it looked like this place was surrounded by miles of desert and I just got stitches in my side, I was just planning to stay right here for a bit. Not because you just ordered me to, but because I don’t feel like falling on my face right now.”
Carson laughed. “She’s got some fire, doesn’t she? That’s what I’ve heard about redheads. Once they—”
Drake grabbed his arm and hauled the doc out of the room.
When they were near the front door of his estate, Drake glared at Carson. “This never happened.”
“It never does,” Carson agreed as he rolled back his shoulders. “But that money sure looks nice when it appears in my bank account.”
“It’s already on the way.”
Carson turned to leave. Then he hesitated. “Is she…safe?”
He sure hadn’t expected that question.
“I mean…” Carson cleared his throat. “She’s not one of your employees—”
“How do you know that?”
Carson gave a rough bark of laughter as he glanced back over his shoulder. “Because even though the woman was bleeding all over your bed, you still stared at her as if you could eat her alive. And you don’t exactly get all touchy and hold hands with my usual patients.”
“She’s not your concern anymore.”
“But she’s yours.”
Carson was annoying him.
“I’m just saying be careful, okay? She might not be up to your usual games. Hell, I’m not up to them, and I’m the guy who has to patch up all the players.”
Then Carson was gone. Drake locked the door behind him.
You don’t know her, Carson.
And neither did Drake, but he needed to learn more about her. In general, he had a rule about secrets. He didn’t want to hear them. He didn’t want to share his own past, and he didn’t want to dig into the hell that could be someone else’s sordid history.
But he wanted to know more about Jasmine.
He pulled out his phone. Called the man that he knew could give him the information he wanted.
The phone rang once, twice, then a groggy Trace Weston picked up. “Are you dying?” Trace wanted to know. “Because, seriously, it’s—”
“You and Noah have woken me plenty of nights. And it’s too freaking early for you to be sleeping any way. It’s barely—”
“Four a.m.,” Trace growled.
Drake’s lips twisted.
“You don’t sound like you’re dying,” Trace pointed out. “So I’m about to hang up—”
“I need background intel.”
And Trace was the best in the business at gathering intel. Investigation was Trace’s business. Weston Securities was the most respected security firm in the U.S., thanks to Trace.
Drake, Trace and Noah had formed a private company of their own after they’d left the military. They knew how to get in and out of every hotspot on earth, and they’d used their special talents to their advantage. They’d retrieved wealthy businessmen and women who’d found themselves in some very serious and deadly situations…for a hefty fee.
After a while of earning as much cash as they could, Trace had decided to expand the business—he’d hired new teams. Developed Weston Securities. Noah had turned his attention to growing a hotel empire, and Drake…
Life’s a gamble. His philosophy, and the reason he’d opened his first casino with his share of the security profits.
“Drake…who do you want me to investigate? What dumb bastard has pissed you off now?”
Drake’s gaze slid toward the dark hallway. He didn’t hear a sound coming from the bedroom. Was Jasmine awake?
“It’s not like that,” he heard himself say. “I just need…I need background on a woman with the name of Jasmine Bennett. She’s from Texas, about twenty-eight years old. Red hair, brown eyes. Her eyes have a little gold in them and—”
It sounded like Trace was choking. “Her eyes have what in them?”
Asshole. Drake growled, “She’s five foot six,” without those sexy shoes to bump her up. “And the woman probably weighs about one thirty-five. She’s got a knife scar above her left hip,” and now one above her right. “I want to know everything you can find on her.”
“This business or is this personal?”
“It’s both,” he said as he turned to type in his security code on the control panel.
Silence, then… “Where is Ms. Bennett right now?”
“My bed.”
“Ah…then you probably should’ve gone for the background check first.”
He had to unclench his jaw. “Just get me the intel.”
“I’ll work it personally,” Trace promised him. “But man, just…be careful okay. Last time—”
“I know exactly what happened last time, and I’m not ever going to make that mistake again.”
“I just don’t want you hurt.” Trace’s voice was lower now.
Drake laughed. “Don’t worry about that. She doesn’t matter enough to hurt me. None of them do.”
The floor creaked, and he looked up—and right into Jasmine’s dark eyes. She stood in the hallway, her hand pressed to the wall.
“Get me that information as soon as you can.” Drake ended the call and marched toward Jasmine. “You should still be in bed.”
She gave a little shrug. “I…um, I figured since I was all stitched up, I should probably get out of your way now.”
Bullshit. She was trying to run again. “I told you to stay in my bed.”
Her brows rose. “Your bed? That was your room?” She shook her head. “I didn’t see any pictures or—”
“Because I don’t put f**king pictures all over my room. I sleep there. I screw there. And I move on.”
She backed up a step.
“You don’t leave until you tell me everything I need to know.” Actually, she didn’t leave until Trace gave him the intel he wanted. Drake didn’t trust her not to lie. He didn’t trust her at all.