I’m not a whore.
His fist slammed into the desk. That pain in her voice had been real.
“So maybe Shirley didn’t even know who Jasmine’s father was. Seems your gir—uh, Jasmine ran away when she was fifteen, and that’s when things get harder to track.”
Fifteen? He straightened. “What about before then?”
“Uh, before? She was just a kid—”
“What was she like?” Why had he just asked that shit?
“Straight A’s, actually. I got access to her grades. Schools are always the easiest to hack. She was one of those never-in-trouble types.”
His thief had been a good girl?
“She was taking AP classes in math and science and her teachers had been hoping she’d be able to get a scholarship, but then she…left.”
Ran away. To something?
Or ran from something?
“I’ll keep digging but the woman’s life after fifteen—”
“She’s good with computers.” He rubbed his hand against his throbbing temples. “Very good. So good I think she—”
“Might be able to cover her own trail.” Now Trace was annoyed. “You should have mentioned that point before.” He rallied quickly. “Don’t worry. I’ve got my own team of hackers. It’ll take us some time, but we’ll discover her secrets.”
Drake headed out onto the balcony that overlooked Canal Street. Glancing down below, he saw Victor storming from the Casino. “An FBI Agent named Victor Monroe just left my office. He was looking for her.”
“And did you give her up?”
“She’s not mine to give. I don’t know where she is.” Her image flashed before him once more. On that balcony, her face had been so pale. She’d almost looked…broken. Appearances can be deceiving. “She’s definitely working with Maxwell. I won’t let another woman set me up for death.”
“Well, if she’s working for him, then how come she told you all about the bombs?”
Of course, Trace would already know about them. After the visit from the FBI guy, Drake was wondering who didn’t know. “She told me about them because Jasmine didn’t want anyone at the casino to get hurt.”
“Wow, quite the cold-blooded bitch, isn’t she?” Now Trace’s voice was mocking. “Just like Anna Jean.”
“Don’t,” Drake bit out. “Don’t say her name to me.” Because he was so sick of remembering. Anna Jean’s lies. Anna Jean’s life.
Her death.
At his hands.
“Not every woman is like her,” Trace’s voice was soft.
“You mean your woman isn’t like her.” Skye. Trace had been obsessed with Skye for years. But the bastard was lucky—Skye loved him, too. Enough to risk her life for him.
Silence hummed on the line, then Trace said, “It wasn’t your fault.”
Drake had to laugh at that even as he kept staring at the street below. “Really? You mean someone else drove the knife into her? Because I sure as hell remember her blood being on my hands.” The agent had disappeared. “Call me when you learn more.”
“Wait man, look, don’t do anything stupid, okay?”
What?
“You take too many risks. You’ve been walking on the edge for a while, and I don’t want you falling over.”
Too late. He’d gone over the edge long ago.
“Maybe Jasmine can help you,” Trace added. “If she’s valuable to Maxwell and the guy is gunning for you, then maybe you should team up with her and—”
Valuable. The wheels began to spin in his head. “Maybe I can use her.” The idea had whispered through his mind once before.
“No!” Trace’s voice was a bark. “That’s not what I meant. I said work with her. But wait until I can find out more, okay? Leave this to me and you—”
“I’ll be waiting on the edge.” Drake ended the call. Maybe he had been too hasty when he walked away from her. If Maxwell was screwing Jasmine, wouldn’t the guy plan to come after her? And to think, Jasmine had tried to act afraid of the fellow.
I’m dead…
The fear had sounded so real to him. She was one fine actress. Maybe even better than Anna Jean had been.
She’d asked Drake to protect her from Maxwell. She’d given him her body. Told him enough to keep his casino safe. Yes, he could use her. He could learn more.
And he would make absolutely sure that he never gave the woman the chance to betray him again.
***
Jasmine hadn’t expected the sheer number of people who packed Bourbon Street at nightfall. They drifted in and out of the bars, some hung over the edge of the balconies, and some made out in doorways. Drinks were flowing heavily. Laughter filled the air, and everywhere Jasmine turned, bodies seemed to brush against her.
Getting lost in the crowd here would be easy. It would be—
Her gaze fell on a brightly lit doorway. A woman stood there, barely dressed. Only the woman looked young. So very young. She was motioning toward some frat boys, inviting them in for a dance.
A private dance.
Jasmine’s gaze slid to the left. Another brightly lit doorway. Another woman beckoning for a dance.
It wasn’t just the drinks that were flowing on Bourbon Street.
Jasmine stared at those women, and her own past stared back at her.
Mama’s tired tonight, and he…he likes you, baby. Why don’t you help me out? Just do a little dance for him. Come on…he’ll pay you.
Jasmine turned away from those women and she began to shove her way through the crowd. It had been the perfect place to hide earlier, but now, now this place was suffocating her. Too many bodies. Too many hands brushing against her.
Too many memories that she could never forget.
“Hey, where’s the rush?” A man was in front of her. Blond hair, just like Drake’s, big with stretching shoulders. Only…he wasn’t Drake.
Drake was gone. No protection. No hope.
“I’ve got a date,” she muttered as she tried to step around him.
But he stepped with her. “I can be your date.” He had an overflowing drink in his hand, and under the streetlights, his eyes gleamed. “I can be anything you want me to be.”
I want you to be out of my way. She bit those words back and gave him a weak smile. “Not gonna happen tonight, handsome. I’m taken.”
He shrugged and eased aside, moving off in search of new prey.