“Are you okay?” Drake reached for her he hands. “You’re shaking.”
Noah shouldn’t be standing there. Not Noah.
“What happened to her hands?” Noah asked as he inched closer. His voice flowed over her. No accent. No hint of Texas.
Because he hadn’t been to Texas. Not in so very long.
“Some ass**les shot at her SUV, and the windshield shattered around her.” Drake said this so matter-of-factly. “Jasmine, shit, I knew I should’ve used more care—”
“Uh, used care when, exactly?” Trace asked, his eyes gleaming as his stare raked from Jasmine’s mouth to her hair, then back down to Drake—and Drake’s gentle hold on Jasmine’s hands.
“I think I should sit down,” Jasmine managed. She had to figure something out, fast.
Drake pulled out a chair and got her settled. Then he stayed there, right beside her, frowning worriedly down at her.
He was worried? This was bad.
Because now all three of the men were crowding around her. Her gaze kept wanting to slide to Noah. He looked different in person. More approachable. Not that she would’ve ever approached him.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
She yanked her gaze off Noah, only to find herself caught by Drake’s hard stare. He’d realized that she was staring at Noah. Staring too long at him.
“It happens,” Trace suddenly said. “Women look at him and get a little crazy. I knew we should’ve broken his nose a few more times, Drake.”
Drake grunted. “Yeah, seems like a good idea right now.”
She felt heat race to her cheeks. “Wh-why are you here?” Jasmine turned her focus to Trace when she asked that question. Because of all the three men, he would be the one most likely to wreck her plans.
Trace was Weston Securities, and if he wanted to uncover secrets about her past…
Understanding hit and her focus shifted to Drake. “You had him investigate me.” She said it like the accusation it was.
Trace coughed into his hand. “You did try to rob him, correct?”
Her flush was just getting worse. So Trace and Noah thought that she was a thief—I am—and they also knew she’d just had sex with Drake. The floor could just open up and swallow her at any time—that would be awesome.
“There’s a lot going on that you two don’t know about,” Drake said to his buddies. “The past still isn’t dead.”
Jasmine focused on breathing, nice and easily. Unfortunately, her breaths came out sounding all ragged and desperate.
“Anna Jean’s lover is trying to destroy me,” Drake said. “Seeing as how you were both involved in what when down a few months ago, I figured you deserved to know what was happening.”
“Her lover?” Noah’s brows climbed. “I thought that was you.”
“Not this time.” Drake was still staring at Jasmine. “I think you might know him. It’s a jackass named Maxwell Case.”
Noah whistled.
“He wants Jasmine,” Drake said. “And I need you both to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“I’m guessing his men were the ones shooting up her SUV?” Trace threw out.
Drake nodded.
Jasmine straightened in her chair.
“You guys can’t go after Maxwell.” That comment had all their eyes turning back to her. “You can’t,” she said, wondering if perhaps the men were a bit crazy. Or a lot crazy. “You all need to get out of town and let-let the FBI handle things.”
“You mean your buddy Victor Monroe?” Drake’s voice was flat. “Because you told him what was happening, didn’t you?”
Victor knew plenty. “He’s with the FBI. I figured he was my safest bet.”
“Didn’t look safe to me,” Drake said, hands tight at his sides. “When he was trapped in that SUV and you were being hauled into that van.”
She shot up from the chair. “We were ambushed!” That hadn’t been Victor’s fault.
“And he should have done a better job of keeping you safe, ambush or no ambush!”
“Uh, excuse me…” Noah murmured.
“Victor is a great FBI agent,” Jasmine defended fiercely. “He’s one of the most decent men I know and he’s—”
“Another lover?”
She had not seen that one coming. Jasmine’s jaw dropped.
“No handcuffs,” Drake pointed out. “And I don’t think he calls most of his suspects ‘baby’ but I could be wrong.”
This wasn’t a conversation that she wanted to have in front of Trace and Noah, and those two were avidly watching.
Why am I trying to pretend? She was sure that Trace had already briefed Noah on all the information he’d discovered about her.
Daughter of a prostitute.
Did Trace know that? Yes, yes, of course he does…
Teenage runaway.
Hacker.
She drew herself up to her full height. But her toes curled in the carpet. “Just to be clear, I haven’t slept with Victor or with Maxwell.” She pointed at Trace. “And I don’t care what your intel says. Intel can be wrong. It’s wrong this time.” Her glare swept back to Drake. “You’re my lover. The only one I’ve had in a very long time, and you know what? That shit should be private! I shouldn’t be having to explain and justify myself to you and your buddies!” Chest heaving, she turned on her heel. “Now I’m tired. I was shot at, nearly abducted, and then, well, you know what went down in that elevator. I’m going to bed, and I don’t want anyone so much as knocking on that door for the next two hours.” Jasmine didn’t glance back over her shoulder as she gave that order.
Her knees didn’t knock as she made her way to the bedroom. She slammed the door behind her. A nice touch, at least, Jasmine thought so.
When the door closed, yes, her knees definitely trembled then. And her gaze flew around the room.
I have to get out of here.
Because she had to stop Drake and his buddies before they all wound up dead.
Jasmine inched toward the air vent in the corner. No way could she fit in there. That just left the doors that lead out onto the balcony…
The balcony. Being as quiet as possible, Jasmine opened the French doors that led outside. She tip-toed onto the balcony. They were about ten stories up. She could see the flash of cars below her. So very far below her.
Not like she had a choice, though. Jasmine squared her shoulders and inched closer to the edge of that balcony.