Mine to Crave (Mine #4)(7)

His head lowered toward hers once more.

His lips were an inch away from hers. A breath of space. Jasmine wanted that space gone.

A shrill alarm cut through the room. Right on time.

Drake jerked away from her. “What in the hell?”

Jasmine let surprise flash across her face. “Wh-what’s happening?” She rather thought that the tremble in her voice was a lovely touch. “Is that a fire alarm?” Hurrying now, she rushed toward the tinted glass so that she could look down at the crowd. “No one is moving.” The alarm kept beeping—the sound was making her ears ache. That noise was worse than the music had been. “They have to hear it—”

“It’s not a fire alarm.” Now he was grim. “Those people down there don’t hear anything. It’s a private alarm—a signal just for me and my security team.”

She whirled toward him and gasped dramatically. “Are you being robbed?”

The man’s jaw had locked down as he checked his phone. Got the system linked in there, do you? “The warning alert is coming from the casino’s vault.” Um, his expression was deadly. “Someone’s tampering with it.” He rushed for the door.

Jasmine hurried after him. Now he had his phone to his ear, and the guy was barking orders like mad to whoever was on the other end of that line.

“No one screws with my business,” she heard him snap.

She gulped at that. He had the door open. She was just a step behind him.

Drake whirled around. The phone was still at his ear, but now he seemed to be focused on her. “Where are you going?”

“Uh, with you?” Wasn’t that obvious?

He shook his head. “Stay here. We’re not done. Not even close.”

A vault break-in hadn’t stopped the guy from wanting sex?

His eyes gleamed. “Not even close.” Then he shut the door and vanished.

Jasmine didn’t move. The alarm stopped after a few more tense seconds, and then she heard nothing. Nothing but her own drumming heartbeat, anyway.

How long would Drake be gone? And he truly expected her to just sit and wait for him like a good little girl?

Poor guy. He didn’t realize that she’d never been good. Not really.

Turning, she let her gaze sweep over the room. Leather couch. Bar. And…

His desk. His computer.

Because this place wasn’t just a private lounge. It was his inner sanctuary at the Arrow.

Jasmine sidled toward that desk. Her avid stare skimmed over its surface. Then she reached down and opened the top drawer. Business papers were inside. Spreadsheets. Profit projections.

The second drawer contained some mail. One big, brown package had already been opened. She lifted that package. Let the contents spill into her hands.

But the only thing inside that package was a picture. Black and white. Drake was there…so were two other men. Men she recognized because they were famous and infamous.

Trace Weston, the man behind Weston Securities. Weston Securities was the biggest private security firm in the U.S. From the rumors she’d heard, Weston had plans to make his firm the biggest in the world.

The other man she recognized was Noah York, a hotel magnate who’d made headlines because he and his fiancée had both barely escaped death a few months before.

Only he wasn’t engaged any longer. Noah York was married now. She was staring at his wedding picture. Noah was in his tux, and his bride beamed at his side. A woman stood with Trace, too—a delicate ballerina type. Well, that fit since Jasmine knew that Skye Sullivan-Weston was a ballerina.

In that picture, there was no woman on Drake’s arm. He had a faint smile on his lips, not the wide grin that Noah sported.

A note was attached to the pic.

Thanks for being my best man. –N.

Her hand trembled a bit.

She pushed the photo back into the package. Shut the desk drawers. Then Jasmine sat behind Drake’s desk. She slipped her equipment from the little case she’d strapped to her ankle.

Drake had been wrong about her. Well, partially wrong. She wasn’t a jewel thief. Her business was information.

She stared at the computer. Getting to his computer had been the trick. The rest…it would be easy.

Jasmine knew that she just had to work fast.

Her gaze strayed to that second drawer once more.

Thanks for being my best man. –N.

Straightening her shoulders, Jasmine went to work.

***

“Smoke bombs?” Drake demanded in disgust as he watched the pink flumes—seriously, pink—drift just outside of the vault door. No one had breached the casino’s vault. The guards there had panicked when they saw the smoke. They’d been the ones to pull that alarm and get the whole security team mobilized.

“Looks like they were on a timer,” Chad Thatcher, Drake’s chief of security said as he lifted one of the little, pink smoke bombs. It wasn’t smoking anymore. “Real clever device…looks handmade.” The guy’s tone was admiring.

Drake didn’t exactly feel admiration. “Someone tried to break into my vault.”

Chad’s lips twisted as he eyed the three nervous guards who’d pulled the alarm. “Not with this thing. This is a prank. Not a threat.” Chad would know threats. Drake had recruited the man because of his diverse background. Swat Team leader. Undercover police officer. Bomb squad technician.