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The Professional
Addison Fox
Her sexy neighbor turns savior in this next Dangerous in Dallas romance!Despite her job as a wedding planner, Violet Richardson doesn't believe a happy-ever-after is in her future. And when she's kidnapped by a killer, she's surprised that rescue comes in the form of her tempting yet irritating neighbor Max Baldwin.Trying to forget his dark past, Max never meant to take on his attractive neighbor's troubles. But now the bickering pair must outrun a thug who's determined to get his hands on mysterious jewels he thinks are in Violet's possession. And as they race for their lives through Dallas's summer heat, Max and Violet may finally open their eyes to the burning passion they share.


“Max!” Violet screamed, her body half hanging out of the train car.
He swung himself up, his other sleeve snagging on the ladder. “Get inside before you fall off. I know what I’m doing.”
“But you’re stuck!”
He ignored his exasperation, only slightly convinced falling out of the train would make the damn woman believe that she was in danger, and climbed the ladder to the top of the car. The trap door he hoped for greeted him and he jimmied open the top, then slid through and into the car.
The face that greeted him was as welcome as it was irate.
“How’d you know to do that?”
“I played a hunch.”
“What if you’d been stuck there?”
“I wasn’t.”
“But what if—”
Max dragged her forward, crushing his mouth to hers. He spread his legs against the swaying of the train and pulled her even closer, flush against his body.
It wasn’t the time or the situation for romance, but he’d be damned if he let another moment go without touching her.
* * *
Be sure to check out the next books in the
Dangerous in Dallas series. Danger and desire fill the hot Texas nights …
The Professional
Addison Fox


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Texas transplant ADDISON FOX is a lifelong romance reader, addicted to happy-ever-after. There’s nothing she enjoys more than penning novels about two strong-willed, exciting people on that magical fall into love. When she’s not writing, she can be found spending time with family and friends, reading or enjoying a glass of wine.
Contact Addison at her website—www.addisonfox.com (http://www.addisonfox.com)—or catch up with her on Facebook (addisonfoxauthor) and Twitter (@addisonfox (http://www.twitter.com/addisonfox)).
For April
Keeper of details, a ready supply of hand sanitizer and cautionary tales about too-warm sushi.
You have a warmth and smile that is infectious and a heart that is unfailingly kind.
I’m so blessed by our friendship.
Contents
Cover (#ua79ffbd4-e89d-589b-a83d-40a01f3b911b)
Introduction (#ucc3cc0ce-97e9-58bb-9a04-1bf87b0bc34c)
Title Page (#u7c610666-979e-5423-a6c2-1e7961ad01f6)
About the Author (#u762a2416-5cc9-521f-814d-6c6df16d32c8)
Dedication (#uc7671616-a1e2-5be3-8628-a2a86bbe632f)
Chapter 1 (#ua4e57d6e-5ae7-5879-be06-b9efdfd83792)
Chapter 2 (#ud0afb5f8-8d97-5161-9862-6435d4f2dfab)
Chapter 3 (#u534dc05c-ec11-513c-bdb1-6b86ce01e8d9)
Chapter 4 (#ue6ed9707-66ff-57b0-b3b7-484f861cfd66)
Chapter 5 (#u3fe8d577-b9a5-543b-a6bc-bf05307e1fde)
Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter 1 (#ulink_3a9e0d18-4411-5d4c-84b3-19268c2693fb)
Violet Richardson removed herself from striking distance of the bouquet and took her usual spot on the wall. That place—halfway between the kitchen and the entrance—provided a comfortable perch to oversee the lavish ballroom.
It also gave her eyes on anyone coming and going.
In the past, she’d believed it was a necessity to ensure any wedding she coordinated ran well. Not well, she mentally corrected herself. Perfectly.
But since the previous week, she’d accepted that having eyes on the ballroom would ensure the threat stalking her and her business partners wouldn’t spill over to their wedding clients.
The Kelley-Gardner nuptials had been a long project, full of all the things she loved about her job. A manic mother of the bride, a guest list that could fell a celebrity chef, and a bride and groom who practically glowed with their love for each other.
The wedding had also put Elegance and Lace firmly on the map as one of the city’s premier event providers.
She and her partners, Cassidy and Lilah, had worked tirelessly to make their business into one of Dallas’s best. Despite the recent rash of danger in their lives, she couldn’t hide her satisfaction at what they’d created.
“Lilah’s wheeling out the cake and all’s on schedule.” Gabriella Sanchez took a spot beside her, her unobtrusive black suit doing nothing to hide the saucy curves beneath. Gabby had started out as a caterer they partnered with on events and had quickly become a friend.
The clock that perpetually ticked in Violet’s mind counted off the required time to cross the ballroom to the cake and gave Lilah a few extra minutes to fuss. “She’s been working on this one for almost a week.”
“It’s a good thing she started early after—” Gabriella broke off, her soft brown eyes marred with the memories of the prior week. Lilah and her new fiancé, Reed, had faced off with the threat that had stalked their business, only to discover the name that went with the threat was Reed’s stepfather, Tripp Lange.
Shaking off the rush of anger and sadness at what her friend had experienced, Violet gripped Gabriella’s hand, desperate to hang on to something solid. “She and Reed found each other and Cassidy and Tucker did as well. It is a good thing.”
Gabby squeezed back before she offered up a small moue of disgust. “As beautiful as this place is, the catering needs a serious overhaul.”
Her friend’s dig had Violet refocusing on the event. The hotel was doing the formal catering, but they’d brought Gabby along as extra arms and legs. “Please don’t tell me you snuck into the kitchen.”
“It wasn’t sneaking.”
Violet ignored the delicate sniff and only pressed harder. “Gab—”
“My cousin’s best friend works here, and I wanted to say hi.”
Violet knew Gabby was a walking connection to half of Dallas, either as family or as friends of family. But none of it hid the fact that she wanted eyes on the kitchen. Her own catering business had been on the rise, but the competition between the local caterers and the large hotels had gotten fiercer in the last few years.
“They put a swimming pool of sauce on the beef entrées,” Gabby hissed. “You know as well as I do there’s only one reason a kitchen does that.”
“To hide the quality of the meat.”
“Exactly!”
“Who made you mad, Sexy Sanchez? I see that lovely Latin temper spiking.”
Violet’s back went as straight as the surface of Lilah’s fondant, as that dark, husky drawl interrupted Gabby’s moment of triumph. For a large man, Max Baldwin’s ability to materialize out of nowhere was unsettling.
And damned annoying.
“The kitchen’s subpar.” Violet’s voice was as prim as a nun’s habit, and she was oddly gratified at the corresponding spike of annoyance in Max’s vivid blue gaze.
“Like that’s a secret.” He pulled Gabby close in a side hug. “Besides, if we’re comparing other food to Gabby’s, the White House would lose out in a cooking contest.”
“Max!” Gabby hugged him back, her natural ease with people evident in the soft lines of her smile. “That’s so sweet.”
“He’s—”
Max interrupted her before Violet could finish the thought. “And I’m not buttering her up for a week of leftovers after she finishes tomorrow’s cooking.”
Violet snapped her lips closed as Max guessed her next jab. Over the past few months, Gabby had begun bringing any of her catering leftovers to the businesses around the Design District. She’d claimed it was a loss leader—she was only going to throw the food out anyway—and this gave the local businesses exposure to her work and more opportunities to keep her in mind.
As a business strategist, she was brilliant.
But it was her spirit of generosity that made Gabby truly stand out. Quite unexpectedly, the weekly food offering had begun to make their little neighborhood a community. A small, close-knit group of business owners who looked out for each other and depended on each other.
It had been humbling to realize how much that sense of family mattered.
“I wasn’t suggesting you were.” Violet cursed herself for the prim attitude—hell, why did she even feel the need to answer?—and avoided looking directly at Max.
“It doesn’t change the fact I want in on those leftovers. Especially if you have those little beef Wellington pastries.”
“I do, and you’re first on my list because of them.” Gabby giggled before she patted Max on the arm. “And since I just saw one of the servers attempt to put a few cookies back on a plate that fell on the floor, I’m going to go make a nuisance of myself.”
“Where?” Violet’s gaze swung in the same direction as Gabby’s. “I can do it.”
“Nah. I feel the need to whip up a fuss. It’ll make me feel better about the beef.”
Before Violet could insist, Gabby was off, her long strides through the ballroom drawing more than a few appreciative stares from the wedding’s guests.
“It’s a good event. You, Cassidy and Lilah have done an amazing job.” That husky voice slid over her like a warm bath.
“Thank you.”
“Since it’s running smoothly, maybe you can give me more than a cold shoulder.”
Violet held the sigh and shifted her stance so she could see Max yet still keep an eye on the ballroom. “I’m just doing my job.”
“Reed’s on watch over Lilah, and Cassidy and Tucker have the ballroom entrance. You can take a moment and talk to me.”
Violet did sigh this time, more for herself than because of his request.
Why was she so prickly around him?
Although she knew she was leery of opening up to others save close friends, she was a fundamentally kind person. And she liked other people. Heck, her business was about working with a wide variety of individuals, and she was good at it.
So why did Max Baldwin put her back up?
The man was an annoyance. That was all.
He was too big. Too loud. And far too grumpy for her taste.
He also had broad shoulders that tempted her to touch him whenever he got within fifty feet. Her fingers practically itched every time she took in the sandy-blondish hair that got darker as her gaze followed the short cut to the crown of his head.
Since her gaze did just that, a heated, appreciative rush swamped the pit of her stomach.
Damn hormones.
“I do appreciate you and the guys being here.”
“Tucker and I wouldn’t miss it, and Reed’s still struggling with the news. I think the sense of purpose and activity helps.”
Violet nodded, the reality of what Detective Reed Graystone had endured still a raw wound for all of them. Assigned to their case by someone inside the Dallas PD, Reed had only just uncovered that that connection—and corresponding corruption—had its roots in his powerful stepfather, Tripp Lange.
“Lilah’s been keeping a close eye. She said he’s holding up.”
“Graystone’s tough. He’ll hold up because he has no choice. None of it changes the fact that with what he’s exposed, the danger’s still out there. Still lurking.”
“But Tripp’s in jail.”
“For how long?” Max turned toward her, his eyes alight with fire and a mix of—concern? anguish?—before he pressed on. “The man’s got connections layered beneath connections. You think he’s going to sit in a cell for very long?”
“I think this case is too big and too strange not to catch the eye of someone who will ensure it gets solved.”
“Then you’re more naive than I ever gave you credit for.”
* * *
Satisfaction filled his chest as the barb struck Violet square in hers. She actually sputtered before she caught herself. “I’m far from naive.”
“Then start acting like it. Tripp Lange will be out of jail before any of us can blink. I’m surprised he’s still there.”
“He’s been exposed as a major criminal. He’s got to be under tight supervision.”
Max fought the urge to gently shake some sense into her, the concerns he’d harbored since discovering the cache of jewels in the floor of Violet’s business only getting stronger and more forceful by the day. Violet was the practical one of the women who ran Elegance and Lace, and even with that pragmatism, she clearly had no idea what they were up against.
“Come on, Max. I’m serious. Lange’s in jail and Reed’s requested any and all updates on his case. The danger has passed.”
Max shrugged, his gaze drifting to where the object of their discussion stood. The good detective hovered over Lilah while his new fiancée hovered over her masterpiece of a wedding cake. “Reed’s stepfather has a lot of people in his pocket. People he’s paid good money for. What’s their incentive to start cooperating now?”
Graystone was a good man. A more than solid cop and, from what he’d seen of the man’s interactions with Lilah, as well as their broader group, an honorable soul who believed in the badge.
What did it do to a man to see those beliefs destroyed in a hard sweep of money and corruption?
He knew what it was like to have your faith in something destroyed. Your knees cut out from underneath you, even as you sank in a pool of quicksand.
Graystone would hold up, but he’d pay a price. Thankfully he had the love of a good woman—a woman he saw as his equal—to help see him through.
At the thought of having a woman, Max’s gaze swung back toward Violet.
Damn, but she was a looker. Every time he got within a mile of her, a strange sort of awareness settled itself at the base of his spine, drumming on his nerves with hard spikes. He wanted to chalk it up to simple attraction, nothing more. But as easy as that would be—and nothing about Violet Richardson was easy, in the biblical sense or otherwise—he knew it was something else.
Something fierce and needy that gripped a man in a hard fever and refused to let go.
Despite knowing her for well over a year, since they were first introduced at their local business owners’ meetings, and then getting to know her far better after the break-in at her shop, he still found the woman to be a mystery.
Her business partners were easygoing and friendly, and both had welcomed him into their social circle with open arms. Violet, on the other hand, had railroaded him at every opportunity. Her green eyes tempted, even as the cool set of her shoulders and that pure-as-vodka voice shut him down at every turn.
“You ever think about it?” he asked.
“About what?”
The change of topic added a hint of confusion to her question, but it also went a long way toward cooling the ire sparking at the suggestion she was naive.
He waved a hand toward the ballroom, filled to the brim with laughing people, drinking people, dancing people, many doing all three. “This. Getting hitched. Doing forever with someone.”
“No.”
“Because you don’t want to?”
“Because I’ve never even come close.”
He had figured her for having a swath of old boyfriends, several of whom had made it close to the fiancé stage, so the acknowledgment that she’d been no closer than he to taking a walk toward the altar was a surprise.
He brushed a finger down her cheek, the soft skin more tempting than anything he could have imagined, and he fought to keep his hand steady through the trembling that suddenly gripped him. “That’s a surprise.”
Her breath caught as she stared up at him, and he took it as the smallest sign of victory that she was affected. But when she spoke, it was pure Violet.
Brisk and practical.
“It shouldn’t be. I’m difficult on the best of days. Something you remind me of on a regular basis.”
“I’ve never said that.”
“You don’t have to.”
She stepped back, her eyes wide with awareness and the wariness of cornered prey. “I need to see to a few things.”
He moved into her space again, deliberately blocking her view of the ballroom. “It won’t stop running without you.”
“Let’s not wait to find out.”
He stood still for one moment longer, not sure why he was baiting her and even less sure why he’d chosen this moment. She did have a job to do and was smack in the middle of a major event.
Still, he pressed on.
“I’d like an answer to my question.”
“What question is that? Why I’m so naive or why I keep ignoring you?”
“Neither. I’d like to know what you have against this.” He flung a hand out in the direction of the merry revelers. “Forever.”
The green eyes that usually glittered at him like hard emeralds softened for the briefest moment as she shifted her gaze toward the ballroom. But it was the light, wistful whisper that gripped him by the throat and hung on. Hard.
“You know, Max, I try to be hopeful. But most days I just think happy-ever-afters are for suckers.”
* * *
Violet fought the shaking of her limbs as she strode across the ballroom. Damn Max Baldwin and his all-seeing blue eyes and his freaking questions that cut far too close.
Damn him.
A hard knot of tears thickened her throat, and she swallowed around it. She would not cry here. Goodness, what had happened to her? She was a professional. She owned a business and she was responsible for the event going on around her.
She could cry later.
On a hard breath, she gave herself a moment to collect her thoughts. She’d been doing it for years. Pressing down on the hurt and pain to ensure no one saw the wreck that lived inside. And she’d be damned if she showed that sorry face to the assembled crowd at the Kelley-Gardner nuptials. Over four hundred of Dallas’s elite and she was considering a breakdown.
No freaking way.
Instead, she’d use the anger and the frustration and just work that much harder. Max Baldwin didn’t know anything, and his leading questions were designed to throw her off guard.
“Violet!”
Kimberly Kelley, now Kimberly Gardner, bounced over to her on light feet. The silk creation that wrapped her tall, slender body was as traditional as it was modern. Another Cassidy Tate creation.
Her friend had managed to capture all the gravitas and elegance of a wedding while ensuring the bride still looked fully twenty-first century. Violet made a mental note to have the photographer snap some extra photos for their portfolio with the bride in motion.
“Kimberly. It’s a beautiful day.”
“It’s wonderful and amazing, just like you promised. Jordan and I truly can’t thank you and Cassidy and Lilah enough. It’s the perfect day.” Kimberly smiled as she took in the assembled crowd. “Perfect.”
Although she only had a few years in age on the bride, Violet couldn’t help thinking that bright-eyed, wondrous smile had never been hers. She’d never looked that young. And she’d certainly never been that carefree.
But she’d given that gift to another, and that had to be enough. It had to mean something. Didn’t it?
“I’m so glad you’re enjoying the day. You look amazing.”
“I did want to thank you, and we will be going out to lunch, my treat, after Jordan and I are back from Aruba. But I also stopped you for another reason. The security team wanted to talk to you.”
“Of course.” Violet had already begun moving when a slender hand gripped her wrist. “They can wait a minute. Come here.”
Before she could take another step, Violet was wrapped in a tight hug. “Thank you.”
Those damnable tears threatened again, and Violet held them back. Instead, she hung on an extra moment before stepping away. “Go enjoy the day. Find Jordan and dance until dawn. That’s all the thanks I need.”
Kimberly nodded before rushing toward her new husband. Violet watched for a moment before she turned on her heel and headed for the lobby area outside the ballroom.
What could security possibly need?
* * *
The chaos that greeted her had Violet reconsidering a four-hundred-person guest list.
Individuals in various states of drunken enjoyment littered the reception area outside the ballroom. Two men—obviously some of the more heavily intoxicated of the bunch—had stripped out of their tuxedo jackets and bow ties and were circling each other like prize fighters.
“What is this?” Violet deliberately kept her voice calm, pushing as much authority as she could into her words, and used their quiet force to gain everyone’s attention.
She should have used a roar.
The two men leaped on each other. She barely missed being a part of the fray as the hard smack of fists on flesh echoed off the two men, who grunted and groaned as they locked into battle.
“Stop it!” The words were as ineffective as she knew they’d be, but it was the cheering of the crowd that had her seeing red. “Stop it now!”
The Kelley and Gardner families came from money, including a political dynasty on the groom’s side. The added security was meant to ensure the family was safe. Instead, they were out here dealing with a group of guests acting like ill-behaved gorillas.
On a hard exhalation, Violet had to admit that was an insult to gorillas.
Two of the security team members she’d met earlier were on opposite sides of the brawl, trying to find ways to pull the two grappling guests apart, but neither seemed to get a good grip on the duo. If she was honest, she suspected they were ill prepared for dealing with a scuffle between two wealthy guests.
Which was still no excuse for inaction.
“Gentlemen!” She pushed another layer of authority into her tone and added a nice veneer of bitchiness as she eyed where she could get a good foot into the middle, toppling the two men. Before she could strike a handy shin, the two men were suddenly pushed apart.
“What the hell’s the matter with you?” Max stood between them, holding each at arm’s length, his gaze dark and his shoulders straining hard against the thick material of his suit jacket.
Blood dripped from one of the men and the other spit a mouthful onto the carpet, nearly wrenching a scream from Violet that even their fight hadn’t managed to do. This was a nice venue. One of the most prime venues in the city, truth be told, and they’d behaved like this?
She moved up close to the hard body of the one who’d spat his displeasure, her finger already drilling a hole in his chest. “What’s the matter with you? This is Kimberly and Jordan’s special day—”
“Get out of my face, lady.” The man nearly shoved her, and it was only Max’s hard press on the guy’s chest that held him still.
“What’s your—” Violet broke off as she caught the hazy dimness in the man’s gaze, his pupils blown wide even in the bright light of the room. “This man needs help.”
“Violet.” Max’s voice was urgent even as he maintained a firm, restraining hold.
Violet laid a hand on Max’s arm to steady him before she turned to one of the security guards. “Go get John. He’s on detail in the ballroom. Tell him we have someone out here who needs help.”
Her words were still echoing off the now-quiet crowd when the tuxedo-clad fighter fell flat on his back.
Chapter 2 (#ulink_152b741c-dafd-580f-8ecd-704422f963ef)
Max had watched the man fall as if in slow motion. He’d fumbled to get a firm grip, but the guy was already laid out cold before he could get any sort of hold.
What the hell?
Violet dropped to her knees beside the man, feeling for a pulse as she shouted orders to those assembled around the ballroom. Several of the guys who’d drunkenly cheered on the fight rapidly sobered as they realized the situation had gone from a good-natured fight to something far more serious.
Max scanned the room, looking for someone who could help him wrangle the other guy until they got to the bottom of what was going on. He caught sight of a man seated calmly on a couch. Who watched a fight that passively? The man only lifted his eyebrows and offered a small shrug as if to say “young men and their ways,” but Max ignored it as he turned.
Was the jerk really that callous?
Hell, there was a woman stuck in the middle of this who could have been struck by flying fists, and at least one of the fighters was high on who knew what.
At the realization that Violet could have been hurt, thoughts of the uninterested bystander vanished, and his gaze lasered in on the object of his increasing attention. As he expected, she’d inserted herself smack in the middle of it all, shouting orders like a drill sergeant from her position beside the downed man.
“The ambulance is on its way. In the meantime, get him comfortable and covered and get something under his head.”
With a quick leap to her feet, she focused on the other half of the fight. “What happened here?”
“Nothing.”
“You were brawling in the middle of a wedding.”
“Nate started it.” The immediate chest puff beneath the studs of the man’s tuxedo shirt had Max moving to stand next to the second fighter.
“What did he start? You’re at a party.”
“Trash talk. Weird stuff.” The guy stopped and scratched at his temple. “Really weird stuff.”
“Like what?”
“We were talking about the wedding and how Jordan’s now handcuffed to Kim. In a good way, ya know?” The guy scratched his forehead again, the adrenaline fading from his voice as the heat of the moment faded into the aftermath. “And then he breaks off and starts talking about handcuffs and how he’s going to find a woman of his own to handcuff. And then he—” A wash of red filled the man’s face. “He said a few things about my sister that I don’t want to repeat.”
Max let the man process, the unreality of the moment giving way to his increasing ability to think through what happened. “You know him?”
“Sure I know him. Since we were kids. Nate’s a good guy.”
“And the two of you usually don’t brawl like your lives depend on it?”
“No. Heck no.”
Because Nate’s a good guy, Max thought.
“All we were doing was having a few drinks. Over there.” With the excitement fading, people had moved back to the bar set up for the Gardners’ guests. Open bars had a way of bringing out the party animal in everyone, but Max couldn’t help thinking there was something else at play.
Max glanced down at the felled Nate, his eyes still closed and his breathing coming in rapid pants. The security team surrounded him and the lead Violet had called for was on his knees, assessing the man’s situation. “Does Nate like to add anything to liven up his party?”
“You mean drugs?” The guy’s eyes widened. “No, man. Nothing.”
Violet had stayed quiet, but she chose that moment to speak up. “Is it possible someone slipped him something?”
“We were—” The fading buzz and postadrenaline low had dulled the man’s eyes, but they flashed with a shot of fire. “There was a guy. Over there. Older guy. He talked us up for a few minutes. Said how much he was enjoying the party. Asked if we were friends with the bride or the groom.”
The man’s gaze flew around the reception area before he shook his head. “He’s gone.”
“What did he look like?”
“Unremarkable. I don’t know. He just sort of blended in. It’s a party, ya know.”
Yeah. He did know. For all the security in place, the hotel was large and no one had perceived there was much danger, especially once the groom’s grandmother—a three-decade congresswoman—was ensconced in the ballroom, protection detail nearby.
Max took a view of the room through fresh eyes, his surprise at the man who’d sat unmoving on the couch flashing in his memory.
Had the guy dropped something in Nate’s drink?
Although he followed a steady progression around the room, reading each quadrant for anything suspicious, Max knew what he’d find.
Everything was back to normal, and there wasn’t a stranger in sight.
* * *
Violet waited until the ambulance had come and gone before finding Kimberly and Jordan in the ballroom. She hated telling them anything, but they had a right to know about their guest, and she’d rather they heard it from her so she could spin the story, minimizing its impact on the event.
Nate had been checked out, and while the paramedics had shared precious little information, she did get out of one of them where they were taking him. Brad, the guy Nate had fought with, joined his friend in the ambulance and promised to report back with any updates.
“Where’s the ambulance?” Cassidy’s breathless voice grabbed her just as Violet got the bride and groom in her sights.
“On its way to the hospital.”
“What happened?”
Violet wanted to get it over with, but she also knew Cassidy would be a good sounding board for how casual she could make the story. “Heated words followed by a fight in the lobby.”
Cassidy’s tone only ratcheted up as Violet finished the last notes of the retelling. “And that required an ambulance?”
Reconsidering, Violet couldn’t quite stop the wry grin. “I was hoping the fight would divert attention from the whole ambulance part.”
“Try again.” Cassidy’s soft blue gaze was serious as she moved them both toward the wall. “In the meantime, calm down for a few minutes. Another dance or two isn’t going to make a difference, and it will give you some time to settle.”
Violet knew her friend was right, and she used the short walk to unruffle her feathers. There was something at every wedding that was unplanned and often unpleasant, but she got through.
For some reason, she couldn’t find any hint of that quiet calm today.
“Now spill. What really happened?”
“That’s what’s so odd. The two guys fighting were best friends. But the one in an ambulance headed for Baylor’s emergency room right now is clearly high on something. He collapsed after Max broke up the fight.”
“Max broke it up?”
“He was considerably more effective than security.”
Violet inwardly winced at her dry tone. Max had helped, and she was grateful.
“He’s been keeping a watchful eye,” Cassidy said.
“Too watchful.”
Cassidy’s gaze was equally watchful, but her tone was full of the censure only old friends could manage. “You need to get over this annoyance with him. We have the rubies because he made a judgment call on his feet. Being mad isn’t going to change that.”
“I know. Damn it.” Violet tapped a toe, the nervous movement something to focus on. “I know.”
And she did know.
The discovery of a cache of jewels underneath the floor of their shop wasn’t Max’s fault. The fact that their landlady had hidden fakes of the British Crown Jewels and three very real—and very precious—rubies wasn’t Max’s fault, either. He’d just had the misfortune to snag the rubies off the top of the heap before Cassidy’s ex-fiancé, Robert, stole the rest of the find.
“In fact, if I’m not mistaken, Max would like to find any number of ways to make it up to you.”
A flash of heat cratered in her stomach before spreading outward like a warm flow of lava as Violet imagined all those ways Max could make it up to her. Then she locked the erotic images away. She wasn’t interested in pursuing anything—casual or otherwise—with such an overbearing man. The attraction might be out of her control, but what she did about it wasn’t. “You’re subtle, Cupid.”
“I’m only saying what we’ve all seen from the beginning. The man’s got eyes for you, and I know you well enough to know you return the sentiment.”
“I don’t—”
Cassidy’s hand came up in a stop gesture with all the speed of a Supreme. “Don’t insult me or yourself by lying.”
Violet hesitated before she pressed on. She did feel something for Max, but it didn’t matter, and no amount of breath had made her friends see reason. Just because Cassidy and Lilah had found happy-ever-afters with the men who’d descended into the middle of their lives like a hurricane didn’t mean she’d find the same.
In fact, her history suggested the exact opposite.
She wasn’t cut out for romantic love. And thanks to her parents’ loveless marriage and subsequent poor decisions in that realm, she had no basis for it. Instead, Violet had the deep, abiding love of friends, and she knew that was enough.
She’d decided long ago it had to be.
“Please think about it.”
“I don’t see why I need to. You and Lilah have done enough thinking about it for three of me.”
“Vi—”
She grabbed her friend’s hands in a tight grip, her voice firm but kind. “I appreciate it. You know I do. But this really isn’t the place for it. I just sent a man out of here in an ambulance.”
The rapid change in subject had its desired effect, even if Violet regretted the slight manipulation. She had put a man in an ambulance and finishing the wedding needed to be their focus right now. Cassidy glanced around the ballroom, her voice hesitant when she finally spoke. “Do you think the brawl has anything to do with us?”
“I don’t see how. We’ve monitored everyone who’s entered and exited. Reed’s stepfather is in jail. I don’t see a connection.”
“You’re right. Of course you are.” Cassidy shook her head. “I don’t know why I can’t believe it’s over. Reed watched them cart the man off in a police cruiser.”
The urge to share Max’s point of view—that they were all naive to think Tripp Lange wouldn’t find a way to work this entire situation to his advantage—was nearly out of her mouth when she pulled it back.
Just because Max speculated didn’t mean he was right.
And despite the fact that they’d collectively spent the last two weeks on high alert over the discovery in their shop didn’t mean it wasn’t time for things to go back to normal.
The culprit was behind bars, and anyone who’d worked with him was dead.
It was time to relax.
* * *
Alex Ebner, assistant to the man whispered about only as The Duke, settled himself in the front seat of the black limousine. “The women are all there, just as you suggested they would be.”
“And the men?”
“Stuck to them, as you also suspected.”
“You speak of my stepson as well?”
Alex thought about his casual stroll through the ballroom. “He hasn’t left the baker’s side.”
“Excellent.”
Alex waited, as he always did. He was deeply loyal, and he was more than willing to wait as The Duke determined whatever came next. He’d been raised in the old ways, and he took pride in that. Authority. Leadership. Power.
They had value—they still had value—and he was content to follow his leader.
Those traits he prized also came with a price. He understood that—had been raised to understand it—and it was his job to stay in the background and ensure the toll never became too taxing.
In exchange, he was paid handsomely. He had time off. And, most important, his family was cared for in the lap of luxury back in the homeland.
“What about the coordinator? The sleek one who gives orders?”
“Hard at work. She just dealt with the little matter in the lobby.”
“Is she followed?”
“Baldwin’s grandson stays close to her, but she keeps shaking him off. It’s humorous to watch.”
“Then she’s the one. Violet Richardson.”
Alex nodded. “She’s got the least restrictions and moves about as she pleases.”
He’d gotten close several times and had nearly snagged the woman, but each time she’d managed a swift turn to elude him. Her apartment had proven equally challenging, the elegant home in one of Dallas’s newest high-rise buildings sporting state-of-the-art security and surveillance.
They’d moved fully underground at this point, and it was no use risking that. His boss had planned well, though. Alex considered the ease with which they were released from jail and the speed with which they’d gone to ground at The Duke’s hidden property.
The Duke had another name—one well-known in Dallas circles. Tripp Lange was one of the city’s wealthiest men, his riches earned through a combination of hard work and maniacal focus that had moved him from poor immigrant to success.
But that success had come with a price.
They’d still not managed to uncover the location of Tripp’s wife, Diana, despite extensive digging. Her son had whisked her away as he closed in on Lange, and no amount of prodding and poking any of Lange’s contacts in the Dallas PD had managed to uncover her whereabouts.
Tripp wanted the rubies and he wanted his wife back. Violet Richardson and her relationships with the rest of her little wedding troupe were the key to securing both.
“You’ve checked the egress points. You know where you want to take her.”
“It’s all prepared.”
“Then move ahead.”
* * *
Max couldn’t shake the sense that something was out of his reach. He knew that sense—and trusted it to the very depths of his being—which was why he kept up a continuous walk of the perimeter of the ballroom.
The wedding had technically entered its last hour, and he was counting down the minutes to getting them all out of there. He didn’t care if Violet fought him like a she-cat. He was dragging her out the moment they kicked the last guest toward the hotel elevators, or what would likely be a drunken, snaking taxi line. She could come back in the morning and manage any required follow-up.
Things always looked better in daylight.
Which was a fallacy, he well knew. He’d spent many an op during his time in the Army Corps of Engineers in broad daylight and an equal number in those silent hours after midnight. Both could do irreparable damage.
He passed the open ballroom doors, his gaze alighting on the bar, still two and three deep with wedding guests. The image of the guy on the couch nagged at him, and Max headed for the harried row of bartenders still mixing drinks.
A manager he’d noted earlier had added to his duties by bar-backing, and he’d just arrived with two fresh bottles of liquid courage. Max waited until the man logged the liquor before waving him over.
“Hey man, I know you’re busy. I need to ask you something.”
“You’re with the planners, right?” The guy offered a tired smile before he stuck out his hand. “Zach Turner. We do a heck of a lot of events with Elegance and Lace, and they run a smooth party.”
“A rather wild one, if the fact your bartenders haven’t stopped serving is any indication.”
Zach tossed a smile over his shoulder. “Wild, yes. Great tips, an even bigger yes.”
“Did you notice the man out here earlier? Older than the frat boys in the wedding party but not an old relative, if you know what I mean?”
“Elegant guy? Sort of blended in if you didn’t look too hard.” Zach snapped his fingers. “Saw him on the couch over there just before that brawl lit up.”
“That’s the one.”
Max waited another few beats, curious to see if the man made the same connections he had before he inadvertently led the witness.
“Odd guy. He mingled for a bit, talking up the wedding party. I kept an eye on him for a while, not sure if he was hitting on the crowd or trying to pick a few pockets.”
At what Max could only assume was a wash of shock and surprise on his face, Zach continued. “Oh yeah, it happens way more often than you think. People come to a nice event and no one thinks too much about their wallets and purses. But old Uncle Nicky or crazy Aunt Sally sure as hell do.”
Max shook his head, the shock fading into that strange sort of acceptance that came with seeing far too much. “People are an endless surprise.”
“Always. But I’ve been doing this for nearly thirty years. I can usually pick out Cousin Sticky Fingers at twenty paces. Guy gave me an odd vibe, but not a sticky one.”
“What sort of vibe did he give you?”
Zach’s dark gaze narrowed before awareness lit him up like a lightning strike. “You concerned the fight had some chemical enhancement?”
“Yep. No doubt about it. The paramedics didn’t say much, but it was all over the guy’s blown pupils and dead faint to the floor.”
“Well, hell.” Zach gestured toward the long hallway that extended off the ballroom lobby. “Let me hook you up with house security.”
* * *
Violet drifted through her various roles as the wedding wound down. She confirmed with Lilah the top layer of cake was already preserved for the couple’s first anniversary, while the rest of the cake was sliced and individually packaged and waiting for guests to take as they departed. She smiled as the DJ counted off the number of songs left until the big finale, a slow, torchy number that would send the happy couple off on their week-long honeymoon. And she got a full update from the caterer on where they stood on a count of the bar bill.
And silently credited the family’s foresight to go with a flat price per head.
While she appreciated the hearty flow of liquor would no doubt leave a horde of satisfied partygoers in its wake, she immediately shifted her direction to confirm the taxi line was in place and the staff had all eyes on anyone who shouldn’t have keys in hand.
A good number of guests had also reserved rooms at the hotel, which went a long way toward assuaging her concern, but there was still margin for error. Many guests had driven, and they needed a sober driver to make it home.
“This one was a humdinger, Miss Richardson,” the hotel’s doorman boomed at her when she passed, his smile as bright as when she’d walked in at noon.
“That it was, Carl. You keeping an eye on the departures for me?”
“Always. Boss added two extra pairs of eyes on valet, too.”
“Good.”
She kept on toward the exit, the taxi stand housing only two waiting guests who’d obviously decided to skip the rush.
“It was a wonderful evening,” a tottering woman gushed. “I want my son and his fiancée to call you. Do you have a card?”
With a rueful smile for the woman’s husband, Violet pulled a card out of her suit jacket pocket. More than half their business came from satisfied guests who wanted a similar event for themselves, and Violet couldn’t stop the spear of pride at a job well done, despite the craziness that had descended on their lives in the past few weeks. “We’d be delighted to discuss your son’s event.”
The woman’s husband deposited her in a cab as she still hollered about booking an appointment, and Violet could give herself only a moment to watch the proceedings as she waved them off.
Damn, she loved her job.
It was crazy and nuts and often stressful, but she loved it. And she knew she’d found a purpose for her life.
Giggles echoed off the concave ceiling of the porte cochere, and she stepped back to let a tumble of two bridesmaids and three groomsmen hit the taxi line.
“Fun time, Violet.” One of the bridesmaids, named Macy, tossed a pointed look at a groomsman she’d had her eye on all day before pulling Violet in for a big hug. “Fun time.”
“Where are you off to?”
“Uptown for a nightcap.”
Violet suspected she knew what would come after the nightcap and simply waved them on, pleased they were still smart enough to keep the night going in taxis. The lack of a car now meant they’d need another cab for their return trip, which meant she could relax another notch.
“Have fun.”
Macy giggled in her ear, her whisper louder than the woman likely planned. “I mean to.”
They all piled into a minivan cab and off to whatever came next, and Violet gave herself another moment, surprised at the hard clench that tightened her rib cage. The same melancholy that had come over her inside the wedding while hugging the bride hit her once more, the jab swift.
Where had those days gone? The carefree ones that didn’t have an overarching tinge of disappointment or the fear time was marching on without her?
When had thirty begun to feel ancient?
Shaking off the melancholy, she moved out of the way of another couple as they approached the valet station. One glance at the wife—keys in hand—and Violet knew the woman had played the evening’s designated driver, so she kept moving, determined to leave the policing to the hotel staff. They had as vested an interest as she did in ensuring people left their establishment safely, and she’d leave them to it.
An empty lobby stared back at her, indicating no one else was yet ready to depart, and she glanced at her watch before mentally calculating the time left until she needed to find the bride and groom and help see them off.
Figuring she had a good five minutes, she stopped and gave herself one of them.
Why was she so out of sorts?
On a hard exhale, she drifted toward the end of the sidewalk that fronted the hotel before it dropped off toward the driveway to the service entrance. She was close enough to help out in a crisis but far enough away to avoid recognition.
The moment of anonymity was all she needed to get her equilibrium back. Why it had chosen to abandon her during one of the largest events Elegance and Lace had ever put on was a mystery, but she’d worry about that later. For now, she was going to clear her mind, then march back inside and give Kimberly and Jordan an amazing send-off.
In just a minute.
The hot August night wrapped around her in a tight stranglehold, and she was tempted to remove her suit jacket. The cool air from the lobby had diffused some of the heat at the taxi line, but this far away from the door it was absolutely stifling.
A minute was only a minute, though, and she’d already used up half of hers. Stripping was a waste of the time she had left.
“Ever responsible and practical,” she muttered to herself before compromising and unbuttoning the top button of her blouse.
The hot air coated her skin and with it, an image of Max filled her thoughts. A place he’d occupied far too often these last weeks.
Heck, the past year, if she was truly being honest.
She’d noticed him at the first community business meeting he’d attended in the Design District after opening his architectural firm, Dragon Designs. Since getting to know Max and Tucker better, she’d learned that Tucker had abdicated any interest in playing their firm’s business lead and had been more than willing to hand the role over to Max.
Which had put Max and Violet firmly in each other’s orbit.
Even without the pressure of Cassidy and Lilah’s ongoing interest in seeing the two of them get together, Violet could admit that Max did manage to push all her buttons. He was strong and solid. And if she were honest with herself, she liked that he was a bit surly. The man wasn’t a pushover, and it was a trait she admired.
Maybe if they hadn’t gotten involved in the mystery of the jewels under the floor, and maybe if her best friend wasn’t marrying his best friend, things could be different.
A fling, maybe?
Thirty, remember? That small voice that kept her constant company rose up. Call it what it is. An affair.
Violet turned the thought over in her mind. Like sophisticated women had been doing since the dawn of time, she could manage her life and this crazy attraction through a discreet affair in which both knew the score. No pressure for a happy-ever-after or expectations neither had any interest in fulfilling.
She’d scratch the itch and move on.
It would be perfect if it weren’t for the fact that her two best friends were also her daily colleagues. To say each of them missed nothing about the other two was an understatement. Lilah and Cassidy saw everything.
As she did with them.
Which took her right back to square one. Nothing could come of this odd little spark for Max.
The heavy tread of feet interrupted her musings and she shifted her attention, mentally sighing that her minute was gone. It was time to get back to the wedding.
Her gaze caught on a man moving with swift determination up the sidewalk. An odd spark of recognition lit in her gut. Was he a wedding guest?
Or had she seen him somewhere else?
It was only as he closed in on her, his large hands wrapping around her shoulders, that she registered the depth of the threat.
And as a sharp prick hit her neck, she watched the bright lights of Dallas blur before the black took her over.
Chapter 3 (#ulink_e612a3e3-fd5e-59d0-82be-f7ad8be8b1b4)
Max scanned the various screens inside the security center before settling in with the computer operator, Jake. The man had seemed to light up with the unexpected excitement as he asked, “Do you know the rough time and what part of the hotel?”
“The lobby cameras pointed around the bar. Around ten o’clock.”
The man made quick work of the request, his fingers flying over the keyboard at his station before he pointed toward an even larger screen in his sight line. “I’ll put the footage up here.”
Max saw the lobby still filled with revelers getting drinks and zeroed in on the couch. “There. He was on that couch for some time.”
Jake scrolled several frames forward, the clock ticking off the time in the lower right-hand corner, before Max stopped him. “That’s him.”
The screen expanded as Jake enlarged the image. Max nodded as the strange man’s face came into view. “Now we need to see if he was mingling with the guests who were fighting.”
Jake nodded, his focus absolute as he scrolled through earlier footage, the clack of the keys the only noise in the room. Max watched him work before his own focus shifted, his normal inability to sit still taking over.
He paced the wall of screens, taking in various views. Two of the wedding guests were getting amorous in one of the hotel elevators, while another couple in a different elevator was clearly in the midst of a heated—and likely liquor-fueled—fight. Since both couples deserved their privacy, he continued to scan the wall, the image of the bride and groom and their assembled guests filling several more screens, displayed from different angles.
Before the notion even fully registered, Max found himself searching for Violet.
Where was she? He’d have assumed she’d be smack in the middle of whatever was happening with the bride and groom, but another glance through all the ballroom screens showed no sign of her. Cassidy and Lilah both stood on point, and he saw Tucker and Reed not far behind them, but Violet was nowhere.
“Jake—” He broke off as he caught sight of the exterior cameras. Panic washed like icy needles over his skin.
“What?”
The man’s eyes widened as Max moved toward his chair, his large form hovering over the tech. “Pull it up. The driveway camera. Now.”
Jake did as he was told, his hands flying, and in moments the driveway camera footage came into full view.
Along with an image of Violet being dragged toward a waiting car.
“Call the police!” Max shouted the order as he ran hell-for-leather toward the front door.
* * *
Tripp Lange stared at the heap of very attractive woman deposited on the bench seat opposite him as they put Dallas in their rearview mirror. They’d already stopped at his private home on the outskirts of town and changed into the waiting car Alex had prepared in advance. So now, barely twenty minutes after snatching the woman, they were headed for the Hill Country.
Alex had done well, as always. He’d waited for the perfect moment, then leaped.
The fact Violet Richardson had made the snatch-and-grab relatively easy with her late-night stroll was beside the point. They had her.
And through her, he’d get the rubies and his wife back.
“What did you use, Alex?”
The man’s voice was crisp and clear from the front seat. “That sedative I’ve been working on. I’ve changed the ratio of sedative to paralytic, and I think it’s the right one. She’ll come to, but it will take her longer to get her bearings.”
“Good.”
They had a two-hour drive ahead of them, and Tripp wanted to make sure Violet stayed out.
“And her cell phone?”
Alex waved the device through the window partition. “Already off.”
Tripp studied the woman, her slender body relaxed in sleep. A black suit covered her in prim lines, but the hint of skin at her throat and chest suggested there was something of a tiger beneath the gloss. She was on the taller side—at least five-six—and another four inches added with the heels.
All in all, an incredibly attractive package.
But one that hid, for the most part, behind severe suits and an all-business attitude.
She was a calculated risk, no doubt. Alex had spent a fair amount of time observing her, and she was no one’s pushover. The previous week, his man of business had witnessed her dealing with a hotel manager who’d thought to change the terms of their agreement. Alex had been more than impressed with her handling of the situation.
Which also meant she’d be a challenge to break on the path to securing what he wanted.
It was a good thing he knew not only how to break people but also exactly what made Violet Richardson vulnerable.
* * *
Max shoved a hand through his still military-short hair and fought the urge to scream at the team of police parked at the hotel’s service entrance. Per the manager’s request, they’d moved out of sight of the departing guests, and it still chapped Max’s ass. Violet was one of theirs, and they were acting as if her disappearance from their grounds needed to be covered up.
Instead, all it meant was they were wasting precious time.
Reed laid a hand on his shoulder and gestured him a few feet away from the cruiser.
“My stepfather was released from jail late this afternoon.”
The news hit with the force of an atomic bomb, and for one of the rare moments of his life, Max was speechless. Quickly gathering himself, he let out a roar. “What the hell, Reed?”
“I’m trying to find out on whose, orders but you know as well as I do his connections run deep.”
Max did know. Since discovering the rubies in the floor of Violet’s shop, he’d come to understand just how devious and corrupt some people could be.
And how deeply buried they could keep those facets of their personality.
“The man’s been paying off the whole freaking city. I have no idea who I can trust,” Reed said.
The haze of worry for Violet broke for a moment as Max caught sight of the craggy lines of anxiety that painted Reed’s face. He knew what the man had been through over the past week, first finding out his life was a lie both personally and professionally, and then having to put his mother into hiding from his stepfather. “Is there anyone you can ask?”
“I’ve got a few contacts, but I need to see them directly. Get a feel for them as I ask questions. Lilah’s going to stay with Tucker and Cassidy while I do.”
Fear for Violet and the increasing distance her kidnappers put between them rose back up to swamp him in another nasty wave. “They haven’t found any trace of her? Nothing on traffic cams?”
“No.” Reed glanced toward the assembled police. “They lost them after a few lights here downtown. No one’s picked up a trail yet.”
“Where could he be taking her?”
“How the hell should I know? He’s got warrens hidden everywhere from what I’ve been able to uncover privately. Places buried so deep it would take an honest team at the PD days to find them.”
Reed’s words echoed in his ear, the reference to an honest team rolling over and over in Max’s mind. From his time in the corps he knew how important it was to trust your comrades—your backup—and the anguish Reed was feeling was tangible. “Wait. Look, you’ve been with the Dallas PD for how long?”
“Almost fifteen years.”
“And in all that time, nothing’s jangled? No one’s seemed off?”
A small light filtered through the man’s grim gaze. “Hell, yeah. There are those folks people whisper about. The jackasses who always seem to keep their jobs despite the screw-ups. Or who always manage to fade under the radar every time something goes sideways. Why?”
“Because the entire force isn’t dirty. It can’t be. What you likely have is a small group who need to keep their own counsel and secrets. Rout them out and you find the problem.”
Max watched Reed weigh his words and continued to work through the problem in his mind. Every way he turned it, the truth seemed more and more clear. Dallas was a huge city, and the majority of its citizens were good, law-abiding people. For Tripp Lange to have as much power and influence as he did—and for no one to know about it—the cancer in the department had to be relatively contained.
“Come on. Think through the people you trust. We’ll start there and work it through.”
“There’s a guy I went through the academy with. He’s one of our lead detectives on digital forensics. He’s a good guy. A family man with strong ethics.”
“Let’s go.”
* * *
The first thing she noticed was the absence of noise. Where had all the guests gone? The loud buzz of the wedding had faded, and the only sound she heard was the light, gentle hum of an air conditioner.
Where was everyone?
The thought hit hard and fast, and Violet’s eyes popped open at the realization she needed to send Kimberly and Jordan off on their honeymoon. The guests. Where were—?
The fear at missing the rest of the wedding quickly morphed into something far worse as she realized she hadn’t moved. She was still flat on her back, the room around her full of shadows. She tried again, willing herself into a sitting position, but her body never moved.
Panic filled her chest in a hard press, and she struggled to catch her breath as her gaze rabbited around the room.
Where was she?
As the question rolled over and over, desperately seeking some purchase inside the terror, another question, this one louder than the first, took root.
How had Reed’s stepfather found her?
With the legendary focus she was known for—and teased about by Cassidy and Lilah—Violet slowed her gaze along with her breathing and took stock of the room. The thought of her two best friends went a long way toward calming her, and she kept them both close to her heart. They were okay.
They had to be okay.
Neither had been out of Reed’s or Tucker’s sight the entire wedding. Which had to be why she was the one who was taken. Her friends were safe.
Safe.
She’d focus on that and believe it. Because anything else was unacceptable.
Violet kept that image in her mind—her two best friends unharmed—and continued to take stock of the room. She was in what looked like a guest room. Although she couldn’t move her head, she knew she was on a bed, the expansive king visible in her peripheral vision. A small light was plugged into the far wall, the soft glow illuminating the room. The cord was visible where it went into the plug, and she considered how she might use it.
Assuming, of course, she could find a way to move her arms and legs.
Stilling her breath and the horrifying thought that her captors might have done something permanent to her, she tried once more to move. When a seated position proved impossible, she took another deep breath and focused on smaller motions. Envisioning her hand, she willed movement into her fingers.
And was rewarded with the light sound of her fingertips scratching over the soft cotton of the bedspread.
It’s temporary. Just temporary.
A breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding released in a rush before she added her condition to her arsenal of tools. How long could she play the paralyzed card? Whatever drug she’d been given obviously just needed time to wear off. Her captors likely knew approximately how long, but if she could find a way to use uncertainty to her advantage, she might have surprise on her side.
With the same quiet focus she’d used on her fingers, Violet settled herself with a few deep breaths and took stock of the rest of her body. She tried wiggling her toes, satisfied when she heard some movement against the mattress, even if she couldn’t move her head to see the progress. And her fingers seemed to gain increasing momentum as she worked on her right hand, then her left.
A hard jiggle against the door lock drew her attention, and she briefly toyed with playing possum before settling on a new approach. She didn’t run and she didn’t cower. She’d hit this head-on.
The same man who’d taken her came to stand in front of the bed. “You’re awake.”
Despite her bravado and the inability to feel much physically, a disturbing sense of menace raced through her body in cold chills.
“No thanks to you and your boss.”
The man cocked his head. “So we can dispense with the formalities, then?”
“What does Lange want?”
“The rubies.”
“He’s already got one.”
“But there are three.” The man’s gaze roamed over her with calculated speculation. “Unless there were more in the cache beneath your floor.”
“There are three. There have only ever been three. They’re the Renaissance stones of legend.”
Violet knew she had precious little to trade, but there was no use giving false information over their fantastical find. The Queen of England—wife to King Edward—had wanted the rubies secreted out of England after the Second World War, and their landlady’s father had been the one to do it.
The fact Mrs. Beauregard thought burying the legendary stones beneath a layer of concrete in an old Dallas warehouse was a good idea was an entirely different matter.
“How’d you know the stones were even in the warehouse? My partners and I have been there for three years and never even looked beneath the carpet.”
Although she had a pretty good idea of how Tripp Lange knew—his connections with Cassidy’s late brother-in-law were the start of a terrible chain of contacts—she was curious to see what his rent-a-thug knew.
“The stones aren’t a secret for those precious few who make it their business to know about these things. Mr. Lange is one of those individuals. He has patience and the will to see every acquisition through.” The man moved in, as quiet and lethal as a snake, and Violet wished like hell she could move to the corner of the bed.
“He will have the Renaissance Stones. All of them.”
* * *
Max fought the need to slam his fists against the front door of the modest north Dallas home and instead waited while Reed rang the bell. He glanced out over the thick, well-manicured lawn, visible in the small pathway lights that led from the driveway to the front door, and took several deep, calming breaths. As he settled, his gaze roamed over the large pots of flowers that flanked the porch. The bright blooms nestled in a weed-free bed of dirt offered a sizable suggestion about the family who lived there.
They took pride in their home and in what was theirs. The effect was welcoming and homey, and Max knew he’d have been more fascinated with it if his thoughts didn’t drip with oily fear for Violet.
Home.
Did he even know what that was?
He’d thought Dallas could be his home, but now, more than two years after moving back and starting his business, he still wasn’t sure. The innate sense of being a nomad had pushed him into the Army Corps of Engineers, and it was humbling to realize a decade and a half later he’d still not lost the itch to roam.
The door swung open and Reed stepped up, his hand outstretched. “Thanks for seeing us, Ryan.”
Reed made quick introductions before Ryan Masterson waved them forward, surprisingly unruffled by the late-night visit. “Come on in.”
Max stepped into the neat foyer and took in the warm vibe. He’d never had anything like this at home. Even his time with Pops had been caring, but not exactly something straight out of Donna Reed.
Kicking away the strange, abstract thought, he focused on the matter at hand and hoped like hell Reed’s friend could supply some answers.
“I’m sorry to bother you so late, but I need help,” Reed said.
Max had seen the laser focus the moment Ryan opened the door, but at Reed’s plea, the man’s tall, lean stance turned hard, his eyes all-cop. “What’s going on?”
“What do you know about the Lange case?”
Max didn’t miss the immediate awareness in Ryan’s demeanor as his gaze remained steady on Reed. Clearly the department knew one of their own had been duped by a man he trusted. “I’m aware of it.”
“Then you know he was released this afternoon.”
The subtle veneer of pity fell along with Ryan’s jaw. “What? No.”
“Late afternoon, somewhere between four and five, best I can tell. He then took the opportunity to kidnap my fiancée’s best friend and business partner.”
The word kidnap hung in Max’s thoughts with all the finality of a gunshot, and he waited, watching to see Ryan’s reaction. He knew Reed did the same and had to trust they could both smell a rat if the cop was dirty or at all under the influence of Tripp Lange’s money.
“What can I do?”
A breath he didn’t even realize he was holding exhaled on a hard rush as Max leaned forward. “She and her partners run a wedding business, and they had a huge event tonight at the Windhaven. Best we can tell, she stepped outside for a bit of fresh air and was snatched there.”
“By Lange?”
Max nodded. “He wasn’t visible in the video feeds, but it’s his henchman.”
“I’ve seen the footage and identified him as a known associate,” Reed said. “Alex Ebner, also released this afternoon.”
“You check the traffic cams?”
“We’ve got them for the first few lights outside the hotel. Then the uniforms on scene lose the trail.”
The grim expression that covered Ryan’s face broke, revealing a hard, gritty smile. “Then you came to the right place.”
Max fought the hope that leaped beneath his ribs—the first since that horrible moment of watching Violet snatched off the video feed—and kept his focus steady on Ryan. “Why’s that?”
“Because I’m not going to lose the trail.”
Chapter 4 (#ulink_d5e47ea4-e786-58e1-89d8-c146e3737025)
Violet wiggled her fingers, the novelty of being able to do so not having yet worn off. She’d lost all sense of time—and the heavy curtains at the window further prevented any sense of the hour—but the slow, steady progression of life into her limbs had remained her sole focus.
Her legs were still weak. She’d tried swinging them off the bed and barely made it to the edge, so a peek out the curtains would have to wait. In the meantime, she’d stared at the walls, reflecting on what she knew—or thought she knew—about the men holding her captive.
Reed had been shocked to discover his stepfather, Tripp Lange, was the man behind the heinous crimes that had been committed thus far in the name of greed and avarice. Since their showdown two—no, three?—days ago, the detective had spent every free hour attempting to track down the depth of his stepfather’s secret empire.
He’d been woefully underprepared for the small pieces he had uncovered, including Lange’s reputation as The Duke, whispered in Dallas’s underworld. The man was purported to be a brutal adversary, and the few who had dealings with him were focused only on satisfying whatever bargain they’d struck with the devil.
What had concerned Reed most was Lange’s possible connections within the Dallas PD. During their tussle, Tripp had admitted he’d had Reed assigned to the break-in at Elegance and Lace. And he’d obviously managed to spring himself free of jail in no time.
What other maneuvers had he orchestrated?
The heavy tread of feet outside the door pulled her from her thoughts as the thick wood door swung open. As if she’d conjured him, Tripp Lange walked through, followed by what she could only assume was his bodyguard and man-of-all-business.
The man who’d stared her down earlier.
“Hello, Miss Richardson.”
“Mr. Lange.” She nodded before struggling to a sitting position. The struggle chafed, but not nearly as much as lying prone beneath their twin stares.
She took in the two men, quickly cataloging the odd pair. Tripp’s man was all muscle. He was roughly the same size as Max’s six-foot-one but not quite as broad. And where Max had a sense of solidness to his form that was in his genes, Lange’s man clearly worked at his. The corded muscles in his neck suggested a fair amount of gym time, as did his almost ridiculously stiff posture.
Lange, on the other hand... Violet fought the shudder and again forced herself to look objectively, much as she did when attempting to reason with an angry bridesmaid over a chosen dress. There were things that could be learned if you looked and listened.
The man was small and trim, his harsh demeanor more evident in his features and the stoic set of his body. A hard jawline that held about as much sympathy as a python for its victim and a pair of pale green eyes to finish off the reptilian look.
What had Reed’s mother seen in the man?
By all accounts, they had a happy marriage. One in which Diana Graystone Lange been loved and doted on, happy in the illusion he’d woven around her.
Yet another illusion of love, shattered to bits.
“Ah, excellent. The paralytic is wearing off.” Lange turned to the man next to him. “Just as you suggested, Alex. About six to eight hours of potency.”
Violet noted the name while mentally adding the time and guessed it was nearing seven or eight o’clock in the morning. The wedding had been winding down when she went out for a breath at nearly midnight.
Which meant she’d been missing all night.
Unwilling to show any weakness, she tamped down on the fear that she’d been gone too long for anyone to find a trail and focused on whatever she could possibly learn now.
“Way to stack the deck in your favor.” She pushed every bit of Dallas socialite into her tone and prayed she didn’t get a smack for her efforts.
What she received instead was far more alarming than she ever could have imagined. Tripp leaned forward, those snake eyes telegraphing menace and a cocky sort of assurance. “I always stack the deck in my favor, Miss Richardson. Gambling is for the weak-minded. Those who understand that remain in control.”
A horrible sickness curled in her belly—a physical reminder that she wasn’t in control—yet she pressed on. “Clearly the strategy is working for you. You’re in hiding, kidnapping innocent women, while your wife refuses to see you. Good plan.”
Tripp moved even closer, so close she could see the pores of his face and the black lines that rimmed his eerie irises. “The bravado is amusing, but taunting me won’t help. Nor will jabs about my wife. I will have the rubies. I will have my wife. And then I’ll be rid of you and your friends. Is that understood?”
She said nothing, even as she refused to break eye contact. As Tripp lifted his head from hers, he tossed his final salvo. “You can at least take heart that I don’t play with my prey.”
Alex dropped a wrapped bagel and a bottle of water on the end table before turning to follow his boss. It was only at the last minute, as the man turned from the door, that something dark and violent struck through the roiling fear already swimming in her stomach.
Lange might not want to play with his prey, but Alex looked like he lived for it.
* * *
Max shoveled in his third biscuit as he paced Masterson’s small home office. The man’s wife had been sweet and understanding, dropping off a bakery box of goodies around six. It was now two hours later, and the butter-laden foods had done nothing to assuage the increasing concern they wouldn’t find Violet in time.
“Let’s track it back, Ryan.” Reed flipped through a small notepad he’d pulled from his pocket earlier. “Can we trace Lange’s movements from when he was released? We’ve got him and his partner, Alex, for about three miles, but the trail goes cold after they get out of downtown.”
“We found them the other night in Fair Park at the warehouse Tripp owns.” Max stepped forward to point at one of the large computer monitors that currently showcased the view from eight different Dallas traffic cameras. “Did they go back?”
“The warehouse is blocked off, and there’s round-the-clock protection on it.” A dark look passed over Reed’s face, his mouth turned down in a hard frown. “Of course, there are supposed to be guards on it. Let me make a quick call and confirm that order didn’t get lost as neatly as Lange’s paperwork.”
Ryan stopped him. “Let me. I can pull the records from here. It’s a standard query.”
Within moments, Ryan let out a sigh. “Nope. Two officers have been there since the arrests last Thursday. No break in protocol and CSI is expected to sweep it fully on Monday.”
At the image of forensic detectives working through the warehouse for any clues, Max had a different thought. “What if we’re going about this wrong?”
“How so?” Ryan reached for his coffee, his ability to pass over the bakery box an impressive feat.
“Lange’s got to have dummy corporations layered under dummy corporations. What work’s been done to find the companies he owns?”
Reed flipped through his notebook once more. “We’ve been working on that. My partner, Jessie, spent all day yesterday combing real estate files. She couldn’t find a thing about the Fair Park property.”
“Which means the records have been wiped.” Ryan reached for a donut at that point, his excitement palpable. “Which is something I can do a heck of a lot with.”
Max gestured Reed toward the door. “Let’s give him a minute to work. I want to check in with Tucker, and I’m sure you want to call Lilah.”
Tucker had holed up with Lilah, Cassidy and his boxer, Bailey, at Lilah’s town house, and they owed them all a check-in. Reed followed him into the hall, and at the sound of cartoons echoing from the living room, they moved as far as they could in the opposite direction, their voices low.
“Wherever they are, sooner or later they’re coming back for the other two rubies. Violet’s alive until then.” Max balled his fists. She had to be.
Of course, if he knew Violet, there was no way she was giving up the location of her ruby. Nor would she even hint she didn’t know the location of its twin, hidden by Cassidy in a separate bank. Violet was a pro at assessing every situation and would no doubt battle Lange to the bitter end of whatever game the man was playing. As strategy went, he admired the hell out of her. But as someone who cared for her, one thought trumped all others in his mind.
What might happen to her in the meantime?
“Max?” Reed’s shoulders stiffened with awareness. “We can get to where Cassidy hid her ruby. What about Violet?”
Max pushed through the pain, forcing a calm he didn’t feel. “She’s been silent on which bank she used. No one’s gotten it out of her, and believe me, I’ve tried.”
“Do you think she told Lilah or Cassidy?”
“Tucker already told me Cassidy doesn’t know.”
“Damn it.” Reed paced a few steps down the quiet hallway before turning back. “She wanted to protect them. Which means she’s also going to try to bluff her way through the negotiation with my stepfather.”
The trio of biscuits in his stomach balled like lead at the image of Violet attempting to negotiate with Tripp Lange. “Would we expect anything less?”
A shout from the office had them both running, and Max stopped at the set of screens, a real estate document blown up on one of the monitors. “Here it is,” Ryan said. “It’s under Alex’s name, not Tripp’s. But if you trace the financial backing, you can find Lange all over it.”
“Where are they?”
“About an hour outside the city. Twenty miles due east of Waxahachie. The property’s about two hundred acres.”
Max punched the details into his phone, his mind already whirling with next steps. “Thanks, Ryan. I owe you for this.”
Reed followed him into the hall, his long strides barely keeping pace as Max barreled toward the driveway. “Slow down, Baldwin.”
Max spun at the words, his mind already picturing the op, a list of supplies he needed keeping pace with his tactical plans.
“You can’t go after her alone.”
“Like hell I can’t.”
Reed moved into his space. “This is police business.”
“And you can see how well the police have done so far.”
Max regretted the words the moment they were out, but he didn’t have time to argue with Reed. Tripp Lange had proven himself far outside the law, and the time and red tape to drag him back through it could cost Violet her life.
He’d be damned if he waited.
“I need to get to her.”
“I get it, but you can’t go in there blind. Tucker and I will go with you.”
“Nope.” Additional memories assaulted him—each and every op he’d run while in the military like a film loop in his mind. Even the missions that still tormented him with bitter regret had prepared him for what was to come. “It’s what I do.”
“You’re not going alone.”
“Like Violet Richardson would ever let me live it down if I dragged her friends’ fiancés into battle.”
* * *
Violet stretched her legs once more, the lingering pain in her limbs stinging like needles. She ignored the discomfort—she had mobility again—and kept up the steady pacing through the room. She’d already checked every corner, mentally cataloging what she’d found.
A toddler could have been left alone in the damn room for all the danger it posed.
Even the en suite bathroom was free of anything useful unless she could figure out a MacGyver-like weapon made solely from toilet paper.
Despite several days locked up in jail, Tripp Lange and his flunky had prepared well. She already suspected this room had been specially designed for the purpose of holding someone, and her deliberate search had only proven her correct.
Absolutely no piece of furniture, lamp cord or even bedding had been overlooked. And unless she was planning on making a noose for her captors out of a thick, well-stitched quilt, she was out of options.
The bigger question, to her mind, was what they expected. The rubies, yes, but Lange had to know she’d placed hers in a safe-deposit box. No bank was open on Sunday, yet he’d still gambled and taken her anyway.
Which then brought her back to a question: Where were they?
The hours she’d spent knocked out, courtesy of God knew what drug, had ensured she could be down the block from the hotel or clear in another country by now. Her bet was on something local because he’d want convenient access to the ruby, but still...
A sly, oily panic filled her stomach as a new thought struck.
Was she simply the first taken?
Lange had Lilah’s ruby, but that wouldn’t mean anything if he felt he could use her friend as a means to his goal. And Cassidy’s was hidden, with the same security as the one she’d stowed a week ago. But that didn’t mean her friends—the sisters of her heart—weren’t vulnerable.
On a hard breath, she fought to keep herself calm. The scenarios she’d already raced through had her pulse rabbiting in response, and she needed to stay in control.
Always in control.
Calming herself, she ticked off the proof points in her mind. Lilah and Cassidy were under watch. They were protected. Tucker and Reed had practically glued themselves to her friends, and she was more grateful than she could ever say for that fact.
Of course, if she were being fair, Max had attempted the same with her, and she’d given him the coldest of shoulders. Which she now knew was not only petty but also the height of stupidity.
Tears Violet hadn’t even realized she held back balled in her throat, spilling over in a hot wave down her cheeks. Had she really been so stupid?
Here she was, the professional epitome of responsibility and thoughtfulness. She put together elaborate events—for a living—yet she’d managed to disregard her own life in a wash of pride and arrogance.
So why had she pushed Max Baldwin away?
Strong, stubborn, capable Max.
As the man’s solid form took shape in her mind, she scrubbed at her cheeks, brushing away the tears. She’d done this—put herself in a place of extreme vulnerability. Over the past two weeks she’d understood the threat but made no effort to understand its roots.
And she’d naively assumed justice would run its course when the man at the heart of the crimes had been captured.
The door swung open on a hard slam, Tripp Lange in its frame like a physical reinforcement to her thoughts. Alex hovered behind him, an obvious deterrent to any attempt at running.
“It’s time we discussed the location of your ruby.”
Alex closed the door and flipped the lock at his back. As he turned toward her, a paring knife glinted in his hand along with a small sap, no bigger than a sock, in the other.
Violet backed away, the violence inherent in those two items telegraphing itself across the stifling expanse of room.
“Miss Richardson.”
Violet said nothing, even as she fought the unsteady pounding of her heart in her throat. These men didn’t make idle threats. She and her partners had already seen their handiwork firsthand, initially in the form of Cassidy’s ex-brother-in-law, Charlie, dumped at their back entrance. Then, just days ago, Lilah’s ex-husband, Steven, had outlived his usefulness to Lange. The man had crawled, bloody and broken, to their shop, dying in Lilah’s lap.
“I trust you’ve rested?” Lange never moved from his position inside the door, but she flinched all the same at his words.
“What do you think?”
“I think you’ve been deluding yourself.”
“How so?” She fought to keep a quaver from her voice, but the thickness of her vocal cords had the question coming out on a hard croak.
“You have quite the reputation, Miss Richardson. Good family. Impeccable breeding. And a business that’s become quite the envy of society.”
“I’ve worked hard. As have my partners.”
“Yes, yes.” He nodded, his mouth drawn up in a small frown. “And yet, look where it’s gotten you.”
“Kidnapped?”
“Misguided, more like.”
The fear hadn’t abated, but even Violet couldn’t hide her confusion. “I’m sorry?”
“You’ve somehow assumed you’re above reproach. Invincible. It’s a difficult lesson to learn until one is taken down a peg or two.” Lange nodded, his face holding the serious expression of a professor leading his class or a respected judge handing down a sentence.
“Was that the purpose of kidnapping me?”
Lange did laugh at that, a small, cold welling of sound that lacked any evidence of humor or warmth. “Goodness no, Miss Richardson. The purpose of kidnapping you was to get the jewels. The advice, however, is offered freely.”
“And what advice is that?”
“Never stand in the way of a determined man. It will never end well.”
The retort formed but the words lodged in her throat as Lange gestured Alex forward with a quick flick of his fingers. The small bag of who knew what slammed into her stomach with the force of a battering ram, and Violet doubled over, her breath rushing out as pain radiated through her midsection. Before she could catch her breath or even stand, Alex had the sap in motion once more, swinging it down over her hunched shoulders with swift efficiency.
She screamed, the sound barely echoing off the thick furnishings in the room as pain—sharp and dark—rolled through the upper part of her shoulder and down her rib cage.
Tears welled, choking off her air as she fell to her knees. Trembling, she lay on the ground, only to be dragged forward with a hard snap on her wrist. Another layer of pain met the first, and it was only when she lifted her head and registered the thin blade of Alex’s paring knife slicing her forearm that she nearly gave in to the black that swam behind her eyes.
Through sheer force of will, she dragged her bleeding arm away while swinging out with her free fist, slamming hard into the only area she could find purchase—Alex’s shin. The move was enough to push the man off balance, even as another layer of agonizing pain ran the width of her bruised shoulder.
Alex righted his footing and leaped toward her once more, but Lange held out a hand, stopping the man’s progress. “Enough.”
“Hardly.” The menace layered in that single word was sharper than his blade, and Violet refused to stay on her knees. Rising to her full height, she shot Lange a dark look. “I thought you didn’t play with your prey.”
“Persuasion isn’t play.” Those reptilian eyes stayed flat, even as they skipped around the room. “And since you’ve had quite a bit of alone time in here, I’m sure you’ve been planning and plotting. So Alex’s demonstration was a firm reminder to stop.”
Words were on the tip of her tongue—something, anything—to give herself the upper hand she was so used to holding, but she held them in.
“Excellent. Since we understand each other, I will be back in the morning with a fresh set of clothing. Then we’ll go to whatever bank you’ve secured your ruby in, and we will retrieve it.”
Whether it was her lack of retort or a simple need to punctuate his point, she didn’t know, but the hand that swung out and connected with her cheek was swift and immediate.
And had Violet dropping once more to her knees.
“Are we clear, Miss Richardson?”
Although it pained her to utter even that small acquiescence, Violet knew some battles weren’t won via a direct attack. “Yes.”
* * *
The long cut on her forearm still bled, and Violet had finally given in and ripped off the sleeve of her suit jacket, using the thin silk lining as a bandage. Wads of toilet paper made an appropriate layer of protection over the wound, and she avoided thinking about the sting as she continued to settle and resettle herself on the bed.
She knew Lange was ruthless, and she now had several large bruises as an indication of just how far he would go.
And how soulless he really was.
It had been only after long hours of painful pacing that she realized the injuries might work in her favor. She’d run that idea through several lenses, wondering how she might make the appropriate plea with bank personnel.
Or convince them she needed help without putting any additional people in danger.
A casual shrug of her sleeve before revealing the wound Alex had inflicted? A rush of the counter, begging the employees to call the police? There were many ways to create a diversion, but when she imagined the bank lobby of the branch she’d used, she continued to discard each and every one.
Although the bank maintained a shielded teller line, the outer offices were all unprotected. Add on any civilians in the bank and she was putting a lot of people in danger for a gem she had no interest in keeping. Even if the thought of giving Reed’s stepfather what he wanted violated every ounce of decency and goodness she possessed.
Tripp Lange had killed for stones. Repeatedly. They were nothing more than rocks, mined from the earth and given some ridiculous layer of significance by small-minded individuals.
Lilah had discovered the legend of the Renaissance Stones as she came to understand the gems better, and Violet had filled in the gaps with some quick online research.
The stones were originally one stone, mined by the Dutch East India Company in the late seventeenth century and reputed for both its size and exquisite, flawless beauty. It was subsequently cut into the current trio, three rubies of near-perfect quality, all designed to rest in the crown of a king or queen. After its discovery, the stone was brought to a jeweler in Antwerp for cutting. The man was then murdered barely a week after the stones left his possession.
She’d read the history from there, the quiet battle between the Dutch and the English for rightful ownership of the pieces. The wave of misery the stones left in the wake of all who came in contact with them. It hadn’t taken long for whispers of a curse to accompany the legend of the stones, and although she’d originally shrugged off the silliness of that line of thinking, a glance down at her arm had Violet reconsidering.
They’d had nothing but trouble since the stones were recovered. Three men—that she knew of—had been murdered at Lange’s hand, and his other assistant was killed during the showdown with Reed.
While she was more likely to believe human greed and avarice were at the heart of the stones’ mythic power, she couldn’t fully disregard the depth of what had already happened.
Or the fact that Tripp’s behavior had escalated as he continued to get closer and closer to the jewels.
Pain was a steady accompaniment as she struggled to a sitting position once more. The man already had one stone. He likely had it on him, somewhere in the house. If she could convince him to bring it along to the bank, she could use that to her benefit.
The idea tumbled around in her thoughts and she twisted it, turning each facet as she tried to determine what to do. The stones were large for jewels but relatively small as individual items. Lilah had hidden hers inside her shoe, so the relative size was modest.
Everything she’d understood so far about Lange indicated he was enamored of the pieces, so much so that he’d be likely not to leave the stone behind. Would he carry it in his pocket? Or inside his suit jacket?
With the first real glimmer of hope since she’d awoken in the dim room, Violet realized she could use that knowledge. He had to get her out in the open if he wanted her stone. And when he did, she’d observe his movements and get a read on any area of his body that he focused on with surreptitious pats or subtle favoring.
And then she’d strike.
All she needed was enough motion to get the gem off his person, and she could put it through the window of the bank’s teller line. The bulletproof glass had small openings across the line so people could slide their transactions to the teller.
She needed to be sure of her motions and she had to move quickly but she could use that small window. And once she got that stone behind glass, she had a bargaining chip. The others in the bank would be safe because he wasn’t leaving the stone behind, and she would refuse to get the second stone if he hurt anyone.
Violet resettled herself against the pillows, the pain fading slightly in the rush of adrenaline and satisfaction. The idea wasn’t perfect, and she’d have to deal with the Alex factor as well, but it had merit. And for the first time since she’d woken up, her limbs unmoving, she felt some small sense of control.
She closed her eyes, regulating her breathing as she visualized the layout of the bank. The area where she could make her move. The best spot to overpower Lange. The holes built into the teller line where she could push through the pilfered ruby.
Her small smile of satisfaction was short-lived as a large boom with all the force of a jet engine echoed around her. The bed began to shake and she scrambled to sit up, shocked as the opposite wall vanished before her eyes, crumbling to dust.
Chapter 5 (#ulink_1d9dcc07-afdd-5c6e-960f-99a837fe8b18)
Max ripped off the night-vision goggles as soft light filtered through the space in front of him. The heat signature his equipment had observed through the wall was spot-on, and his heart nearly burst as he caught sight of Violet.
Mentally tallying the time, he waved her forward, the lingering dust clogging the air between them.
“Max!”
The dust was the only reason he could name when his breath caught in his throat, the heavy beat of his heart thudding in his chest.
She was alive.
He’d spent the entire drive convincing himself she was still alive, but it was only at the moment he’d secured the heat signature on his equipment that he finally believed.
Dragging her against his chest, he took one moment to satisfy himself that she was whole before he nodded toward the still-smoldering rubble. “We need to go.”
“But the ruby.”
“Now!” He glanced down, momentarily puzzled. “Where are your shoes?”
“I haven’t had them since I got here. Apparently high heels are weapons.”
He nodded, the countdown clock of how quickly Lange would come running still ticking in his head. “The ones you wear certainly are.”
The heavy shouts and pounding of feet outside the door registered through the still-settling dust, and he reached for her waist, pulling her up into his arms. Her scream of protest was a surprise, but he ignored it as he maneuvered through the rubble in his thick boots. “I’ll set you down outside.”
Max moved over the detritus in the room—pieces of bricks, sheetrock and the broken ceramic of a large lamp—before the warm Texas summer night wrapped around them. He set Violet on her feet and grabbed her hand. “Let’s go.”
Her long legs kept pace with him as they wove over the vast stretch of property that bordered the house. He’d spent the early evening doing full recon of the property and knew this was the most dangerous part of the rescue. The piece of land Lange owned was several acres of wide-open field, rimmed by a thick copse of trees at the property’s western perimeter. The trees might provide a measure of safety, but until they reached them, he and Violet were easy targets.
Lange’s age worked against him when it came to speed and an ability to keep up, but Max knew they wouldn’t be so lucky with Lange’s assistant, Alex. Reed had already given Max details on the assistant. He wasn’t a U.S. citizen, and digging into international records took time, but what they’d gleaned so far was that he was ex-military.
From his own dealings, Max took the knowledge a step further.
The man was young enough and determined enough to be a massive threat, and the only thing working in their favor right now was the dark.
“He’s behind us!” Violet screamed but kept pace beside him, despite her lack of shoes over the hard, dry ground.
A loud shot went wide, whizzing past Max. Although the shot was a bad one, its trajectory gave Max all the intel he needed.
He was the target.
Alex obviously wanted to take him down to gain quicker access to Violet.
“Car’s stowed just down the road at the edge of the field. It’s my grandfather’s car instead of my truck because it was easier to hide. I’ve cut a hole in the fence for you to wiggle through. Keep on going. It’s unlocked and the keys are under the driver’s seat.”
“What!”
Her words evaporated behind him like smoke as Max flipped his night-vision goggles over his eyes, then stopped and dropped to his knee, gun in his hand. Without hesitation, he found the moving target in his sights and fired. Dirt spewed up at the man’s feet, a missed body shot but enough to piss him off. The man slowed briefly to lift his gun, and that gave Max the opportunity he needed.
Hands steady, he lined up his own shot and aimed for the knee. And heard a surprisingly satisfying howl of pain as he hit his target.
The gun was still hot from its recent firing. Max could see where it was flung to the ground, its heat signature imprinted on his goggles. He debated taking one more shot at the doubled-over figure but knew Violet’s safety was more important than vengeance.
There’d be time for that later.
Regaining his feet, he followed the imprint of Violet’s body, now about a hundred yards away, closing in on the fence that rimmed the property. Max kept his gaze on her bobbing figure and dropped his goggles so she was visible in the moonlight.
She was safe.
That thought kept him company as he raced over the remaining ground. He reached her as she was climbing through the fence, and he couldn’t help his quick appreciation for the delectable backside that winked up at him like a beautiful upside-down heart.
“Stop looking at my ass.”
Max crawled through, then grinned at her as he cleared the fence. “Ah. There’s my girl.”
“I’m not—” Her words vanished into the Texas countryside as the unmistakable squeal of tires lit up the night air. Burning rubber assailed his nose as a black SUV came barreling toward them.
* * *
“Violet!”
Max had her in hand, dragging her back under the fence and toward a small copse of trees she’d seen at the far end of the property. The sheer menace of the SUV bore down on the car Max had parked down the way. The horrific shriek of metal on metal lit up the air around them, followed by a wash of sparks where the two vehicles struck each other.
Violet found herself briefly mesmerized by the display before the driver shifted, backed up and headed determinedly toward them on the other side of the barbed-wire fence.
Was this it?
Had she really been rescued by Max only to die like this? On the side of the road in the middle of who knew where?
“Come on!” Max’s large hand was firm around hers as he dragged her farther into the trees.
As escape routes went, it wasn’t ideal, but the trees were enough of a deterrent that the driver would either lose them or have to get out on foot. Max maintained a determined pace, his steps sure and steady as he navigated through the increasingly wooded area.
The SUV crashed through the fence, and the gunning of the engine bore down on them with all the menace of a hellhound. Again, Violet couldn’t quite shake the idea that she’d made it this far only to risk death at the hands of a maniac bent on destruction.
The vision of both of them lying flattened in the Texas countryside vanished as she stepped on something sharp, an involuntary cry escaping her lips before she hopped toward Max on one foot.
“What is it?”
“My foot.”
Max barely broke his stride. He simply reached for her, slinging her over his shoulder. She wanted to protest but knew the move was meant to protect instead of conquer, so she kept quiet as he headed farther into the trees. Her stomach still stung from Alex’s earlier beating, but she held back the cry of pain as her body bounced on Max’s broad shoulder.

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