by Addison Fox
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.
<
br /> 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
Violet wiggled her fingers, the novelty of being able to do so not h
aving 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.
