by Addison Fox
Tripp Lange was in bed with some high-ranking members of the Dallas PD, and Reed needed to keep his focus there, even if playing the rogue cop was liable to get him kicked off the force. “I should have gone with him.”
“We all should have gone with him.”
“You and Cassidy are his bargaining chips. There’s no way I’m putting either of you within a thousand miles of him if I can help it.” He and Lilah had gone a few rounds on the subject, and he knew damn well Cassidy and Tucker had done the same. And in the end, they’d all come back to the same answer. Max would recon the area and he’d rescue Violet. If he needed help, he’d call.
Only the last time Max had called, he was about to step foot on the property and scout the area. And they’d not heard from him since.
“You could have gone, you know. You and Tucker. Cassidy and I would have been fine. We’d have been afraid for you both, but we’d have been fine.”
“We’re not leaving—” His words were cut off by a rush of air and an armful of woman. Lilah’s mouth latched onto his, desperate and urgent. The kiss was a mirror for his own turmoil and the fear that he’d lose her after only just finding her.
The moments wove around them, light as air and strong as the tides, and he reveled in the love of his mate.
His partner.
They’d found each other under the most extraordinary of circumstances, and he knew no matter what happened, he’d take that gift with him always.
Lilah pulled back, a wry smile painting her lips despite the fear that still lingered in her expressive brown eyes. “Sometimes I can’t help myself.”
“Do you see me arguing?”
“No.” She wrapped her arms around his chest and laid her cheek against his heartbeat. “But I wish there had been another way to get her back. I know why you stayed, and selfishly, I’m glad. But I want my friend back.”
Reed rubbed the narrow space between her delicate shoulder blades, large, slow circles, as the comfort to be found in another overtook them both. It was his family that was responsible for what had happened. The man might not be blood, but the guilt was rapier-sharp and as tangible as if Tripp had been his own father.
Tripp Lange had practically raised him. He’d been his mother’s husband for nearly twenty years. And they’d all been oblivious to the evil mastermind in their midst.
“I want that, too, Lilah. More than I can ever say.”
* * *
Damn it to hell.
The words played over and over in Max’s mind, a harsh reminder that he couldn’t lose focus. Couldn’t get himself caught up in the what-ifs that had nearly drowned him on the drive.
The air around them settled and Lange remained quiet, the cease-fire in the woods undoubtedly temporary. Max dug in one of his pockets for a bomb of tear gas. He didn’t want to waste the opportunity and knew the air would disperse the effects quickly if he didn’t hit Lange just right.
Dropping his goggles back into place, he watched and waited for the heat signature of Lange’s body to register, satisfied when a dim area about twenty yards away lit up.
Gotcha!
He lobbed the bomb toward his quarry before laying down a round of fire. The man fell to his knees, his hard shout quickly absorbed by the thick foliage. The form in his sights lay unmoving, but Max waited a moment. He placed a hand on Violet’s arm, holding her steady, and uttered a quiet “Shhh.” He got a subtle nod in response.
He watched Lange’s form through his goggles and saw the man get to his feet before he bent over again at the waist, the tear gas obviously doing its work. Max aimed, prepared to take one more shot, before the figure turned and ran, moving in the opposite direction.
The urge to follow was strong. No, Max amended to himself. The urge to hunt.
But Violet’s safety came first.
The barn was still a fair walk away, and they had to cross wide-open field once more before getting to safety. Although Lange had turned tail, Max had no illusion the situation was anything resembling permanent.
The man would regroup and try again.
And there was no way in hell Max was letting him get away.
“Do you see anything?” Violet’s whisper floated up to him, even as she stayed down as he’d instructed.
“He turned away. Headed back for reinforcements, no doubt.”
“Did you—” Her sharp breath hissed in the dark before she continued. “Did you kill Alex?”
“I got his knee.”
“Was that intentional?” Violet struggled to her feet, her movements stiff.
“Let’s just say it wasn’t unintentional.”
“Whatever that means,” she muttered as she rose from her bent position at the waist.
Violet had two speeds—still and crazy—so the gingerly movements were an immediate red flag. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.”
“You’re moving slow.”
“I’ve been lying on hard ground.” Her gaze was averted, her focus fully on brushing off her skirt. Since the suit was beyond ruin, the move was a clear evasion.
He didn’t know Violet Richardson as well as he’d like, but he did know the woman didn’t back down. And her voice was always full of absolute certainty.
So the hesitation he heard there was a massive clue.
“Did they hurt you?”
“Does it matter?”
Max gazed once more in the direction where Lange had lain before pulling off the goggles and turning toward Violet. He hugged her close, the sudden need to touch her overwhelming any sense of distance he usually created on an op.
She wasn’t simply an object to be saved. And he wasn’t going to keep pretending he had any objectivity.
At all.
He wrapped her tight in his arms. She stood stock still for the briefest moment before he felt her relax, her arms moving around his waist.
They needed to keep moving and put as much distance as possible between Lange and her.
But for the briefest pause, he wanted to touch her.
If he touched her, he wouldn’t go stalking off through the brush, laying down round after round of fire that would kill Tripp Lange before anyone had a chance to question him. Before they understood just how deep the corruption went and how far Lange’s influence extended.
Before Reed has his fair shot at his stepfather.
He hadn’t known Graystone long, but the detective was a good man, and he deserved a chance to look his stepfather in the eye and demand answers.
So he held on to Violet and willed himself to stay in the moment.
The gentle rise and fall of her chest against his calmed like no words could. For now, he’d focus on the fact that she was safe and whole. And once he got her settled in the barn, he would head back to the car. It might be ruined, but he could retrieve his cell phone and the items Cassidy and Lilah had packed for Violet that were in the trunk.
Max had hated leaving the phone behind—along with access to the people waiting for them back in Dallas—but he hadn’t wanted it on his person in the event things went sideways in the compound. Once he’d retrieved it, he would call the guys and give them Violet’s location.
And then he’d go hunting.
He’d never considered himself above the law, but he’d also never had a reason to take it into his own hands. That had all changed the moment he’d seen Violet slump against Lange’s man on the video feed at the hotel.
They’d laid hands on her.
And there was no way they weren’t paying for that choice.
Chapter 6
Violet peeled the gloves off her feet, surprised they’d worked so well. The scratches she’d suffered early on still hurt, but she’d sustained no further injuries since Max had given her the gloves.
> The gentle whicker of horses drifted up to her, and she took some small comfort in the soft noises. There were two equine occupants of the barn, and they’d been relatively uninterested in their new roommates when she and Max had crept inside. He’d already staked out the area, leaving a window unlocked. She nearly had a leg over the sill before he stilled her, slipping through the window, then coming back around to let her in through the barn’s rear door.
Now here she was, ensconced in the barn loft. Although deeply grateful for the rescue, she’d grown increasingly aware of the outfit she’d put on the previous morning and which had now seen its fair share of dirt, grass stains and sweat.
Scrumptious.
“Our supplies are in the car, so we’re S-O-L there, but I did sneak a box of granola bars from the office downstairs. Snagged a few waters from the office fridge, too.”
An odd sense of reality stole over Violet as she tried to process Max’s words. During the time in Lange’s clutches, she’d vacillated between sheer terror and crafty calculations. Although on opposite ends of the spectrum of emotion, each was accompanied by steep adrenaline spikes that kept her alert and on edge.
The sight of Max sitting beside her, the air around them quiet, his hand full of the same brand of granola bars she snacked on during the days she missed lunch, pierced the bubble of unreality.
Voice unnaturally sharp, she wagged a finger. “We can’t steal these.”
Max shrugged. “I left a twenty in the desk drawer. It more than pays for a few granola bars and bottles of water.”
“Still. We—”
“Eat it, Violet. There’s no sin in taking what you need at the moment you need it.”
Again, that damnable compulsion to argue rose up, but she tamped it down, instead taking a bite of the bar he’d already unwrapped for her. Seemingly satisfied, Max unscrewed the cap on one of the waters and handed it over. “Hydrate a bit. I can’t imagine you had much at Lange’s, and you need more water to help dispel whatever it was they drugged you with.”
“The side effects have faded.”
“Humor me and drink it anyway.”
Violet did as he asked and took a sip, the oh-so-familiar urge to do battle with Max simmering in her veins.
“How’d you know where to find me?”
“We knew you were kidnapped almost from the moment it happened.” Before she could ask, he added, “I was in the security office at the hotel and saw you taken on the screen. We were on it immediately. I’m just sorry it took as long as it did to get to you.”
“But you were so fast. How could you know where they’d taken me?”
“Reed summoned a few officers he trusted, and we tracked the traffic cameras. Lost you after several turns downtown, and then it was Reed’s colleague in digital forensics who did the digging to find Lange’s investments. That’s what got us the lead on the property.”
“And then you came alone to get me.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
They sat in silence. She had a million more questions, yet none seemed able to form. Instead, a series of abstract thoughts flooded her mind, as shapeless as air.
Did Kimberly and Jordan get off on time for their honeymoon?
How had she never noticed just how broad Max’s shoulders were?
Who closed out the event with the hotel?
Was it her imagination, or did the blue of his eyes hold secrets?
And underneath it all, the lone thought that had kept her company on their jaunt through the properties that rimmed Lange’s place.
He’d come for her.
“Did Kimberly and Jordan get off to their honeymoon?” As the question came out, another, more alarming thought hit her. “Do they know what happened to me?”
“Gabriella stepped in and finalized the last few details for the guests so Cassidy and Lilah could join Tucker, Reed and me in the security suite, and then Cassidy closed out the bill before we left.” Max downed the rest of his water and crushed the plastic in his hands. “The bride and groom knew nothing.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“Of course. They were my responsibility. I’d hate to think this incident ruined their wedding.”
“You’d think you’d take yourself as seriously.”
The words were low and barely audible as they faded into the straw that surrounded them in the loft, but they were as powerful as an atomic bomb. Violet set her shoulders, even as the tight movement ran a layer of pain down the back of her rib cage. “Kimberly, Jordan and their guests were my responsibility.”
“You’re your responsibility. And yet here you were, traipsing outside the hotel without a damn care in the world.” Max moved closer, his gaze ruthless on hers.
“We moved into the last hour without any issues so I did a sweep outside. I made sure several couples got into taxis because they’d been drinking, and then I just needed some air. Just a minute or two to myself.”
“You got your freaking minute, all right.” The veneer of judgment walled up between them with surprising efficiency, as unmovable as bricks mortared together. But before she could say anything, Max leaned in even closer, his eyes awash in blue flame. “And for the record, darlin’, this was more than an incident.”
“You know what I meant.”
“Do I? Because to anyone listening, all it sounds like is that you chipped your fresh new manicure.”
“I—”
Violet fought to find the right words, Max’s anger and disdain like a living, breathing, writhing thing between them. Which made his next move even more surprising than she could have imagined.
The man dragged her forward onto his lap and slammed his lips down on hers. Her skin prickled with awareness and she dug her fingers into those strong, reassuring, safe, broad shoulders, able to do nothing but hold on.
With a soft cry in the back of her throat, Violet parted her lips. Their tongues met, slightly hesitant before their verbal battle of wills morphed into something far more elemental and needy.
Desire flamed to life between them, so hot she thought her clothes might incinerate at the touch of his fingers. With a need born of endless, lonely nights and fueled by the recent reality that she might never see him again, Violet took what she’d secretly wanted for so long.
* * *
Heady satisfaction whipped through Max, a desperate urgency counterbalanced with a fierce need to both protect and pleasure. He’d never experienced anything like it in his entire life, including the wild frustration that she wasn’t taking her situation seriously enough.
Damn but the woman was infuriating.
And delicious.
And everything he never knew he wanted, wrapped up in layers of haughty disdain and shocking vulnerability.
He wasn’t one for games—had actively spent his adult life avoiding them—so it came as no small surprise the strange push-pull that had kept him dancing to her tune for the past year was as strong as ever.
The freaking Pied Piper’s song, beating like jungle drums in his blood.
The odd thoughts played a steady counterpoint to the frantic, reckless need to imprint himself on the woman in his arms. From the softness of her skin, to the warmth of her mouth, to the active play of her hands over his shoulders, chest and stomach, Violet was responsive and—in that moment—his.
His hands danced over her skin, following a journey of their own design. Across the soft skin at the V of her blouse, down over the silken material to cup one firm breast, then on to the curve of her hip.
The gentle hum of the barn surrounded them, the soft breaths of the horses. Louder noises drifted from outside, the sounds of August. The rapid, high-pitched whine of cicadas moved through the air, a subtle melody full of life and energy.
Violet was alive.
He’d scarcely allowed himself to think otherwise on the entire drive to the compound, even as the raw, aching fear he wouldn’t arrive soon enough haunted him through each and every mile.
Pushing the thoughts away, he focused on Violet—on life—and eased her down onto a blanket he’d found in a corner of the loft. She hadn’t stopped kissing him, her own movements growing more and more frantic.
Max stilled and lifted his mouth from hers. His fingers were at the buttons of her shirt, and he hesitated for the briefest moment before her hands came over his. Her smile was bewitching in the moonlight. “Please.”
He needed no further encouragement but was surprised to realize how his hands trembled as he worked the small pearl buttons. The material floated over his wrists as he pushed it aside, then pressed his lips on the soft curve of her breast. Her heart beat beneath his lips, sure and true, and Max cupped her breast before moving lower.
The hard cry that escaped her lips shocked him, and Max went still.
“Violet?”
“I’m sorry. I’m—”
An image of her slowly regaining her feet earlier came back in a rush, and Max scrambled to a sitting position. “Where does it hurt?”
“Nowhere.”
“Where?”
Her gaze narrowed but she didn’t close her blouse. “Here.” She pointed toward her stomach before tapping the back of her shoulder, then her forearm. “And here and here.”
Max ran his hands over her stomach, his touch gentle as his fingertips grazed the bruised area. Now that he was looking for the injury, his gaze clinical instead of heated, it was easy to see the purple bruising over her diaphragm in the dim light of the barn. Rage erupted in his veins, hotter than lava, but he held all notes of anger from his tone. “What did they use?”
“It’s over, Max. It’s done.”
He lifted his eyes from the bruising, his suspicions already racing toward her captors’ likely brutal methods. “What was it?”
She blew out a breath. “Alex had a small sap. I don’t know what was in it, but—” She hesitated, then reached for the edges of her blouse, drawing the material together. “It doesn’t matter what was in it. The damn thing hurt.”
