by Addison Fox
“It’s beyond the job. He’s family. He’s my mother’s husband.”
“And for almost two decades, he’s been a role model, too. I get it.” Tucker’s dry, sober tone didn’t go a long way toward assuaging the anger that still roiled inside, but even Reed had to acknowledge the man understood.
“Damn it!” Reed slammed the mug down, the milky coffee sloshing over the rim. “What if something happened to them? What if he didn’t get to her in time?”
“I trust Max Baldwin with my life. He’s one of the best damn men I’ve ever met, and he knows how to take care of himself. He hasn’t called for a reason. When he can, he will.”
“Don’t underestimate my stepfather.”
Tucker’s retort was whip quick, tossing Reed’s words straight back at him. “Don’t underestimate Max.”
On a nod, tension Reed hadn’t even realized he held slipped from his shoulders. “I won’t.”
Tucker sighed. “But you should probably prepare yourself for a drive. If he hasn’t called, it’s likely because his plan went off the rails in some way. At some point, he’s going to need a ride.”
“Why don’t we head that way now? He’s only an hour south of town. He can’t have gotten too far from my stepfather’s house, and then we’ll be near when he calls.” The sense of taking ownership of the problem went a long way toward altering his mood.
“I’ll go get Cassidy and Lilah.”
Reed stilled. “They can’t come.”
Tucker shot him a dark look over the rim of his coffee mug. “You don’t actually think either of them will stay here.”
“I—” Reed shook his head. “I guess we’ll take Lilah’s delivery truck. There’s plenty of room in there.”
* * *
Violet knew they hadn’t been on the train long, but the steady clacking that had initially meant safety was quickly becoming a monotonous bore.
She didn’t even have a seminaked man to ogle, she thought morosely. Max had dug a fresh T-shirt out of his bag a short while earlier and slipped it over his impressive physique.
Even as images of that broad chest still lingered, a fresh question surfaced in her mind. “Why didn’t you carry your phone when you came to get me?”
“I didn’t want to give Lange any possible access to my grandfather or Lilah or Cassidy. I did a pretty solid wipe on it before I left the car, but still—” His lip curled. “Clearly that plan worked out.”
“It’s—” She swallowed hard at the implications of his forethought. “You put yourself in an awful lot of danger, being without it. What if you needed backup?”
“I didn’t.”
“Yes, but what if you did?”
Max glanced up from rummaging in his backpack. “But I didn’t. Besides, it’s just a phone. It can’t shoot bad guys, and taking it along was more of a liability. Of course, now that the car’s a pancake on the side of the road, Lange’s got access to it anyway.”
“Only if it’s not crushed or if he thinks to look for it.”
“Even if he doesn’t think to, Alex will.”
The mention of Lange’s sidekick sent a wave of loathing over her skin, followed by very real, sharp pinpricks of fear.
“He depends on Alex.”
“Probably more than he would ever admit.”
“When we get home, we should have Reed do a deeper check on the man. He seems to be content to play in the background—” A hard shudder hit her when she thought of how he stepped forward from behind Lange, his expression nearly gleeful, before he beat her.
“We’ll let Reed know all we know.”
“What if they get away?” The question snaked out before she even fully realized it had lingered in her mind like a poison. Slow-acting yet terribly deadly.
Max wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “They won’t.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Of course it is.” He shifted beside her so they were looking at each other. “Tripp Lange, his man Alex and whomever else he’s still got in his employ will pay.”
“You’re not a cop. And Reed’s proven pretty conclusively that there’s a bunch of dirty brass at the heart of this. How can you know we’ll be successful?”
“There are also a lot of good men. Men like Reed. Men like his colleague, Ryan Masterson, who helped us find you. Don’t let a small cancer of corrupt individuals convince you everyone on the force is bad.”
Violet wasn’t sure how, especially with the thick, ambient noise from the empty train car, but somewhere underneath Max’s words she heard it. That lingering voice of experience that suggested he knew what he was talking about.
“You seem pretty sure.”
“If you paint everyone with the same brush, you’re going to get the same results. That’s why corruption works. People think they don’t have a voice and remaining silent is a better alternative. They believe if they open their mouths, it won’t matter because they can’t effect change or positive results.”
“When did you speak up?”
His arm tightened briefly before he dropped it from her shoulders. “I didn’t.”
“But—”
“I didn’t, Violet. Drop it.”
Silence descended between them, about as comfortable as a wool blanket in August. Violet knew she should choose to stay quiet and leave him to his thoughts, but something inside her welled up in a hard rush of curiosity.
Why hadn’t he spoken up?
And what did he even have to speak up about?
And where did he think he got off dispensing wisdom like some all-seeing guru?
“You’re awfully quick to pass out advice.”
As potshots went, it was fairly lame, but she knew Max was as tense as she was. And the fiery retort she was secretly hoping for didn’t take long to come.
“What part of drop it didn’t you understand?”
“Oh, I understand plenty. You march around, all stoic and wise, and expect the rest of us to fall in line.”
“I don—”
“You spout pithy remarks about not judging the entire Dallas PD through the eyes of a few, yet refuse to even acknowledge your own experiences.”
“It was a long time ago, Violet. Leave it alone. It had nothing to do with the Dallas PD.”
“Then what did it have to do with, Max? Because whatever it is, it rides around on your back like a silent partner, dragging you down.”
That stoic demeanor she accused him of took over, and as he stood before her, silent and frustrated and mad at the world, she recognized him.
Knew him.
And knew—with bone-deep certainty—what lived and breathed beneath his skin in a roiling sort of anger that couldn’t be assuaged.
* * *
Violet’s dark green eyes had flashed from bright and curious to stormy and irritated without even a blink. How had they gotten here?
He didn’t discuss his past. With anyone. Of course, now he had a she-cat on his hands and nowhere to run.
So it was a good thing he wasn’t a man who ran easily.
“You sure don’t like it when you’re not in the know.”
“I—” She stopped, closed her mouth, then seemed to think better of it. “Information is my business. And understanding what makes people tick is also part of my business.”
“I’m not in your business.”
She gave a light snort before staring him down. “All evidence to the contrary.”
“I might be up in your business but I’m not in your business.” He pressed his luck and leaned a bit closer, just to that delicious spot where her cheek angled into her ear. “Don’t tell me you don’t know the difference.”
Although the light inside the train was dim, he didn’t miss the flutter of pulse at
her throat or the steady heat that rose off her body beside him. Need and frustration filled the small space between them, lapping up that heat and pushing it back on both of them tenfold in their close quarters.
Violet didn’t move, but he could sense the thick beat of her pulse because of their proximity. “Why’d you come for me?”
She’d asked the same question before and he’d managed to deflect it, but in that moment, he sensed how important it was to her. Lifting his head, he stared down at her, the air fraught with everything neither of them had said for the past year. “Why are you so surprised I came for you?”
While she’d doggedly pursued her line of questions, he was fascinated to watch her close down at his. Utterly and completely. “Why, Violet?”
Her green gaze that flashed from battle to desire and right back again revealed something he’d never seen before.
Pain.
“People don’t come after strangers to rescue them.”
“You’re not a stranger.”
“I might as well be. You barely know me. Two weeks ago we were basically just acquaintances who saw each other every month at the local Design District business meetings.”
“And two weeks later we do know each other.”
The urge to touch her—to punctuate his point—was a fierce need inside him, but he held back. Stilled, really, afraid she’d fly away if he made the slightest move toward physical intimacy.
“We’re strangers to each other.”
“Whatever you may be to me, you’re no stranger, Violet.”
“We barely know each other.”
“You keep saying that.”
“But we don’t.”
While he would never admit to firing with a full set of brain cells so close to a beautiful woman, Max knew there were far too many things left unsaid between them. His own urge to know her and what drove her nearly had him pressing her for more information, but even he wasn’t that big of a hypocrite. He had his own secrets and was still reeling from the sheer relief of keeping them to himself.
So he went with instinct.
And the one thing neither of them could run from.
He leaned forward then, pressing his lips over her soft flesh. Her pulse thrummed beneath his lips, and he took a moment to press his tongue to that sensitive spot, gratified when the tempo sped even faster in response.
“Don’t confuse time together with knowing.” He flicked his tongue once more against that sensitive spot.
“Max.” His name drifted past his ear on a lazy sigh, in distinct counterpoint to the hard clench of her fingers on his shoulders.
“You know me, Violet.”
“Yes.” Once more, her breath fanned out in another featherlight sigh. “Yes.”
* * *
Violet’s pulse notched up on a hard kick as Max’s lips pressed to hers. She was still frustrated he’d avoided her attempts to understand what drove him, but she couldn’t argue with how he wanted to pass the time.
And to think she’d considered herself bored.
The wonder of that thought faded at the gentle pressure against her mouth. The tip of his tongue probed the seam of her lips, the gesture sweet and at odds with the power that stretched his body into tight planes of muscle, bone and sinew.
Here was a man in his prime. His body was the result of years of hard work and effort—work he still maintained even after leaving active duty—yet his movements were tender. Soft. And deeply respectful.
The hands he’d settled at her waist grew restless as the kiss heated. Her nerve endings lit up as his fingers found the folds of her blouse, then drifted beneath the material to rub the soft skin of her stomach.
Had she ever felt anything like this before? Or wanted anyone more?
Attraction that she’d diligently attempted to avoid wouldn’t be sated as each moment with Max grew more and more precious.
More necessary.
The hard peal of the train horn interrupted the quiet moment that cocooned them, and Max lifted his head.
“What is it?”
“That might be our stop.” Max crossed to the heavy sliding door, his grip firm on the handholds before he shifted it open. Even though he had his T-shirt on, Violet couldn’t miss the play of muscles across his back as he moved the heavy door.
And in that moment, she wondered why she’d spent so many months resisting him.
Even before the break-in and the gems and the threat that was Tripp Lange, she’d been attracted to Max Baldwin. From their monthly Design District business meetings to the occasional run-in around town, she’d been interested.
More than interested, truthfully.
It wasn’t just his strength, though she could admit with honesty that she liked his body. Liked the way he looked. But more, she liked how that strength translated to his business and his work ethic. Dallas was a big market, and the city’s large architectural firms had a lock on most major projects.
Yet Max and Tucker had managed to carve out a strong niche for themselves, and in a rather short time as well. Max Baldwin showed, day in and day out, he was a man who believed in the value of hard work.
And that appealed.
“How much do you like dirt?”
Violet pulled herself from her musings, Max’s vivid blue gaze direct on hers. “What do you think?”
“I think we probably need to avoid the upcoming station stop and get off a bit early.”
“You want to jump off?” When he only nodded, she added, “This train?”
“We jumped on.”
“We had handholds. And you gave me a boost.”
A quick grin flashed at that statement. “And more’s the pity I won’t get another shot at that spectacular ass. But—” He broke off, his gaze serious. “We can’t risk the stop if Lange has mobilized somewhere along the line.”
“How fast are we moving?”
“We’re not going to jump at this speed.”
“And we’re not jumping while it’s still, so give me some idea of what to expect here.”
If their moments wrapped up in each other had been full of a delicious sort of madness, Violet had to admit the admiration stamped in his gaze offered a different sort of heady excitement.
He respected her. And he believed in her. Both were as powerful as his kiss and, if she were honest, far more potent threats to her heart.
“From what I can see, the train has to make a broad curve about a half mile from here. The conductor will have to slow for that curve, and that’s likely our best shot.”
“You can see that?”
“Gotta love Texas and its wide-open spaces.”
Violet snuck up behind him, secretly thrilled when he wrapped a solid arm around her waist, holding her firmly to him against the heavy bumping of the train. She ignored the sudden trip of her pulse and bent to stare out the open train door.
Max’s assessment had been spot-on. What he’d failed to mention was the banked drop-off between the tracks and the flatter ground traveled over. “That’s a steep drop to the actual ground.”
“It’s probably about ten feet. We’re going to throw everything else out and dangle over the edge before we push off. That should reduce the impact to about eight feet.”
“And you think we can do this?”
“Yes.”
On a hard nod, Violet stared down at the ground speeding past beneath them. They could do this. They had to.
Because if Tripp Lange and his henchman were at the stop ahead of them, they were never going to make it back to Dallas.
* * *
Max watched the play of emotions across Violet’s face. He didn’t want to press her, but they were losing time to make a decision, the upcoming curve of track closing in on them. “What do you s
ay?”
“I’m in.”
He pressed off the door, and retrieved his pack from beneath the hard bench seat. Her long, lithe form silhouetted in the light of the open train door and he offered up a quick prayer he wasn’t making a disastrous decision. He’d jumped from higher, but he’d also had training. And he had nearly a hundred pounds on her to help pad his fall.
Max was careful to keep a tight hold on her so she didn’t fall out instead of waiting for the proper moment to jump, his other hand tight on the handhelds that framed the door. “Get down on your butt and scoot toward the edge.”
She nodded, her eyes wide as she dropped to the hard metal floor. The gloves still covered her feet, an incongruous counterpoint to the pencil skirt and untucked blouse.
Damn, but she’d been through so much.
The anger he thought he had in check rose up to choke him, a tight fist around the heart and throat that cut off the air.
She had been through so much, yet she had gamely followed wherever he took them. The inherent trust in the gesture only tightened that fist harder, squeezing his throat into a solid knot.
He couldn’t fail her.
He cared for her—knew there was a steady, simmering attraction between them—but even he hadn’t been prepared for the wave of protectiveness that filled him when he was with her. Despite the fear, it was the streak that pressed him on. He’d calculated all the angles and estimated their best chances for escape.
It was time to take the shot.
With quick moves, he sat next to her, keeping close so he could maintain a hold on her against the hard air rushing past the train. They had to time this perfectly, and they weren’t far from the curve.
“You see that?” He pointed toward a stretch about two hundred yards away. “That’s our best bet. The falloff between the track and the ground is the least of any point.
“Scoot to the very edge of the floor and then push off as much as you can with your arms. Try to bend your knees when you land, and don’t be afraid to roll to help the impact.”
“Got it.” She nodded hard, her gaze never leaving the upcoming curve in the tracks. “Bend. Roll.”
The curve beckoned, but Max couldn’t help himself. He dragged her close and slammed his mouth to hers. He knew he had little to offer, but he had this. A solid promise to protect her.
