by Addison Fox
And then gripped the gun even harder and knew that wasn’t a possibility.
Max shifted a hand to her waist, pushing lightly to get her moving backward. She took the unspoken cue and sidled back the way they’d come, Alex’s final words ringing in her ears.
“I’ll just keep looking around a bit if you don’t mind.”
“Let me help you. We can start—”
The rest of the officer’s words were inaudible because of their physical distance and the slamming of her heart. Violet kept a steady pace, not even aware she was holding her breath until she and Max cleared the end of the building.
Backs pressed to the wall, he turned to face her. The sharp relief of his cheekbones framed the dull reality in his gaze.
“Lange’s got the damn town in his pocket.”
* * *
Max had never fancied himself a thief, but his time in the corps had taught him that there were times a man had to take what was needed to fulfill an op. Although he didn’t like it, he managed his guilt with an oversize scoreboard in his head and hoped he could even out those moments of necessity with contributions to several local charities as well as a ton of pro bono work with his business.
It wasn’t much, but his heart was in the right place.
Or so he consoled himself as he lifted a cell phone off a harried mother juggling two toddlers at the entrance to the Main Street pharmacy.
He’d even held the door for her.
He moved off quickly to the small service station they’d discovered at the far end of town, just where Main Street branched off into a small two-lane road that crisscrossed this part of the state.
Violet had batted her eyes at a bored teenager manning the register and secured the key to the women’s room. The two of them were holed up in there, the door locked at their backs. The lock had barely flipped when Violet rounded on him. “Where’d you get that?”
“Somewhere.”
Not one for an easy dismissal, Violet pressed her point. “Come on. You disappear for fifteen minutes and come back with a cell phone? Where’d you get it?”
“I relieved a young woman of it. I’ll see that we find a way to get it back to her after we finish using it.”
Violet stared at him for several long moments before giving him a hard nod. “Fair enough.”
In moments, Tucker’s voice was booming out of the receiver. “Where the hell are you, man?”
“A women’s bathroom.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
Although Tucker would normally have given him quite a bit more ribbing, he punched their location into GPS and promised Max they weren’t far away.
They? “Seriously, Buchanan? Who’s with you?”
“All of us. We’re in Lilah’s van.”
“Because that’s not all freaking kinds of conspicuous.”
“It’s what we’ve got. We’ll see you in twenty.”
Tucker cut the connection, and Max dropped the phone in his pocket.
“I would have liked to talk to my friends.”
“You’ll see them soon.”
The tentative truce they’d settled into earlier vanished. “I wasn’t going to keep them on for an hour. But it would be nice to hear their voices.”
“Come on, Violet. I get it. And on a really high level, I understand why you and Cassidy and Lilah want to be involved. But we don’t know who’s outside or who that kid might tip off. And making a ton of noise calming your friends down over the phone wasn’t a good idea.”
“I wasn’t going to yell and scream.”
“And I need you to give me an ounce of credit that I know what the hell I’m doing.” The thought spit out with such force that he wasn’t surprised when she moved a few steps away from him. “Doing everything in a pack isn’t safe. I don’t know why the hell Cassidy and Lilah are even with them.”
“Because staying home alone like sitting ducks is a good idea?”
Max nodded, the truth of her words slicing deep, knocking the wind from his sails. “No. No, it’s not.”
The single light over the bathroom sink cast a florescent pallor over the small space, reinforcing the danger they were both in. He’d initially been tempted to leave her there and go after Alex himself, but he had no idea how many other cops Alex’s new friend on Main Street had mobilized.
“Why’d you come for me?” Violet’s voice was quiet and bereft of any sass, totally at odds with her normal approach.
“Because you needed me.”
“But why not the police? Or why not bring Reed and Tucker with you?”
She’d asked the same question before, and he’d managed to deflect it. “Why do you keep pressing this?”
“Why do you keep giving me the runaround?”
“Why are you so surprised I came for you?”
Although neither of them was quite willing to sit on the floor of the bathroom, Violet had settled herself against the wall, the grimy tiles supporting her weight. At his question, he saw her change, her long, lithe frame seeming to shrink as she closed down. While she still stood against the wall, the structure appeared to be the only thing holding her up.
The only source of strength left available to her.
“Why, Violet?”
Her green gaze that flashed so easily from battle to desire and right back again revealed something he’d never seen before. Pain.
“I told you before. People don’t come after strangers to rescue them.”
“And I told you before, you’re not a stranger. It’s like a lifeline you’re clinging to, and it’s no longer true.”
He deliberately tossed her words right back at her, scrabbling at anything handy to make his point.
“Don’t you see? It is a lifeline. And I’m scared to death to let go.”
Fists he hadn’t even realized he’d made relaxed as he reached for her. Max placed his hands on each of her shoulders, pulling her toward him, one of his thumbs playing over the hollow of her throat. “Let go, Violet. I’ll catch you.”
He leaned forward then, pressing his lips where his thumb had just played 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.
“Max.” His name drifted past his ear on a lazy sigh, in distinct counterpoint to the hard clench of her fingers on his shoulders.
“Let go.”
“Yes.” Once more, her breath fanned out in another featherlight sigh. “Yes.”
Chapter 11
Violet felt the press of Max’s body, thick with muscle, and could do nothing but hang on. Oh, how she wanted him. The knowledge drove her—made her reckless—and even knowing that, she couldn’t find the will to stop.
Why do we keep circling around to sex?
Their conversation earlier provided an odd backdrop to her thoughts as her body took whatever comfort and solace it could. His tongue slipped inside her mouth as firm hands gripped her hips, pulling her determinedly toward him. She reveled in the moment—in the man—as her last threads of self-control snapped.
And you think we can’t resist it?
Resist? Why would she want to resist? Why would she want to walk away from something that felt so good? So life-affirming.
She ran her hands over his shoulders, the flex and bunch of muscles an enticing dance beneath her fingertips. Continuing her exploration, she ran her hands over his chest, then on down to the ridge of muscle over his stomach.
He was perfect. An absolutely perfect specimen of male strength and perfection.
I think we have been resisting it and the attraction won’t be put off.
Why resist?
Why...why...wh—
Violet br
oke off the kiss, the reality of exactly why she needed to resist rising up to swamp her. She gulped for air as if drowning, the long, endless years of her childhood digging for purchase against the haze of sexual attraction.
Of sexual madness.
Because that’s all it was. Hormones and loneliness and the lingering adrenaline caused by several days’ worth of fear.
Nothing more.
It couldn’t be something more.
“Violet?”
She shook her head, slipping from his arms to move across the small space. She caught sight of her appearance as she passed the scratched and silvered mirror, barely recognizing the woman who stared back.
She’d been through a war. Physically and emotionally.
And no matter how tough he looked, there was no way she was dragging Max Baldwin into her hell.
* * *
Cassidy, Lilah, Tucker and Reed filled Lilah’s delivery truck with steady chatter. Violet couldn’t deny her relief at their arrival a half hour before, but she’d found her energy quickly waning in the face of an endless stream of questions.
Reed drove the pink monstrosity that signified to anyone who saw it that its owner was a purveyor of cakes, pastries and sweets, and Violet vacillated between horror at how noticeable they were and delight that news of the van would no doubt reach Tripp and Alex.
She suspected the arsenal packed in the back had also gone a long way toward calming her fears.
“Since when do we carry guns with our cakes?” Violet pointed toward a row of weapons strapped securely to the floor of the van.
“You can save your smart-ass snark for someone else.” Lilah pulled her close on the bench seat that lined the back half of the van. “I’m so glad you’re safe and with us again.”
“I am, too.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Cassidy patted Violet’s knee, a lingering gesture she continued to make off and on, as if she were convinced Violet would suddenly disappear.
Violet laid a hand over Cassidy’s. “Would you be upset if I said not right now?”
Her friend’s blue eyes grew serious. “Of course not.”
“No one stopped you in town?” Max had already asked the question several times, but their friends remained patient, and Violet was grateful. Although she wasn’t crazy about kid-glove treatment as a general rule, she couldn’t deny how good it felt to see them again.
“No, no one. Although we did get several stares as we drove down Main Street toward the service station.” Lilah smiled. “No one can miss the pink.”
“No, they can’t.” Violet nodded, unable to resist the small smile at one of Lilah’s favorite sayings.
Fortunately, she and Max hadn’t had to wait long. Tucker’s assessment they were about twenty minutes away had been a good one, and she and Max had had to sit in silence for what amounted to no more than ten minutes.
Even if it had felt like ten hours.
A dull flush still washed over her neck and chest every time Violet thought about her make-out session with Max in the bathroom. Heights of ecstasy counterbalanced with the thick weight of memory and hurt and anger that never seemed too far from the surface.
So why had she given in to the memories instead of the man? One was a phantom and the other was real. Flesh and blood.
“Why not take a different car? We’d have all fit in Tucker’s SUV.”
“We wanted to be noticeable.” Reed tossed back the comment from the driver’s seat.
“But why? Max and I were hiding in a bathroom so we wouldn’t be noticeable.”
“We need my stepfather back here. In Dallas. And what’s more of an enticement than a large pink van driving smack through a town he thinks he owns?”
“And you think he knows?” Violet was torn between the sheer simplicity of their idea and the fact that they were setting a trap. A bright, shiny pink trap.
“Of course he knows.” Max was solemn when he spoke, but his tone held absolute certainty. “It’s only a matter of time before he and Alex head straight back to Dallas.”
* * *
Gabriella puttered around the cavernous kitchen at Elegance and Lace and waited for her friends to return. She knew she should probably avoid being inside the shop alone, but she’d locked all the doors and had given her brother, Ricardo, a heads-up she was there and waiting for her friends. He’d already driven by several times on his patrol, shooting her texts to confirm there was nothing out of the ordinary.
She’d kept the news of the jewels from her broader family—her mother would lapse into full-on insanity if she knew what Gabby’s friends were currently dealing with—but Ricardo was a member of the Dallas PD. He’d already heard through the grapevine about what was going on and the suspicion that had fallen on several high-ranking officials since Tripp Lange was let out of county lockup.
No, Gabby mused. It was better that she kept this to herself. Violet, Cassidy and Lilah would get through this. And once they did, with the situation wrapped up in a bow, then Gabby would tell her mother.
In the meantime, she’d cook.
Cassidy had called her shortly after they got a call from Max, providing their location and the confirmation he and Violet were safe. She had wanted to go along on the pickup but knew she could offer something even better. Warmth and a sense of haven when they arrived back home.
As she’d mixed up her grandmother’s chicken enchiladas—the very best recipe to be found in the entire city—Gabby had taken the time to reflect on all that had happened.
Her friend was safe, and for that she gave thanks.
But it was the road Violet still had to walk that gave Gabby the bigger concern.
The violence that had hovered over them all since the break-in and subsequent discovery of the rubies would haunt the women of Elegance and Lace for a long time to come. But an actual kidnapping had taken the situation to a whole other level. Gabby hadn’t gotten much from Cassidy’s call beyond the clear confirmation that Violet wasn’t hurt, but she suspected more would come out over the next few days.
With swift movements born of years in the kitchen, she wrapped each enchilada, gently nestling each filled tortilla side by side in the glass pans she’d dug up in Lilah’s kitchen. The woman might bake for a living, but she had all the necessary tools of an industrial kitchen, and Gabby had made good use of them.
She’d also made extra since Max, Tucker and Reed could eat a bull under the table. And, of course, she’d promised her brother a plate after he ended his shift. And since every good meal needed a good plate of leftovers, she’d send everyone home with another dinner’s worth.
The Sanchez family knew the old adage that food was love, and she was determined to let everyone know exactly how she felt.
With cheese now covering the rows of tortilla-wrapped chicken, Gabby settled the pans in the oven. But it was the hard knock at the back door that had her slamming the oven door harder than she intended.
Damn, but she was jumpy.
She shot a glance at her phone, but there were no waiting texts from Ricardo, and Lilah had already confirmed she didn’t have any deliveries scheduled. So who was it?
The knock came again, and Gabby moved to the small, high window in the back of the kitchen. She couldn’t see whoever stood at the door, but she did see a white sedan parked where Lilah’s delivery van typically sat. When the knock came once more, she moved toward the door. “I’m sorry. We’re closed.”
“I need to speak with the owners.” The voice was muffled, but she caught the distinct notes of Britain through the thick panel of wood.
“They’re not here.”
“So who are you?”
The retort was fast and smooth, and Gabby wasn’t sure why the quick comeback had her on edge.
“I’m sorry, but I need y
ou to come back another time. I can give you the number, and you can call for an appointment.”
“I need to speak with them now. Today.”
“That will be difficult since they’re not here.”
The thin mail slot fluttered in the vicinity of her knees, and she jumped back, surprised to see a compact billfold fall next to her left foot. The disembodied voice filtered back through the door. “Take a look at my credentials and then let me in. Or flag down the police car I’ve seen troll through here twice already and ask them to come join us.”
Gabby picked up the small fold of leather, flipping it open to some rather official-looking credentials.
MI5?
Gabby turned the black billfold over, her fingers tracing the well-worn leather that had smoothed with obvious use. While she’d admit to having no knowledge of official British documentation, the credentials appeared real.
And something about the worn leather struck her as legit.
With the sure knowledge her brother would be back for another round relatively soon—and curiosity riding high on her shoulder—she opened the door. And nearly stumbled backward at the vision who stood on the other side.
He was tall, because he had several inches on her five-seven plus four more from her heels. His hair was a thick, burnished gold, the sort that would age with him instead of fading out. But it was his eyes that drew her in.
Ice-blue and shockingly vivid, even behind a pair of wire-framed glasses.
Oh, the glasses.
Gabby felt a quiver in her knees and took a step back for balance. “Who are you?”
“Didn’t you read the badge?” The voice she’d pegged as British slid over her with all the finesse of warm honey, and she forced herself to stand in place.
“I read it.”
“So can I come in?”
He extended his hand for his identification, but Gabby moved the billfold just out of reach. “Who are you?”
“Knox St. Germain.”
“No way.”
As responses went, Gabby knew it was crass in the extreme, but who the hell was this guy? And who walked around with a name like Knox St. Germain? He sounded like a cross between a boxer and a liqueur.
