by Addison Fox
“I’m here to see this matter handled. If word of the stones’ disappearance got out, it could be a considerable embarrassment for the British monarchy.”
“Embarrassment?” It was Gabby who spoke up, and Violet didn’t miss the anger that flashed in her friend’s dark brown gaze. “My friends have all been put in life-threatening danger because of these jewels, and you’re worried about a little PR dustup?”
If St. Germain was surprised by their friend’s ready defense, he gave little overt indication. But Violet didn’t miss the appreciative gaze—albeit a quick one—that traveled down Gabby’s long, curvy form. “I’m not dismissing what has happened, Miss Sanchez. I’m simply explaining why it’s essential we get this matter under control.”
Gabby snorted. “By thinking you can order home something that was already given away.”
“This matter needs to be dealt with. It’s why I’m here and why I’m asking you all to reconsider your position on this.” Knox pulled a few more cards from his suit jacket pocket and settled them on the table. “I’ve already given Detective Graystone my supervisor’s information. I suggest you call him and confirm that what I’m sharing with you is legitimate, backed by an even more legitimate set of orders. We need to get these stones out of your possession and off US soil. It’s for your protection.”
“And your reputation.” Lilah smiled sweetly, her comment, Violet thought, surprisingly restrained for Lilah.
“I think Miss Richardson’s recent scare reinforces my point.” When the officer’s words landed with a heavy thud, he stood. “I’ll leave you now.”
Tucker saw St. Germain to the door, and they all waited in unspoken agreement until the door was firmly closed and locked behind the officer.
“Son of a bitch,” Max muttered under his breath before he stood to pace the sitting area. The various dressmaker’s forms, clad in some of Cassidy’s more elaborate creations, made a strange backdrop to his large frame and murderous gaze. “Damn Brits want to just swoop in and take the gems.”
“You think they’ve kept tabs on them this whole time?” Tucker’s gaze was sharp as he took a seat next to Cassidy, her hand quickly vanishing beneath his.
“I think it’s safe to say the secrecy Mrs. Beauregard and Max’s grandfather were insistent on these past decades was misplaced.” Violet glanced down at her own hands, abstractly focused on the chipped polish on her left ring finger.
And the fact that her hands lay in her lap instead of wrapped in Max’s.
“How so, Vi?” Gabby spoke first. Although she’d remained quiet throughout most of the officer’s questions, Violet hadn’t missed her friend’s interest or hard scrutiny of Knox St. Germain.
To be fair to Gabby, Violet knew the officer was the exact sort of man who’d have caught her interest as well. The clipped British tones that twisted up a woman’s insides. The cool gaze behind a sexy pair of wire-rims. Even the fine cut of his dark suit gave an aura of power and authority that was appealing.
Unbidden, her gaze drifted to Max.
So why couldn’t she see past a pair of shoulders that were thick and rounded, a surly personality and a stubborn will that bulldozed through life at warp speed?
At the expectant silence from her friends, Violet brushed off the curious comparison. And the very tangible realization that Max Baldwin had no comparison.
Or equal.
She added a small yawn behind her hand for effect as she remarshaled her thoughts. “From the start, Mrs. Beauregard was insistent she had to keep this big secret. That her father’s role as jeweler to the Royal Family and creator of the fake Crown Jewels during World War II was meant to stay quiet, never to be spoken of. She even went so far as to bury everything here in the floor.”
“My grandfather only reinforced the secrecy component. He took helping her seriously,” Max added before snatching a handful of tortilla chips Gabby had placed on the coffee table next to the platter of enchiladas.
Violet pressed on. “So they kept the secret, but they wouldn’t have been the only ones to know. The Royal Family knew.”
“But they have no reason to tell anyone,” Reed pointed out. “The removal of the stones was their idea. It would be in their best interest, in fact, to say nothing. Especially since the jewels were a gift, given on a diplomatic visit.”
“Which means even more people know.”
“I’m not following,” Reed said.
Violet had made it her life to read people, and she knew one thing with certainty. People talked.
It had been the truth of her life—first as a child of parents who flagrantly socialized around town and now in her daily interaction with any number of individuals. People were unable to keep the exciting or the salacious or the secret to themselves.
Violet caught Max’s gaze, that same sense of approval she’d gotten while on the train shining once more from his eyes. He got it.
And he gets me.
The layers of exhaustion that had kept her company since they drove back to Dallas faded slightly in the excitement of finally getting down to the heart of the matter. She’d initially resented Officer St. Germain’s arrival but had to acknowledge he might be exactly what they’d waited for.
Someone who truly had the power to end this whole mess and let them get back to their lives.
“You’re on to something.” Max snagged another handful of chips. “Follow it through.”
“We’ve been operating under the assumption Mrs. Beauregard and Max’s grandfather were the only ones who held the secret of the gems. But we’ve completely discounted everyone else on the other side of the pond who knew about them, too.”
She fired the spark and watched as it rapidly lit up the room.
“Do you think the Royal Family has been tracking the gems all this time?” Cassidy nodded, her eyes widening. “Keeping tabs, as it were?”
“The Royal Family. MI5. A team of royal advisors.” Violet ticked them off on her fingers. “It could be some or all. But people in a position to know are well aware of those stones.”
“Then they’re not going to take lightly the fact that I gave mine away.” Lilah’s voice was a whisper as loud as a gunshot in the cavernous room.
“You didn’t give it away.” Reed pulled her close. “You had no choice.”
“I didn’t have to carry it around, persisting in the ridiculous idea it was safer with me.” Lilah paused. “Or that I was somehow safer with it as a bargaining chip.”
Max spoke first. “Coulda, woulda, shoulda, Lilah. If you want to point fingers, then I shouldn’t have taken them off the top of the cache after we unearthed it from the floor. Or we shouldn’t have dug them up in the first place. What’s done is done, and now we’re focused on the cleanup.”
All the air vanished from her lungs as Max spoke, warmth and compassion layered through his words. With a brief “Excuse me,” Violet stood and headed for the kitchen.
“Vi?” Cassidy’s voice echoed behind her. “You okay?”
“Yep!” She kept her tone friendly. “I just need a quick minute.”
She didn’t stop, just kept a steady walk toward the back of their business to her office—her sanctuary.
* * *
Max saw the change and the concern that filled the faces of Violet’s friends. Cassidy was nearly out of her chair when Max stood. “I’ll be right back.”
“Max—” Lilah was already on her feet, but he stopped her, laying a gentle hand on her small, delicate shoulder. He didn’t miss the stiffness or the subtle quiver of concern that matched her voice.
“It’s okay. She’s got a lot on her mind. Why don’t you let me talk to her?”
He knew Lilah struggled—and knew there was still a strong layer of guilt over the loss of one of the rubies—but she finally nodded. “All right.”
/> “I know I’ve got the girlfriend cavalry right here. I won’t hesitate to call for backup.”
“She’s our girl, Max.” Lilah pulled him close for a tight hug, her small body far stronger than he’d have expected. “And she’s a lot softer inside than she lets on.”
“I know that, too.”
Lilah released her hold, the concern that had clouded her eyes fading to something that looked a lot like acceptance. “Go.”
Although he hated being on display—and had always hated it—somehow the gazes that bore into his back as he left the room filled Max with an odd sort of comfort. Quite unexpectedly, he and Tucker had stumbled into something special. Extraordinary circumstances, but special all the same.
It would be easy to chalk up the experience as unique because of the jewels that had been discovered, but Max knew it was something more.
The women who owned Elegance and Lace had the exceptional about them. Their ironclad friendship. The business they’d built from scratch. Even their role in the community was special. Despite all those things, Max knew it was something more.
Violet, Lilah and Cassidy had a core of unfailing loyalty that meant they would do the things that were hard. They had uncovered their landlady’s lifelong secret, and rather than dumping it back on her, they’d stood for her.
And they continued to fight an exterior threat who wanted nothing more than to end them in a blaze of greed and madness.
Max had fought beside men he’d trust to the gates of hell and back, with Tucker Buchanan sitting at the top of that list, but he’d never seen such an unflinching dedication to responsibility. And it humbled him.
He knocked on Violet’s door, then pushed on through.
“I—” She sat huddled at her desk, a wad of tissues in her hand and a delicate layer of red rimming her eyes and nose. “I didn’t say you could come in.”
“That’s why I didn’t wait for an invitation.”
She kept a small love seat in the corner of the room, and he took it instead of one of the chairs opposite her desk.
“I just need a few minutes.”
“So take them.” He lifted a thick book of fabric swatches and tossed them to the floor.
“Those are silk.”
Max glanced at the pile of fabric that now lay next to the couch. “Okay.”
“They don’t belong on the floor.”
Since vacuum lines were still evident in the carpet, he failed to see the problem. “You could eat off the floor. They’ll be fine.”
“Why do you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Just...” She stood, her gaze roaming wildly around the room, never really landing anywhere. Oddly, he noted, those warm green eyes kept skipping right over him. “You just infiltrate!”
“I’ll grant you that. I’m a persistent man.”
“Stubborn as a bull crossed with an elephant.”
“Why, Miss Richardson. That might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
Her gaze swung straight back to his, her shoulders stiffening at his words. “Don’t mock me.”
“I meant it.”
“It wasn’t sweet.”
“No, but it was honest. And I’ll take honesty over useless words, flattering or otherwise, any day of the week.” Max leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “I think you feel the same.”
The stiff posture and irate visage seemed to deflate before his eyes. “People don’t like the truth.”
“No, they don’t.”
“They like comfortable platitudes that tell them everything is going to be okay.”
“Yep.”
“So why are you here?”
Max stayed where he was, even though all he wanted to do was cross to her and wrap her up in his arms. “I thought you needed a bit of honesty. And someone to take it out on.”
“And why would you think that?”
“Because something changed out there.” He hitched a thumb toward the outer area of the store. “I saw it in your face before you leaped up and disappeared.”
“I didn’t disappear.” She hesitated before adding, “It was something you said. To Lilah.”
He wasn’t sure what he could possibly have said but saw she’d been affected. “I didn’t mean to be insensitive.”
“No. You weren’t.” Violet let out a hard breath before coming around the desk. “You were the opposite of insensitive. You reassured her when she got upset about giving up her ruby to her jackass ex. And. Well. I just thought it was awfully sweet, and it made me realize how hasty I’ve been.”
“Hasty?”
“About you.”
“Hasty how?” Max barely dared to breathe, the moment powerful. Shockingly so.
“I want to think of you as some big clod, grumping your way through life.”
Although he did prefer honesty, he couldn’t deny her words were harsher than he’d have expected. “Oh?”
“And you’re not. You’re big and brave, and you care. Even if you don’t want anyone to know it, you care. You’ve protected your grandfather and Mrs. Beauregard. You’ve protected us at considerable expense to yourself.” She stilled, those exotic green eyes so wide they nearly engulfed her face. The long sweep of dark eyelashes only accentuated the color, making that shock of green even more vivid. “And me. You’ve protected me. Rescued me. You saved me, Max.”
Whatever hurt might have come at the word clod vanished at big and brave, and he was honest enough with himself to admit the flattery was effective.
Highly so.
“Come here.”
She hovered by the edge of the desk, indecision warring with exhaustion to the point he thought the slender figure might just topple over. The urge to go to her was strong, but he sensed it was important she come to him.
For her and for him.
“Come on.” He shifted over on the couch, creating a small space for her next to him.
That same indecision hovered there a moment longer before something snapped. She slipped out of the heels she’d insisted on wearing for the meeting with St. Germain and sat next to him on the couch. Without waiting for permission, he pulled her beneath his arm, tucking her head into his shoulder. He pressed his lips to her hair, breathing in the soft scent of her. “That’s better.”
“I smell.” Her tone still bore the same petulant traces she seemed to love tormenting him with, but buried in the notes was something else.
Vulnerability.
“You smell wonderful.”
“I smell like a train.”
He pressed another kiss to the crown of her head. “Maybe I like train.”
She snuggled deeper, leaning into him and wrapping her arms around his waist. “Then you have no taste.”
“We’ll go with that if you want.”
He had extremely good taste, and the proof of it was currently snuggled in his arms. The tension that set her shoulders in hard lines slowly faded beneath his palm, and rather than talk to her, he simply let the moments pass. There’d be plenty of time for talking later.
Now she needed comfort. And some blessed relief from the monsters that lurked in the shadows.
Chapter 13
Knox St. Germain sat down at his government-issued laptop and considered the email he needed to send. A double cross was a delicate matter, after all.
In the end, he kept it short and simple.
MADE CONTACT WITH THE WEDDING BOUTIQUE. ALL PROCEEDING ACCORDING TO PLAN.
He hit Send, then sat back and considered the bourbon he’d poured earlier. While his mates would hardly consider his choice a proper English drink, preferring pints at the pub or an increasing favorite, vodka, he’d gotten a taste for bourbon after an assignment in the States a few yea
rs back. He sipped about half the contents before the customary ping winged its way back to him.
KEEP ON THE TARGETS. REPORT TOMORROW.
Equally short. Equally simple.
Keep on the targets.
He took another sip of the bourbon, intent on marshaling his thoughts from his earlier meeting, cataloging all he’d learned so he could identify what he’d share and what he’d alter.
And was surprised when, instead of a mental review of his conversation with Violet Richardson, Cassidy Tate and Lilah Castle, his thoughts drifted straight to Gabriella Sanchez.
Although not technically one of his targets, she was an interesting one. A spitfire, he’d give her that. She was also a fascinating contradiction. The long hair and the equally long legs, smooth as silk on five-inch icepicks suggested a woman with more body than brains, yet she’d gone toe-to-toe with him.
And she’d been fast about it, too. Sharp. And most definitely nobody’s fool.
All evidence that suggested there was a sizable brain beneath that gorgeous swath of dark brown hair that spilled down her back in lush waves.
Knox shifted, a slight twitch at the base of his spine as he considered the interesting puzzle that was the lovely Miss Sanchez. Well, he assumed the miss part.
She wore no rings at all, despite large earrings, a prominent necklace that sat on an equally prominent—and impressive—chest and several bracelets that jingled when she’d set down what looked like an incredible tray of enchiladas.
But no rings.
Curious.
He drained the rest of his bourbon and opened up a quick search. No use sitting there wondering when the information was his for the taking.
Knox tapped into the agency’s database, running a query on one Gabriella Sanchez of Dallas, Texas. Several women came up, and he scrolled through the results until he clicked on caterer. She’d never shared her job description, but the enchiladas were a pretty large clue, and he cursed himself once more for passing on a plate.
Knox rubbed at his stomach, the answering growl a further reminder of what he’d missed out on. He navigated a few more clicks into the data, pleased when a few newspaper articles led him straight to a website.
