The Professional

by Addison Fox

  With a soft sigh born of long years of acceptance, he pointed toward a conference room chair. “Have a seat.”

  “I’ll stand, thanks.”

  “Tucker and I were Army Corps of Engineers. You know that.”

  When she only nodded, he pressed on. “We found success in the corps, both for our skills and our ability to blend into the team. We might have been the geeks who knew how to blow up bridges or divert water sources, but we were soldiers, too. Damn good ones.”

  “And someone saw that skill in you.”

  “In spades. I was put on a special mission. Covert ops to suss out and destroy a terrorist cell.”

  “Was Tucker on the mission, too?”

  He shouldn’t have been surprised how neatly she zeroed in on that fact, but he was. His own damn best friend didn’t have a clue about the most important event of his life. “No. Buck doesn’t know about it. We’d already been told we were splitting up for separate missions. Hell, I shouldn’t even be telling you about it.”

  “I can handle it. And I can handle the secrecy of it.”

  He nodded, recognizing the truth of her words. She might be pushy and demanding and way too all-knowing, but Violet was a vault, and he didn’t question her integrity.

  “We had to ingratiate ourselves with the locals. Tell them we were going to find a way to help them get out from under the thumb of the local oppressors. They knew the terror cell was gaining strength, and several villagers had already been tortured for sport, so they were all too happy to listen to our guidance and advice.”

  “But?”

  “We were really there to set a trap.”

  Images of those dark days filled his mind’s eye. The plotting and planning, the damn strategy someone far above his pay grade decided upon. They’d use the poor villagers as bait and lure the terrorists into the camp.

  And once all were assembled—including several high-ranking terrorists who led the cell—Max and his team perpetrated an ambush, followed by complete annihilation of the camp and all its inhabitants.

  He walked Violet through it. Step by step, waiting as he uttered each and every word for her to turn from him in horror and disgust. Waiting as he told her the truth of what he’d done. That the trusting innocents who had put their faith in him and his fellow soldiers ultimately lost their lives along with forty-two of the most brutal terrorists on the planet.

  “But you stopped more cruelty and violence than anyone could have possibly imagined. Those villagers were already being slaughtered, Max. You saved others from the same fate.”

  “By blowing them up? By playing God?” The words tore from his chest, finally free. The doubts and the self-loathing that had been his constant companions spilled forth. Like a genie released from a bottle, now that they were out he knew he’d never get them back inside.

  “You did what you were ordered to do.”

  “That’s no excuse.”

  “Isn’t it?”

  She moved toward him, narrowing the space between them, but he sidestepped her. He didn’t deserve comfort or sympathy, and he damn well knew it.

  “No. It’s never an excuse. And it’s why I got out as fast as I could. When I entered the corps, I understood my role and I did it willingly. But after that—” He broke off, tears clogging his throat.

  “After that mission, I couldn’t stay and keep any sense of myself.”

  Before he could move out of her reach, she touched him, her hands gripping his. That urge to flee grew even stronger, but Violet remained immovable.

  And that was when Max knew the truth. His back was against the wall—literally and figuratively—and he had absolutely nowhere to go.

  In supplication or acquiescence, he had no idea. But as he dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around her waist, the firm beat of her heart beneath his ear, Max knew he’d finally found his home. He felt her soft hands, soothing as they roamed over his shoulders, before she stilled, clutching him tight. And he felt the warm press of her lips against his head, broken only by soft, soothing sounds of comfort.

  It was only then, locked in her embrace, that Max finally let go, his silent, bitter tears falling to the floor.

  * * *

  Tripp Lange clutched at the ruby in his slacks pocket, the stone like a talisman as he faced his wife. She looked different. Cold. Immovable.

  In only a few short days apart, she looked like a stranger. Or worse, like an enemy, prepared to do him harm.

  He’d believed it impossible. On the drive with Alex to the property, he’d known in his soul that his wife would welcome him with open arms. Would see the error of her leaving and would come to him.

  Yet now, as they stood across from each other, he wondered if his belief—his blind trust—had been the biggest mistake of all. Her son and his friends had brainwashed her.

  And they’d turned her against him.

  From the moment they arrived, she’d been cold and unwilling to even listen to him.

  Alex’s efficient dispatch of the local police, followed by his disarming of the old man and the landlady had been jarring for her, he’d admit. But Diana was his wife. And he damn well expected her loyalty.

  Tripp had expected the old couple to end up like the police, but Alex seemed to believe there was a use for them. His man of business had carried them this far, so he opted to trust a bit longer.

  They’d likely take care of them before they left anyway.

  But his wife was another matter entirely.

  Could she be persuaded?

  A glance at her slender form had memories racing through his mind. They’d had so many good years, and she’d been the model partner. She understood the demands of his business. She kept a welcoming and beautiful home. And she took care of him.

  Until her son brought it all crashing down.

  Yes, he’d kept his less savory business dealings a secret. She didn’t need to know how he provided for her, but simply that he did.

  “How could you do it? All of it? How could you do that to us?” She stood with her back to a large window, the early morning Hill Country sun framing her like a halo. Yet even in the bright light, she kept her arms wrapped around herself as if to ward off a chill.

  “I don’t discuss my work.”

  “Answer me!”

  Her outburst echoed through the room like a gunshot, and Tripp simply stopped and stared. What had happened to his wife? His partner?

  He had always sensed the need to keep his less savory business dealings private from Diana. He trusted that area of his life to a small circle of advisors, and meeting her hadn’t changed his view on the need for secrecy.

  But her fury was something else entirely.

  “You can’t be so juvenile as to think that your life was funded solely by the profits of my business.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Then you’re beyond naive. I might not have shared the specifics of my business dealings, but I never took you for a woman who didn’t understand the way of the world.”

  Fury painted her features at his words, an anger so raw she shook. “I trusted you.”

  Tripp paused, the ruby in his pocket like fire beneath his fingers. Were the gem and its siblings worth the loss of his wife? The discovery by his stepson? Even the need to lie low for a while once he had the rest of the Renaissance Stones?

  Absolutely.

  None of it changed the fact that she might be useful for a while longer. “Diana. You’re being unreasonable.”

  “Unreasonable? You tried to kill our son!”

  The change in subject—and the immediate jump to Reed—had him rapidly clicking through possible responses, discarding each and every one until he hit on the right approach. He did need her for a while longer, and if he could win her back to his side in
the process, all the better.

  “You can’t honestly believe that.”

  “I believe my son. How you cut the brake lines in his car. Or had them cut—” she flung a hand out “—since I’m sure you refused to get your hands dirty doing the job yourself.”

  “He’s got a dangerous job, Diana. He’s a detective. And he’s into something risky and unsafe. It doesn’t mean I’m at fault.”

  He saw it—that single moment when doubt crept in, replacing the anger—and he leaped. “I hate what’s happened to Reed. And I’ve always hated the danger he’s put himself into, even as I’ve supported his goals and dreams.”

  “You tried to kill Jessie. She’s been coming to our home since she was a child, yet you tried to kill her.”

  Of course Reed had shared the information of their showdown the previous week with her. He and Alex had used Jessie, Reed’s partner and one of his oldest friends, to pull his stepson out into the open.

  The beginning of the end.

  The thought stuck with swift force, large black dots swam before his vision. On a hard breath, Tripp focused on the stone in his pocket, its hard facets and heft slowly bringing him back into focus.

  Back into control.

  It wouldn’t do to show any weakness to his wife. His love. And now his opponent and betrayer.

  Although he’d hidden much of himself from her, she knew him. Almost two decades together had seen to that. Despite her naïveté about his business, she was a savvy woman, and she knew how to take care of herself.

  And she’d always been better than most at figuring out his tells.

  All he could do now was work the situation to his advantage.

  “Diana—” He kept his voice calm even as his own anger threatened to seep through the cracks. How dared she stand there and accuse him? As if she understood the work he did that kept her in the home they shared. The clothing and the jewelry she wore. Her status around town.

  “Stay away from me.” As she shrank against the far wall of the room, that large window pressed against her back, Tripp finally accepted the truth. He’d believed he could change her feelings. Could build on nearly twenty years of marriage.

  But he’d been a fool.

  “How could you do this to us?” she cried.

  “I’ve done nothing to us. What I’ve done is for us.”

  “Lying and scheming and stealing. And killing? That’s for us?”

  “You know nothing of my business or my choices. The sacrifices I’ve made to build a life for us.”

  “I know what I’ve been told.” She flung out a hand, her movements large and sweeping. A strange awareness settled over him as he watched her as if from a distance. As if the woman before him was on a stage, murmuring words written for her by another.

  She didn’t understand. She didn’t understand his world or his life or his choices.

  “I trusted you. Believed in you and the marriage we built together. I’m your wife!”

  “And as my wife, you should support me.” Clutching the ruby, he hollered through the door. “Alex!”

  Diana’s eyes widened at his bellowing before darting toward the open door. He saw the calculation as clearly as if she’d broadcast it. “I had hoped to make this easier on you. Alex has tied up those old goats, but I thought I’d be able to have you join me as my full partner. I’m sorry I was wrong.”

  Alex slipped into the room, his large, ever-dependable form as quiet as a wraith. The man held a length of duct tape and stalked toward Diana.

  “No. Tripp, no!”

  Her protests swam in his mind like buzzing flies—annoying and quite beneath him. That image of a stage play again consumed Tripp as he watched Alex—his only ally—immobilize his wife. The man’s motions were swift and efficient, economical even. And in a matter of moments, her hands and feet were bound, strapped to a desk chair in the corner.

  With one last glance at his wife, Tripp left the room, his focus on preparing for the imminent arrival of his enemies. He never broke his stride toward the front of the house, even as he left his wife weeping in his wake.

  * * *

  Violet clung to Max, unsure of how much time had passed. She knew she was playing with fire, pressing him to share the demons that haunted him, but even she hadn’t been prepared for what he’d shared.

  The horror. And the pain of living with those memories, locking them away day in and day out. It must have been unbearable.

  Yet despite it all, he’d worked so hard to build a new life for himself. She knew he and Tucker had been instrumental in the construction of a local facility for veterans that had recently opened its doors. And she’d also heard through the local neighborhood gossip that he’d spearheaded a fundraising committee for a wounded warrior project.

  He lived with his scars—and worked hard to create something special for others—but that didn’t make the scars any less painful.

  “I’m sorry.” The words vibrated off her stomach, where his lips pressed against her blouse.

  “Why?”

  He lifted his head, a light sheen of moisture still filling his eyes. “Because I just bawled all over you.”

  “You needed to get it out. Grief is a horrible burden, and—” Before she could even finish her sentence, her words vanished in the speed of his movements. He was on his feet and had her in his arms, pulled tight against his body. The kiss was all-consuming and shockingly intimate, the emotions they’d just shared painting the press of his lips with something deeper and more meaningful than she could have ever imagined.

  What has happened to me?

  The thought dazed her, even as the heat between them had her rapidly losing the ability to think.

  Caring. Intimacy. Devotion.

  They shared something real and deep and life-affirming. And in a matter of hours, they were going to put it all at risk.

  With that foremost in her thoughts, she gave herself up to the kiss, hot and carnal. Violet felt as if she’d been branded. His hands roamed over her body, seeming to touch everywhere at once, all while he maintained a steady pressure with his mouth.

  She gave herself up to the power of what was between them, willing it to fill up all the dark spaces she’d kept locked up tight for so long. When they finally broke contact, she struggled to surface from the beauty and excitement of new love to what awaited them.

  “You know Lange’s setting a trap.”

  “We’d expect no less.”

  “Well, we can’t go marching in there without knowing what we’re up against.”

  Max pressed another quick kiss to her lips. “We aren’t doing anything.”

  “You can’t tell me we’re honestly going to have this conversation.”

  “And you can’t tell me you’re surprised.”

  Violet shook her head, the reality of their impasse slamming into her as if she’d taken a header into a brick wall. “Lange’s instructions were more than clear. He wants the rubies still sitting in safe-deposit boxes.”

  “Which you and Cassidy will retrieve this morning. Reed and I will make the delivery. Buck will stay behind and keep watch.”

  “I’m sure he’s thrilled about that.”

  “Hardly.” Max snorted. “But he recognizes the need for safety and knows there’s no way Reed and I are staying back.”

  “It’s not going to work. They’ve got all the power. You have to bring them here.”

  “There’s no way they’re going to buy that.”

  Violet hesitated, an idea taking shape she knew he wasn’t going to be crazy about.

  “I can see you thinking.”

  “You’re not going to like it.”

  Max sighed and laced his fingers through hers. “Tell me anyway.”

  “We have a new friend at MI5. I
f he wants the rubies so badly, maybe it’s time he put his fine British ass in the game and helped us.”

  Chapter 16

  For as long as he could remember, Max had loved blowing things up and setting things on fire. He’d generally taken great joy in the process of destruction. He counted himself fortunate that he had an equal love of building in place of what was destroyed but—if pressed—he’d always acknowledge destruction offered up a hearty degree of fun.

  He’d never have pegged Knox St. Germain as a kindred soul.

  The man looked like he’d stepped off Savile Row in his dark charcoal suit and what Max assumed were Italian loafers. Yet even deep in the heat of battle planning, St. Germain’s eyes glowed like a small boy’s on Christmas morning as he stood over the large table in the center of Dragon Designs.

  If the man had any issue with the level of available firepower occupying said table, he had refrained from commenting. He’d had no such concerns about attempting to shoot hole after hole in their approach. “And you really think you can lure him here?”

  “We have what he wants.” Reed tapped several photos of the rubies. “He’s not in a position to bargain.”

  St. Germain didn’t hesitate, just continued to push question after question. “No risk he’ll take it wrong and eliminate one of the hostages?”

  At the word hostage, Max felt a shot of something dark and evil line his stomach.

  Hostage.

  His grandfather was a hostage, all because of him. He’d believed he was keeping the old man safe. Instead, he’d left him out in the open like a sitting duck.

  “He’s coming home, Max. We’re going to get him back.” Violet had maintained a respectful distance, sizing St. Germain up from her perch across the room ever since the man arrived. At the decided shift in the conversation, she’d moved up to take Max’s hand in hers.

  “None of it changes the fact that I put him there. What a freaking miscalculation.”

  “Then it’s one we all made.” Reed tapped the photo of the Renaissance Stones once more. “And it’s one we’re going to solve. My stepfather has killed repeatedly for these stones. He’s proven himself maniacally dedicated to possessing them. Berating ourselves for making decisions in good faith won’t get us anywhere.”