by Addison Fox
Max relaxed a fraction at Reed’s earnest words. He knew the detective had a point—Lange’s influence and reach were one thing, but his devotion to the stones had gone on for a long time. The man was finally close to his goal—especially as he already possessed one—and it was ridiculous to think he wouldn’t move heaven and earth to see this game through.
“Baldwin will make contact.” St. Germain pointed to a legal tablet he’d scribbled on. “Then we’ll—”
Reed interrupted the officer. “I’ll make contact. I know him, and I know what we’re dealing with.”
St. Germain shook his head, cutting Reed off in return. “That’s the problem. It’s too personal. Baldwin’s got a heavy stake in his grandfather, but he’s already put a chink in Lange’s armor. He’s the best choice for this. He can rile Lange up. Taunt him with how he swooped in and rescued Violet.”
“Taunts won’t keep my mother or Max Senior or Josephine Beauregard safe.”
“You’d be surprised, mate.”
Sensing an impending impasse, Max interrupted the two of them. “I’ll make it more than clear to Lange that if anyone’s harmed, we’re not handing over the rubies. It’s the one bargaining chip we have, but it’s a powerful one.”
When no one made any move to argue, Max palmed his phone. “I know what I need to do. Let’s make the call and get this moving.”
St. Germain slid the legal pad toward him, with several key pieces of information outlined. Time. A drop location. And the requirements to make a deal. Max scanned the same details he’d already committed to memory and reached for his phone.
Gabby had run out and secured replacements for him and Violet, dropping off their phones and another tray of food before she headed to her shop. The simple gesture of help and sustenance was as welcome as it was necessary, and they’d all tucked into a tray of lasagna like a pack of wolves.
Even the Brit had helped himself to the lasagna, his expression after the first bite suggesting he was still cursing himself for skipping the enchiladas the day before. Max also hadn’t missed how the man had sized up Gabby when she’d delivered the lasagna, but he kept his observation to himself.
And took the small satisfaction in the fact that the guy was actually human.
Setting aside his plate, Max dialed the number for his house. His sanctuary. A home that he’d designed as a getaway but now held the traces of violence and fear.
A tight knot settled in his gut, the edges pulling even tighter as a hard voice answered on the second ring. “This call better be to tell me how close you are.”
“No, asshole. It’s to tell you how this is going to go down.”
The man hesitated only briefly before pushing forward. “Big words from a man who had his shot at me more than once and didn’t have the balls to take it.”
Max held back the emotion even as the tsunami of it threatened to flatten him. He focused on the job he’d agreed to do. “We all make poor choices. Don’t think I’ll make the same mistake again.”
“Likewise.”
“Where’s Lange?”
“Busy.”
“Then he can call me back. I don’t negotiate with underlings.”
The hard inhalation was more than evident, and Max filed away that bit of information. Sounded like someone didn’t much like taking orders.
Interesting.
“He’s expecting you here.”
“Consider this notice of a change in plan.”
Whatever Alex was about to say was cut off by an imperious tone in the background. “Give me the phone.”
He could hear other voices, one clearly female, before his grandfather’s familiar baritone provided reassurance. Max’s stomach clenched on a hard knot at the proof his grandfather was alive. Until that moment he hadn’t realized how much he’d worried that it was too late.
“I’m waiting.”
The harsh voice snapped him back to the conversation and the situation at hand. Max sent up a silent prayer his naturally gruff attitude and predilection for playing the rat bastard would work in their favor. “This is Baldwin. I want to speak to my grandfather.”
“You don’t give orders.”
“I do today. I want to talk to my grandfather to ensure he’s still alive and unharmed, and then we’re going to negotiate.”
“You should be on your way.”
“That’s why I’m calling. You’re coming to us.”
Rage—swift and strangely predictable—carried through the distance. Tripp Lange wasn’t a man used to being disagreed with. “I made my request more than clear to Miss Richardson earlier.”
“And I’m changing the deal. The rubies are here in Dallas, and that’s where we turn them over. And in case you think you’ll get somewhere playing hardball, listen up. If you so much as lay a finger on Diana, Josephine or Max Senior, you can kiss a deal goodbye.”
“I will have the gems.”
“Then you’d better ensure everyone remains unharmed. That includes roughing up by your man there.”
Lange’s voice was strangled when he finally spoke. “Neutral ground and a wide-open space.”
“Put my grandfather on first.”
“He’s otherwise occupied.”
“Then unoccupy him or the deal’s off.”
St. Germain waved at him from across the room, the threats to call off the deal clearly not sitting well, but Max refused to back off. He’d see the avarice and greed first hand.
Lange wasn’t going to allow anything to stand in the way of possessing what he most wanted.
Max heard minimal fumbling through the phone, and in moments his grandfather’s voice came over the line. “Max?”
“Are you okay, Pops?”
“Fine. We’re all fine. Jo and Diana, too.”
Max ran through a mental layout of the dimensions of the house, the rooms he’d laid out and built by hand as familiar to him as his own palm. He’d called the landline and the only phone was in the kitchen, so Lange must have them all within the living room.
“Are you mobile?”
“We’re—”
His grandfather’s voice vanished, replaced with Lange. “He’s fine.”
“He’d better stay that way.”
St. Germain had a recording device on the call, but it was his raised finger, spun in a circular motion, that confirmed what Max already knew. He was pressing his luck and he needed to wrap the call. He also sensed he was wearing Lange down, but it was a delicate balance between knocking him down and maintaining the subtle illusion of power so they could get what they wanted.
Whatever power Lange had or once had, the edges were fraying. And it only reinforced just how desperately they needed to get this over with.
“I’ll meet you at Klyde Warren Park. Northwest corner. Dusk.”
The park had been Violet’s idea. A relatively recent addition to the Dallas cityscape, the park had been built over a major highway that ran through downtown. Open and airy, it left precious few spots to hide.
“You’d better make sure you have the gems and the women with you, Mr. Baldwin.”
“The women stay behind.” Max barked out the order, ignoring the dark stares that lit up the room.
“No, Mr. Baldwin, they won’t. The women ensure you play fair. Miss Richardson and Miss Tate bring the gems, or those you care so much about won’t make it out of the car. Understood?”
“They’re innocents in this.”
“Were innocents. But the moment they hid my gems in banks around town, they lost that innocence. Bring them.”
Max fought the claustrophobia that threatened to muddle his senses. He needed his wits and every bit of leverage he could possibly divine out of the moment. “My grandfather, Reed’s mother and Mrs. Beauregard remain unharmed. O
r I pity what will happen to you.”
At St. Germain’s direction, Max disconnected the call. Unwilling to look at his still shaking fingers, Max allowed his gaze to drift over his comrades-in-arms positioned around the room. The old warehouse that he and Buck had turned into their office made a rather austere backdrop, but he couldn’t deny it felt like home.
And as his gaze passed over each person—Tucker and Cassidy, Reed and Lilah, and then Violet—an amazing reality stared back at him.
He finally had a family. He just hoped like hell he could protect them all.
* * *
Violet let the hot water sluice over her and imagined them all later that night, Lange vanquished and their loved ones returned safely. In her vision, she could see Max, seated beside her on her large sectional sofa, their hands entwined. Max Senior would hold hands with Mrs. B., and Reed and Lilah would have Diana tucked up close beside them.
They were safe. Unharmed.
And Tripp Lange and the evil minion who followed him like a shadow would be locked up, unable to pose a threat ever again.
Violet fought to hold on to that image, even when it shifted and morphed in her mind to one of Lange and Alex fleeing the scene, still lurking out in the shadows.
“You up for company?”
Violet saw Max’s head in the doorway through the glass shower enclosure. The cold, cruel imaginings keeping her company vanished in the face of his smile. “Would you like an invitation?”
“Only if you want to make me one.”
“Come on in, then.”
He wasted no time in joining her, stripping as he crossed the small expanse of the bathroom. He stepped inside the shower, and she couldn’t hold back the smile at his nearness and the reassurance of his large form.
And she reveled in how quickly he could lighten her mood.
“That was fast.”
“Consider me a well-motivated individual.”
He pressed his body against hers, the hard length of his erection solid against her belly. She gloried in the feel of him—the tension that roped his muscles and the slick rivulets of water that quickly coated his broad chest and arms. He caged her against the wall, and what should have felt like a prison simply felt like a welcome.
His mouth captured hers, the shower growing hotter as her body responded to his in the humid air. She clung to him, the events of the past few days, coupled with his confession earlier, turning her limbs languid.
She wanted him to know that she accepted him. All of him, including the parts he wanted to keep hidden from the world.
Max Baldwin didn’t need to hide from her.
So she showed him with her body.
With her hands firm on his waist, she pulled him closer, rubbing against his erection with the press of her body. A hard moan escaped his lips, and she smiled against his mouth, satisfied at the effect she had on him.
Determined to have an even greater one, she slipped from his hold, turning him so his back pressed to the wall, then continued her movements. Sliding down his body, she took him in her mouth, gratified at the hard intake of breath that clenched the muscles of his stomach in hard planes.
“Violet—”
Her name vanished on the steam of the shower, and power flooded her veins at the simple, profound joy to be found in the giving of pleasure. And in the moments that followed, they surrendered to each other.
To what was a living, breathing need between them.
To love.
* * *
Max fought the swamping waves of pleasure, mad with his desire for this slip of a woman. Her generosity humbled him, and it was only as he felt himself nearly falling over the edge that he finally came back to himself. Gently pulling at her shoulders, he drew her to her feet.
“Violet.”
Her name was a benediction, full of all the love and gratitude and need that he felt. He wanted her with a desperation that bordered the razor’s edge of madness.
But even in that, Max knew it was something more. Something greater than himself.
He was better with her. More giving. And infinitely more complete.
The water continued to pound over them, and that steady beat that drove him on. He pressed his lips to her once more, his hands wrapping around her thighs until he lifted her against his body and buried himself within her. And as they moved as one, totally vulnerable, totally without barriers, Max knew.
He’d fallen so deeply in love that the life he’d lived up to now had simply crumbled and fallen away.
And in its place was a future he’d do anything to protect.
* * *
Knox paced the confines of his hotel suite, playing and replaying the expected drop in his mind. Lange had one of the rubies, and the women were off this afternoon to retrieve the other two stones.
The Renaissance Stones would be together again soon.
And then he’d have them, ensuring their return to their true and rightful owner.
After lunch at Dragon Designs, he’d driven to the park Violet had suggested for the drop. The wide-open space was a concern, but he’d make it work. He’d spent his life getting in and out of impossible situations, and he’d manage this one.
Failure was not an option.
Baldwin was a surprise. The man had been cool, making the call to Lange and setting up the drop. He’d played the perp like a fiddle, and Knox had been reluctantly impressed with the combination of grit and a deeper psychological understanding of the enemy.
Yep. Max Baldwin was a warrior. There was no doubt about it. He did what needed to be done and didn’t shirk what was hard. Knox had read the man’s dossier, but a computer file couldn’t truly give dimension to what a badass the man actually was.
But he now had an Achilles’ heel in the form of Violet Richardson.
Knox had spent his life reading people, and Max Baldwin was so besotted it dripped off him. He and Violet had spent nearly forty-eight hours in forced proximity, under near-constant threat of violence, which would go a long way toward cementing feelings for each other, but Knox knew that wasn’t the entire story.
There was something else there. Something that went deeper than either likely imagined.
The question was, could he use it to his advantage?
Baldwin was going to be focused on the protection of Violet before he worried much about the stones. If Knox managed that element correctly, he should be able to make the switch and get what he needed.
His mobile rang, and he snatched the satellite phone off the desk. “St. Germain.”
“I trust you’re close to closing this case?”
“In a matter of hours.”
“Confidence. I like that in my officers.”
“You won’t be disappointed, sir.”
“See that I’m not. And see that you update me once you’ve completed the work.”
“Of course.”
The connection winked off as quickly as it was made, and Knox imagined the man who sat at the other end. Large of stature and still relatively fit considering age, experience and the ongoing rot that had settled in the man’s soul. For all the suggestion the man sat behind a desk and gave orders, Knox knew better.
Richard Moray was like the heartbeat at the very center of Britain’s highest governmental organization. He had the ear of the Prime Minister and the Queen and used both with shocking acuity.
Which made what Knox had to do that much more challenging.
He had spent his life inside the British government. He knew how his higher-ups thought, which meant they knew how he thought.
Methodically.
Linearly.
By the book.
And nothing about this bloody situation was by the book.
He took the stiff-backed seat
at his hotel desk and tapped in his password. Every action on his machine was logged and instantly reported back to headquarters, and he knew the data would be reviewed later, if not at that very moment. He could use that to his advantage.
Quite well, as a matter of fact.
He toggled back to a screen he’d studied earlier, reviewing the aerial maps of the park Violet had suggested for the drop. The park literally spanned the width of a major highway. He shook his head at the ingenuity—the Yanks had managed to build the park above a road—but it also meant all sides had exits. Which meant quick access to other places.
Ignoring the computer, he pulled up his personal phone and opened a web browser, retrieving the same website while he mentally calculated the distance between the expected drop at the park and what appeared to be the closest park entrance.
Fifty yards?
With that data in hand, he found a parking lot on his phone and estimated about another two hundred yards from the edge of the park to his car.
It would work.
With a deft slam on the lid of his laptop, he accepted his plans were in place. His route was mapped out. And in about four hours, he would have three priceless rubies in his possession.
Moray’s words filled his mind once more as he strode to the closet to retrieve the more casual clothing he’d wear on the op. A pair of khaki slacks and gray T-shirt Knox had mentally dubbed lazy American chic.
Confidence. I like that in my officers.
“You’re not going to like it for long, old man. Not one bloody bit.”
Chapter 17
Violet clutched her purse beneath her arm as she and Max walked out of the bank and straight into the late afternoon August heat. The ruby hadn’t looked any different when she’d retrieved it from the safe-deposit box than when she’d placed it inside a little over a week prior, but it felt different somehow.
Weightier.
Whereas she’d been excited before—cautious, but excited all the same—now all she felt was a deep, penetrating dread. It lodged in her throat as if she’d swallowed the damn ruby instead of retrieving it. Even while inside the bank, a strange sort of menace had seemed to wink off the stone’s many facets, and now it felt as if it pulsed from the very depths of her purse.
