by Addison Fox
Had it been like that before? Or was something different?
At that thought, Violet had to acknowledge an even deeper truth. Perhaps it wasn’t the ruby at all. Millions of years of the earth’s pressure had formed and shaped a gem that was practically immovable.
Unlike her.
She’d spent years running from the sins of her parents—individuals who’d enjoyed meting out an odd scorecard of punishment to each other with their daughter as the prize.
And now...
Now she was with someone who made her see the true beauty and joy that came from mutual respect, caring and love.
Love.
She still toyed with the reality of that emotion. It had seemed so natural to consider those feelings for Max in the soft light of morning, after a night spent in each other’s arms. But here? In the bright, vivid light of day, did she dare acknowledge it?
Or worse, admit it to him and risk him not feeling the same?
Max opened her car door, oblivious to her roller-coastering emotions as he kept his gaze firmly trained on the parking lot. He waited until she was seated before he closed the door and rounded the hood. Swift. Efficient. And most definitely in charge.
Tucker and Cassidy sat in an SUV on the other side of the parking lot, the gun Violet knew Tucker held out of sight on his lap. She and Max had acted similarly not even an hour before as Cassidy and Tucker had entered a different bank to retrieve her ruby.
Love and guns? What had happened to her life?
She was a wedding planner, for heaven’s sake. She gave people their happily-ever-afters along with a kicky DJ, an open bar and a nicely plated dinner. And she did it with pride, damn it. She loved what she did. That moment when she saw the sheer happiness and excitement come over one of her bride’s faces as she looked at herself in the mirror in her gown or as she posed for her wedding photo or when she shoved cake in her spouse’s face in laughter.
That’s what Violet did. It was who she was. She created forevers.
Or the illusion of them.
Yet here she was, her own illusions shattered into a million pieces. She’d believed herself immune to the gown and the cake and the photos.
And now she wanted them more than anyone she’d ever met. With a man who might or might not feel the same.
He enjoyed her company. Of that she had no doubt. And he liked her—their chemistry pretty much guaranteed that. But love her?
Could she possibly risk telling him how she felt, only to hear that he felt otherwise?
Even as a declaration of love stuck in her throat with a lump even greater than the imagined ruby, Violet wasn’t completely bereft of the need to talk to him about the random ideas that wouldn’t quite settle. She waited until Max had them back on the highway before she spoke. “Do you think we’re doing the right thing? Taking the rubies out of the safe?”
“This has to end. Between all of us working together, a few of the good cops Reed’s lined up to help and the assistance of St. Germain, we’re going to end this. Tonight.”
“I know.” She hesitated, words she didn’t even want to acknowledge hovering on her lips.
“Have you changed your mind?” Max asked.
“No.”
He reached for her hand, entwining their fingers. “Then what is it?”
“What if the stories are true?”
When he didn’t say anything, just kept his gaze on the road, she pressed on. “About the curse. What if we’re doing damage by bringing all the stones back together?”
“There’s no curse.”
“But what if there is? And what if it gives Lange power?”
Violet knew she was being silly. Actually, she’d passed silly and had moved straight to ridiculous, ludicrous and downright absurd. Between her indecision about voicing her feelings and then using that indecision to bat the whole curse idea around, she’d definitely veered into the absurd.
But, what if?
She’d finally found something wonderful with Max. Their time together had been beyond anything she could have ever imagined. Even if he didn’t love her, he liked her and enjoyed her.
And what if it was all about to go up in smoke? Or worse, what if he was killed helping her and her friends out of this whole mess?
“Those stones don’t hold any power beyond their ability to make people see dollar signs.”
“But they do hold power. Look at all that’s happened. Kidnapping. Mrs. B.’s heart attack. Murder.”
“That only reinforces my point, not yours.”
“How so?”
Max stopped for a light and used the temporary lull to turn toward her. “Those stones lay in the floor of your shop for over half a century. If they had power, don’t you think someone would have felt it? Don’t you think Mrs. Beauregard’s family would have felt it, too? Before she buried the stones with Pops?”
“She and your grandfather did break up.”
“By mutual consent, I assume.”
“Or because they were broken up by the power of the curse.”
His laugh was unexpected, the tone at odds with the sudden seriousness that had filled the space between them. “I can’t say I’m sorry for it. If they hadn’t broken up, I wouldn’t be here. And I have to say, I’m damn glad to be here.”
He squeezed her hand before leaning over to press a hard kiss to her lips. “Especially after that thorough cleaning you recently gave me in the shower.”
“Max!”
That husky laugh echoed through the car again as he moved forward on the green light. “Thought that might get you.”
Violet sputtered a moment before coming back to herself. She never sputtered, damn it. She was a woman in control.
Even if heat was crawling up her cheeks at that very moment.
“Just because we had sex this afternoon and you are in a good mood does not mean the stones don’t have a curse on them. Or that my concerns are silly.”
“Sheesh, woman. Can’t you give a man a few minutes to revel in some very sweet memories?”
“Revel later. Right now we have to discuss this.”
He let out a long-suffering sigh as he turned onto the main thoroughfare through the Design District. Violet knew his reaction was for effect, but a small smile tilted her lips all the same.
“I’m not saying your concerns are silly. And despite teasing you, I’m scared out of my mind for Pops. It doesn’t mean we should give the stones power they can’t possibly possess.”
“Why do you refuse to play ‘what if?’”
“Why are you so insistent on it?”
Why was she so insistent? She certainly had never considered herself a fanciful woman when it came to things she couldn’t see or touch. She’s spent her life living with the belief that the proof was in the pudding and people acted as they chose.
So why the fanciful notions, layered in a panic she couldn’t fully describe, even as she couldn’t fully eliminate it? “You’re awfully calm about this.”
“Have you ever seen me calm?” Max pulled into one of the spaces in front of Dragon Designs. She had her hand on the door but he stopped her, reaching across her lap to still her hand.
When she turned to look at him, the depth of misery in his blue eyes would have buckled her legs had she been standing.
“I’m so afraid, Violet. So afraid I can barely see straight. What if we don’t get there in time? Or what if he hurts Pops and Mrs. B. and Diana anyway?” Max leaned forward, his gaze never wavering as he traced a path down her cheek before cupping her jaw. “Or what if he hurts you?”
“He won’t—”
Max covered her lips with his, the firm press of his mouth drowning her words. They stayed like that for long moments, their lips pressed to each other’s in support and suppl
ication, desperate to take as much from those stolen moments as they could.
A cool flow of air blew over them from the car’s air-conditioning, and the sounds of the city lumbered outside the windows, and still they stayed like that. Pressed together, summoning as much strength as they could from each other, as if each moment armed them with just a bit more of what they needed to face their enemy.
It’s like a cocoon, she marveled as Max lifted his head, the sky blue of his eyes still focused on her. A warm cocoon that keeps the world at bay.
But soon they would have to emerge back into the world. Changed. And helpless to whatever it chose to throw at them.
* * *
Max listened with half an ear to Tucker, Reed and even St. Germain as they pointed out various points on a map of the park. Tucker had managed to snag a copy of the blueprints from a city database they had access to and had quickly drafted a section of the park in larger scale for them to work and plan against.
Standard op management 101.
So why was his head about a million miles away?
He’d fought the urge to call and check in with Lange, half to see if the bastard was still coming and half to check on Pops. He knew his grandfather was all right. And making the call could do more damage if Lange thought he was soft, but damn it.
It was Pops.
The old man was everything to him, and the idea of losing him turned his guts like thick cement inside a mixer. He knew he wouldn’t have his grandfather forever, but he sure as hell didn’t want to lose him like this.
To a madman with a streak of brutality a mile wide and the compassion of a sociopath.
“What are we missing?” Tucker spoke first, his question bringing Max back to the conversation.
“We’ve been over it and over it.” Reed tapped the map. “We’re as ready as we’re going to be. I’ve got eyes at all four corners of the park, already there watching people come and go. They’ll be ready to move in on my signal, but they won’t interfere in advance.”
“Lange’s not showing up early.” Max knew it with a certainty he couldn’t describe but believed with every fiber of his being. “He wants the rubies, but he values comfort over everything else. There’s no way he’s sitting out in this heat, putting himself in play before he has to.”
“Alex won’t let him.” Violet spoke up, her certainty equal to his. She’d stayed busy with Cassidy and Lilah, checking traffic cams on a web-based program Reed had provided, and Max had half believed she’d tuned out their preparation. Which was the wishful thinking of a man who wanted his woman out of harm’s way, not the reality of Violet Richardson.
They all turned toward her, the certainty in her tone even more impactful than the observation, but it was St. Germain who spoke first. “Why do you think that?”
“Whatever abilities Lange has, they’ve either faded in time or were never all that hearty to begin with. Alex does his dirty work.”
“Lange threatened Mrs. B. He’s the reason she had her heart attack,” Cassidy offered up. “We can’t underestimate him.”
“I’m not suggesting that. But we definitely can’t underestimate Alex.”
Max nodded, the truth of her statement borne out at every turn during their escape from Lange’s compound. Alex had been the one to kidnap Violet from the hotel and then harm her once captured. And Alex had likely been the one to cut Reed’s brake lines the week prior, putting him and Lilah in grave danger. And it was Alex who’d shot at Tucker on a chase through Cassidy’s neighborhood shortly after the original break-in.
Lange might be dangerous, but he had help.
“But the whispers around town are all about The Duke.” Reed pointed toward a stack of files he’d brought with him from the precinct. “Everything I’ve been able to gather has my stepfather’s chosen moniker written all over it. There’s little to no mention of a henchman, just repeated references to The Duke.”
“Yet we’ve seen the proof, and it suggests otherwise.” Max moved around the table to lay a hand on Violet’s shoulder. “You’ve got the most specific experience with him. Are we missing something?”
He deliberately kept his tone gentle and as soothing as possible—even as thoughts of Alex and the bruises he’d left behind on Violet’s body were enough to drive Max to a murderous rage.
But he held it back and stayed calm for her.
“He’s cold. His eyes are empty, and he takes a perverse satisfaction in meting out punishment. He’s smart, too.”
“How do you mean?” St. Germain moved close at Violet’s statement. He still maintained a perimeter of distance, but no one could mistake the clear training. He might be the British equivalent of a Fed, but his stance was all cop.
Violet took a deep breath, her back rising beneath Max’s palm. “Your first sense of him is that he’s just a lackey. Sort of staying subserviently behind his master.”
“But?” Max probed.
“But he’s not. He’s got an agenda. It’s stamped in his eyes as clear as if he spoke the words. It’s equally clear Lange trusts him. He keeps the man close and appears to include him in all his dealings. What he must know—” Violet broke off. “He’s your key, Reed. Lange’s not going to talk, but breaking Alex is the key to cracking open whatever life your stepfather has built.”
St. Germain pulled out a small, sleek phone and swiped his finger across the curved face. He tapped in a few more commands, his focus absolute before he lifted his gaze from the slender device, his breath exhaling on a rush of air.
“I’ll be damned.”
* * *
Alex eyed the man beside him, his forehead pressed to the window as the highway grew increasingly heavier with traffic. They’d be back in Dallas in another half hour, but Lange had remained strangely quiet on their drive up from the Hill Country.
The old people and The Duke’s wife had also remained quiet, but Alex had kept an eye on them throughout the drive to ensure their communication was minimal. The old lady had fallen asleep, but the old man had stubbornly remained awake.
Lange’s wife spent the trip staring as sightlessly out the window as her husband.
Alex filed all of it away, even as he fantasized about killing each and every one of them. Although he’d never have recommended the meeting in Dallas as the way to resolve the situation, Lange’s insistence on traveling for the jewels saved him a trip. He’d play the stoic, stalwart aid, making his move only at the very last moment.
After, of course, he’d removed the threat of discovery and the lingering noose that was Tripp Lange.
No, his time had come. Alex understood it now in a way he never had before. He’d seen himself as a loyal follower of the old ways, but the old ways were gone. Vanished as plainly as Lange’s mind.
In their place was the opportunity to start fresh. He knew Lange’s contacts, and it would be simple enough to set himself up as the new Duke, assuming the mantle as if bequeathed to him. He’d be far more benevolent in some ways, less forgiving in others. But unlike his predecessor, his sole interest was in assuming the core businesses—whores and numbers never went out of style, after all—and he’d avoid the rush to a public life.
He had no interest in being a pillar of society. Nor did he care one whit for a professional career.
Nope.
He wanted power. Control. And the respect that was a natural outgrowth of both.
It was not only his due. It was his birthright.
* * *
Whatever skills of subterfuge, deception and general craftiness Knox St. Germain possessed had fled as he tapped on his mobile phone. In their place was a shock Violet could only dub sincere.
“What is it? Did you find something on Lange?”
“No, his man Alex.” St. Germain pointed toward the computer. “May I?”
Viole
t gave him her seat, standing behind him as he logged into a well-fortified database. But what filled the screen a few moments later had her gasping before Knox turned the computer to the broader team.
“He’s a Nazi?” Max’s question exploded in the room with all the finesse of a bomb. “You have got to be freaking kidding me.”
Violet had scanned the page and seen it for herself. The file was more than clear on the lineage of one Alex Ebner.
“How the hell did anyone miss this?” Tucker stood behind Cassidy and took her hand when she lifted it to his. “And how did he end up here and working for Lange?”
Knox tapped the computer. “Radicals exist in every government in every country in the world. A quick scan of that article suggests he came from a family of devoted followers.”
“Right. Of an ideology that was eradicated in 1945.” Max stood to pace. “Aren’t there people who monitor this? Isn’t that what your fancy databases are for, Officer? To catch radicals and ensure they can’t do damage.”
Violet saw the battle brewing and knew Max’s frustrations went far deeper. She’d seen the lingering effect of his own military experiences the day before—experiences steeped in a leadership rife with the intelligence necessary to make wartime decisions. So how had Alex and Lange flown so far off the radar?
“Is my stepfather a—” Reed broke off as he came to stand behind Lilah, the shock still painting his face in a ghostly white. “Is he a Nazi, too? Has my mother been living with that for the last two decades?”
“We’ve found nothing to suggest that,” St. Germain said. “Lange might have taken Alex under his wing, but his focus was on a bigger game and one with more current stakes.”
“Has Alex shown any other signs? Was he involved in hate crimes or any sort of organized push to advance his goals?” Violet asked the question, her own memories of his ready capability for violence shooting through her stomach in dark, greasy waves.
“No.” Knox sighed. “The only reason we have this information is that his lineage flagged something in the government databases when he applied for a visa. He’s got no record of any crime, and guilt by association isn’t in anyone’s jurisdiction.”
