Addison Fox - The Professional

For some reason, she couldn’t find any hint of that quiet calm today.

“Now spill. What really happened?”

“That’s what’s so odd. The two guys fighting were best friends. But the one in an ambulance headed for Baylor’s emergency room right now is clearly high on something. He collapsed after Max broke up the fight.”

“Max broke it up?”

“He was considerably more effective than security.”

Violet inwardly winced at her dry tone. Max had helped, and she was grateful.

“He’s been keeping a watchful eye,” Cassidy said.

“Too watchful.”

Cassidy’s gaze was equally watchful, but her tone was full of the censure only old friends could manage. “You need to get over this annoyance with him. We have the rubies because he made a judgment call on his feet. Being mad isn’t going to change that.”

“I know. Damn it.” Violet tapped a toe, the nervous movement something to focus on. “I know.”

And she did know.

The discovery of a cache of jewels underneath the floor of their shop wasn’t Max’s fault. The fact that their landlady had hidden fakes of the British Crown Jewels and three very real—and very precious—rubies wasn’t Max’s fault, either. He’d just had the misfortune to snag the rubies off the top of the heap before Cassidy’s ex-fiancé, Robert, stole the rest of the find.

“In fact, if I’m not mistaken, Max would like to find any number of ways to make it up to you.”

A flash of heat cratered in her stomach before spreading outward like a warm flow of lava as Violet imagined all those ways Max could make it up to her. Then she locked the erotic images away. She wasn’t interested in pursuing anything—casual or otherwise—with such an overbearing man. The attraction might be out of her control, but what she did about it wasn’t. “You’re subtle, Cupid.”

“I’m only saying what we’ve all seen from the beginning. The man’s got eyes for you, and I know you well enough to know you return the sentiment.”

“I don’t—”

Cassidy’s hand came up in a stop gesture with all the speed of a Supreme. “Don’t insult me or yourself by lying.”

Violet hesitated before she pressed on. She did feel something for Max, but it didn’t matter, and no amount of breath had made her friends see reason. Just because Cassidy and Lilah had found happy-ever-afters with the men who’d descended into the middle of their lives like a hurricane didn’t mean she’d find the same.

In fact, her history suggested the exact opposite.

She wasn’t cut out for romantic love. And thanks to her parents’ loveless marriage and subsequent poor decisions in that realm, she had no basis for it. Instead, Violet had the deep, abiding love of friends, and she knew that was enough.

She’d decided long ago it had to be.

“Please think about it.”

“I don’t see why I need to. You and Lilah have done enough thinking about it for three of me.”

“Vi—”

She grabbed her friend’s hands in a tight grip, her voice firm but kind. “I appreciate it. You know I do. But this really isn’t the place for it. I just sent a man out of here in an ambulance.”

The rapid change in subject had its desired effect, even if Violet regretted the slight manipulation. She had put a man in an ambulance and finishing the wedding needed to be their focus right now. Cassidy glanced around the ballroom, her voice hesitant when she finally spoke. “Do you think the brawl has anything to do with us?”

“I don’t see how. We’ve monitored everyone who’s entered and exited. Reed’s stepfather is in jail. I don’t see a connection.”

“You’re right. Of course you are.” Cassidy shook her head. “I don’t know why I can’t believe it’s over. Reed watched them cart the man off in a police cruiser.”

The urge to share Max’s point of view—that they were all naive to think Tripp Lange wouldn’t find a way to work this entire situation to his advantage—was nearly out of her mouth when she pulled it back.

Just because Max speculated didn’t mean he was right.

And despite the fact that they’d collectively spent the last two weeks on high alert over the discovery in their shop didn’t mean it wasn’t time for things to go back to normal.

The culprit was behind bars, and anyone who’d worked with him was dead.

It was time to relax.

* * *

Alex Ebner, assistant to the man whispered about only as The Duke, settled himself in the front seat of the black limousine. “The women are all there, just as you suggested they would be.”

“And the men?”

“Stuck to them, as you also suspected.”

“You speak of my stepson as well?”

Alex thought about his casual stroll through the ballroom. “He hasn’t left the baker’s side.”

“Excellent.”

Alex waited, as he always did. He was deeply loyal, and he was more than willing to wait as The Duke determined whatever came next. He’d been raised in the old ways, and he took pride in that. Authority. Leadership. Power.

They had value—they still had value—and he was content to follow his leader.

Those traits he prized also came with a price. He understood that—had been raised to understand it—and it was his job to stay in the background and ensure the toll never became too taxing.

In exchange, he was paid handsomely. He had time off. And, most important, his family was cared for in the lap of luxury back in the homeland.

“What about the coordinator? The sleek one who gives orders?”

“Hard at work. She just dealt with the little matter in the lobby.”

“Is she followed?”

“Baldwin’s grandson stays close to her, but she keeps shaking him off. It’s humorous to watch.”

“Then she’s the one. Violet Richardson.”

Alex nodded. “She’s got the least restrictions and moves about as she pleases.”

He’d gotten close several times and had nearly snagged the woman, but each time she’d managed a swift turn to elude him. Her apartment had proven equally challenging, the elegant home in one of Dallas’s newest high-rise buildings sporting state-of-the-art security and surveillance.

They’d moved fully underground at this point, and it was no use risking that. His boss had planned well, though. Alex considered the ease with which they were released from jail and the speed with which they’d gone to ground at The Duke’s hidden property.

The Duke had another name—one well-known in Dallas circles. Tripp Lange was one of the city’s wealthiest men, his riches earned through a combination of hard work and maniacal focus that had moved him from poor immigrant to success.

But that success had come with a price.

They’d still not managed to uncover the location of Tripp’s wife, Diana, despite extensive digging. Her son had whisked her away as he closed in on Lange, and no amount of prodding and poking any of Lange’s contacts in the Dallas PD had managed to uncover her whereabouts.

Tripp wanted the rubies and he wanted his wife back. Violet Richardson and her relationships with the rest of her little wedding troupe were the key to securing both.

“You’ve checked the egress points. You know where you want to take her.”

“It’s all prepared.”

“Then move ahead.”

* * *

Max couldn’t shake the sense that something was out of his reach. He knew that sense—and trusted it to the very depths of his being—which was why he kept up a continuous walk of the perimeter of the ballroom.

The wedding had technically entered its last hour, and he was counting down the minutes to getting them all out of there. He didn’t care if Violet fought him like a she-cat. He was dragging her out the moment they kicked the last guest toward the hotel elevators, or what would likely be a drunken, snaking taxi line. She could come back in the morning and manage any required follow-up.