Addison Fox - The Professional

“The rubies.”

“He’s already got one.”

“But there are three.” The man’s gaze roamed over her with calculated speculation. “Unless there were more in the cache beneath your floor.”

“There are three. There have only ever been three. They’re the Renaissance stones of legend.”

Violet knew she had precious little to trade, but there was no use giving false information over their fantastical find. The Queen of England—wife to King Edward—had wanted the rubies secreted out of England after the Second World War, and their landlady’s father had been the one to do it.

The fact Mrs. Beauregard thought burying the legendary stones beneath a layer of concrete in an old Dallas warehouse was a good idea was an entirely different matter.

“How’d you know the stones were even in the warehouse? My partners and I have been there for three years and never even looked beneath the carpet.”

Although she had a pretty good idea of how Tripp Lange knew—his connections with Cassidy’s late brother-in-law were the start of a terrible chain of contacts—she was curious to see what his rent-a-thug knew.

“The stones aren’t a secret for those precious few who make it their business to know about these things. Mr. Lange is one of those individuals. He has patience and the will to see every acquisition through.” The man moved in, as quiet and lethal as a snake, and Violet wished like hell she could move to the corner of the bed.

“He will have the Renaissance Stones. All of them.”

* * *

Max fought the need to slam his fists against the front door of the modest north Dallas home and instead waited while Reed rang the bell. He glanced out over the thick, well-manicured lawn, visible in the small pathway lights that led from the driveway to the front door, and took several deep, calming breaths. As he settled, his gaze roamed over the large pots of flowers that flanked the porch. The bright blooms nestled in a weed-free bed of dirt offered a sizable suggestion about the family who lived there.

They took pride in their home and in what was theirs. The effect was welcoming and homey, and Max knew he’d have been more fascinated with it if his thoughts didn’t drip with oily fear for Violet.

Home.

Did he even know what that was?

He’d thought Dallas could be his home, but now, more than two years after moving back and starting his business, he still wasn’t sure. The innate sense of being a nomad had pushed him into the Army Corps of Engineers, and it was humbling to realize a decade and a half later he’d still not lost the itch to roam.

The door swung open and Reed stepped up, his hand outstretched. “Thanks for seeing us, Ryan.”

Reed made quick introductions before Ryan Masterson waved them forward, surprisingly unruffled by the late-night visit. “Come on in.”

Max stepped into the neat foyer and took in the warm vibe. He’d never had anything like this at home. Even his time with Pops had been caring, but not exactly something straight out of Donna Reed.

Kicking away the strange, abstract thought, he focused on the matter at hand and hoped like hell Reed’s friend could supply some answers.

“I’m sorry to bother you so late, but I need help,” Reed said.

Max had seen the laser focus the moment Ryan opened the door, but at Reed’s plea, the man’s tall, lean stance turned hard, his eyes all-cop. “What’s going on?”

“What do you know about the Lange case?”

Max didn’t miss the immediate awareness in Ryan’s demeanor as his gaze remained steady on Reed. Clearly the department knew one of their own had been duped by a man he trusted. “I’m aware of it.”

“Then you know he was released this afternoon.”

The subtle veneer of pity fell along with Ryan’s jaw. “What? No.”

“Late afternoon, somewhere between four and five, best I can tell. He then took the opportunity to kidnap my fiancée’s best friend and business partner.”

The word kidnap hung in Max’s thoughts with all the finality of a gunshot, and he waited, watching to see Ryan’s reaction. He knew Reed did the same and had to trust they could both smell a rat if the cop was dirty or at all under the influence of Tripp Lange’s money.

“What can I do?”

A breath he didn’t even realize he was holding exhaled on a hard rush as Max leaned forward. “She and her partners run a wedding business, and they had a huge event tonight at the Windhaven. Best we can tell, she stepped outside for a bit of fresh air and was snatched there.”

“By Lange?”

Max nodded. “He wasn’t visible in the video feeds, but it’s his henchman.”

“I’ve seen the footage and identified him as a known associate,” Reed said. “Alex Ebner, also released this afternoon.”

“You check the traffic cams?”

“We’ve got them for the first few lights outside the hotel. Then the uniforms on scene lose the trail.”

The grim expression that covered Ryan’s face broke, revealing a hard, gritty smile. “Then you came to the right place.”

Max fought the hope that leaped beneath his ribs—the first since that horrible moment of watching Violet snatched off the video feed—and kept his focus steady on Ryan. “Why’s that?”

“Because I’m not going to lose the trail.”

Chapter 4

Violet wiggled her fingers, the novelty of being able to do so not having yet worn off. She’d lost all sense of time—and the heavy curtains at the window further prevented any sense of the hour—but the slow, steady progression of life into her limbs had remained her sole focus.

Her legs were still weak. She’d tried swinging them off the bed and barely made it to the edge, so a peek out the curtains would have to wait. In the meantime, she’d stared at the walls, reflecting on what she knew—or thought she knew—about the men holding her captive.

Reed had been shocked to discover his stepfather, Tripp Lange, was the man behind the heinous crimes that had been committed thus far in the name of greed and avarice. Since their showdown two—no, three?—days ago, the detective had spent every free hour attempting to track down the depth of his stepfather’s secret empire.

He’d been woefully underprepared for the small pieces he had uncovered, including Lange’s reputation as The Duke, whispered in Dallas’s underworld. The man was purported to be a brutal adversary, and the few who had dealings with him were focused only on satisfying whatever bargain they’d struck with the devil.

What had concerned Reed most was Lange’s possible connections within the Dallas PD. During their tussle, Tripp had admitted he’d had Reed assigned to the break-in at Elegance and Lace. And he’d obviously managed to spring himself free of jail in no time.

What other maneuvers had he orchestrated?

The heavy tread of feet outside the door pulled her from her thoughts as the thick wood door swung open. As if she’d conjured him, Tripp Lange walked through, followed by what she could only assume was his bodyguard and man-of-all-business.

The man who’d stared her down earlier.

“Hello, Miss Richardson.”

“Mr. Lange.” She nodded before struggling to a sitting position. The struggle chafed, but not nearly as much as lying prone beneath their twin stares.

She took in the two men, quickly cataloging the odd pair. Tripp’s man was all muscle. He was roughly the same size as Max’s six-foot-one but not quite as broad. And where Max had a sense of solidness to his form that was in his genes, Lange’s man clearly worked at his. The corded muscles in his neck suggested a fair amount of gym time, as did his almost ridiculously stiff posture.

Lange, on the other hand... Violet fought the shudder and again forced herself to look objectively, much as she did when attempting to reason with an angry bridesmaid over a chosen dress. There were things that could be learned if you looked and listened.