The Professional

“Tucker already told me Cassidy doesn’t know.”

“Damn it.” Reed paced a few steps down the quiet hallway before turning back. “She wanted to protect them. Which means she’s also going to try to bluff her way through the negotiation with my stepfather.”

The trio of biscuits in his stomach balled like lead at the image of Violet attempting to negotiate with Tripp Lange. “Would we expect anything less?”

A shout from the office had them both running, and Max stopped at the set of screens, a real estate document blown up on one of the monitors. “Here it is,” Ryan said. “It’s under Alex’s name, not Tripp’s. But if you trace the financial backing, you can find Lange all over it.”

“Where are they?”

“About an hour outside the city. Twenty miles due east of Waxahachie. The property’s about two hundred acres.”

Max punched the details into his phone, his mind already whirling with next steps. “Thanks, Ryan. I owe you for this.”

Reed followed him into the hall, his long strides barely keeping pace as Max barreled toward the driveway. “Slow down, Baldwin.”

Max spun at the words, his mind already picturing the op, a list of supplies he needed keeping pace with his tactical plans.

“You can’t go after her alone.”

“Like hell I can’t.”

Reed moved into his space. “This is police business.”

“And you can see how well the police have done so far.”

Max regretted the words the moment they were out, but he didn’t have time to argue with Reed. Tripp Lange had proven himself far outside the law, and the time and red tape to drag him back through it could cost Violet her life.

He’d be damned if he waited.

“I need to get to her.”

“I get it, but you can’t go in there blind. Tucker and I will go with you.”

“Nope.” Additional memories assaulted him—each and every op he’d run while in the military like a film loop in his mind. Even the missions that still tormented him with bitter regret had prepared him for what was to come. “It’s what I do.”

“You’re not going alone.”

“Like Violet Richardson would ever let me live it down if I dragged her friends’ fiancés into battle.”

* * *

Violet stretched her legs once more, the lingering pain in her limbs stinging like needles. She ignored the discomfort—she had mobility again—and kept up the steady pacing through the room. She’d already checked every corner, mentally cataloging what she’d found.

A toddler could have been left alone in the damn room for all the danger it posed.

Even the en suite bathroom was free of anything useful unless she could figure out a MacGyver-like weapon made solely from toilet paper.

Despite several days locked up in jail, Tripp Lange and his flunky had prepared well. She already suspected this room had been specially designed for the purpose of holding someone, and her deliberate search had only proven her correct.

Absolutely no piece of furniture, lamp cord or even bedding had been overlooked. And unless she was planning on making a noose for her captors out of a thick, well-stitched quilt, she was out of options.

The bigger question, to her mind, was what they expected. The rubies, yes, but Lange had to know she’d placed hers in a safe-deposit box. No bank was open on Sunday, yet he’d still gambled and taken her anyway.

Which then brought her back to a question: Where were they?

The hours she’d spent knocked out, courtesy of God knew what drug, had ensured she could be down the block from the hotel or clear in another country by now. Her bet was on something local because he’d want convenient access to the ruby, but still...

A sly, oily panic filled her stomach as a new thought struck.

Was she simply the first taken?

Lange had Lilah’s ruby, but that wouldn’t mean anything if he felt he could use her friend as a means to his goal. And Cassidy’s was hidden, with the same security as the one she’d stowed a week ago. But that didn’t mean her friends—the sisters of her heart—weren’t vulnerable.

On a hard breath, she fought to keep herself calm. The scenarios she’d already raced through had her pulse rabbiting in response, and she needed to stay in control.

Always in control.

Calming herself, she ticked off the proof points in her mind. Lilah and Cassidy were under watch. They were protected. Tucker and Reed had practically glued themselves to her friends, and she was more grateful than she could ever say for that fact.

Of course, if she were being fair, Max had attempted the same with her, and she’d given him the coldest of shoulders. Which she now knew was not only petty but also the height of stupidity.

Tears Violet hadn’t even realized she held back balled in her throat, spilling over in a hot wave down her cheeks. Had she really been so stupid?

Here she was, the professional epitome of responsibility and thoughtfulness. She put together elaborate events—for a living—yet she’d managed to disregard her own life in a wash of pride and arrogance.

So why had she pushed Max Baldwin away?

Strong, stubborn, capable Max.

As the man’s solid form took shape in her mind, she scrubbed at her cheeks, brushing away the tears. She’d done this—put herself in a place of extreme vulnerability. Over the past two weeks she’d understood the threat but made no effort to understand its roots.

And she’d naively assumed justice would run its course when the man at the heart of the crimes had been captured.

The door swung open on a hard slam, Tripp Lange in its frame like a physical reinforcement to her thoughts. Alex hovered behind him, an obvious deterrent to any attempt at running.

“It’s time we discussed the location of your ruby.”

Alex closed the door and flipped the lock at his back. As he turned toward her, a paring knife glinted in his hand along with a small sap, no bigger than a sock, in the other.

Violet backed away, the violence inherent in those two items telegraphing itself across the stifling expanse of room.

“Miss Richardson.”

Violet said nothing, even as she fought the unsteady pounding of her heart in her throat. These men didn’t make idle threats. She and her partners had already seen their handiwork firsthand, initially in the form of Cassidy’s ex-brother-in-law, Charlie, dumped at their back entrance. Then, just days ago, Lilah’s ex-husband, Steven, had outlived his usefulness to Lange. The man had crawled, bloody and broken, to their shop, dying in Lilah’s lap.

“I trust you’ve rested?” Lange never moved from his position inside the door, but she flinched all the same at his words.

“What do you think?”