The Professional. Addison Fox

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?”

      “I think you’ve been deluding yourself.”

      “How so?” She fought to keep a quaver from her voice, but the thickness of her vocal cords had the question coming out on a hard croak.

      “You have quite the reputation, Miss Richardson. Good family. Impeccable breeding. And a business that’s become quite the envy of society.”

      “I’ve worked hard. As have my partners.”

      “Yes, yes.” He nodded, his mouth drawn up in a small frown. “And yet, look where it’s gotten you.”

      “Kidnapped?”

      “Misguided, more like.”

      The fear hadn’t abated, but even Violet couldn’t hide her confusion. “I’m sorry?”

      “You’ve somehow assumed you’re above reproach. Invincible. It’s a difficult lesson to learn until one is taken down a peg or two.” Lange nodded, his face holding the serious expression of a professor leading his class or a respected judge handing down a sentence.

      “Was that the purpose of kidnapping me?”

      Lange did laugh at that, a small, cold welling of sound that lacked any evidence of humor or warmth. “Goodness no, Miss Richardson. The purpose of kidnapping you was to get the jewels. The advice, however, is offered freely.”

      “And what advice is that?”

      “Never stand in the way of a determined man. It will never end well.”

      The retort formed but the words lodged in her throat as Lange gestured Alex forward with a quick flick of his fingers. The small bag of who knew what slammed into her stomach with the force of a battering ram, and Violet doubled over, her breath rushing out as pain radiated through her midsection. Before she could catch her breath or even stand, Alex had the sap in motion once more, swinging it down over her hunched shoulders with swift efficiency.

      She screamed, the sound barely echoing off the thick furnishings in the room as pain—sharp and dark—rolled through the upper part of her shoulder and down her rib cage.

      Tears welled, choking off her air as she fell to her knees. Trembling, she lay on the ground, only to be dragged forward with a hard snap on her wrist. Another layer of pain met the first, and it was only when she lifted her head and registered the thin blade of Alex’s paring knife slicing her forearm that she nearly gave in to the black that swam behind her eyes.

      Through sheer force of will, she dragged her bleeding arm away while swinging out with her free fist, slamming hard into the only area she could find purchase—Alex’s shin. The move was enough to push the man off balance, even as another layer of agonizing pain ran the width of her bruised shoulder.

      Alex righted his footing and leaped toward her once more, but Lange held out a hand, stopping the man’s progress. “Enough.”

      “Hardly.” The menace layered in that single word was sharper than his blade, and Violet refused to stay on her knees. Rising to her full height, she shot Lange a dark look. “I thought you didn’t play with your prey.”

      “Persuasion isn’t play.” Those reptilian eyes stayed flat, even as they skipped around the room. “And since you’ve had quite a bit of alone time in here, I’m sure you’ve been planning and plotting. So Alex’s demonstration was a firm reminder to stop.”

      Words were on the tip of her tongue—something, anything—to give herself the upper hand she was so used to holding, but she held them in.

      “Excellent. Since we understand each other, I will be back in the morning with a fresh set of clothing. Then we’ll go to whatever bank you’ve secured your ruby in, and we will retrieve it.”

      Whether it was her lack of retort or a simple need to punctuate his point, she didn’t know, but the hand that swung out and connected with her cheek was swift and immediate.

      And had Violet dropping once more to her knees.

      “Are we clear, Miss Richardson?”

      Although it pained her to utter even that small acquiescence, Violet knew some battles weren’t won via a direct attack. “Yes.”

      * * *

      The long cut on her forearm still bled, and Violet had finally given in and ripped off the sleeve of her suit jacket, using the thin silk lining as a bandage. Wads of toilet paper made an appropriate layer of protection over the wound, and she avoided thinking about the sting as she continued to settle and resettle herself on the bed.

      She knew Lange was ruthless, and she now had several large bruises as an indication of just how far he would go.

      And how soulless he really was.

      It had been only after long hours of painful pacing that she realized the injuries might work in her favor. She’d run that idea through several lenses, wondering how she might make the appropriate plea with bank personnel.

      Or convince them she needed help without putting any additional people in danger.

      A casual shrug of her sleeve before revealing the wound Alex had inflicted? A rush of the counter, begging the employees to call the police? There were many ways to create a diversion, but when she imagined the bank lobby of the branch she’d used, she continued to discard each and every one.

      Although the bank maintained a shielded teller line, the outer offices were all unprotected. Add on any civilians in the bank and she was putting a lot of people in danger for a gem she had no interest in keeping. Even if the thought of giving Reed’s stepfather what he wanted violated every ounce of decency and goodness she possessed.

      Tripp Lange had killed for stones. Repeatedly. They were nothing more than rocks, mined from the earth and given some ridiculous layer of significance by small-minded individuals.

      Lilah had discovered the legend of the Renaissance Stones as she came to understand the gems better, and Violet had filled in the gaps with some quick online research.

      The stones were originally one stone, mined by the Dutch East India Company in the late seventeenth century and reputed for both its size and exquisite, flawless beauty. It was subsequently cut into the current trio, three rubies of near-perfect quality, all designed to rest in the crown of a king