Читать книгу The Professional - Addison Fox - Страница 10
ОглавлениеViolet 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.
The man was small and trim, his harsh demeanor more evident in his features and the stoic set of his body. A hard jawline that held about as much sympathy as a python for its victim and a pair of pale green eyes to finish off the reptilian look.
What had Reed’s mother seen in the man?
By all accounts, they had a happy marriage. One in which Diana Graystone Lange been loved and doted on, happy in the illusion he’d woven around her.
Yet another illusion of love, shattered to bits.
“Ah, excellent. The paralytic is wearing off.” Lange turned to the man next to him. “Just as you suggested, Alex. About six to eight hours of potency.”
Violet noted the name while mentally adding the time and guessed it was nearing seven or eight o’clock in the morning. The wedding had been winding down when she went out for a breath at nearly midnight.
Which meant she’d been missing all night.
Unwilling to show any weakness, she tamped down on the fear that she’d been gone too long for anyone to find a trail and focused on whatever she could possibly learn now.
“Way to stack the deck in your favor.” She pushed every bit of Dallas socialite into her tone and prayed she didn’t get a smack for her efforts.
What she received instead was far more alarming than she ever could have imagined. Tripp leaned forward, those snake eyes telegraphing menace and a cocky sort of assurance. “I always stack the deck in my favor, Miss Richardson. Gambling is for the weak-minded. Those who understand that remain in control.”
A horrible sickness curled in her belly—a physical reminder that she wasn’t in control—yet she pressed on. “Clearly the strategy is working for you. You’re in hiding, kidnapping innocent women, while your wife refuses to see you. Good plan.”
Tripp moved even closer, so close she could see the pores of his face and the black lines that rimmed his eerie irises. “The bravado is amusing, but taunting me won’t help. Nor will jabs about my wife. I will have the rubies. I will have my wife. And then I’ll be rid of you and your friends. Is that understood?”
She said nothing, even as she refused to break eye contact. As Tripp lifted his head from hers, he tossed his final salvo. “You can at least take heart that I don’t play with my prey.”
Alex dropped a wrapped bagel and a bottle of water on the end table before turning to follow his boss. It was only at the last minute, as the man turned from the door, that something dark and violent struck through the roiling fear already swimming in her stomach.
Lange might not want to play with his prey, but Alex looked like he lived for it.
* * *
Max shoveled in his third biscuit as he paced Masterson’s small home office. The man’s wife had been sweet and understanding, dropping off a bakery box of goodies around six. It was now two hours later, and the butter-laden foods had done nothing to assuage the increasing concern they wouldn’t find Violet in time.
“Let’s track it back, Ryan.” Reed flipped through a small notepad he’d pulled from his pocket earlier. “Can we trace Lange’s movements from when he was released? We’ve got him and his partner, Alex, for about three miles, but the trail goes cold after they get out of downtown.”
“We found them the other night in Fair Park at the warehouse Tripp owns.” Max stepped forward to point at one of the large computer monitors that currently showcased the view from eight different Dallas traffic cameras. “Did they go back?”
“The warehouse is blocked off, and there’s round-the-clock protection on it.” A dark look passed over Reed’s face, his mouth turned down in a hard frown. “Of course, there are supposed to be guards on it. Let me make a quick call and confirm that order didn’t get lost as neatly as Lange’s paperwork.”
Ryan stopped him. “Let me. I can pull the records from here. It’s a standard query.”
Within moments, Ryan let out a sigh. “Nope. Two officers have been there since the arrests last Thursday. No break in protocol and CSI is expected to sweep it fully on Monday.”
At the image of forensic detectives working through the warehouse for any clues, Max had a different thought. “What if we’re going about this wrong?”
“How so?” Ryan reached for his coffee, his ability to pass over the bakery box an impressive feat.
“Lange’s got to have dummy corporations layered under dummy corporations. What work’s been done to find the companies he owns?”
Reed flipped through his notebook once more. “We’ve been working on that. My partner, Jessie, spent all day yesterday combing real estate files. She couldn’t find a thing about the Fair Park property.”
“Which means the records have been wiped.” Ryan reached for a donut at that point, his excitement palpable. “Which is something I can do a heck of a lot with.”
Max gestured Reed toward the door. “Let’s give him a minute to work. I want to check in with Tucker, and I’m sure you want to call Lilah.”
Tucker had holed up with Lilah, Cassidy and his boxer, Bailey, at Lilah’s town house, and they owed them all a check-in. Reed followed him into the hall, and at the sound of cartoons echoing from the living room, they moved as far as they could in the opposite direction, their voices low.
“Wherever they are, sooner or later they’re coming back for the other two rubies. Violet’s alive until then.” Max balled his fists. She had to be.
Of course, if he knew Violet, there was no way she was giving up the location of her ruby. Nor would she even hint she didn’t know the location of its twin, hidden by Cassidy in a separate bank. Violet was a pro at assessing every situation and would no doubt battle Lange to the bitter end of whatever game the man was playing. As strategy went, he admired the hell out of her. But as someone who cared for her, one thought trumped all others in his mind.
What might happen to her in the meantime?
“Max?” Reed’s shoulders stiffened with awareness. “We can get to where Cassidy hid her ruby. What about Violet?”
Max pushed through the pain, forcing a calm he didn’t feel. “She’s been silent on which bank she used. No one’s gotten it out of her, and believe me, I’ve tried.”
“Do you think she told Lilah or Cassidy?”
“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?”
“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 or queen. After its discovery, the stone was brought to a jeweler in Antwerp for cutting. The man was then murdered barely a week after the stones left his possession.
She’d read the history from there, the quiet battle between the Dutch and the English for rightful ownership of the pieces. The wave of misery the stones left in the wake of all who came in contact with them. It hadn’t taken long for whispers of a curse to accompany the legend of the stones, and although she’d originally shrugged off the silliness of that line of thinking, a glance down at her arm had Violet reconsidering.
They’d had nothing but trouble since the stones were recovered. Three men—that she knew of—had been murdered at Lange’s hand, and his other assistant was killed during the showdown with Reed.
While she was more likely to believe human greed and avarice were at the heart of the stones’ mythic power, she couldn’t fully disregard the depth of what had already happened.
Or the fact that Tripp’s behavior had escalated as he continued to get closer and closer to the jewels.
Pain was a steady accompaniment as she struggled to a sitting position once more. The man already had one stone. He likely had it on him, somewhere in the house. If she could convince him to bring it along to the bank, she could use that to her benefit.
The idea tumbled around in her thoughts and she twisted it, turning each facet as she tried to determine what to do. The stones were large for jewels but relatively small as individual items. Lilah had hidden hers inside her shoe, so the relative size was modest.
Everything she’d understood so far about Lange indicated he was enamored of the pieces, so much so that he’d be likely not to leave the stone behind. Would he carry it in his pocket? Or inside his suit jacket?
With the first real glimmer of hope since she’d awoken in the dim room, Violet realized she could use that knowledge. He had to get her out in the open if he wanted her stone. And when he did, she’d observe his movements and get a read on any area of his body that he focused on with surreptitious pats or subtle favoring.
And then she’d strike.
All she needed was enough motion to get the gem off his person, and she could put it through the window of the bank’s teller line. The bulletproof glass had small openings across the line so people could slide their transactions to the teller.
She needed to be sure of her motions and she had to move quickly but she could use that small window. And once she got that stone behind glass, she had a bargaining chip. The others in the bank would be safe because he wasn’t leaving the stone behind, and she would refuse to get the second stone if he hurt anyone.
Violet resettled herself against the pillows, the pain fading slightly in the rush of adrenaline and satisfaction. The idea wasn’t perfect, and she’d have to deal with the Alex factor as well, but it had merit. And for the first time since she’d woken up, her limbs unmoving, she felt some small sense of control.
She closed her eyes, regulating her breathing as she visualized the layout of the bank. The area where she could make her move. The best spot to overpower Lange. The holes built into the teller line where she could push through the pilfered ruby.
Her small smile of satisfaction was short-lived as a large boom with all the force of a jet engine echoed around her. The bed began to shake and she scrambled to sit up, shocked as the opposite wall vanished before her eyes, crumbling to dust.
