and activity helps.”
Violet nodded, the reality of what Detective Reed Graystone had endured still a raw wound for all of them. Assigned to their case by someone inside the Dallas PD, Reed had only just uncovered that that connection—and corresponding corruption—had its roots in his powerful stepfather, Tripp Lange.
“Lilah’s been keeping a close eye. She said he’s holding up.”
“Graystone’s tough. He’ll hold up because he has no choice. None of it changes the fact that with what he’s exposed, the danger’s still out there. Still lurking.”
“But Tripp’s in jail.”
“For how long?” Max turned toward her, his eyes alight with fire and a mix of—concern? anguish?—before he pressed on. “The man’s got connections layered beneath connections. You think he’s going to sit in a cell for very long?”
“I think this case is too big and too strange not to catch the eye of someone who will ensure it gets solved.”
“Then you’re more naive than I ever gave you credit for.”
* * *
Satisfaction filled his chest as the barb struck Violet square in hers. She actually sputtered before she caught herself. “I’m far from naive.”
“Then start acting like it. Tripp Lange will be out of jail before any of us can blink. I’m surprised he’s still there.”
“He’s been exposed as a major criminal. He’s got to be under tight supervision.”
Max fought the urge to gently shake some sense into her, the concerns he’d harbored since discovering the cache of jewels in the floor of Violet’s business only getting stronger and more forceful by the day. Violet was the practical one of the women who ran Elegance and Lace, and even with that pragmatism, she clearly had no idea what they were up against.
“Come on, Max. I’m serious. Lange’s in jail and Reed’s requested any and all updates on his case. The danger has passed.”
Max shrugged, his gaze drifting to where the object of their discussion stood. The good detective hovered over Lilah while his new fiancée hovered over her masterpiece of a wedding cake. “Reed’s stepfather has a lot of people in his pocket. People he’s paid good money for. What’s their incentive to start cooperating now?”
Graystone was a good man. A more than solid cop and, from what he’d seen of the man’s interactions with Lilah, as well as their broader group, an honorable soul who believed in the badge.
What did it do to a man to see those beliefs destroyed in a hard sweep of money and corruption?
He knew what it was like to have your faith in something destroyed. Your knees cut out from underneath you, even as you sank in a pool of quicksand.
Graystone would hold up, but he’d pay a price. Thankfully he had the love of a good woman—a woman he saw as his equal—to help see him through.
At the thought of having a woman, Max’s gaze swung back toward Violet.
Damn, but she was a looker. Every time he got within a mile of her, a strange sort of awareness settled itself at the base of his spine, drumming on his nerves with hard spikes. He wanted to chalk it up to simple attraction, nothing more. But as easy as that would be—and nothing about Violet Richardson was easy, in the biblical sense or otherwise—he knew it was something else.
Something fierce and needy that gripped a man in a hard fever and refused to let go.
Despite knowing her for well over a year, since they were first introduced at their local business owners’ meetings, and then getting to know her far better after the break-in at her shop, he still found the woman to be a mystery.
Her business partners were easygoing and friendly, and both had welcomed him into their social circle with open arms. Violet, on the other hand, had railroaded him at every opportunity. Her green eyes tempted, even as the cool set of her shoulders and that pure-as-vodka voice shut him down at every turn.
“You ever think about it?” he asked.
“About what?”
The change of topic added a hint of confusion to her question, but it also went a long way toward cooling the ire sparking at the suggestion she was naive.
He waved a hand toward the ballroom, filled to the brim with laughing people, drinking people, dancing people, many doing all three. “This. Getting hitched. Doing forever with someone.”
“No.”
“Because you don’t want to?”
“Because I’ve never even come close.”
He had figured her for having a swath of old boyfriends, several of whom had made it close to the fiancé stage, so the acknowledgment that she’d been no closer than he to taking a walk toward the altar was a surprise.
He brushed a finger down her cheek, the soft skin more tempting than anything he could have imagined, and he fought to keep his hand steady through the trembling that suddenly gripped him. “That’s a surprise.”
Her breath caught as she stared up at him, and he took it as the smallest sign of victory that she was affected. But when she spoke, it was pure Violet.
Brisk and practical.
“It shouldn’t be. I’m difficult on the best of days. Something you remind me of on a regular basis.”
“I’ve never said that.”
“You don’t have to.”
She stepped back, her eyes wide with awareness and the wariness of cornered prey. “I need to see to a few things.”
He moved into her space again, deliberately blocking her view of the ballroom. “It won’t stop running without you.”
“Let’s not wait to find out.”
He stood still for one moment longer, not sure why he was baiting her and even less sure why he’d chosen this moment. She did have a job to do and was smack in the middle of a major event.
Still, he pressed on.
“I’d like an answer to my question.”
“What question is that? Why I’m so naive or why I keep ignoring you?”
“Neither. I’d like to know what you have against this.” He flung a hand out in the direction of the merry revelers. “Forever.”
The green eyes that usually glittered at him like hard emeralds softened for the briefest moment as she shifted her gaze toward the ballroom. But it was the light, wistful whisper that gripped him by the throat and hung on. Hard.
“You know, Max, I try to be hopeful. But most days I just think happy-ever-afters are for suckers.”
* * *
Violet fought the shaking of her
