Lilah took a hard step back before she registered the mistake. She should have slammed and locked the door and instead, Steven was already inside.
“Lilah.” He nodded—actually nodded, as if she were one of his subjects—before moving fully into the kitchen.
His speculative gaze drifted around the room, landing on various areas as he walked. He ran a finger over the stainless-steel countertop, pulled open several drawers and firmly snapped off the music when he reached the music dock.
“That’s better.”
He hated music in his kitchen. Had always claimed it was an unnecessary distraction, but she’d suspected it was something more. He wasn’t good at managing stress or distraction and she’d always seen his aversion to music as a further sign of how difficult he found interference of any kind.
In the silence, her anxiety clicked up several more notches and she fought the twin urges to run and stand her ground. Reluctantly opting for the latter, she pressed for answers. “What do you want?”
“Nice welcome.”
“You’re not welcome. Here. Or in my life.”
“Yet you’re the one who came to Portia the other night, flaunting a new guy in my face.”
His words were like a hard slap as she reflected on the evening from his vantage point. Her trip with Reed to the restaurant had been designed to suss out information, but she could understand how it might have looked differently to Steven.
“It was Restaurant Week and my date selected Portia. I didn’t know until we drove up.”
The excuse was smooth, but she heard the tremors underneath the words and forced herself to take calm, even breaths.
She would not cower before him.
He stopped at the counter and before she could register his motions, dipped a finger into the bowl of coconut cream.
“Don’t—”
“It’s okay.” He shrugged, then dipped a finger once more. He’d already ruined it by touching the filling at all, but the second dip was designed as pure insult and she well knew it. “You never did get coconut quite right.”
“Some people can’t appreciate the complexity of the flavors.”
The insult registered, his gaze turning dark. Menacing. And Lilah began to rethink the urge to run.
Forcing a bravado she didn’t feel, she mustered up a dark stare. “What do you want?”
“I want to talk to you.”
“So talk.” Then get out.
“Little tart-tongued Lilah. You always did think yourself above everyone else in the kitchen.” He stepped away from the counter, his gaze flicking over the bowl before skipping back to her like a skimming stone. “How silly of you.”
The words were designed to put her in her place, but it was the dismissive attitude toward her work and her kitchen that did the real damage.
Of all the things she remembered, it was those moments the most. The bruises had healed, vanished as if they’d never been, save for the memories. But the dismissal of her work had lingered long after it should have.
“I have a question.” Steven snagged one of the stools she kept in the kitchen for use while she worked and took a seat. The move was deceptively casual and she wasn’t fooled for a moment.
Rather than acknowledge, she remained silent, waiting for him to continue.
“What were you doing in Portia the other night?”
“As I told you before. My date chose the restaurant and I didn’t know until we drove up.”
“Wrong answer.” His low voice sent a hard shiver through her and what had been uncomfortable up to now morphed into genuine panic.
The night before at Violet’s, she’d struggled with her belief that Steven was involved with the rubies. But now, as he sat like a predatory beast in her kitchen, she was forced to rethink her instincts.
He was involved. She knew it with a sudden clarity that seemed to sharpen her vision.
She avoided glancing toward her office or the back door, but she mentally calculated the steps toward the main area of the shop. Violet and Cassidy were both out on consults, but if she could get to the front door she could run to the decorator who owned the shop two doors down.
And then she could call Reed.
Confirm what they both believed was true.
He’d maintained Steven couldn’t have ordered the cut brake lines based on timing and they’d both let that piece of evidence cloud their thoughts on the bigger problem.
Steven was in this.
The ruby she kept stuffing in her shoe suddenly felt like a lead weight beneath her toes and she avoided the urge to shift from foot to foot. Damn, damn, damn, why didn’t I go to the bank first thing?
“Little Lilah.” Steven tsked. “What were you doing in Portia the other night with a cop?”
He knew?
The rabbit-quick beat of her heart flooded her bloodstream with adrenaline. What exactly was he into?
“What makes you so sure Reed’s a cop?”
Steven cocked his head, his laser-sharp focus concentrated fully on her. The sensation was uncomfortable, his daring glare confrontational to the extreme.
His gaze bored into her like a drill and once more, she calculated how quickly she could get out of the building.
And knew she’d never make it.
Steven was too large—too fit—and he had a good foot on her, which meant his legs could carry him a heck of a lot faster than hers could.
She did calculate the distance to her knife drawer and debated the wisdom of trying to use one or distract him away from them. A bruise she could handle. A knife wound, likely not.
With that thought firmly in mind—and her body angled away from the knife drawer—she decided to gamble.
“What would you know of cops? What are you involved with?”
“The very same thing you are.”
“I’m not involved in anything. Not intentionally.” She hesitated, then decided to go for it. “Unlike our marriage.”
“You never could handle me. You had no idea how to be a society wife.”
“No, Steven. It’s you who can’t handle anyone. Anyone who disagrees with you. Or who has a talent or self-confidence or ability. You never understood that surrounding yourself with good people only made your good work even better.”
“You know nothing. My restaurants flourish because of me. Why the hell do you think there were all those people at Portia the other night? Because of the damn sous chef?”
“He contributed to the evening.”
“It’s mine! They were there for me!” The response was so unexpected—so unnecessary and juvenile—that Lilah’s jaw actually dropped at the outburst.
How had she never understood this?
This strange, stunted inability of his to accept he wasn’t the center of the universe. She half expected him to stomp his feet next, like a frustrated toddler.
Only he didn’t.
His large frame was off the stool and around the counter before she could blink, her chef’s coat fisted beneath one large hand. “Where is it?”
“Where’s what?”
Memories assailed her as the present shimmered into past and back again.
Steven was here. And he had her, his fists primed to hit her.
All her work—all her effort to avoid him—and it had still come to this.
Don’t hit me. Don’t scream at me. Don’t hate me so much.
The thoughts pinged through her mind like errant pinballs on a table, all striking and slamming into her mind.
And underneath it all, the lone word that had haunted her for over two horrible years.
Why?
“The ruby! Give it to me!”
“I don’t have it!”
A hard slap hit her cheek, her head snapping with the force of motion. “Where. Is. It?”
“Nowhere!”
Tears ran freely down her face, the hot fire lighting up her cheek and mixing with the warmth of her tears as she braced for a second hit.
His hand never loosened on her coat, but his gaze did change. The challenge in the depths of his eyes faded, replaced with something very much like resignation. The fear at his swift punishment shifted, morphing into a cold, clammy layer of terror that stole over the skin.
“I know you have it and I’m not going anywhere until you give it to me.” His hand tightened on her chef’s coat, the twist of the thick material nearly cutting off her oxygen as he began to stroke her hair with his free hand. “Your choice.”
She stilled, the stroke of his hand a far worse violation than the slap. Where Reed’s hands had been soft and gentle the night before, full of reverence and warmth, Steven’s were the opposite.
His touch was mild, but it veiled a terrible threat.
“You’re in over your head, Lilah. Give it to me and I’ll leave.”
“Why won’t you believe me?” She wanted to keep her calm—desperately wanted to control the situation—but her words came out on a harsh, strangled sob. “I don’t have it.”
“Just like before. I gave you the chance to tell me you were with a cop and you lied. Years ago, I gave you a chance to give me honest feedback on the restaurant and you lied, suggesting improvements just for spite. And now you’re lying about this.” The fingers in her hair twisted, dragging pain to her scalp with swift punishment. “Tell me now!”
She was already on her tiptoes, instinctively giving herself the height to keep her airflow open beneath his fist, but the pain in her scalp was so all consuming, she kicked out.
Her foot connected with his shin, her already-loose shoe flying off as the toe of her Croc hit on an odd angle.
Although she couldn’t see what was happening, the heavy thwap of the shoe hitting the floor was immediately followed by a light tinkle of something solid hitting the concrete. Steven’s attention shifted to the floor, a dark smile filling his face.
“That’s convenient.”
“You can’t have it. You need to get as far away from this as fast as you can. It’s dangerous.”
The hand at her throat loosened enough for her to take free breaths, but he still hadn’t fully let go. “No. You’re the one who needs to stay away from this. Where are the other ones?”
“I don’t have them.”
But of course he’d want the others.
The fear for herself was nothing compared to the fear for Violet and Cassidy that suddenly swamped her.
“Where are they?”
“Hidden. I hid them.”
“More like your partners in crime hid them. One for each of you, no doubt.” He cocked his head, his gaze considering before he let go completely and bent to pick up the ruby.
The same thoughts that had drifted through her mind earlier—from running to snagging a knife from the drawer—filled her once more but she stayed still.
Unmoving.
“Take off your other shoe.”
“I don’t have them.”
“Off.”
Lilah kicked off the other shoe, the empty toe reinforcing her words.
“You can’t fight this. It’s so much bigger than you think it is. Get with your gal pals and get their stones, too. Get whatever you stole and get ready to turn it over.”
“We didn’t steal anything.”
“You can’t fight this.” Steven turned the ruby over in his hands. “I wouldn’t even try.”
He vanished as quickly as he’d arrived, the air still thick and heavy with his presence. Her gaze skittered around the room, pulsing in time with the erratic beats of her heart, taking in impressions and sensations, unable to settle.
Her shoes, both lying on their sides where they’d fallen.
The empty stool where he’d sat, taunting her.
And the bowl of coconut-cream filling, now ruined by his touch.
Just the way she was.
She could run—could pretend she was normal and over him—but she’d never be free of the threat.
Or her inability to rise above the fear.
She knew she needed to call for help. Violet and Cassidy would be there in a heartbeat. Gabby was two blocks away.
And Reed.
She shook her head as a wave of chills gripped her. She couldn’t call Reed. Not now. Not with the mark of Steven’s hand still lighting up her cheek in raw streaks of fire.
She’d failed.
The monster had come to her door and she hadn’t been strong enough to fight him off.
The back door beckoned and she knew she needed to lock it, but her legs shook, her muscles going to water as she sank to the cool floor. Steven might come back. He wanted the other rubies.
He would come back.
So she needed to plan. Needed to figure out a way to keep Cassidy and Violet safe. A plan was all she needed.
And as the tears rolled down her face, Lilah curled into herself, her arms wrapped around her knees, and desperately tried to think of one.
* * *
Reed fielded a series of questions from his lieutenant as he caught the man up to speed. Despite spending the morning with his thoughts full of Lilah, he’d managed to dig deeper into the history of the gem appraiser and had also made time for a conversation with Max Baldwin Senior.
He’d wrapped up both into his latest report to Granger.
“Cut brake lines?” His LT eyed him above his laptop. “An oldie but goodie.”
“Afraid so.”
“And Miss Castle is okay?”
“Yes, she’s fine. The hospital cleared her after it happened.”
“And you?” Granger’s gaze never wavered.
“I’m fine. A few bruises but I’ve had worse.”
Granger nodded and exhaled on a small harrumph before returning his focus to Reed’s report. “Weddings?”
Reed had worked with Tom Granger long enough to know when a question was rhetorical and he was curious to see how the man worked through the meaning that hovered beneath his words.
“How did three women who plan weddings get in the middle of something like this? It’s a strange juxtaposition, don’t you think?”
“How so?”
“Priceless gems in the floor? The secreted crown jewels? And now they won’t give them to you?”
“They belong to the landlady fair and square. The provenance on the gems is clear about that.” Reed fought the slight sensation that crawled up his spine as he thought about Lilah’s current “storage” of the ruby in her possession. “The women have them secured.”
“Have you called MI5?” Granger snapped the lid of his laptop. “Let them know what’s possibly hitting the black market.”
“You want their jurisdiction on this?”
“I think it’s time.”
“Tom. With all due respect, this isn’t a smash and grab. Whoever wants these jewels wants them for some personal purpose. Do we really want to involve foreign jurisdiction?”
“I don’t think we can afford to ignore it. Word gets out on this and the Dallas PD is sitting on its next fifty years of embarrassment.”
“I don’t follow you.”
“Hell, Reed. We’ve been known as the city that killed Kennedy for half a century. You want to add the bumbling idiots who messed up major British artifacts to that list?”
* * *
Steven turned off Dragon and cut down Cole, the large black SUV idling at the corner, facing Riverfront, exactly where he expected. The whole neighborhood still had several dodgy edges and Steven wondered what Lilah possibly saw in the area.
Hell, he’d seen himself as a pioneer when he opened Portia in the newly burgeoning Uptown area over a decade ago and that hadn’t been half as seedy as where Lilah and her friends chose to run a wedding business.
Amateurs.
Once he’d actually held the ruby—and the damn thing was huge—he’d briefly pondered heading in the opposite direction, but a deal was a deal.
And a deal with a slimeball like the Duke was only going to end one way if he reneged on his side. Charlie and Robert must have learned that one the hard way and he had no interest in following their footsteps.
Nope.
Much as he was enamored of the heavy weight in his pocket, he’d dutifully turn it over and give the Duke instructions on how to secure the other two gems. Lilah had refused to tell him where they were, which meant Cassidy and Violet both had to have them.
The three of them were freaking inseparable and there was no way they’d not find the beautiful symmetry in splitting the hoard up between them.
Amateurs.
The word rang through his mind once more as he snagged the door handle, a blast of cool air hitting him as he hopped up into the SUV.
The Duke was settled in the plush interior, his black Armani seeming to fade into the car’s rich leather. “Thanks for the ride. I’ve got it.”
“And?”
The word hung there and, not for the first time, Steven cursed Charlie and Robert for this asinine plan. He’d known of the Duke, of course. No one who managed a small business in Dallas was above paying the requisite protection to ensure their establishment thrived and flourished.
But it was virtually impossible to determine who the man was. Hell, it had taken him over a year to even get in the man’s good graces to secure a face-to-face meeting. And had he been surprised to realize the Duke was a well-respected man about town. A regular patron of Portia, as a matter of fact.
Steven had filed the information away, knowing full well it was idiocy to mention it to anyone. Men like the Duke didn’t get into positions of power by tolerating gossip. Their base of power depended on it.
“Well, Mr. DeWinter?”
“Take a look.” He pulled the ruby from his pocket, the surface cool in his hand. He had a flash—nothing more substantial than that—of blood and fire as he handed over the gem.
A strange sort of half smile lit the Duke’s face as he turned the ruby over in his hands. “It’s magnificent. Legendary.”
“If you’re into that sort of thing.”
The Duke lifted his gaze from the stone. “You believe this is the only one in Miss Castle’s possession.”
“Yeah. She’s thick as thieves with the other two. If there are three stones then they have three guardians.”
“Interesting.”
Steven didn’t think it was all that interesting—Lilah never had been able to think for herself unless her two sidekicks gave their opinions—but he opted to say nothing.
Silence descended in the car and Steven sought for something to say. “We missed you the other night. Should I have your table ready this evening?”
“No, not tonight. I have plans with my wife.”
Steven shrugged, admittedly relieved. They’d spent too much time in each other’s company the past few days and he’d like a night to relax. He always kept a few tables open and if the man changed his mind, he could accommodate, but it was a relief to think he wouldn’t have to be on this evening.
“Alex.” The Duke’s lone word rang out as he nodded to his driver. “We’re ready.”
Steven reached for his seat belt, intending to buckle up for the short drive to Portia. The thick strap was still in his hand when his door opened, his body flying through the air as he was dragged from the car.
“Wait!”
He hit the concrete with a thud, pain radiating through his arms as he landed hard on his wrists, gravel and grease coating his hands.
What the hell?
One of the large men he’d seen with the Duke before stood over him, his huge, meaty body practically shutting out the sun as he filled Steven’s vision.
Run.
The word pulsed in his mind, struggling for purchase amid the confusion and unreality of the moment.
He did what he was asked to do. Delivered the ruby just as he promised.
Run.
“Thank you, Mr. DeWinter.” The Duke’s face filled the open car door, a gun in his hand.
Steven scrambled backward, pain radiating from his wrists in hard waves as his feet scrabbled to find purchase on the hot concrete. Was something broken?
Run.
The mental admonition came too late as pain exploded in his neck, the bullet’s impact throwing him backward into concrete and gravel.
* * *
The tears had stopped but Lilah still hadn’t left her position on the floor of her kitchen. The hard concrete grew even harder against her butt as she rocked and rocked, her problem racing through her mind with the sheer force of a tornado.
How was she going to keep Violet and Cassidy safe?
Where could they go? How would they escape?
She could bargain herself. Call Steven back and tell him she had the other jewels. Or better, she’d trick Cassidy and Vi into giving her theirs and could bring them to Steven.
Or whomever he was working for.
She’d explain there were only three stones. Would tell whomever hid behind this problem that they were the famed Renaissance Stones of legend and now he had all of them.
She’d fix this.
She knew how to deal with monsters.
Even as she thought it, the censure rose up in her mind. Yeah, right, she knew how to deal with monsters. Like with today’s pitiful excuse for bravado as she simpered the moment Steven looked sideways at her.
She didn’t slay monsters, she was slayed by them.
Defeated.
Just as it had before, her conscience whispered for her to call Reed, but she ignored it once more.
He deserved better than this. Better than a woman who couldn’t even keep a priceless gem in her shoe.
The hard snap of the back door had her sitting upright, the noise rocketing through her with the force of an arrow.
He’s back.
Hands shaking, she quickly got to her feet and moved in determined steps toward the knife drawer. She wouldn’t cower this time. Wouldn’t...
Hot summer air blasted through the door but no one followed.
The knife drawer still beckoned and she’d taken two quiet steps backward when she heard a long, low whimper.
What?
She raced to the door, her bare feet slapping on concrete when she stopped hard at the entrance. And found Steven sprawled over the steps, blood covering his neck and chest.
“Steven!”
His eyelids fluttered as he looked up at her, a hard croak escaping his lips. “Help—”
Shock and confusion danced across her mind as some other small corner simply moved into action. She bent, her hands beneath his shoulders as she half dragged him in while he pushed with his feet. The slick concrete floor helped, but the movement was hard enough that he cried in pain as she settled him inside the door.
Towels lined the counter but all were dirty with the day’s work. Dragging off her chef’s coat, she wadded it up, inside out, and kneeled next to him. She pressed the coarse material to the base of his neck, the flesh torn and bloody.
His legs flailed and she whispered nonsense as she pressed the coat to his neck, her other hand firm on his chest. “Hold still. Shh.”
“Over. It’s not over.”
“Shh. Don’t say—”
His hand snaked out, gripping her wrist, the movement firm. Unlike before, there was a determination in the motion instead of violence. “Lilah.”
She stilled at his urgency and gave him a moment to speak.
“You’re—” He took a hard breath, dragging in air in a hard wheeze. She kept the pressure firm against his body but struggled to figure out what to do next when the white cloth rapidly turned red with blood.
“They’re coming for you. For all of you.”
“Who?”
“The Du—”
“Lilah!” Thick footsteps filled the air behind her as Reed moved into her field of vision. Relief coursed through her as she kept her hands firm on Steven. He continued to kick out, his legs restless, and it took every ounce of strength to keep the pressure on his wound.
Ignoring Reed, she stared down at her ex-husband. The man who’d terrorized her, even up to that very day, suddenly seemed small when faced with the results of violence. “Who, Steven? Who did this?”
“Tripp.”
“What?” Reed dropped to his knees on the other side of Steven’s body. “Who?”
“Lange.”