by Addison Fox
* * *
“You have exactly two minutes to fill us in before they get here.” Lilah glanced out the front of Elegance and Lace like a furtive burglar. “It’s not going to take them that long to get their demolition equipment.”
“Fill you in on what?” Cassidy dropped into the plush velvet couch opposite the dressing rooms. Her gaze roamed over what was left of the cleanup. A broken plant that would need to go sat next to an open garbage bag holding the remains of scattered crystal beads, ripped lace and shattered glass.
Next to the pile was the small stool she sat on when working on a bride’s hem. The stool had been her grandmother’s—had been a family piece since Nana had been a small girl—and now it needed new fabric covering, its stuffing popping out between slash marks. Ignoring the equally harsh slash of pain, she focused on moving forward. She could run past the fabric store on the way home and select some new material. Maybe a royal purple...
“Yo. Cass! Come on, sweetie. I need details.”
Cassidy keyed back into Lilah’s waving hands six inches before her face. “I told you, there’s nothing to tell.”
“Yeah, right. Nothing.” Lilah spied Violet from the back of the store and called her over. “Vi. Tell me you saw the same sparks I saw.”
“Oh, I saw them.” Vi’s heels clicked over the treated concrete floor, a slight grimace on her face. “And while I’d like nothing more than to gossip about it, I think we have a bigger problem on our hands.”
“What?” Cassidy let out a small breath at the shift in scrutiny but knew they weren’t done with the topic. Getting Lilah off any topic before she was ready was nearly impossible.
Violet glanced toward the windows before dropping onto the couch next to hear. “The guys are suspicious and they’re also involved. Despite Lilah’s express invitation, are we sure we want that?”
“Sorry.” Lilah wore the look of the contrite for a moment before she pressed on. “I should have asked first. But they’re on their way now.”
“So we tell them we had a change of heart.” Cassidy shrugged. “In fact, maybe we should have a change of heart. This is still Mrs. B.’s place. I keep feeling it’s wrong not to ask her first.”
An image of their landlady lying pale in that hospital bed struck her with blunt force. Was she hiding a secret? Josephine Beauregard had always been so sweet to them, and Cassidy genuinely believed the woman would never willingly put them in harm’s way.
Maybe they’d both been the victims of random violence?
And even as she thought it, Cassidy knew better.
Someone with knowledge—secreted knowledge—of their alarm code got in or they had a sophisticated enough device to crack the eight-digit code. And either way she sliced it, both options left her sick.
The heavy knock on the front door pulled her attention from her friends. Without warning, a small flutter of excitement lit up her stomach, pushing that slightly nauseous feeling away as she thought of Tucker.
There were depths there, she mused. His demeanor was friendly. Jovial. Easy, even. But there were dark spots.
Time in the military would do it, Cassidy knew. Men and women had been asked to do and see some harsh things in the name of God and country. But it was more...
Tucker Buchanan had hidden depths. And the more time she spent with him, the more intrigued she was about uncovering them. About uncovering the man with the melt-me chocolate-brown eyes and the ugly dog.
“I’ll let them in.” Lilah jumped up like a jack-in-the-box.
Violet shifted to the end of the sofa, intent on getting up before she seemed to make a decision. Cassidy had known her friend far too long not to recognize when she wanted to say something.
“I’m fine, Vi.”
“You sure? You found the problem and it was your work that was damaged. Are you sure you want to do this?”
She fought looking at the large men, traipsing through their shop, heavy equipment in hand. “I don’t think we have a choice.”
“We always have a choice.”
Cassidy caught a small smile from Tucker; she answered with one of her own before she could even think not to. “I’m not so sure about that.”
* * *
He watched the men unload their truck from his position farther along Dragon. The street was quiet—few cars at this time of day—but he’d been careful, parking under a small stretch of trees offering shade. Add on the tinted windows and he was golden.
Although he couldn’t see everything the guys carried, one had a demolition saw and another had a sledgehammer, so he was confident he knew what they were after.
The floor.
Settling in his seat, he viewed the scene through his binoculars. The blonde with the pink hair streak—Lilah, he remembered—opened the door, allowing the men to pass through.
The door closed and he didn’t miss her hand at the lock, flipping it shut, before they all moved to stand in the large front window of the shop. Man, he loved the old warehouses here. So many of the storefronts had those huge viewing windows, and it was child’s play to watch inside.
Although they all surrounded her, he could see the sweep of Cassidy’s long red hair as she gestured toward Blondie. He also didn’t miss the longing gaze stamped over her face as she stared at another one of the guys.
Damn. Charlie shook his head. “Hormones aplenty down there.”
He loved a good roll as much as the next guy but this was like something off a freaking reality show. Love and Crime in Big D had a nice ring to it.
Laughing to himself, he quieted as he let that thought play out. The entire lot of them was young and attractive, but actual attraction was a whole different matter.
Attraction meant attachment.
And attachment was something he could use to his advantage.
He knew that trick better than most.
With deliberate movements, one of the guys—Tucker Buchanan, by his research—reached out and pulled the blinds closed, effectively blocking Charlie’s view.
And that simple action gave him the last piece of information he needed.
Drills and sledgehammers. Locked doors. Shaded windows.
Yep. He knew just what they were after. And if he played his cards right, they’d do all the work and he could come in and sweep up the spoils.
Chapter 7
Tucker spread their tools out over a tarp on the floor as Max measured the poured concrete under the now removed carpet. Violet hovered around them, asking questions Tucker knew were driving Max crazy, and he couldn’t help but smile.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
Tucker tried—and failed miserably—to avoid staring at Cassidy’s legs as his gaze traveled the long way up toward her face where she stood above him. “At the risk of painting us like a pair of twelve-year-old boys who enjoy breaking things, Max and I are quite accomplished in demolition.”
“I’m not questioning your skills.” She tapped a foot before frowning. “Okay. I am questioning your skills, but I’m mostly questioning if this is a good idea.”
He didn’t miss the obvious concern in her face or the very real questions that filled her eyes, troubling the clear blue to a darker shade bordering on gray. Sitting back on his haunches, he squared his focus on her face.
“Is this about Mrs. B. or what we might find when we open up the floor?”
“Isn’t it all the same?”
“Not really.”
Tucker saw her frown—and a small line that crinkled just above her left eyebrow—before she shook her head. “It has to be both.”
Before he could say anything, she let out a small sigh. “Fine. You’re right. It’s the second one, but it’s still sort of wrapped around the first. What if we find something horrible? And then what if w
e have to take action against Mrs. B.?”
Tucker knew full well this wasn’t a laughing matter, but the sincerity that lined her face—and the very real fear he saw there—had a tease leaping to his lips. “What exactly do you think’s under there? Some pagan sacrifice? A slaughtered goat maybe?”
He was encouraged by the small smile that softened that fear ever-so-slightly so he pressed on.
“Perhaps jars of pig’s blood, just waiting for the proper prom to be dug up and put to good use?”
She did laugh at that, her smile going wide. “Now you’re on to something. After Mrs. B. spills the blood, she’ll then apply her telekinesis to cutting a swath through the Design District.”
“An octogenarian horror movie come true.”
Despite the dark conversation, Tucker was pleased to see the fear lifting from her eyes, determination taking its place.
“I suppose not knowing is the hardest part.”
“It usually is.”
That determination morphed into curiosity, and her voice was gentle when she spoke. “Was the military like that?”
Although he thought about his time in the Corps often—hell, who wouldn’t think about the single biggest thing to shape them as an individual?—Tucker rarely thought about specific days or moments.
Instead, his memories were more often focused on how he’d felt—that rush of adrenaline before a major op or the long days of advance planning, or even those hours of boredom between major campaigns. He remembered them all, yet had left them to brew in a sort of memorialized soup in his mind since returning to civilian life.
“I’m sorry. I overstepped.” Her body language matched her words, and Cassidy took a few steps back from him.
With quick motions, he was on his feet and moving toward her. “No, you didn’t. But I’m not sure the best way to answer you.”
“Oh?” She hesitated a moment and he saw her internal struggle, stamped in those expressive eyes. “It’s hard to discuss that time?”
“Not hard to discuss, hard to describe.” Tucker gestured her toward a small kitchenette they kept in the back of the office, suddenly thirsty for some coffee.
She said nothing, but did follow him toward the coffeemaker, which he took as a good sign.
Once he had a mug in hand, he turned to face her. “I certainly had my moments. You don’t spend time on active duty and not come back with memories you’d prefer to leave behind. But it’s more than that.”
“Tell me.”
How could he describe a moment? A day? A month?
And how could he explain how those months ran together into a series of instances of working and waiting, planning and plotting?
His gaze alighted on a small calendar affixed to the wall, a large black circle around next Saturday, and it suddenly all made sense.
“You go to a lot of weddings, right?”
“Sure.” She nodded. “More and more since we’ve had the business.”
“What do you remember about those days?”
“The dress, of course.” She laughed at that, before her gaze narrowed, her mouth drawing into a serious line. “The cake. The first dance. The ‘Macarena,’ which is sort of this inevitable nightmare about two thirds of the way through every wedding.”
Tucker mock-shuddered before lifting his eyebrows. “I do love a row of bridesmaids dancing in unison. Gotta love all that wiggling.”
The light slap to his shoulder was well deserved, and he pressed on, barely repressing his smile to focus back on their conversation.
“So at this point, you’ve been to a steady stream of weddings for most of your life, even more since starting your business, yet you don’t remember specifics. Just high points of each event.”
“Yeah. Sure.”
“That’s how I remember my time in the military. Huge moments of great significance, wrapped around an endless number of days with my senses on high alert.”
She nodded, and where he’d seen sorrow and the tinges of pity he now saw something else.
Understanding.
“Is that why you got Bailey?”
The question struck him as more profound than it should be. He loved the mutt but Bailey was still just a dog. But as he thought about that ugly face and the memories of bringing home a small puppy with oversize paws, he knew his feelings went far deeper.
He loved that damn dog. And he had memories—daily memories—of what it had been like to live with him. Train him. Run with him. Bailey and his business venture with Max had brought the spirit of everyday normalcy into his life.
Funny how it took one small, observant woman to show him that.
“I hadn’t thought about it that way, but yeah. I guess it is why I got Bailey.”
“You two make quite a pair.”
He grinned at that, anxious to get them back to lighter territory. “We both have faces only a mother could love?”
“Nope.” She reached for a mug of her own, tossing him a saucy look over her shoulder as she reached for the coffeepot. “You both have backsides that wiggle rather nicely when you run.”
* * *
Cassidy stood in a circle with her two best friends and considered what they were about to do.
Or what they were about to allow the guys to do.
The concrete slab in question sat in a perfect square, set off by a grooved rim that outlined the area the men would cut.
“Once we do this, we can’t undo it.” Violet’s voice was quiet, and Cassidy couldn’t help the slight swell of amusement at her friend’s tone.
Violet always cut to the chase.
She was their ringleader—whether self-appointed or simply a natural fit—and she always had been. Half cheerleader, half murmuring conscience, Violet Richardson kept them in line.
Lilah caught Cassidy’s gaze before she spoke. All traces of mischief from earlier in the hospital waiting room had vanished. “You’re thinking we shouldn’t?”
“No. I’m just saying we can’t undo this.”
“We need to know.” Cassidy allowed her gaze to roam over the men who now stood before the narrow entryway to the kitchen, deep in whispered conversation of their own.
The galley kitchen left little room for them, so they’d taken up positions against the long wall that abutted the space. Bright, vivid photos framed the walls, setting an odd backdrop to the stern, tense picture the two of them made.
A blushing bride was framed behind Max, her smile into her bouquet of roses level with the top of his head, while Tucker set off a wall of bridesmaids in a vibrant mix of peach silk.
Pausing, she let her gaze drift past the vivid wash of peach. To Tucker’s right was a matched frame of a groom in a tailored tuxedo. Despite herself, an image of what he’d look like dressed in the same crossed her mind, and her mouth went dry at the impressive picture her subconscious managed to create.
Long and tall, his shoulders framed by the black silk of a tuxedo, platinum squares winking at his cuffs. Tom Ford, maybe Gucci, for the design. No, she quickly amended, Brioni would be even better. She’d just helped a groom find the perfect fit in one of the designer’s suits and knew Tucker would take the beautiful cut straight into perfection territory.
Violet pulled Cassidy from the image of a tuxedo-clad Tucker. If her friend knew the direction of Cassidy’s thoughts, her calm, direct tone gave nothing away. “We do need to know, especially since someone else already appears to have knowledge we’re sorely lacking.”
“There’s that, but I think there’s a bigger question we need to ask ourselves.” Lilah shoved a swath of hair behind her ear, the pink streak setting off the subtle rose of her cheek. “Do we trust them? Especially pending what we find.”
The question was a fair one, and Cassidy heard the ghosts that lay under Lilah’s
words.
Her friend had walked through hell. Cassidy and Violet had walked next to her the entire time, but no matter how many steps they’d taken with Lilah, neither of them had lived it.
Nor had they had their trust shattered, nearly broken beyond repair.
So Cassidy stopped, considered for another moment, before she pressed on. “I trust the men. Tucker found me yesterday morning. He could have taken advantage of the situation and instead, he’s been the first to help.”
“True.” Violet nodded her agreement. “Add on they’re ex-military with stellar reputations. And they’re building a business, just like us. A well-respected business if their recent deals are any indication.”
Cassidy ignored how it was possible Violet knew the details of Dragon Designs’s business transactions—there was little Violet didn’t keep herself apprised of—and focused on the truth that lay under the comment. “We also can’t discount that Max’s grandfather has sung his grandson’s praises for as long as we’ve been here. My gut says we can trust them.”
“But what?” Lilah probed.
Cassidy hesitated, her gaze drawn once more to the men. They were impressive, with their large bodies, strong jawlines and their not-so-subtle air of confidence. They were leaders. Warriors. Protectors.
And one had captured her attention and thoughts far more than he ought to.
She didn’t need entanglements and complications. And she certainly didn’t need a white knight with a big dog and a ready smile. But most of all, she didn’t need a relationship born out of the seeds of a volatile situation that heightened the senses and played with one’s ability to think rationally.
Been there, done that, still owned a closet full of T-shirts.
So why did she find Tucker Buchanan, with his long, rangy build and dark chocolate eyes, so detrimental to her peace of mind?
“And, Cass?”
Cassidy gave her friends her full attention. “And it still doesn’t change the fact that we don’t know them. That other than Violet’s passing introductions to Max, we really only met them yesterday.”