All is Dangerous in Dallas—with crime, mystery and passion!

Possessing priceless rubies gifted to the British royal family, MI5 agent Knox St. Germain stumbles into Gabby Sanchez’s store, bleeding from a gunshot wound. The stunning caterer has seen the danger to friends who discovered the jewels, but now she faces an even greater threat—the lethally sexy agent with a hidden motive!

Both hiding troubled pasts and feeling wary of relationships, fiery Gabby and roguish Knox develop a powerful attraction as they go on the run. Their adversary: someone who’ll murder—and worse—to get the rubies. And when the killer does, Knox must choose between saving the gems and his gem of a woman!

The good girl he’d accused her of being was nowhere in evidence as she responded to his invitation to pleasure.

She sucked on his tongue before biting his lower lip with her teeth, the wanton invasion making him dizzier than an entire bottle of whiskey to his shoulder ever could have.

Who was she? This willing partner on a sensual exploration of just how far they could push each other. Hell, they were both fully clothed and he wasn’t sure he’d ever been more turned on in his life.

“You’re not one to let a gunshot keep you down.”

Knox knew he should resist—knew he should pull back and walk away—but so help him he was rooted to the chair. Murmuring against her mouth, he smiled against her lips. “Consider it the power of your healing touch.”

“Hmm.” Gabriella smiled against his lips before nipping a quick kiss. “Maybe I need to start stitching up men instead of turkeys, and I might get a few more dates.”

Whether it was the playful banter or the mind-numbing power of kissing Gabriella Sanchez, Knox didn’t know, but as he felt himself falling under once again, he struggled to surface.

Moray was still out there. The rubies were still out in the open. And she was still in danger.

So he pulled back, willing himself to look away from the dark, molten depths of her eyes and the lush, pink lines of her mouth.

Walk away, boy-o. It’s the only way.

Be sure to check out the previous books in the Dangerous in Dallas miniseries:

Danger and desire fill the hot Texas nights…

* * *

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Dear Reader,

Welcome back to the world of sultry Southern danger with the fourth and final book in my Dangerous in Dallas series, The Royal Spy’s Redemption (following Silken Threats, Tempting Target and The Professional). Gabriella Sanchez has built an incredible business on sheer grit and moxie. The only girl in a tight-knit family of boys, she’s spent her life frustrated by the overprotection and general nosiness of her loved ones.

Knox St. Germain is a man on a mission. A member of Britain’s MI5, Knox is in Dallas to secure the Renaissance Stones and keep them from falling into the wrong hands—namely his boss, whom he suspects of going rogue.

Knox and Gabriella have only known each other a few days, but there are definite sparks and a simmering attraction when they get together. When Knox goes to Gabriella for help after sustaining a gunshot wound while recovering the rubies, he inadvertently unleashes a larger problem that forces them on the run—together.

I have so enjoyed sharing this series with you and hope that Knox and Gabby’s story brings you as much joy reading it as I had writing it. It’s so much fun as a writer to take two people who seemingly have nothing in common and show how well-matched they truly can be. And when the hero is as sexy as Knox St. Germain, well…don’t say I didn’t warn you!

Enjoy!

Best,

Addison Fox

The Royal Spy’s

Redemption

Addison Fox

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Texas transplant ADDISON FOX is a lifelong romance reader, addicted to happy-ever-after. There’s nothing she enjoys more than penning novels about two strong-willed, exciting people on that magical fall into love. When she’s not writing, she can be found spending time with family and friends, reading or enjoying a glass of wine.

Contact Addison at her website—addisonfox.com—or catch up with her on Facebook (addisonfoxauthor) and Twitter (@addisonfox).

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For Roxane

I know we say Tank brought us together, but I believe our friendship was fated even without canine interference.

You are the sister of my heart. I love you,

Mary Poppins.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter 1

Growing up with five brothers, Gabriella Sanchez assumed she’d experienced everything the male of the species could throw at her. From the gross to the ridiculous, she was quite sure she’d seen it all.

That was, until a sexy British cop with a gunshot wound stumbled through the front door of her shop.

“Knox!” Gabby screamed his name as the man stumbled into her, a solid wall of heat and flesh as he wrapped his arms around her in an awkward hug.

She screamed his name once more and half staggered, half dragged him a few more feet before spreading her legs and resetting her grip. Whatever adrenaline had carried him to her shop door had given out, and he’d passed out judging by the deadweight that pressed against her.

A large stack of wine boxes still stood where she’d left them earlier; she’d been unable to get to the inventory for an upcoming tasting series after the excitement of the afternoon. Her friends, Violet, Cassidy and Lilah, had needed her help after they’d accidentally come into possession of a cache of rubies.

And clearly they weren’t the only ones who needed assistance.

Knox St. Germain was a British MI5 officer who had shown up recently and inserted himself into the whole mess with the rubies. Although she didn’t fully understand his job, Gabby had expected his influence and, frankly, his interference would have made the evening’s events—a sting operation in a downtown park—go more smoothly.

The blood currently covering his shoulder suggested otherwise.

Her friends had only discovered the cache a few weeks prior. And it had taken them several days to let her in on what they’d found. Gems, buried in the concrete floor of their shop, placed there more than fifty years ago when they were hidden away by their landlady, Mrs. Beauregard.

Mrs. B’s father had moved them from Britain after World War II under the auspices of the Crown.

So how did MI5 even catch wind of their rediscovery?

Cassidy, Lilah and Violet hadn’t shared, nor had the men who’d come to their aid. Gabby certainly hadn’t told a soul.

Yet Knox St. Germain had found out anyway and had been dispatched with all haste from Mother England to recover them.

Shifting Knox once more, she used the thick line of heavy boxes to support him as she shuffled them forward. Settling his weight against the wall of wine cases, she held him still to avoid his falling.

“Knox!” She added a light slap to his cheeks along with his name, pleased when it pulled him from the faint.

“Just need...some downtime.” He tightened his arms, the move was enough to pull her off balance, and she staggered beneath his weight, glad she’d traded the day’s heels for a pair of slippers.

Something warm covered her bare shoulder; the tangy, coppery scent of blood only added to her awareness. “What happened?”

“Park. Drop. Rubies.”

His voice faded on the last word, and she struggled to keep him upright. “Stay with me!” The sharp order was followed immediately by an image of her friends. Violet, Cassidy and Lilah, along with the men who’d come to their rescue, had planned a sting operation for that evening to finally capture the evil Tripp Lange, the man at the heart of all the violence they’d dealt with since discovering the gems. Since Knox’s arrival in Dallas, Gabby knew he had inserted himself into the operation and had gone along to the park.

Although they’d already texted her they were fine and had promised to share details in the morning, she now began to wonder. “Violet? Max? Are they okay?”

“Fine. Away.” Knox seemed to right himself, his arms tightening briefly before he stopped and summoned himself to his full height, stepping away from the supporting boxes. She had a quick flash of something she intimately recognized—sheer, stubborn, gritty will—before the pain he was dealing with returned to his crystal-blue gaze. “They’re fine. This isn’t about them.”

Not about them? Hadn’t that been the whole purpose of the private meet at Klyde Warren Park? Her friends had come into possession of three matched rubies—the famed Renaissance Stones of legend—and they needed to ensure they stayed out of enemy hands.

Gabby had done some quick internet research after Violet had shared the discovery of the gems. The rubies had a nasty history. Since their initial discovery as one large stone by the British East India Company in the seventeenth century, the gems were cut down into the trio they were today. The stones had led men to vile acts of depravity and madness, and murder trailed the stones, leaving blood as red as the rubies in its wake.

And now there was more blood.

A fresh stack of kitchen towels she’d set out early for the tasting caught her eye and she snagged one to press against his shoulder. “Take this and try not to bleed all over my clean floor.”

He took the towel without question and as he staunched the wound, a wash of red filling up the white towel, a flash of reality battled the surreal that had settled over the scene.

Instinct—raw and surprisingly well honed—had her moving into action. She shot a quick glance around her business and pointed him toward a long bar she used for class demonstrations and wine tastings. “Here. Hold on to this counter.”

His reluctant agreement almost had her smiling in victory but she tamped it down, well aware a quick gloat wouldn’t sit well with a wounded—and decidedly alpha—male.

Satisfied he had his balance, she raced back to the front door and flipped the lock, then hit the light switch. Darkness flooded the room, leaving nothing but the eerie glow of the streetlamps outside, visible through the glass doors.

Had someone followed him? Who had shot him? And why was he here?

The questions tumbled over themselves, one after the other, even as something small and quiet and a lot like satisfaction whispered through her mind that she was pleased he’d come to her.

“Get a damn grip, chica. Hello. Highly suspicious gunshot wound.” She muttered the words to herself, well aware a call to the police would be a far better choice than helping the man with the enigmatic gaze.

And then she turned toward the silhouette she’d left at the bar and fought the light flutter in her belly. Knox didn’t appear to have moved. His large hands still clutched the edge of the thick stainless steel counter.

Khaki cargo pants hung low on his hips, while a stretch of gray cotton spread across his back. A large red stain marred his left shoulder, rapidly turning the T-shirt black in the darkened light.

“Can you walk?”

He lifted his head from where he stood stock-still, his gaze focused on the counter. “Yes. Bullet just nicked the flesh.”

The ice-blue eyes that had already done a solid number on her insides in their previous meetings had a glazed, unfocused look, and she knew he wasn’t nearly as good a judge of his condition as he should be.

Men.

To be fair, her reasoning seemed to have taken a sizeable detour, even as she cycled through her mental Rolodex. She could call her cousin, Isabella, who worked nights in the ER, to come take a look. The idea had merit—and Isabella was discreet—but something held her back.

Wrapping an arm around his waist, she pulled him close, careful to avoid pulling too quickly and forcing him off balance. “Do you have me?”

“Yes.”

“We need to get out of the front area here. Even with the lights off, we’re too easy to see through the windows.”

He nodded, the motion exaggerated enough to put pressure against her body as she forced him to walk.

“Easy. Step by step.”

“I shouldn’t—”

“Shhh. Focus on getting back to the kitchen.”

While her catering shop—a renovated warehouse in Dallas’s Design District—was sizable, the trek to her kitchen wasn’t anything she’d ever considered. Suddenly, the door to her kitchen—and safety—seemed a mile away.

Using the stubborn streak she’d honed since birth, she moved them forward. One foot. Then the other. They walked, slow and plodding, as she fought to maintain the press of his body and the increasing pull of shock and gravity that was determined to drop him to the floor.

The entire shop was maybe twenty yards from the front door to the back. Despite the relatively limited space, the distance to her industrial kitchen seemed interminable. Gabby cleared the two of them through the swinging door that acted as sentinel to her inner sanctum just as the screech of tires echoed in front of the building. “Damn it.”

“What?” Knox’s head tilted upward.

“I locked the door, but forgot to set the alarm.”

“You can’t go back out there.”

“I’ve got a keypad back here, but you’re weaker than you were. Can I leave you unsupported?”

He grunted at that—whether in acknowledgment or irritation, she wasn’t sure—before standing straighter. “Go. Now. I’ll be right behind you.”

Although that imperious tone usually set her teeth on edge, she ignored it in favor of expedience. And a funny sort of relief that he’d want the property armed.

Ignoring the odd mishmash of thoughts, Gabby hotfooted it to the back entrance and keyed in the code—her grandmother’s birthday—and prayed she wasn’t too late. The blinking green light that said all her doors and windows were closed flipped to red just as she slammed the last number into the keypad. Instantaneously, the piercing siren that accompanied a breach lit up the interior of the kitchen, growing louder as the stainless steel surfaces deflected the sound, pushing it back into the atmosphere like a living, breathing wall of energy.

She shoved Knox toward a large pantry, ignoring whatever cleanup would no doubt be involved in having a large man bleed all over her food before racing back toward the swinging door. She tipped it open slightly to view the outer room of the shop and could see a man fleeing down the front steps of her business, his large silhouette and strained gait highlighted by the streetlamps that lined Slocum Street.

“Is the bastard gone?”

Even with the unceasing clanging, Gabby heard the question. “Yes.”

“Then turn off the bloody alarm.”

For the second time in a span of moments, ire tickled the back of her neck at his imperious words and snappish orders. It was time to set things to rights. She stalked back to the alarm keypad and reset the code. The cell phone she’d left lying on the counter rang, and she snatched it up, answering the alarm company on the other end.

“No, I’m fine. False alarm.” She added the required password to confirm she wasn’t actually being held hostage and thanked the man on the other end.

“Beef enchilada is your password?”

Knox’s sultry voice held the unmistakable notes of pain, but she didn’t miss the veneer of humor underneath. “I make damn good enchiladas.”

“I curse myself for not sampling them. It’s still an odd password.”

“It’s as good as any other.” She shrugged and fought down the natural swell of concern working its way through her defenses. She might be the youngest child in a family of boys, but she had a damn fine mothering instinct.

Not that she’d put it to good use, of course. A fact her mother reminded her of on a near-daily basis. Especially since it had been two—no, three?—years since her last serious relationship.

Had it really been that long?

Gabby shook off the embarrassing answer, well aware it had been that long. She’d been so focused on getting her business off the ground, the ninety-hour weeks more joy than punishment, but her personal life had paid the price. Just that evening, in fact, her mother had reamed her out for not having a date to her cousin’s engagement party.

Shaking off the remembered conversation and the maudlin thoughts she’d spent far too much time dwelling in lately, Gabby sized him up. “Are you okay?”

“I’ve had worse.”

“That wasn’t my question.”

“It’s like I told you—it’s a surface wound. The bark is far worse than the bite.”

Could she say the same for him? With a hard turn on her heel, she headed for the front door. She hated to leave him, but an unlocked door left them exposed. “Let me see what damage they did to the lock, and then I’ll be right back.”

His protest to stay in the kitchen echoed off her back, but she ignored him, already halfway to the front door. She knew how to protect herself, and she’d be damned if she was going to leave her business to the whims of some nameless, faceless threat. She also knew how to move around the room to avoid a direct line of sight to the front door.

The street outside remained devoid of life, and she walked along the edge of the demonstration area until she’d almost reached the front door. At the last minute, she put herself in full view of outside, her form visible in the glass door. The lock she’d so recently flipped had been unlatched.

“Someone’s damn quick with a pick.”

Brushing off the small shiver, she turned the lock once more, then leaned down and latched a second small bolt at the bottom of the door frame. It was invisible from the outside, and the only way anyone was getting in now was by coming through the glass.

“I said I’d handle it.”

The dark tones, rich and cultured, slithered over her skin as she straightened. For the first time, Gabby was forced to wonder if the real threat was already inside.

* * *

Knox St. Germain ignored the shot of heat that sizzled through his veins at her glorious ass still pointing heavenward. He loved women—all of them, regardless of age or size—but there was something about Gabriella Sanchez that gripped him with fierce claws.

He kept a hand over the towel at his shoulder, but a combination of steady pressure on the wound and a few moments of downtime had gone a long way toward restoring his equilibrium.

Sadly, the same couldn’t be said for the temptation standing before him.

His vision cleared as Gabriella straightened, and he didn’t miss the wary expression that filled eyes the color of a rich espresso.

“You don’t appear capable of handling much right now.”

He couldn’t quite tell if the statement was meant to put him in his place or reassure her she wasn’t in danger.

Don’t let the gunshot fool you, love.

The words were on the tip of his tongue, but he held them back. He was in pretty bad shape. But after a few more hours of downtime he’d be ready to move again.

He had to move again.

And he had to figure out how Richard Moray had gotten the jump on him.

He’d come to Dallas under the auspices of MI5, to retrieve the recently recovered Renaissance Stones, but the mission had gone sideways barely before it had begun. His boss and leader was attempting to secure the stones for his own selfish gain.

Knox had suspected Moray—the intelligence they’d gathered was pretty clear—but until he’d actually come face-to-face with Richard, some small part of him had denied it. Had ranted and railed that it simply wasn’t possible.

But no longer.

Reassessing, Knox took in Gabriella’s tall form, still standing before the door. “Get away from there. This area’s too dodgy to be standing around all night looking for trouble.”

“My brother’s a cop. He patrols this dodgy area—” She broke off with a small smile edging those lush lips. “Regularly.”

“As someone who grew up in plenty of dodgy areas, trust me—things can change in an instant.”

He saw the curiosity flash in her eyes and cursed himself for the slip. Why in bloody hell did he offer up that tidbit? He’d worked damn hard to leave his Manchester background behind. And now he was offering it up on a platter?

It took a minute for the bigger part of her comment to register, and Knox took in the admission that her brother was a cop.

More good news.

He already knew he was in deep with Reed Graystone, Dallas PD detective and the fiancé of one of the women caught up in this whole mess, Lilah Castle. Reed’s stepfather, Tripp Lange, had been revealed as the local mastermind behind the initial theft of the stones.

The moment Graystone got word back to his cop buddies that Knox had taken the stones during the exchange in the park, they were going to hunt him down.

And no amount of arguing that he was working under the authority of MI5 was going to change that.

“Are those my thousand-thread-count catering napkins you’ve got wrapped around your shoulder?”

He shrugged and paid for the wave of fire that lit up his wound. “Are those the ones in the cabinet nearest the counter you left me against?”

“Yes.”

“Then these are your thousand-thread-count catering napkins.”

“I can’t serve anyone on those ever again!”

“Then I’ll buy you some new ones.” He pulled a second pilfered napkin out of his pocket and made quick work of wrapping it over the layer at his shoulder, fashioning a makeshift bandage. With a final tug on the tie with his teeth, he lifted his head. It stung—flesh wounds always did—but the blood had already stopped.

His hands now free, he reached for his back pocket to give her some money. As his fingers closed over a pair of handcuffs, he remembered he’d left his wallet and ID back in his hotel room. “When I get my wallet back, I’ll give you the money to buy some new ones.”

“You need to go to the emergency room.”

“No.”

“But you’re hurt. I saw the blood seeping through my napkins, and that’s on top of the one I gave you from the front counter.”

“The bullet was clean, and I’ll get to it later. I’m not going to the hospital.”

“But you could barely walk three minutes ago! And now you’re up and around and—”

The fear that had flashed when she’d turned from the door lit up her gaze once more before those dark eyes shot around the room. Gauging the distance to the back door, no doubt.

He wasn’t sure why the real evidence of her fear struck him like a spear low in the gut. She was an inconvenience—an incredibly attractive one—and nothing more.

“Look. Gabby. I need your help for just a little while longer.”

A string of rapid Spanish fell from her lips, and he smiled in spite of himself. He quickly translated the prayer—an appeal for help and the strength to maintain her patience.

“And while I appreciate the request to a deity, you’re sort of stuck with me for the moment.”

Fear morphed to anger in the space of a smile. “You understood me?”

“Every word.”

“Why me?”

Why had he come here? He could give himself any number of excuses—namely, that she’d been handy since her shop was a safe place to regroup and close enough to the park where the events had all gone down.

But that wasn’t the full truth.

He knew he was a bastard of the highest order, but Knox made every possible effort not to lie. Especially not to himself. “I needed help.”

“Try again.” Her gaze flashed once more toward the back door before it shifted to him. He felt her perusal as clear as a brand, from head to toe and back up again.

Damn if it wasn’t the sexiest thing he’d felt in a long time. Too long.

Focus, man.

He had a she-cat on his hands and he’d do well to remember that. This wasn’t a woman who backed down. “It’s the truth. I needed somewhere to lay low, and I remembered how to get to your shop. I’m just lucky you were still here.” Something unsettling flashed across her face like an ephemeral mask, and Knox stilled at the dark cloud that seemed to hover over her.

But it was her words that revealed even more than the look. “I’m always here.”

Was that pride? Resignation? Perhaps an odd mix of both?

He’d made a rather successful career at reading people, yet he couldn’t quite get a grip on this woman. Everything about her screamed confidence and competence, even as vague disillusionment tinged the edges. They’d met a few days before, and he’d gotten a nebulous impression of the same, but it had taken this comment for the impressions to form into a more cohesive thought.

She’s not your problem, mate.

The thought beat a rapid tattoo in his mind, but even a thousand warnings to himself couldn’t still the curiosity that had begun to run rampant about the luscious caterer with the long, curling hair that made a man itch to grab several fistfuls.

Her brother’s a cop.

He tried that internal warning on for size, and even the promise of a gun-wielding, protective sibling couldn’t quite eradicate the image of running his mouth over those generous breasts or burying himself at the apex of those long, long legs.

And then he nearly groaned as he pictured the spiky high heels she normally sported still capping off those long, long legs.

Voice harsh, he pressed his earlier point. “Look, I just need a few hours. You don’t even need to be here. Set the alarm and leave, and I can head out in a bit.”

“I’m not leaving you here.”

“Well, I’m not leaving, so we’re at an impasse.”

A triumphant note was layered beneath her sexy voice. “Then you can deal with my brother on his next set of rounds through the neighborhood.”

“Or you can do as I asked.”

Before he could check himself for being such a raging bloody idiot, he snagged the handcuffs from his back pocket and had one over her wrist. In a matter of heartbeats, he had the other cuff over his own wrist.

“What did—”

He cut her off, wiggling his fingers in a small wave as he lifted their conjoined arms. “Looks like you’ve got company for the evening.”

* * *

Gabby stared at the large hand that waved so near her own.

He’d handcuffed her? To him?

Shock had quickly given way to anger, and she fought to keep the upper hand. Or, hell, any hand. Preferably a free one. “What is wrong with you?”

“Desperate times, love.” He added a wink, and even though she knew the cheeky move was more an act than sincere, she couldn’t stop the shiver at the endearment. “I need to lay low for a few hours and I’m doing it here. Get over it.”

“Knox.” If she thought using his name would make her plea more personal somehow, she hadn’t given any thought to how it would make her feel. It slipped from her lips, wrapped in the breathless frustration of the moment, and she couldn’t deny she liked the sound of it on her lips and tongue.

The single syllable was hard and unyielding, like the man. Add on the unusual X at the end, and she had a sense of the wild and raw.

Also like the man.

“I can’t be a part of this.”

“You were anxious to be a part of things a few hours ago with your girlfriends.”

“I’ve been worried about them. Giving good friends moral support isn’t aiding and abetting a man with a gunshot wound.”

“I’m one of the good guys.”

“Are you sure?”

She’d seen his government badge and knew Lilah’s fiancé, Reed, had checked Knox St. Germain out through the Dallas PD database. So when had the whispers that the British officer wasn’t all he seemed taken root?

“Quite sure. You’ll be reimbursed for your time, trouble and your thousand-thread-count napkins.” He tapped his bloody shoulder with his free hand. “But for now let’s get out of the doorway.”

He’d cuffed the wrist of the same arm that had the gunshot wound, and no matter how hard she’d like to make him suffer for his asinine tactics, she reluctantly followed him back to the kitchen. The cuffs ensured there was minimal distance between the two of them, and a rush of awareness filled her at their nearness as they moved in lockstep with each other.

She’d dragged his body inside, pressed against hers, not more than fifteen minutes ago, yet even that hadn’t seemed as intimate as the small links of metal that bound them to each other.

“What are you doing here so late?” he asked.

“Cooking and finishing up some paperwork.”

“It’s almost midnight.”

“It’s a lot of paperwork.”

The words came out on a snap, and she decided to let them linger. While it wasn’t his fault she spent nearly her entire life focused on her business, she wasn’t done being irritated with him. And she certainly didn’t need the inevitable lecture he’d feel honor-bound to deliver about the evils of working too hard.

“It must be a lot to run your own business.”

Her gaze flew to his at the gentle comment, and the swinging door to the kitchen nearly hit her before he reached out and caught it with his free hand.

“Sometimes.”

“But worth it, too. Hard work is its own reward and all.”

She continued on through the door as he held it open and fought the urge to shake her head. She’d already spent far too many precious hours this month arguing with various family members about the high personal cost of starting a business, the latest just this evening with her mother. It was strangely unsettling to have a conversation in the exact opposite vein.

“I’m building a future for myself.”

Knox ran a finger over the counter. “Looks like you’re off to a stellar start.”

“You know catering?”

He grinned at that. “I know eating. Cooking the food is another matter entirely.”

“You don’t cook?”

“Love, I’ve never even turned on the oven in my flat.”

Again, that persistent shiver at the endearment fluttered over her nerve endings. “Ever?”

“Gas company keeps sending me notices asking if I want to turn off the line.”

Unbidden, a small giggle bubbled in her throat, especially as she recalled grumbling at the size of her gas bill the previous month. “So what do you eat?”

“Takeaway and sandwiches are my speed. Occasionally, if I get really ambitious, I’ll scramble up a few eggs.”

“Good thing you’ve left the gas on.”

“No doubt.”

He settled onto one of the stools she kept lined up against the large countertop that made up the center of her kitchen. Although the pasty sheen of white had receded from his features, pain still tightened the corners of his eyes and mouth, and she took the seat next to him without argument.

Unbidden, a wave of compassion hit at the mix of pain and exhaustion that she sensed even more than she observed. But it was that softening that had her going on the offensive.

“Why are you really here?”

“A gunshot wound isn’t enough?”

“I don’t mean here at my shop. I mean here in Dallas.”

“I’m doing my job.”

The urge to call him out was strong, but a quick glance toward their joined hands made her reconsider. Although she didn’t feel physical danger in his presence, she’d be rather shortsighted to ignore the barely leashed strength she sensed in him. And gunshot wound or not, Knox St. Germain looked like a man who could take care of himself and anything that got in his way.

So she’d wait and watch. And continue to puzzle through the issue on her own. Although she’d kept her own council, she’d questioned his arrival from the start, showing up at her friends’ store, Elegance and Lace, and claiming the auspices of Britain’s MI5.

“Those are awfully serious thoughts flitting through your mind, Miss Sanchez.”

The lilting, cultured tones of his voice seemed to fill up the darkened room, spreading out like a warm flow of lava. He was an attractive man—virile, strong and incredibly self-possessed—but add on the accent and he took on a sort of lethal sexiness.

She met a lot of people in her line of work, and few—if any—of them had ever churned her insides up in a whirl of nerves and need.

But maybe she could use that to her advantage...

Because in that moment, as her insides went to liquid at his voice, she sensed a solution to her two most pressing problems. She wanted to uncover the secrets of the man beside her. And she desperately needed a bit of relief from her family.

The question was, could she pull both off?

“I’m in a serious situation.”

“I won’t hurt you. And I’ll be out of your way soon enough.”

Gabby shot him her most beautiful smile and went to work, laying it on thick. “I know that. But—” She hesitated another moment before offering up a small sigh. “I wonder if you could help me in return.”

“What do you need help with?”

“I need to get my mother off my back.”

The words were out, floating around in her darkened shop like heat-seeking missiles with no place to land. Had she really just opened up on the most embarrassing thing in her life? And was she actually thinking of blackmailing an injured man, no matter how suspicious he seemed?

With a glance at the hard jaw that showed the lightest sheen of stubble and her mother’s earlier litany still echoing in her ear, Gabby knew the answer.

Yes.

A million times yes.

“What, exactly, does getting your mother off your back entail?”

“My cousin’s engagement party. Tomorrow night.”

Chapter 2

“Who has an engagement party on a Wednesday night?”

Gabby supposed it was a fair question, but in an extended family of more than one hundred, you didn’t wait solely for the weekend to get together. The Sanchez family often spent time together. “My aunt is hosting dinner tomorrow night at her home. We’ll celebrate then.”

“I’ve never been engaged, but isn’t that something people do on weekends?”

The knowledge he’d remained perpetually unattached only added to those sizzling hormones that seemed to spring to life in his presence, but Gabby resolutely ignored them.

She had him on the hook.

“I have a big family. If we waited only for weekends, we’d never fit in all we have to celebrate.”

“And you want me to go to a private family event?”

“As my date.”

He stilled at that, his earlier humor settling into the craggy grooves of his face. The color had returned to his cheeks, and he no longer looked on the verge of passing out, for which she was grateful.

“Your date?”

“It’s my lack of a love life that has my mother so upset. Bringing a date for the evening will give me some breathing room for a few months.”

“Why does she care?”

“How many brothers and sisters do you have, Mr. St. Germain?”

“One. A sister. And it’s Knox.”

“Is she older or younger?”

“Older.”

“Does she get up in your business?”

Something flashed across his face. She saw it in the brief tightening of his jaw before it was shut down. Firmly. “She’s my sister. Of course she does.”

“I have five brothers. I also have forty first cousins, more than half of whom are women. And I have my mother. And my grandmother. And too many aunts to count. Trust me when I tell you interference is a way of life in my family.”

“If that’s the case, why do you need to get your mother off your back? Isn’t that the definition of her job?”

“Mine’s gotten worse since this cousin got engaged. Maria’s the third in three months. Add on that three of my five brothers are married and giving her grandchildren...”

He shrugged. “Okay. So they’re living their lives and you’re living yours. So what?”

“I’m her daughter. I should have given her no fewer than three grandchildren by now.” She leaned forward and offered up a conspiratorial whisper. “You know. Because I’m over thirty.”

“And that’s some sort of tragedy?”

“It is to Elena Sanchez.”

He studied her for a moment, and she wanted to squirm under the perusal. His gaze was raw—unyielding—and in that moment she knew why Knox St. Germain was so good at his job. He missed nothing.

“And she’s fine with you bringing just anyone?”

“You’re a man and you’re breathing. You fit the bill.”

Gabby fought to keep her gaze on his face, even as she imagined the hard chest and tapered waist that reinforced her point in every line of his fit male form.

A small light glinted beneath eyelashes to die for, and he leaned closer, his already deep voice dropping into a husky register that she suspected had removed more than one pair of panties in Knox’s past. “Will there be kissing?”

“There can be. It is what dating people do.”

“And touching?”

Oh, my.

She fought the rising wave of pure lust that thundered through her midsection at the idea of Knox running his hands over her body. The heated response did serious battle with the self-righteous anger that still lingered over his handcuffing her.

She’d brushed off unwelcome advances before; she’d do it again. He meant to get a rise out of her and nothing more. “It’s hard to kiss if you don’t touch.”

He moved a fraction closer. “What about hand-holding?”

You are aloof and unaffected. You are a rock. You see through his act. “Isn’t that touching?”

He leaned back abruptly, the sudden movement jarring her from the vision of them kissing on her aunt Corrinda’s back patio.

“I’m not sure you’re up for it.”

The vivid lights rimming the scene faded from her mind as Knox’s words registered. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I can’t swoop in like some conquering hero, kiss you and love on you, and then leave. What will your family think of me? And you by extension.”

“They won’t think anything.”

“I’m hard to forget.”

“You’re a pompous as—”

The words hadn’t even fully left her lips when Knox struck like a cobra, swift and immediate. His lips were on hers, warm and soft, and she had the abstract thought that the man ought to have a warning label tattooed onto his forehead.

Sexy voice, sexy abs and sexy lips are not to be toyed with.

Even as alarm bells hit every note on the scale, she refused to pull away. Her mother wasn’t the only one who lamented Gabby’s lack of a significant other. Gabby was the one who went to bed alone each night. And she was the same one who opened the front doors of this shop between five and six o’clock every morning.

She knew what she was missing.

And she was damned sure she wasn’t going to miss a shot at a few make-out moments with the British god who’d shown up at her front door.

Heat radiated through his T-shirt in delicious waves, and she pressed her free hand to a firm shoulder—the one not currently sporting her catering napkins—while her other hand lay against his, somewhere in the vicinity of their laps. The attachment that had felt intrusive and insulting only moments before suddenly felt like a bond. A tight bond with slightly wicked overtones.

Just like his tongue. Strong and sure, he’d invaded her mouth as neatly as he’d invaded her shop, and Gabby was hard-pressed to push him away. Long, sure strokes against her own tongue had her seeing stars, the intrusion welcome and increasingly urgent, and she responded in kind, unwilling to give him the upper hand.

His fingers tightened over her back as their breaths mingled in the cool air of the kitchen, the slightest reprieve before they both dived back into the moment.

Had she ever been this wanton before?

The thought whispered through her mind as Knox took her under in another soul-searing kiss. Hot, carnal and full of sensual promise, he was a man who knew what to do with his mouth. And whether it was the increasing discomfort building in her body or the realization that it would be so very easy to fall for this man’s conquest tactics, she knew she had to put a stop to things.

The hand she’d laid on his shoulder drifted up to his neck, the tips of her fingers threading through soft wisps of hair. She shivered at the strength she felt in the corded muscle, the physical confirming what she already knew: he was a powerful man.

And she’d have to be content with the knowledge she affected him, especially if the hard beat of his pulse beneath her palm was any indication.

With a final stroke of her tongue over his—one for the road, as it were—she pulled back, her gaze on his in the dim lights of the kitchen.

“You’re still a pompous ass.”

“I work at it.”

The cocky smile was nowhere in evidence, but Gabby didn’t doubt his words.

* * *

Knox held himself very still, unwilling to turn away from the dark gaze of the woman beside him.

What the bloody hell had just happened?

He’d wanted to kiss her from the first moment he’d laid eyes on her—those lips were too lush and gorgeous to ignore—but he’d never anticipated he’d lose his damn mind.

And bloody hell, the woman could kiss. Those gorgeous lips hid secrets he’d never imagined, and it was humbling to admit his head was still reeling. She was every fantasy he’d ever had, yet sweetly innocent all at the same time.

How was that possible?

Was this the real reason he’d come to her place? Because, if it was, he needed to do himself a favor right now and get the hell out. Who cared if Moray was out there waiting for him? He’d be a lot safer with his enemy than he was with Gabriella.

He’d accepted long ago commitment wasn’t in the cards for him.

Ignoring the strange shot of remorse that wormed beneath his skin, Knox focused elsewhere. His eyes drifted over the hard beat at the base of her throat before moving on to the generous swell of her breasts.

A hell of a lot safer with Moray.

“So we have a deal?”

Her words were laced with the slightest tinge of something he recognized immediately. Victory.

“We have a deal.”

“Then uncuff me. I’m not going anywhere, and you can stay as long as you need, but I’ve got work to do.”

“What work?”

“I’ve got to get going on five oversized trays of enchiladas, and I’m burning night-light.”

The swift change in topic when his heart still thundered with wild beats in his chest chafed against his sense of equilibrium, but he refused to show any sense of vulnerability or all-around pissiness. “That’s why you’re here?”

“I’ve been a bit behind with helping Violet, Cassidy and Lilah. And it wasn’t until tonight on the phone that I got roped into the enchiladas for tomorrow night. So while you were running around downtown getting shot at, I’ve been doing paperwork and food prep.”

“Are these the same enchiladas you brought the other day to Elegance and Lace?”

“My grandmother’s world-famous recipe.” She shot him a dark stare before pointing toward a row of disposable pans stacked along the counter on the far wall. “Which I need to get to.”

“Baldwin dived into them like he was a man dying of starvation.”

“Max Baldwin is a man with good taste.”

“They looked good.”

And he’d wanted a plate, surprised at himself for the hard ball of need that had lodged in his gut at the savory meal. He’d learned to go without at a young age, and it had served him well as an adult with an unpredictable schedule. He wasn’t particularly enticed by food as a rule, but something about the pan of hot, cheesy enchiladas had made him wish for a few cracks in his armor of self-control.

It was a ridiculous reaction to a plate of food, but even with a solid line of logic and reasoning, he hadn’t quite convinced himself he hadn’t missed out two days ago.

“They are good. Too bad you didn’t take any.”

“I was working. Trying to get a handle on what the seven of you have been up to.”

He’d admitted to himself it was a hell of a story. The Renaissance Stones had lain buried in the concrete floor of an old Dallas warehouse built in the late 1950s and owned by the daughter of one of London’s greatest jewelers. Joseph Brown had been commissioned to create the fake crown jewels during the war and after the bloodshed was over, when he decided to move his young family to America, he’d been asked to take both the false and real gems with him.

The story was fantastical, Knox knew, even for someone who had significant levels of clearance to some of the world’s most revered secrets. Yet here he was. In the city that was known for sheer grit, beautiful women and the death of JFK, priceless gems had been smuggled out of England and lay buried for decades in the floor of a bridal boutique.

“The seven of us weren’t up to anything. Those gems have brought nothing but heartache and danger.”

“They seemed to do quite a job on everyone’s love lives.”

He didn’t consider himself a fanciful man, but the evidence was hard to argue with. The three women who had discovered the jewels each ended up with the three men who came to their aid. If the Renaissance Stones didn’t have such an ugly history, he’d be tempted to think they carried something special.

Which went beyond fanciful, veering straight into superstitious.

But seeing as how those same rubies lay in one of the pockets of his cargo pants, warm against the same thigh that had recently pressed to Gabriella Sanchez as he kissed the ever-loving hell out of her, Knox figured he couldn’t be too careful.

Gabby stilled, the feisty spark in her eyes morphing with a strange light. “I suppose there is that.”

Unwilling to dwell on any of that nonsense a moment longer, he dug the key to the cuffs out of his pocket and went to work on their metal tether. He unhooked her first, then his own, shoving the cuffs back into his pocket. He’d ignored his shoulder up to then, but it burned like the very devil.

“Can I clean up?”

“I’ve got a full first-aid kit in the back bathroom. Help yourself. I also have a stack of T-shirts in the storage room next to the bathroom from some of the vendors who call on me. Help yourself there, as well.”

He lifted his eyes at the idea of a full kit. “You encounter much danger here, Miss Sanchez?”

“It’s an industrial kitchen, and I regularly have students in my cooking and wine classes. Accidents happen.”

That much was likely true, but he still let out a low whistle a few minutes later when he investigated the full set of medical equipment she had stored in her back bathroom. Everything he needed was in the stockpile, including gauze and the required materials to stitch himself up.

Knox inspected the flesh wound in the mirror, the red slash a straight graze across the thick roundness of his shoulder. It still hurt like hell, but it was relatively easy to manage.

The heavy scent of cooking meat had already wafted his way when he finished taping on the last piece of gauze. He’d had worse, and he counted himself lucky Moray had such rotten aim.

Grown soft sitting behind a desk, old man?

Although the thought wasn’t entirely off base, Knox quickly banished it. He’d suspected Moray was up to something, but he had sorely underestimated just how deep the man’s corruption ran. He’d do well not to assume a paunch, and a penchant for issuing orders equaled a lack of skill.

The T-shirts Gabriella had mentioned were stacked neatly on a shelf in a large closet—as ruthlessly organized as the woman’s kitchen—and he snagged one on the top. The name of a vineyard covered the upper-left corner.

He recognized the vineyard—had just had a glass of their wine with room service, as a matter of fact—and marveled again at what she had built. Although he’d been out of it when he first arrived, he hadn’t missed her impressive setup. A large class area in the front of shop, with the industrial kitchen in the back.

He’d done his homework on Dallas before coming here, and the area where Gabby and her friends had built their businesses—the Design District—had caught his attention from the first. Old warehouses, built along the banks of the Trinity River, had lain empty or underused for many years. The design community had brought the area back and turned it from decrepit to a bit dodgy about two decades before, using the large spaces as a place to sell wholesale furniture, fabrics and art. But it was the past five years or so when the area had really come back to life, even more vibrant than its roots.

Storefronts, ad agencies and several restaurants had turned the Design District into a successful business community. The addition of apartments had turned it into a home.

He’d heard from several old friends the same was happening in Manchester and that he should come see for himself, but he’d managed to avoid a trip thus far. He had no desire to go home and wanted even less to see how the near slums he’d grown up in had gentrified through outsiders’ money.

“You okay?” Her voice drifted toward him from the kitchen.

The question pulled him from the images he still carried of gray-washed factories that matched even grayer air. He didn’t care how much money had been put into an update, he had no desire to see it.

“I’m good.” He’d already taken one of the plastic medical waste bags in the first-aid kit and wrapped his bloody T-shirt, her cloth napkins and the waste from his stitch-up job into the red plastic.

As he glanced at the still-open bag, he caught the light scent of her on the air—a mix of vanilla and maybe lavender?—before his gaze roamed over the crumpled bloody shirt.

Why had he come here?

He’d exposed her, as surely as if he’d sent an email straight to Richard Moray with her name and address. That damnable voice tickled the back of his mind once more. Don’t underestimate Moray.

Not only had he done that, but he’d dragged an innocent into battle right along with him.

He wrapped the package into as small a ball as he could, then shoved it into another of his cargo pockets. He wouldn’t leave Moray’s stench anywhere near Gabriella Sanchez.

And if he weren’t such a bastard, he’d remove himself, as well.

* * *

Gabby kept her eye on the chicken sautéing in a large pan while she pounded the flank steak for the beef enchiladas. She could still remember her grandmother’s gentle voice, instructing her in the old kitchen on Castle Street on how to prepare the steak before cooking.

“Pounding the meat’s better than pounding your grandfather.”

She smiled at the old flash of memory and the giggles that had erupted at the imagined image of Tito Jorge beaten under her grandmother’s meat tenderizer. Gabby still grieved the loss of her beloved grandfather, more than a decade now, and she knew her grandmother grieved, as well. Theirs had been a love for the ages, and Gabby had believed herself destined for the same.

Yet here she was.

She’d spent her twenties lamenting her inability to find someone and had sworn to herself on her thirtieth birthday that she was done with sulking and being disappointed. But the memories of her grandparents—so in love—still managed to grab her by the throat every now and again.

On a sigh, she brought herself back to the moment. The kitchen on Castle Street had long since been renovated, the near-decrepit appliances updated with brand-new ones, and her grandmother had moved back with her youngest daughter and son-in-law in Mexico for the majority of the year. Gabby still missed her every day, but she knew her grandmother loved the quieter life in Guadalajara more than the increasingly frenetic pace in Dallas.

“That smells good.”

She turned to see Knox, clad in a gray T-shirt that was a size too small, and she struggled to keep her footing. What was it about this man? He’d invaded her business. Hell, he’d handcuffed her.

And she still couldn’t quite shake the raw interest he managed to gin up.

She also couldn’t deny the sheer exhaustion she saw in his liquid blue gaze.

“I’ve got a cot in the storage room, as well. You’re welcome to pull it down and set yourself up in my office.”

“I’m good.”

“You’re dead on your feet. I thought you were dead on your feet an hour ago.”

“I’ll recover. This isn’t the first—” He broke off, and she turned back to the meat, a small smile tugging at her lips. He might not want to admit how tired he was, but the abrupt cutoff was indicative of his exhaustion.

Now the real question was, how much could she get out of him?

Avoiding the twinge of guilt at the deliberate hunt for information, Gabby settled in to find out all she could. “Okay, big, strong man. Then go sit down and get out of my way.”

“Do you mind if I put on a pot of coffee?”

“Along the wall. I’ve got a single brew, and you can pick whatever you’d like in the top cabinet.”

Knox busied himself with the task, and she snapped off the gas, transferring the heavy pan to the counter and a waiting rack. Her grandmother had taught her many things, and the draining of the meat was key to keeping the enchiladas soft but not soggy.

“Would you like a cup?”

“No on the coffee, but I’d love one of the green teas in there.”

Knox settled across from her a few minutes later and pushed over her mug. “That really smells good.”

“It’ll smell even better wrapped up in fresh tortillas and cheese.”

“Don’t tease me.”

“Maybe if you sit there nicely and keep your handcuffs in your pocket I’ll give you some.”

He did perk up at the mention of the cuffs, a small spark of mischief alighting in his eyes. “I’ll be good.”

The promise was about the enchiladas—rationally, she knew that—but she couldn’t quite dismiss something else in the words.

I’ll be good.

Did she really want him on his best behavior?

Ignoring the flight of sexual fancy, she refocused on the man before her. He might wear it well, but she had to admit exhaustion still painted his face in craggy lines.

Once more, that slight twinge of guilt pinched the back of her neck, but she resolutely ignored it as she changed the subject. “You’re MI5, right?”

“Technically, we’re the Security Service. MI5 is no longer our formal name, but it is what we’re known as.”

“I thought the jewels were originally removed out of England under the direction of MI6.”

His heavy-lidded gaze widened before he caught himself, his normal poker face snapping into position. “How’d you come across that information?”

Gabby shrugged, playing it cool. While she sensed she should parse out what limited information she’d gleaned, she was more than willing to speed up the information exchange if it would ensure her friends stayed safe and the danger they’d all experienced was firmly put behind them.

“Lilah, Cassidy and Violet have told me what they’ve been dealing with,” Gabby offered up. “And don’t forget, the rubies belong to my friends’ landlady, Josephine Beauregard. Her father was given the gems fair and square and asked only to remove them from England.”

“Why?”

Why?

Although she knew she’d started this, his questions held something more than simple curiosity. He didn’t know.

“Because they’re cursed.” A low snort was her only response, so she pressed him, curious as to his response. “You don’t believe in curses?”

“No.” He took a sip of his coffee before something seemed to register in his mind. “Do you?”

“Of course.”

When he only continued to stare at her, his cup midway to his mouth, Gabby continued on. “I absolutely believe in things beyond our control. Forces for good. Forces for evil. They exist.”

“And you think the rubies are cursed?”

“I think the Renaissance Stones carry a force inside them, imprinted from years and years of greed and avarice. I think the Queen Mum was smart to ask them to be removed from England, and I think my friends are well rid of them.”

“Why did she ask for their removal?”

“I thought you knew all this. Isn’t that why you’re here?”

Knox only stared at her, that unyielding blue giving nothing further away. With icy fingers, a whisper of premonition skated over her spine.

“Why are you here?”

“I’m a member of the British government, assigned to deliver those gems safely back to England.”

She wanted to believe him—and not because he was the first man in an age and a half who’d managed to hold her interest longer than five minutes—but she refused to accept blatant lies. With careful movements, she settled her carving knife down on the counter and moved toward the large drawer at her hips.

“Not buying it.”

“It’s the truth.”

With lightning-quick reflexes honed from being the only sister in the midst of a horde of rough-and-tumble brothers, she had her handgun out of the drawer and pointed toward Knox in a handful of heartbeats. “I’m only going to ask once more. Why are you really here?”

Chapter 3

Knox stared down the barrel of the impressively steady semiautomatic and figured he had exactly thirty-three seconds to make up a plausible story. She’d gotten the jump on him; that was for sure.

Maybe he was more exhausted than he’d wanted to admit.

Cycling through what he knew, Knox tried to figure out what pieces of the truth he could use to distract her. There was no way she could know about Moray or where he suspected the man’s influence extended. But he also needed to give her something.

Hell, after a midnight arrival that included bleeding all over her kitchen supplies, he owed her that much.

Gun or no gun.

Gabriella glanced toward the door, and he was reminded of her earlier statement. My brother’s a cop. He patrols this dodgy area regularly.

For his money, he wasn’t sure she needed the additional surveillance, but he pressed on.

“Those gems belong back in England.”

“Says who?”

That gun stayed remarkably steady, but the fierce notes of protection had faded slightly from her stance. His first inclination was to disarm her, but he was too damned tired to try anything. And while she’d surprised him with having the gun in the first place, he wasn’t actually concerned she’d shoot.

Her brother was likely another story, so he’d do well to avoid police interference.

“Says the British government.”

“The government doesn’t control the royal family’s possessions.”

“No, but they should have some say and influence over a political gift. And regardless of a decision made decades ago, those gems were given to England. They belong back in my country.”

She seemed to waver slightly before she let out a hard sigh and lowered the gun. “Possession is nine-tenths and all that.”

Knox fought the urge to squirm, the rubies in his cargo pocket suddenly like lead weights beneath the countertop. “A delightful American colloquialism to indicate you can take whatever you want.”

“It was a gift that was subsequently turned over to Mrs. B’s father. Cassidy even found a letter from the king and queen that thanked her father for taking the gems and removing them.”

Knox stilled at that. “A letter?”

“Or more to the point, provenance.”

He filed that detail away. Moray’s behavior was deeply rooted in a lack of ethics, but something that denoted such clear ownership made the Security Service’s claims on the gems far harder to justify. Considering a different tack, he pressed an earlier point. “You said yourself your friends are well rid of the gems.”

“Perhaps I was too hasty.”

Unbidden, a kernel of panic took root in his belly. Her friends were lucky. And from what he knew and a few other aspects he’d pieced together, they were all fortunate to have escaped with their lives. “This isn’t a problem for civilians to concern themselves with.”

“Too late.”

“Or just in time.”

Although she didn’t reset her aim, Gabriella’s gaze drifted toward the gun before snapping firmly back to his. “That doesn’t mean your arrival isn’t worrying and suspicious. No one knew about the gems three weeks ago. Since then, my friends have discovered the rubies, uncovered corruption in the police department and dealt with a horrible threat from a well-respected businessman. Now MI5 shows up? How is it all connected?”

He’d figured out about three minutes after meeting her that Gabriella Sanchez wasn’t a woman to be underestimated. The gorgeous exterior and lush body was an easy distraction, but a whip-quick mind lived underneath.

He couldn’t tell her they’d kept tabs on Josephine Beauregard for years. Nor would he share that the highest levels of British intelligence had information on all of Tripp Lange’s nefarious dealings, a catalog that began when they caught wind a few years back he was nosing around about the gems. That one got awfully sticky because they knew about the man’s unsavory side practices and hadn’t bothered to share the information.

Avoid sharing that one with the class, mate.

Although he wasn’t going to provide extensive details about Lange, he could use the man to his advantage. “Tripp Lange’s involvement is being dissected now.”

“What’s there to dissect? He betrayed his wife and stepson, lying to them both. He manipulated his position as a wealthy businessman to buy off members of the police department. He even put out a hit on Reed and Lilah.”

Reed Graystone had been as suspicious of Knox’s presence as Gabby, but Knox’s badge had gone a long way toward reassuring the cop. Reed had taken the time to fill Knox in on his stepfather’s activities and the hit Gabby spoke of—cut brake lines that had caused an accident Reed and Lilah were lucky to walk away from—was proof positive of Lange’s mania to possess the gems.

A mania that seemed to extend to Moray, as well.

Was it even possible the jewels were to blame?

Although he didn’t doubt their value, the hysteria surrounding their retrieval bordered on obsession.

Dark obsession and a desperate need to possess.

Again he was conscious of the weight against his thigh, and if he focused on the gems he could feel their hard edges. Each was roughly the size of a strawberry—small in the scheme of things, yet massive in the gemology world—and he knew from their history many had killed to possess them.

The ringing of her cell broke the moment, and Gabby eyed the device. On a small sigh, she flipped the safety and shoved the gun back in the drawer she’d pulled it from, then answered the call.

“I’m good.”

Although Knox only got half the conversation, it wasn’t hard to piece together what was being said.

“I’m working late, that’s all. Mama wants enchiladas for the party tomorrow, and I couldn’t get to them earlier.” She paused a moment before quickly talking over whatever was being said on the other end of the line. “There’s no need to stop by on rounds. I’m almost done and trying to get out of here.”

Knox watched, fascinated, as she worked her way around the kitchen. She was a full participant in the conversation with her brother, but she managed to multitask her way through the conversation, pulling a large metal bowl from the fridge, then hip-bumping it closed.

She added several quick comments—barbs, really—in Spanish and it was hard to miss the small layer of frustration beneath.

“I’m fine, Ricardo. And I already made you an extra batch, so you can quit bugging me already. Good night. I love you, too.”

She shoved the phone in her back jeans pocket and walked toward a stacked set of trays on the far wall. The trays settled onto a base that rolled, and she dragged the entire set back to the counters along with the bowl.

“Your brother?”

“Who else?”

“Does he always call you this late?”

“When he’s on rounds and he sees my lights he does.” Gabby looked up from where she carefully pulled light towels off the top of a tray of fresh tortillas. “You’re lucky he didn’t just show up.”

“Why didn’t he?”

“He was called to an accident during his earlier drive-by. Something going on downtown in the park. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“No.”

As the lie tripped off his tongue, Knox was suddenly glad Gabby had put the gun away.

* * *

“No?”

“It’s the same answer you’d give your brother if he asked you what’s going on here.”

“I don’t lie to my family.”

“You sure about that?”

Something small ticked behind her eye, and Gabby focused on uncovering the chicken mixture she’d prepared earlier for the first batch of enchiladas. She snatched a fresh tortilla from her tray, muttering a low curse when the soft disc tore down the middle. “I don’t lie.”

“Would you prefer omission, then?” He extended a finger toward the bowl of meat she’d drained off, but she was quicker, smacking the back of his hand.

“You were bleeding over the floor an hour ago. Don’t touch.”

“I cleaned up.”

“You’re still not sticking your fingers in my food. Grab a plate and a fork if you’d like some. Third cabinet from the sink. Forks are in the drawer below.”

He followed her directions and snagged a large spoon, as well.

“That’s more like it. Take as much as you want.”

He tucked into the food, and she was pleased to see he ate well—rushed even—before catching herself. How, where or what he ate was none of her business. Nor was the increasing color in his cheeks any of her business, either.

“This is good.”

She added a few tortillas to his plate. “Those’ll make it even better.”

His words still rattled around in her brain with increasing discomfort. She wasn’t a liar, but the sin of omission had increasingly become her friend of late, and she wasn’t quite sure what to do about it. Her family hadn’t given her a choice, their increasing pressure on her personal life like a vise, squeezing out all the air.

So she filled tortillas like her grandmother taught her and lined them up neatly in a greased pan. She’d save the sauce for tomorrow before she headed out for the party, keeping the tortillas as fresh as possible.

“You’re fast.”

“I’ve been making these since I was seven.”

“Impressive.”

“My grandmother saw I had an interest, and she both indulged me and taught me.”

“You miss her.”

“I do. I still see her fairly often, but it’s not the same as every day.”

“She’s the one you tell the truth to, isn’t she?” That quiet voice was silky, weaving its way through her thoughts like wispy puffs of smoke.

His understanding struck her as an almost absurd counterpoint to his earlier statement. “I thought you said I lie to my family.”

“Omit.” When she only raised an eyebrow at him, he continued, “To the rest of them, but not to your grandmother.”

How did he know that? Lucky guess? Or was it something more?

Gabby had never believed herself to be a sensitive sort. She respected the talents of others—and believed in the things she couldn’t see—but she didn’t have any personal skill for sensing the supernatural.

Knox struck her as possessing a strong streak of practicality, in no way prone to the psychic, so how did he know that about her family? Or, more specifically, about her grandmother?

Even without a sensitive bone in her body, she couldn’t deny the stones had wrought major changes since their discovery. Was it really possible there was something deeper at play?

Ever since Cassidy, Lilah and Violet found the Renaissance Stones buried in the floor of their business, nothing had been the same. Yes, each had found love—Cassidy with Tucker Buchanan, Lilah with Reed and Violet with Max Baldwin.

Each woman had narrowly escaped danger, too.

Was it all because of the mysterious rubies?

While none of them could deny the danger that had come as a result of finding the stones, she wanted to believe her friends had found men they truly loved. Their loves weren’t simply heat-of-the-moment flings. No, they had something real.

Something permanent.

Gabby glanced up, her swirling thoughts vanishing as she realized Knox’s gaze hadn’t wavered. He continued to stare at her with that enigmatic blue fire that seemed to light up his eyes. The man was compelling, no doubt about it. And when she finally figured out what she thought about that, there was no doubt she’d mention Knox to her grandmother.

In the meantime, she acknowledged his words. “No. I don’t omit anything with my grandmother. She’s the one I talk to about anything and everything.”

But she hadn’t mentioned the rubies.

She dropped the last rolled tortilla into the tray before wiping her hands. Although her grandmother was a vault, the story of the Renaissance Stones hadn’t been hers to tell. It wasn’t omission so much as privacy.

And a very real fear that by talking about them she’d bring the same danger to her family’s door that had already been laid on her friends.

* * *

Richard Moray hunched down in his car and scanned his phone, plotting out his next move. The device carried the absolute latest in government encryption software and he’d added a few tweaks of his own. Even if someone back at HQ had wanted to track him, all of its data continued to transmit as if he were sitting at his desk in London, bright and early Greenwich Mean Time.

He was an early riser—everyone knew it. Besides, no one was tracking him. He’d covered his plans well—webs woven within webs—and he’d spent his life cultivating a personality that was part civil servant, part Security Service cheerleader and part purveyor of justice.

But he was always—always—100 percent for queen and country.

Until bloody Knox St. Germain started digging beneath the facade. He’d hired the damn boy, for the love of all that was holy. Hell, even for that which wasn’t. He’d trained him and ensured the Manchester street rat had a future. And Knox had turned on him.

Moray rubbed at his knee, the hasty tourniquet nearly as uncomfortable as the grazed flesh. Oh, how his protégé had turned.

Moray flipped through the web pages he’d already bookmarked, including the catering shop owned by one Gabriella Sanchez. Taste the Moment. The sultry dark-haired beauty smiled back at him from the web page, and he fought the small shot of interest that sparked at her beautiful face. She was a siren, no doubt about it. But that long mane of curly hair and the thick, lush lips were a distraction, nothing more.

She was helping Knox.

Although, if he knew his boy, he also knew Knox was a sucker for a pretty face.

Moray glanced down at the image once more, considering how he might use this to his advantage. He’d been focused on circumventing Gabriella, pulling Knox away from her business to get him out in the open.

Perhaps he needed to rethink his strategy.

Ignoring the throbbing in his knee, Moray tapped into the architectural plans for the area. The work of a few keystrokes, he marveled to himself as he caught sight of a slow-moving police cruiser in the rearview mirror. He cycled through what he already knew of Gabriella and her family and realized the answer was nearly in front of him. Never one to miss an opportunity, he went to work.

With a hard shove, he pushed on his car door and fell to the ground.

* * *

Gabby finished stuffing the last of the enchiladas and had put Knox to work at the sink washing her pans. Admittedly, she was surprised when he’d said yes to the job.

Even more admittedly, she’d admired the sculpted fit of his cargo pants over slim hips and a high, tight ass as he worked over the sink. It was late, and he was the one who’d made himself at home. The least she could get out of this entire situation was a chance to enjoy the view.

When he stiffened, she was pulled from her thoughts. “Is your shoulder okay?”

He shot her a grin over his good shoulder. “Nice of you to ask me now, sweetheart. I just finished the last pan.”

“Just because I want you to earn your keep doesn’t mean I’m not concerned.”

His smile never wavered as he turned back to the sink and flipped off the tap. “Whatever helps you sleep, love.”

She ignored the endearments—she would not be affected by the patter of a serial dater—and snorted as she covered the last pan with foil. “I sleep just fine. And will sleep even better knowing I conquered five pans of enchiladas.”

The task had gone quicker with his help, and as she rubbed the tension out of her lower back she had to admit it had been nice to have company beyond the radio or one of her telenovelas she kept perpetually recorded on the kitchen DVR.

“I’ll be out of your hair soon. Go ahead home, and I’ll take the cot in your office.”

“I told you I’d see you through until morning.”

“So share the cot with me.”

The thought struck so hard—so deep and low in her belly—Gabby had to catch her breath. She would like to take him up on that all-too-enticing offer more than she could describe.

And far more than she’d even realized.

Admiring a well-sculpted body was one thing. Contemplating sleeping with said body was another matter entirely.

Quickly tamping down on the images that flooded her mind’s eye of the two of them entwined on her small sleep cot, she didn’t miss the sexy blue gaze that zeroed in on her from the sink. “We’ll just sleep.”

“You are running a fever.”

“Of a sort.”

The desire that edged his gaze was heady, and she felt herself being reeled in by the hot body, the late hour and the attraction she’d already fought for a few days now.

Fighting the urge for all of the above, she walked the large pan toward the fridge and resolutely kept her gaze from his. She would not spar with him on this. It was self-preservation, she promised herself as she pulled open the door and allowed the cool air to flow over her heated skin.

Yep. Self-preservation.

She’d nearly had herself convinced when that sultry voice of his—lilting with the devil’s own music—whispered in her ear. “You’re not curious?”

“No.”

She meant to sidestep the advance. Truly, she did. But as the heat of his body covered her back and the heat of his words filled her, something inside her simply rooted her feet to the spot.

“Not even a bit?”

“No.”

He didn’t touch her, but she felt his body move a fraction of an inch closer. “You sure?”

The urge to close the gap between their bodies nearly overwhelmed her; the mix of cool air at her front and hot, wicked heat at her back was nearly her undoing.

It was only the hard rap at the back door that had her coming out of the trance he’d woven around her.

“Who the bloody hell is that?” Before she could even turn around, Knox was halfway to the door. “Get in your office. Now.”

“No!” She slammed the fridge door closed and followed him to the delivery entrance, reality quickly intruding. “It’s probably my brother. He can’t see you.”

She rushed in front of him, anxious to cut Ricardo off at the pass. Her fingers flew over the alarm pad and she sideswiped Knox when he tried to stop her.

“He sees my light. Just let me deal with this. Go get back in the office.”

“You don’t know who—” His voice echoed behind her, calling her back, but she already had the door open, swinging it wide on its hinge.

The warm tension that had filled her system only moments before vanished, replaced with black ice. A small scream crawled up her throat as she took in the sight of her brother, a gun pressed to his forehead, standing before her on her doorstep.

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