Edge of the Enforcer

by Cherise Sinclair

  “You look like you know what you’re doing.” DeVries’s gravelly voice echoed in the small room.

  Lindsey spun. “Jesus, you scared the spit out of me.” God, God, God. How could she have been so stupid as to turn her back on a door? Anyone might have walked in. Shot her dead.

  Trying to regulate her heartbeat, she picked up the paper she’d dropped.

  “Bit jumpy?” His gaze swept over her, sending a different type of anxiety into her.

  “I drank too much coffee.” She assumed a pleasant smile. “Was there something you needed, Mr. deVries?”

  His face darkened. “Considering all the ways I’ve tasted you, fingered you, fucked you, calling me Mister is pretty formal.”

  Her spine snapped straight. “I thought formality would serve us best. After all, I don’t like you, and you don’t like me.”

  “Hell,” he said under his breath before giving her a scowl. “I was out of line.”

  She nodded acknowledgment of his half-assed—though unexpected—apology.

  “I didn’t come in to apologize, though.” He gave her a stare as if she were a scorpion scuttling around on an outhouse floor. “You’re working under a fake ID, Miss Adair. What’s your real name?”

  As her hands went cold, she took a step back. The file drawer jammed into her hip, blocking her retreat. “You researched—”

  “Yeah. I did. Give me a real good explanation of why, and maybe I won’t tell Simon.”

  Her fear disintegrated as rage danced along her nerve endings. How dare he snoop? Threaten her? “Go away.” Trying to block his existence from her universe, she turned and leisurely filed the paper she’d crumpled.

  The air seemed to darken. What kind of man could change the very atmosphere in a room?

  “I’m waiting for your explanation.”

  He could wait until the stars fell from the sky. “Run and tell Daddy, little boy. What are you, five?” She took a long inhalation and told her shoulders to relax. God, I just want to go home.

  “Let’s start with this: why’re you working here?”

  Because if I’d stayed in Texas, I’d be dead. She turned and glared at him. “Why do you think, you idiot? Because he pays me. You know,” she said sweetly, “Simon thinks you’re so clever, but I kinda figure you can’t find your ass with a flashlight and a search warrant.”

  Silence.

  Perhaps that hadn’t been the smartest comment she’d ever made. Well, if he couldn’t take the heat, he shouldn’t have come into her filing room. She slammed the drawer shut and started on the next letter. D. DeVries’s name was on a lot of the investigations. He was respected here. What would Simon do when his buddy outed her? Still, Simon knew she was hiding. Surely he wouldn’t fire her. She felt her lower lip tremble and compressed her lips. Leave me alone.

  He didn’t leave. His voice was even raspier as he said, “I think you should—”

  “Lindsey, it’s five o’clock. Time for you to head on home.” Simon’s smooth voice hit the room like the warmth of a fire after a chill morning walk.

  She turned.

  DeVries still stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable.

  “Okay,” she said to Simon. “Thank you.”

  “Not a problem. You’re doing an excellent job.”

  Pleasure swept away her worry. “Oh, that’s nice to hear.”

  “Only the truth.”

  After closing the filing drawer, she left the remaining papers on the small table and headed for the door. DeVries didn’t even try to get out of her way as she squeezed past him.

  “Butthead,” she said under her breath barely loud enough for him to hear.

  DEVRIES WATCHED HER grab her purse and leave, his annoyance almost mitigated by how pretty she was when she was ticked off.

  Such an easy-to-read face. She’d tried to conceal her fear and anger, and failed. He chewed on the inside of his cheek. If she couldn’t hide those, she wasn’t much of a con artist. Dammit, all his instincts insisted she was a nice person.

  And yet, she wasn’t who she said she was.

  Simon gave him a level stare. “Don’t screw with my staff.”

  DeVries considered staying silent, but his boss needed the truth. “Lindsey Adair doesn’t exist—at least not prior to a few months ago.”

  “I already knew that.” Simon leaned a hip against Mrs. Martinez’s desk, which the nonexistent girl had left spotless.

  “But—” Seeing the smoldering anger in Simon’s eyes, deVries reconsidered. The Dom had a protective streak a mile wide. “Got it. You know, I figured she was rich.”

  Simon lifted an eyebrow. “I’m rich. Does that mean we can’t be friends?”

  “Jesus.” The next time he had Simon in the ring, he might just beat the hell out of him…or try, at least. Simon had retired from full-contact martial arts, but he hadn’t lost any of his skills. “I saw her place, and no receptionist could afford that. She even admitted she married her ex for his money.”

  “You jumped to conclusions, Zander, which isn’t like you.” Simon shook his head. “You know, when I attempted to give her an advance on her salary, she said she wouldn’t take something she hadn’t earned. And she doesn’t live in the condo anymore.”

  “She moved? To where?”

  “None of your business, is it?”

  As Simon walked away, deVries scowled after him. What a goat fuck, and he’d created it himself. Why had he assumed the worst about the girl?

  Nonetheless, she was lying about who she was. Why?

  Could she be in some trouble? DeVries walked into his office and booted up a different search program. Damned if he’d leave a mess like this behind him, especially if Simon sent him out of town again. People didn’t always return from a mission.

  Chapter Six

  DeVries found Lindsey’s apartment building without any problem except mounting disbelief. The brick structure looked like it had been built before America was discovered. What the fuck was she doing living in this rat-infested part of town?

  Scowling, he circled the block looking for a place to park. No parking garage. Or lot. Only street parking. Jesus Christ.

  The entry wasn’t locked. He walked past graffiti-covered metal community mailboxes, over ripped carpet, and stopped at the elevators. One was out of service. The other… Not being stupid, he took the stairs.

  On the fourth floor, he could hear the televisions from each apartment. Smelled as if someone had used the far wall for a urinal. With a grunt of disgust, he knocked on her door.

  No sound from inside. He couldn’t call her—she had no listed phone number. He knocked louder. Nothing. Hell.

  A Goth-attired teen hurried past him down the hall. She had enough piercings he had to wonder what her parents were thinking.

  “Hey, kid.”

  The girl skidded to a halt. “What?”

  “Lindsey live here?” Assuming she wasn’t using a different name here too.

  Almost dancing with impatience, the girl said, “Uh-huh. Her and Francois. Only she’s not there now.”

  Hell of a name, Francois. And Tex had pretty fucking bad taste in men if this was what her lover could afford. Why the step down in life? Step down? Hell, she’d fallen straight to the basement.

  He was missing something here. Had to be. Annoyance turned his voice to a growl. “You know where she is?”

  “Dakota got chased up a tree. Lindsey went to get him.”

  DeVries gave a snort of exasperation even as he mentally kicked himself. Yeah, the Texan was a real mercenary bitch—dashing off to rescue a cat. I’m an idiot.

  The girl opened the door across from Lindsey’s apartment. “Mom? Dakota needs you!” Only silence answered, and the girl kicked the frame. “Shit, she’s not home yet.”

  “Give me some directions. Maybe I can help.”

  “Really?” The kid’s expression of relief was unsettling. How high was the damn cat in the tree?

  “Down the street toward the school.�
�� She pointed to the west. “A couple of blocks. I’ve gotta wait for Mom.”

  “Got it. Thanks.”

  * * * *

  Heart pounding painfully inside her rib cage, Lindsey stood in front of the tree, holding her tiny can of pepper spray. Excellent stuff. Good for blinding at least three big men.

  And, hey, the ones facing her weren’t big men. Weren’t even really men.

  Unhappily there were a whole lot more than three.

  The cold wind off the Bay swept through the street, making the paper and cans in the gutter rustle. She shivered, wishing she had on a coat. A long-sleeved T-shirt wasn’t enough.

  “This is boring, guys,” she said to the teens. Piercings, tattoos, oddly designed hairstyles—about what you’d expect from a gang in this neighborhood. And dirty? Sheesh. The ripe aroma of young male sweat was enough to make her eyes water. “Y’all go home. Dakota and I will do the same.”

  She’d already been here at least ten minutes. Why the heck hadn’t someone called the cops? But she knew. This wasn’t a neighborhood where people stepped forward—even to dial the police.

  The knife in her jeans pocket seemed to wiggle, begging her to pull it. Regrettably it was awfully small. And a blade would ramp up a standoff to a whole new level.

  “Get your ass gone, bitch. This ain’t your biz.” The ugly words came from a boy with an ambitious shadow of a mustache. Her daddy would have washed his mouth out for using such language to a lady.

  “He’s not even close to your age. Why are you mad at him?” Sheesh, Lindsey, as if they’re going to see reason? Logic wouldn’t dent their attitudes—and yet, she couldn’t help but try. The tiny canister of pepper spray was slick in her sweaty fingers. More sweat trickled down her back despite the cool autumn air.

  “His bro hit me. So I’m gonna fuck his brother up.”

  There was logic. The gang activity in the area was the reason Dakota’s family was moving. This was his last day in school. Probably the group had missed catching up with his older brother, so they’d take their anger out on the kid.

  “I’m not leaving,” she said. “And whoever tries to get him will have to come through me.”

  Oh shit, wrong thing to say!

  They lunged at her from all sides.

  She hosed them with the pepper spray.

  Shouts of anger filled the air.

  She hadn’t gotten nearly enough of them.

  Blinded, one ran into her, knocking her back a step. Another brought a 2x2 down on her wrist. Pain ripped through her flesh and bone. Hell. The spray canister dropped from her nerveless hand.

  A fist slammed into her face. She shook her head, blinked back tears, and nailed the creep in the eye. A kick to the balls downed the next guy.

  The one behind him knocked her sprawling onto the unforgiving concrete. A boot hit her hip. As pain blasted into her, she barely muffled a scream.

  They were getting past her. No!

  On hands and knees, she kicked at the legs bypassing her for the tree. One yelled when she got his knee. Another hit the ground. Panting, she tried to stand, failed…and someone on the sidewalk screamed. Pulling her pocketknife out, she managed to open it.

  The shouting went silent as the gang around her moved back. Had the cops arrived?

  With a grunt of pain, she pushed herself to her feet and retreated to defend the tree. Her eyes were blurred with tears, and she roughly wiped her hand over her face. What was everyone looking at?

  Oh. My.

  DeVries faced the gangbangers, and she recognized his cold, cold expression. He’d looked at her that way.

  Around him, three of the mob were down—one with an obviously broken arm. The rest of the hoods were inching sideways. Away.

  He didn’t even seem to notice as he prowled toward her. One fool swung at him. He caught the young man’s fist and yanked him forward far enough to slam an elbow into the tattooed face. The sound of the nose breaking barely preceded the wail of pain.

  Like cockroaches under bright light, the gang fled in all directions.

  DeVries hadn’t even spoken.

  He stopped in front of her, plucked the knife from her hand. “Like that’d scare someone,” he said sarcastically. He closed and dropped it in her jeans pocket.

  Feeling the trickle of blood running down her face, Lindsey swiped at it.

  DeVries’s gaze settled on her fingers, his jaw tightening. “You have to be one of the stupidest people I know,” he said in a frozen tone. “Risking your life for a fucking—”

  Her gratitude died—thankfully before she threw herself in his arms—and she turned away. Got to get Dakota. Leave before the gang returned. Grabbing a low branch, she tried to climb up, but her right hand was still half-numb from the blow to her wrist. Her fingers wouldn’t close. A whine of frustration escaped.

  Hard hands closed on her shoulders and pulled her back. His eyes had gone more gray than green, piercing through her as he lifted her chin, turned her face from side to side, looking at what was probably a gash and bruise. Felt like it anyway, and God knew, she’d experienced far worse at the hands of the crooked border patrol agent, Ricks.

  She tamped down her anger. DeVries had risked his life to save her, after all. Some gangs carried firearms. And knives. He could have been badly hurt. “I appreciate the help. Thank you.” She wrenched back and got nowhere.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m fixin’ to get Dakota. You just let go of me now.”

  A corner of his mouth tipped up, the ice leaving his gaze. “Your accent gets thick when you’re mad.”

  She glared.

  He gave a low chuckle. “Where’s the fucking cat? I’ll get it.”

  “What cat? I’m fetching Dakota.” She pointed up in the tree, where the eight-year-old boy had his little arms wrapped around the trunk. He was crying silently.

  “I’ll be damned.”

  She’d never seen him startled before. What—he’d thought Dakota was a cat? When she started to laugh, his eyes narrowed into a cynical look.

  “Makes more sense, except…you’d probably have done the same thing for a cat, wouldn’t you?”

  Of course. She shrugged and winced at the pain.

  “What I thought.” He pointed at the sidewalk. “Sit there while I recover your kid.”

  Instead she looked up. “Dakota, this is…” She glanced at deVries. Would he kill her if she used his first name?

  The dimple appeared beside his mouth. “Friends call me Zander.”

  Well, maybe he could consider Dakota a friend, right? “This is Zander. He saved us, sweetie. Now he’s going to help you get down.” She frowned. “You be gentle with him or—”

  “Or you’ll kick my ass, Texas?”

  The affectionate half hug he gave her almost stopped her heart.

  He swung easily up into the tree. Before he reached Dakota, he paused, and she could hear the rumble of his voice.

  After a few seconds, the boy offered a wavering smile and let deVries haul him into his arms.

  While they were occupied with climbing down, she used the bottom of her T-shirt to clean her face of blood and tears.

  After deVries was down, she pulled Dakota into a hug. Tremors still shook his skinny frame. But he was safe. “Let’s get you home, honeybunches.”

  He clung to her hand on the silent walk back to the apartment building, and she noticed with a stab of the heart that when deVries walked too far away, Dakota tucked his fingertips into the man’s jeans pocket, keeping him close.

  DeVries didn’t say a word.

  They met Dakota’s frantic mother running out of the lobby, trailed by Dakota’s sister. They all walked upstairs together. DeVries stayed in the hall while Lindsey went into Dakota’s apartment to finish explaining to his mama what had happened—and how dangerous it was.

  When she emerged, she looked around, hoping deVries had gotten bored and left.

  He was still there, waiting silently by her door.

>   Oh. Damn. She was too tired to fight with him or answer his snoopy questions. Yes, he deserved a thanks—and it was going to be delivered in the hallway.

  “Thank you again,” she said, trying for warm and cool both. “Now, did you come here for a reason?”

  “Yeah.” He touched her chin with a light finger. “And we’ll talk once you’re cleaned up.”

  “My face will keep. What did you need?”

  He held his hand out. “Keys.”

  “You are such a butthead,” she muttered and heard him snort. After digging her keys out of her pocket, she slapped them in his palm.

  As if escorting her home from a dance, he unlocked her door, put his arm behind her back, and guided her into her apartment. “You got antibiotic ointment?”

  He was past stubborn. “I can tend myself, thanks.”

  “Where is it?”

  She huffed in exasperation. When Abby and Rona had complained about their annoyingly overprotective Doms, Lindsey had only felt envy. Now she was beginning to comprehend their feelings on the subject. “Bathroom.”

  “Good.” He herded her like a cattle dog into her tiny bath, sat her on the toilet seat, and tipped her face up. Anger tightened his jaw as he studied the damage. “Caught yourself a good one,” he said, the concern not concealing the steel beneath.

  She scowled. She hadn’t rolled belly up like a coward. With Ricks, she hadn’t had a chance to fight; this time she’d done better. “I gave some good ones back.”

  The approving glint in his eyes was unexpected and made her heart jump inside her chest. “I saw that, baby. You’ve got a nice right hook.”

  Before she could recover from the compliment, he turned to rummage for a washcloth.

  His hands were harder than iron yet disconcertingly gentle as he washed the blood from her cheek. He applied ointment before dealing with her scraped palms the same way. “All done.”

  “Thank you.” The gratitude was real…as was the need to blink back tears.

  “Not a problem. Let’s get some ice on your face.” After sitting her down on her living room couch, he sauntered into the kitchen.

  The minute he disappeared, the aftermath of the fight set in. First a tightness in her throat, a flutter in her stomach. Hold together a little longer, and he’ll be gone.