Edge of the Enforcer

by Cherise Sinclair

  How the fuck could anyone hurt a kid? A shame he couldn’t find the bastard.

  Two more children approached to twine themselves around Lindsey’s legs. Cute as all get-out. And the rugrats already had her pegged as a soft touch.

  He turned back to the brother and sister. “I’m going to make it so no bad man can get into this house. That’s my job.” He dared to reach out and run his knuckles down the big-eyed girl’s cheek. “You’ll be safe here and your mama too.”

  If his own mother had had a place like this, would she have pulled herself together rather than descending into the hell of selling tricks for alcohol and drugs? He shook off the thought, managed a smile for the children, who still stared at him as if he were the Green Goblin about to kill Spider-Man. Not making any sudden moves, he walked to the door.

  The back entrance had a decent door and frame with a totally shit lock. “Seen chicken coops with better protection,” he muttered to Lindsey.

  “People sometimes forget trouble can walk in on two legs.” The arch of her brows showed she had slotted him right into the trouble category.

  He barely managed to keep from laughing. She hadn’t yet realized how much trouble she was going to be in.

  LINDSEY WATCHED AS deVries knelt and dug into his bag. Power tools, a lockset.

  “Jeremiah, come back!” Jenna tugged at her brother’s hand.

  Pulling his sister with him, Jeremiah inched his way closer until he was within touching distance of the big Dom. “Whatcha doing?”

  The lines at the corners of deVries’s eyes crinkled. “See the lock?” He twisted the door’s dead bolt.

  Jeremiah nodded, his sister imitating him.

  “I’m going to put in a bigger one.” DeVries opened the package and showed how the bolt was much longer.

  “Oooh.”

  “You didn’t change the one in front,” Lindsey commented.

  He glanced at her. “With the crap door frame in the front, a longer bolt would suck air. Not do any good.”

  “Oh.” Guess he did know what he was doing. Come to think of it, anything deVries did, he’d make sure he did really, really well.

  With a sigh, she took a chair and settled down with the children. Jeremiah’s sister climbed into her lap. Her brother remained, watching deVries’s every move.

  DeVries drilled a hole and changed out the old mechanism. “Hand me the long screw, bud.” He nodded at the open package.

  After a worried glance, Jeremiah bent to look through the screws, checking every second to ensure the man wasn’t getting angry.

  DeVries waited—and Lindsey recognized the patience. He displayed it in the club—and in bed, as well. Why the heck did he have to be so appealing?

  “This?” Jeremiah whispered, holding up a long screw.

  “That’s it. Good eye, bud.” With the casual compliment, deVries turned back to the job, not apparently noticing the way Jeremiah’s entire face lit as if the sun had come out from behind clouds.

  But only someone who’d seen the Dom in a scene would realize he missed nothing. Although a muscle had tightened in his cheek, he kept working, asking Jeremiah for different items, being careful to describe them well enough no mistakes could be made.

  Finally he closed the door and glanced at Jeremiah. “Why don’t you check it out? See if it works.” He tapped the latch. “Turn that.”

  Jeremiah obeyed.

  “Can you get the door open now?” DeVries kept an eye on him as he put the tools away.

  Jeremiah turned the doorknob and tugged. “Hunh-uh.”

  “Good.” DeVries stood, set a light hand on the skinny shoulder. “Couldn’t have done it so quickly without you, bud. You’re a great assistant.”

  Jeremiah’s expression showed wonder and dawning pride.

  With a choked sob, Lindsey helped the little girl off her lap, keeping her face turned away, blinking hard. After a swallow, her voice came out fairly even. “Where to now, Mr. deVries?”

  “I’d like a tour of the windows, Miss Adair,” he said politely. Why did she doubt his politeness would linger once away from the observers? He ruffled Jeremiah’s hair. “I’ll be back in a couple of days, bud. If you’re free, I could use your help.”

  “Okay,” Jeremiah whispered. He was vibrating with urgency until they left the kitchen. His footsteps charged in the opposite direction, toward the back room where his mother was doing laundry. Even then, his voice barely rose. “Mooom, guess what?” Children with fathers like his learned to stay quiet.

  “Jesus fucking Christ.” DeVries’s jaw was tight, his eyes cold and hard.

  “What?”

  “Be a downright pleasure to have a chat with whatever bastard knocked the kid around.”

  She couldn’t hide her smile or the sudden wetness in her eyes.

  He ran a gentle finger down her cheek. “You got a big heart, Tex.”

  Apparently, so did he.

  Before they reached the upstairs bedroom, a staff member appeared. “Lindsey, Mrs. Abernathy sent me to show Mr. deVries around.”

  “Good timing. Edna’s probably ready for me.” With a feeling of relief—and reluctance—Lindsey nodded at deVries.

  His face showed nothing; however, his words—“See you later, Tex”—set her nerves to dancing.

  In the small meeting room, Edna was looking through the papers on how to write a résumé and to interview. Underweight, short hair graying, curling into herself in a slouch as if she didn’t want to be noticed. The fading bruises on her face said why.

  “All finished?” Lindsey asked as she sat.

  Edna nodded.

  Lindsey glanced over the application. Her work experience was years in the past—waitress and a hotel maid. Physical condition was good, or would be in another week. Spelling adequate. Penmanship clear. The next page was blank. “Why didn’t you fill out the vocational interest form?”

  “What’s the point?”

  Lindsey understood her meaning. Edna was forty-nine. Her children were raised. Laid off from work, the husband spent his days drinking and taking his frustrations out on his wife. She’d probably endured his abuse to keep their kids fed and housed, but now…

  “Several points, actually,” Lindsey answered. “First, you’re liable to live to be ninety, right?”

  Edna’s eyes widened. “I… Maybe. My mother is still alive.”

  “So, working as a waitress will get tiresome. And when you retire, social security might not cover all your expenses.” Lindsey waggled her eyebrows. “With four children, you’re undoubtedly going to have grandchildren you’ll want to gift with loud, obnoxious toys, right?”

  Edna actually smiled. Even abuse didn’t extinguish a sense of humor. Then she frowned. “You’re saying money will always be a problem?”

  “If you don’t think ahead. The good news is Stella’s is very keen on their clients moving past minimum-wage jobs. They hold classes at night and weekends, and if there’s something you want to learn they don’t offer, there’s usually a way to get it.” She leaned forward and took Edna’s hands. “You’re making a big change already, yet while you’re at it, why don’t you shoot for the top?”

  “I…” Edna’s gaze dropped to the papers.

  “Besides”—Lindsey squeezed the cold fingers—“your ex can’t even keep a shit-labor job. Wouldn’t it be cool to have a classy one he couldn’t dream of matching?”

  Edna’s shoulders straightened, her head lifted, and her expression changed to one of resolve. “You’re right.” Her lips curved. “And you are a sneaky young woman.”

  Wasn’t it odd the entire room felt brighter? “That’s me. So fill out—” Lindsey glanced at her watch. “No, you can’t. Your group session starts in a few minutes. Can you complete this form later? We’ll talk about it next week.” She put the already completed papers into her leather satchel.

  Determination had lit the older woman’s expression. “I can do that.”

  Lindsey felt her eyes heat, and she
wrapped an arm around Edna’s shoulders in a brief squeeze. “You’re going to do great,” she whispered.

  In the hallway, deVries was leaning against the wall, bag over one shoulder. He nodded at Edna and stepped in front of Lindsey. “You all done here?”

  “Uh…” Could she make up a reason to have to stay? Except every lie she told made her feel as if she were smearing dirt on her skin. She felt filthy enough already. “Guess so.”

  “Good.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “I could hear you through the door. You’re damned good at talking to people, baby.”

  She blinked up at him. A compliment from the Enforcer. “Um. Thanks.”

  “Could have used you in interrogations.”

  Seriously? Her stare of disbelief made a dimple appear in his cheek. Her attempt to retreat didn’t work. “So what do you want?”

  “I saw a grill on your back patio. Let’s swing by the store, pick up some steak, and I’ll cook while you make the rest of the shit.”

  She stopped. “Are you inviting yourself over to my place for supper?”

  “That would be an affirmative, pet.” He smiled down at her. “I rescued you and helped you move. Seems you owe me. Again.”

  “Really.” Her stomach twisted as she remembered the first time she’d owed him…how it had ended. He’d explained, but if he turned cold again, how could she bear it? “So, am I going to get another ‘debt paid’ from you afterward?”

  “That really bothered you?” He guided her out the front door.

  “Well, yes.” She slapped a hand on his chest and shoved him back. “You also said you didn’t like me. I know guys make lo—uh, fuck—anyone. All the same, being intimate with someone you hate is just plain downright icky.”

  “Icky.” His lips quirked. “I didn’t hate you when I fucked you. It wasn’t until the next morning I decided you were a mercenary bitch.”

  She heard Victor’s voice. “Hell, you married me for my money.” The memory was an unexpected blow. With an effort, she kept it from her face and pushed the sickness away. In its place, she plastered on a scowl and used it on deVries. “You really do enjoy pissing me off, don’t you?”

  “Fuck yeah.” The way his dimple came and went made her knees weak.

  “So you really did like me that night?” Her question came out in a whisper.

  He pushed her hand off his chest and yanked her forward into a full frontal. “You mean when my cock was buried in your pussy, or when I took your ass?” His head lowered, and his words whispered against her lips. “Or licked you until you screamed?”

  Her mouth went dry, and the sound she made was simply needy.

  “Oh, I liked you.” He planted a kiss on her lips before giving her a level stare. “Baby, I wouldn’t have fucked you otherwise.”

  The tornado of relief flattened her defenses and swirled them away.

  As she stared up into his sage-colored eyes, she knew she was screwed every way from Sunday.

  * * * *

  DeVries brought the sizzling steaks from the grill to the patio. While he’d been cooking, Lindsey had covered the table with a bright yellow cloth and set out colorful stoneware dishes. He glanced at her. “I didn’t see these in the dump.”

  “No. They were with all my stuff in storage.” She looked around. “It’s nice to have everything back.”

  Not that she had much, he thought, as he rummaged through the cupboard for steak sauce. “Got a lot of macaroni and cheese, babe.”

  Rather than whining about being broke, she grinned. “Hey, I love macaroni and cheese. It’s comfort food.”

  “Mmmhmm.” Sure it was—maybe once a month, not every day. Yet, she’d actually wanted to split the cost of the groceries earlier. Jesus.

  She took a seat at the table and handed him one of the beers he’d bought.

  “You gonna be okay in the duplex?” He dropped down into the chair across from her. Taking a sip of the beer, he watched as she served him a green salad, a mound of cheesy potatoes, and one of the steaks. Graceful and smooth. Unlike him, she’d probably learned table manners from birth, rather than years later in a foster home.

  “It’s great.” She gave him a rueful smile. “I guess I should thank you for telling Xavier about the mess I was in.”

  “Not a problem. Speaking of which…” He toed off his boot and unstrapped the leather sheath from his calf. “If you’re going to carry a knife, wear one that will do some damage.”

  “But…”

  He set it on the table. “Figured this might be a good size for you. One on your belt would be better—this is hard to reach in a hurry—but with the people you’re around, you probably don’t want to terrify them.”

  “I—” She stopped and said carefully, “Are you giving me your knife?”

  “Yeah, Tex, I’m giving you my backup-backup-backup knife so I don’t see you waving a pocketknife at someone again.”

  Her eyes actually lit. She unsheathed the knife. Flat handle, double-edged blade. Heavy. Smaller than he preferred. Still, it’d get the job done in a pinch.

  “My daddy liked guns,” she said. “Hunting. But I never learned.” Her mind seemed to go elsewhere, and she shuddered.

  Probably thinking about Bambi’s mother. Damn cartoon. “I take it you prefer knives?”

  “You bet. Every cowgirl should have a knife—even if it’s only to open some beans when she can’t find a can opener.” She held it up, and her smile was gorgeous. “Thank you. Really.”

  “No problem. Really.” He took a bite of the potatoes and stilled. The girl could cook. “Besides, I intend to collect.”

  “Doesn’t that just figure?” Her scowl was definitely cute, but under it…was that surprise? “You want sex with…me?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Damn straight I want sex with you. You didn’t think I would?”

  “I…” She shrugged and said lightly, “It’s nice to be wanted.”

  The lightness was bullshit and contradicted by the hurt in her eyes. “Who didn’t want you?”

  Her mouth dropped open. “I didn’t say that.”

  Bull’s-eye. “Who didn’t want you?”

  “Well, jeez, I’ve been divorced twice. What do you think?”

  He leaned back to watch her move her potatoes from one side of the plate to the other. Uh-huh. She had hurt buried in there. And despite his avoidance of relationships, he wasn’t blind. Women rarely escaped a relationship with their self-confidence intact.

  She’d been angry when she thought he’d fucked her without liking her. Hard to imagine a man not liking little Tex, but the world was filled with assholes. “I think both your husbands made you doubt your attractiveness.”

  Her pupils constricted, and the tiny muscles beside her mouth flinched down. “I forgot the salad dressing.” She shoved to her feet and rummaged—pretended to—through the fridge before returning with a small bottle.

  He couldn’t help pushing despite the fact his fucking curiosity had led him into landmines before. However, her reaction seemed to exceed the normal bitterness from a divorce. And, he plain wanted to know… “Did you love them?”

  Her muscles tensed as if she’d jump up again. Too bad for her she’d run out of culinary excuses. He put his hand over hers, a physical restraint, and pushed with his voice. “Lindsey, did you love them? Simple question.”

  She slumped, gaze on her plate. “I thought I did,” she whispered.

  “They didn’t?”

  She shook her head. When her hand trembled under his, he wanted to take her in his arms.

  No. She wasn’t ready for that kind of comfort. Not from him. By being an asshole, he’d destroyed the trust he’d earned the first night. “I’m sorry, baby,” he said, releasing his hand and his dominance.

  She pulled in a breath harsh enough to hear. Her shoulders straightened. “So, what’s going on with the security system at the shelter?” she asked lightly.

  Damn, he fucking admired her spirit. “I’ll make sure they get top-of
-the-line equipment.” He cut a bite of his steak. Sampled. He hadn’t lost his touch. “You’ve got a decent grill out there.”

  “It’s Abby’s.” She looked around. “I really love this place already.”

  “Good.” He damned well planned to get her to cook for him again. “No rodents here?”

  Her laugh was light, cheerful, back to the Lindsey he knew and had avoided before because she was so damn appealing. “I miss Francois. He was good company.”

  Now that was pitiful, a fucking field mouse for companionship. Jesus, she was something. Rather than screaming when seeing a rodent, she’d named it Francois. She’d faced down a gang with pepper spray. Despite her big eyes and gentle heart, she was a strong woman. Fucking strong. “I’ll keep you company tonight.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  He grinned. “Because I like you?”

  * * * *

  In the kitchen, Lindsey glanced into the sink. Empty. The Enforcer had actually loaded the dishwasher and put the condiments away. Helping out was sure more than either of her husbands had done. Of course, Miguel had helped in the kitchen before they’d married. Not after he’d obtained his green card. Obviously, premarriage behavior wasn’t an index of reality. Don’t get carried away, girl.

  Carrying the plate of sweets into the living room, she found him on the couch, flipping through the channels.

  “Looking for a game?”

  His dimple showed. “Nothing good on. Got any movies?”

  With one arm propped on a plush red pillow, he looked right at home on her overstuffed white sofa. She’d chosen comfortable, practical furniture. It sure wasn’t delicate—but neither was she. Good sturdy Texas stock, that was her. “Movies are in the bottom of the stand.”

  Grabbing a cookie as he walked past, he gave her a firm kiss and squatted down in front of the TV. Startled, she could only stare at him, then, okay, stare a little longer because the man had a really fine ass.

  With a shake of her head, she set the cookies on the distressed white coffee table and snuggled into a corner of the couch. Was he seriously planning to stay and watch TV? Wasn’t it a tad domestic for him?