A tiny fist tapped her chin as the baby gurgled back.
“Isn’t that the truth?” Rebecca said. “At least he will be able to have girlfriends. Can you imagine being Logan’s daughter? She wouldn’t be allowed to date until she was thirty.”
“Ha. First she’d have to find a guy brave enough to ask her out.” Lindsey cuddled the warm weight against her breasts, breathing in the fragrance of baby, and felt tears prickle her eyes.
“You okay?” Becca asked softly.
Lindsey bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying. “My niece was this size when I left Texas.” Emily was turning one in a couple of months. I missed it all. Homesickness felt like someone had carved hollows into her chest, leaving it echoing with emptiness.
Becca frowned. “I’m sure Xavier would let you go home.”
Hell, betrayed by her own emotions. “I’m…staying away for now. Things were a bit riled up when I left.”
“Your ex-husband?”
Lindsey kept her gaze on the baby and nodded. Guilt tightened her mouth. In her world, friends didn’t lie to each other.
But her world had never included being accused of murder. Worlds change. She wouldn’t give her friends the dilemma of obeying the law or betraying a friend.
“I want to meet that ex of yours.” Zander’s rasping voice cut across the warm kitchen like a chainsaw.
Lindsey turned. “Hey. Business done for the day?”
“Yeah.” Mouth tight, he crossed the room with his predatory gait. He gave her a brief kiss…and stepped away.
Unease ran cold fingers up her spine at the way he studied her. What was with the odd stares today?
In her arms, Ansel kicked and chortled, obviously liking the newcomer. Maybe he too noticed Logan and Zander gave off the same dangerous vibrations.
Zander’s face gentled. “Cute little mite, Becca,” he said. “You do good work.”
“I’d say Logan put more effort into it than I did. Ansel’s nose looks like mine; everything else is pure Hunt.”
Zander ran a finger down the baby’s cheek—and the tiny fingers caught and held. “Tough bugger, aren’t you?”
“He really is.” Lindsey rocked back and forth. “What should I get a macho boy for his first Christmas? Maybe a rattle shaped like a hatchet or a baby bonnet Stetson?”
Becca laughed.
Ansel’s fingers still clung, and Zander hadn’t moved. What was there about seeing a big, powerful man with a helpless infant? Lindsey felt as if hands were squeezing her heart.
But Zander looked at her with an unreadable expression. “You’re gonna miss your family next week. For Christmas, maybe I should take you back to Texas. I can keep your ex from bothering you.”
“Hey, that’s a great idea,” Becca said, busily stirring the meat.
The hands squeezing Lindsey’s heart clenched, flattening it like roadkill. No blood was reaching her brain. Go back to Texas with Zander? Lindsey forced a snicker. “Nah, I’m not sure Texas is ready for the war you might start.”
“You think?” Zander said. “I guess, even in Texas, they’d frown if I murdered your ex.”
His comment was like a dash of cold water in her face, and she barely kept from gasping.
With the baby still holding his fingers, Zander stared at Lindsey. “I’d hate to have the cops after me.”
She couldn’t control her flinch.
His eyes narrowed. “Babe, it’s time for you to—”
“Here, Ansel, let’s see how you do with a rattle.” Her hands shook as she put Ansel in his crib. Were Zander’s comments offhand, or did he know something? Did she want him to know anything? Half of her wanted to run, the other half to bury herself in his arms and blurt everything out.
“DeVries, ready for some shooting practice?” Logan asked from the doorway. “Simon’s bringing your range bag.”
“Lindsey and I are—”
“Lindsey, you’re going to come?” Logan asked, jumping to conclusions.
Ugh. But if she went, she might avoid a discussion with Zander. She wasn’t prepared to lay everything out. Somehow, she couldn’t see him calling the cops on her. Unluckily that meant he could be arrested for not turning her in. God. Okay, go with, and once Zander was occupied, she’d break away. She wanted to talk to him—she did—however, she needed to think first. Somehow. “I don’t have a gun, but sure, I’d love to join you.”
“I’ll grab Becca’s revolver for you, sugar,” Logan said.
Zander lifted an eyebrow before nodding. “Let’s go.”
Already in the clearing outside the lodge, Simon handed deVries a dark bag. “Joining us, Lindsey? Good enough.”
A couple of minutes later, Logan returned and led the way up a trail.
Lindsey felt as if an internal blizzard had arrived, filling her bloodstream with ice. What was she thinking? She hated guns. Hated, hated, hated.
Chapter Sixteen
DeVries studied the shooting range. Fenced-off and backed up to a dirt cliff. Probably to prevent people and animals from wandering into the field of fire. Inside the fencing, various posts held range markers and were topped with head-size metal plates. Along the firing line, waist-high stumps served as tables. “Nice setup,” he said to Logan.
“It works for small arms. We have a rifle range farther out.” Logan handed him a revolver, box of bullets, and earmuffs. “You can start her with the .38s, and I have .357s if she gets enthusiastic.” Choosing a stump, Logan set his range bag down next to it and pulled out a box of bullets.
Simon followed suit.
DeVries motioned for Lindsey to join him at the far end.
Well, his comments about murder had definitely shaken her. Her face was still pale. He should have dragged her back to her cabin, but…dammit, he wanted her to tell him voluntarily.
Think hard, girl. Make the right decision.
“Okay. What am I doing?” She straightened her shoulders, looking sick.
“You know how to shoot at all?” She didn’t like firearms, he remembered, as he put the earmuffs on her.
“Uh-uh.” She stared at Becca’s Smith & Wesson lying on the stump top as if it were a snake.
“Right. You watch me load and shoot this. I’ll walk you through it for your turn.”
Becca’s pistol should do well for her, he thought. She might find the pistol’s six-inch barrel heavy, but the longer length decreased the recoil.
After loading and donning earmuffs and eye protection, he took his stance, feet apart, double-handed grip, sighting, breathing, moving precisely so she could absorb without him having to say anything. Slowly he squeezed the trigger. A high metallic sound gave auditory indication he’d struck the target. When the post swayed slightly, he realized the Hunts had used a car spring as part of the target construction. He glanced over at Logan and raised his voice to be heard. “I like the feedback.”
“Me too. We put the springs in when we taught Becca to shoot. Instant gratification works a treat.”
No shit. Enjoying the dinging and shaking of the targets, he emptied the S&W.
“You didn’t miss once.” Lindsey was wide-eyed.
Her admiration felt good—and made him feel like a fucking teenager. What was he, twelve? “Get killed if you miss.” He wanted to take back the words when she flinched. What the fuck had happened there in Texas? Had she really murdered her husband? He wouldn’t think a cold-blooded killer would cringe at the word.
Tell me, baby, so I can fix it.
“Here.” After giving her the safety glasses, he handed her the pistol and showed her how to eject the spent shells and reload. The revolver was a good choice for a beginner—almost idiotproof when it came to loading. His S&W 1911 semiautomatic was his preferred weapon, but he did enjoy the heft of a revolver at times.
As she stepped up to the line, he adjusted her stance, enjoying the feel of her. Her sweetness. Dammit, if she’d murdered her husband, the bastard must have had it coming. And yet, there was the dead cop.
“Ready?”
She nodded and took aim. Squeezed the trigger.
THE GUN BUCKED in Lindsey’s hand, and her world fell in. Even as the muted noise hit her ears and the acrid stench of gunpowder filled her lungs, darkness closed, turning even the snow to black.
She could feel Victor’s body landing on top of her. Hear his screaming. The gun bucked in her hands, the bullet hitting him with a horrible punching sound. Screaming and screaming. Her vision filled with red. Hot and sticky, Victor’s blood soaked into her clothing.
His body pinned her down as he convulsed. His feet hammered the floor, and then nothing. There was liquid on her face. She pushed, pushed, smothering under his weight, under the terror.
Couldn’t breathe.
Something stung her left cheek. Her right. Powerful hands held her shoulders and shook her. “Lindsey.”
She grabbed the arm, holding on as the world disintegrated around her. “He’s—” Her voice cracked. “He’s dead. Oh God, Victor’s dead.”
“Open your eyes, babe. Look at me.”
The hard-edged tone ruthlessly sliced through the blackness. She still felt the lifeless weight of her husband’s body. She’d waited and waited for him to take a breath.
“Look. At. Me.”
She blinked.
Sea-gray eyes bored into hers.
“Zander?” She was on her knees, pushing him away from her.
His painful hold on her shoulders loosened. “Fuck, baby.” He yanked her forward, hauling her into his arms, squeezing the breath out of her. They were sitting on the ground. Earmuffs and safety glasses lay nearby in the snow.
Snow.
This was California, not Texas. Not her ranch. She swallowed, trying to keep her breakfast down.
“What the fuck happened?” She knew the voice. Logan.
“Guessing a flashback.” Zander drew her closer on his lap, enfolding her in strength.
“That sounded as if she saw a murder,” Simon said.
She burrowed her head against Zander’s shoulder. Red still hazed the edges of her vision, and shudders shook her until her bones hurt.
“More than just saw. She didn’t react to us shooting. Didn’t react till she used the S&W herself.” His callused palm cupped her chin and lifted, forcing her to look at him. “You shoot your husband, Lindsey?”
She quivered under his hard words, his merciless stare, his unbreakable grip on her face—yet he held her to his chest. Relentless and gentle. A Dom’s paradoxical traits.
Around them, the tree branches creaked in the light wind. The world was so still she could hear the thudding of her heart.
“Lindsey, answer me.”
“I killed him,” she whispered, turning her gaze away. But Victor’s eyes stared back at her from a dark tree; red started to pool in the snow. A scream built up inside her, filling her ears, erasing the silence.
“Stay with me, pet.” Zander shook her lightly. “Why’d you kill him?”
“I—”Why? “He…” She saw the rifles along the side of the metal walls. “There were guns.” She hadn’t meant to shoot him. The boy. Screaming. The pistol bucking in her hands. Blood hot, covering her chest. “He wanted…”
“Fuck, she’s lost in it.” A stinging smack on her cheek. “Girl, look at me.” Zander’s sharp gaze pinned her in the present.
“I’m sorry. Sorry. Sorry. I didn’t—”
His eyes turned soft as a morning fog over the bay. “You’re doing good. Now, step by step.”
She nodded.
“Back me up, Simon,” he muttered.
“I ask and push; you comfort.” Simon went down on one knee, facing her. His olive complexion and black hair stood out against the whiteness of the snowdrift behind him. “Lindsey, where did this happen?”
“My ranch.” While Zander stroked her shoulders, soothing her, she said, “I told you—remember the phone call about a pretty boy? I went to the ranch. To see.” As her shaking eased, as she did her best to think, she froze. What was she doing? She’d—oh God—she’d told them about Victor. Told them—
“Too late now, babe,” Zander whispered into her ear. His stubbled cheek rubbed hers. “Get it out.”
Simon was crouched in front of her, expressionless. She looked to her right. Logan leaned on a stump, arms crossed on his chest, gunmetal-blue gaze on her. She heard her voice saying the words, “I killed him.” She’d dug her own grave; might as well finish burying herself.
They’d turn her in—they’d have to. A tremor ran through her.
Zander squeezed, reminding her she was on his lap. In his arms. “Spit it out. Afterward, we’ll figure out how to fix it.”
How to fix it. “You can’t. I tried.” Misery drained her hopes into the ground. Down and down and down. “They’ll kill me.”
He shoved her face into his chest, and she inhaled the wild clean scent of him, as if he’d been born in a pine forest. “Nobody is going to kill you,” he grated out.
She clung for a moment, unable to let go.
“Let’s go through this step by step, pet,” Simon said quietly, and she raised her head. “You went to the ranch. What happened?”
“I drove there at dark, only I wasn’t sure exactly where to look. ‘Hey, Parnell, got a pretty boy for you. I’ll stash him in the usual spot at your ranch.’”
Like a book on tape, her voice kept going, reciting the movie in her head. “Victor’s car wasn’t at the main house. I found it at the old one.” Knowing she was stalling, she tried to explain how the original ranch house was used occasionally for guests during hunting season. Victor hadn’t been there or at the broken-down stable.
She walked across the flattened ground toward voices coming from the aged metal shed used to store broken machinery.
There was a high, muffled scream.
“You little bastard, hold still!” Victor’s voice.
The door opened under her hand…and she froze. An unshaded bulb cast light over a young boy, barely past puberty, lying on the concrete floor. Wrists and ankles tied together in front. Gagged. Jeans pulled down.
Victor stood there, unbuckling his belt.
“What are you doing?” Her voice emerged shocked. Stupid.
Somehow, Simon’s black gaze came into focus—she was still talking, wasn’t she? She said to him, “I should have run. Should have—”
“Tell us,” Simon prompted.
His face dissolved as she felt Victor’s hands grab her and throw her. “I hit the crates…” Her voice didn’t sound real as she kept talking…
She’d slammed into a pile of wooden crates a few feet away from the boy. Blinking, half-dazed, she stared around her. Ranch machinery had been shoved against the metal walls to make room for heaps of small boxes and the stacks of long cases. One crate lid was pried off, showing gleaming rifles. “Guns? What are you—”
“Jesus, you’re a stupid cunt. Why would I want a cunt like you when I can fuck sweeter meat? Like him?” He nudged the terrified boy with his shiny dress shoe and buckled his belt as he walked over.
Cold grew inside her. “Why?” Her numb lips had trouble forming the word.
“This place. Miles of emptiness right along the border.”
My ranch? He married me to get the ranch?
He had. He smirked at her, so smug, his chest puffed up with pride. She’d kissed that chest. Kissed him.
Sickness twisted her stomach—and as she breathed in the snowy mountain air, she heard herself whimper. Zander’s arms tightened around her. “I got you, baby. I got you.” Warmth. Safety. Caring. She folded it in, made it her own.
“Go on, pet,” Simon said. “Let’s get through this.”
“Okay,” she whispered. “I said to him—to Victor— ‘You’re smuggling.’ He jeered at me.” Word by word, she continued, tracing the path of the nightmare she’d walked so many times before.
“You’re smuggling.” Somehow she had to get up. Free the child. Find help. She couldn’t. Her head spun like a dust d
evil when she strained to move.
Victor sneered. “Aren’t you so smart when it’s all laid out?” He reached behind him where his coat was draped over a crate stack and pulled out a pistol. “Drugs and fresh meat in, weapons and ammo out. Rake in the cash.”
Her land had been in her family since Texas was settled. The Rayburn honor was polluted by this bastard. Anger flared inside her; fear clogged her throat.
He waved the pistol. “Guess I’m going to be a widower sooner than I figured. Travis’ll find your body eventually. Your family’s heard me tell you not to take long rides by yourself.”
They had. And now she knew it hadn’t been because he cared, but to keep her from blundering into the men doing the smuggling. She felt as if she were drowning in filth.
He never loved me. And she’d made love with the monster, let him inside her. “You bastard.”
“Hell, you married me for my money,” Victor snapped. “You just didn’t realize I married you for your ranch.”
As her words echoed in the air, beneath her, holding her in the snow, Zander went rigid. “Jesus, you did marry him for his fucking money.”
She turned and saw his face.
Cynicism twisted his expression, filled his gaze with ice. Even while she sat on his lap, he was…distant. Gone. He blamed her. He actually thought she was as greedy as his wife. Again. His rejection seemed to burn through her, crisping every support beam to ash, letting the last few timbers fall around her.
“Lindsey.” Simon directed her attention back. “How did you get away from your husband?”
She wanted Zander’s arms—no, no, she didn’t. She didn’t want him anymore anyway. Not if he could think that. Yet losing him…hurt far more bitterly than losing her ranch, even her life.
As her skin chilled, she wrapped her arms around her waist. She was the sole support and comforter for her own self. Why did she keep forgetting that? “No more questions.”
No more help. No more friends. And now, she had to leave. Run. Start over…again. Another strange city. Buy a different name. Find a new job.
Don’t ever try to find friends or lovers again. The future had turned dark, not from clouds on the horizon but from an engulfing blackness.
Edge of the Enforcer Page 21
