Cherise Sinclair - Edge of the Enforcer

After her sister finished with the local news, Lindsey dumped her coffee into the sink and went back to the reception room.

“I’m off to help my baby with her flower arrangements,” Mrs. Martinez said and pointed to a pile of papers on the desk. “If you have time, can you file those away?”

“You bet.”

Lindsey stood and watched the short woman hurry out of the office. After a minute, she recognized the feeling welling inside her as grief. She’d been a bride twice now. Even with Victor and having a few qualms, she’d thought there was love. She’d looked forward to children.

Surely the death of dreams should have some ceremony attached.

Feeling the thickening in her throat, she shook herself.

The wagon train of destiny has passed, girl. Barking after it won’t make it stop.

Carrying the papers, she went into the narrow filing room. Tucked behind the reception area, the room was isolated and perfect, since she couldn’t see deVries’s office.

Mood lightening, she hummed to herself, answered the phone when needed, and filed papers. As, Bs, Cs…

“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.

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.