Chapter Eight

The afternoon sun did nothing to warm the chill air off the Bay as deVries stood outside the battered women’s shelter, studying the falling-down fence, the lack of outdoor lighting, and how the encroaching bushes offered ample hiding for trespassers. What the hell were these people thinking?

After one of Xavier’s rich friends bought the shelter for her charitable organization, she’d voiced some concerns, and he’d asked Simon to check out the security.

DeVries had figured he’d merely modernize the systems, but hell, there was nothing here to upgrade.

“Mr. deVries?” Mrs. Abernathy came down the front steps, the light glinting off her silver hair. At first glance, he’d figured her for a sweet old lady. One minute of talking to her and he’d discovered a shrewd personality balanced her grandmotherly kindness. “What do you think?”

He frowned down at her. “I think if someone wanted in, he wouldn’t have a problem.”

“Yes, such was my concern as well.” She patted his arm, startling him. “The previous owners—a church—barely managed mortgage payments. All they could do was hope an abuser didn’t discover the address. Of course, we do take elaborate precautions to prevent that; however, in this technological age, keeping secrets is difficult.”

Which was one reason Demakis International stayed in business. “They had any problems before?”

“When Simon talked to the parson, he learned of two…I think he called them ‘breaches’ in the last year.” Her mouth tightened. “That is unacceptable. We offer these women safety; we must be prepared to deliver it. Do you have an idea of what we’ll need?”

From what Simon had said, he and Xavier were fronting the security work, and deVries was inclined to make sure the place got the best. “Gotta see the inside before I write up an estimate.”

Her lips pursed. “Some of the women are nervous around a man. Let me find you an escort.” She led the way into the house.

“I’ll start here.” He dropped his bag beside the front door.

“Excellent. I’ll be right back.”

“Fine.” A tap on the wood of the door showed it was too thin by far. The locks—at least it had a dead bolt. But between the wussy door and the shit frame—well it might keep a girl out. If she weighed under ninety pounds. Should have a metal grill as well. And a panic button.

Footsteps rapped across the small entry. “If you would show him around for a few minutes,” Mrs. Abernathy was saying to someone, “until I find one of the staff who is free.”

“No problem. Edna’s busy right now filling out forms”—the woman’s Texas drawl and soft voice stroked over deVries’s skin like silk—“so I have a bit of time.” The “I” sounded like “Ah.”

DeVries grinned, pleased as hell. Lindsey hadn’t been at the club last weekend, which was good, considering she’d probably felt like shit. Just the memory of her bruises had pissed him off…but had made for a nice S/M scene with HurtMe. The masochist could take anything deVries wanted to dish out.

DeVries had figured on cornering her at the office, only to find that Xavier had snatched her up for his own business, which must be why she was here at the shelter. The Stella organization specialized in helping women return to the work force. Seemed to him the Texan’s warm personality would be a perfect fit.

Smiling slightly, deVries looked over his shoulder.

Same black jeans and boots and jacket, this time over a T-shirt with an armored ratlike animal and the tag: Armadillo—Texas speed bump. Halfway across the room, Lindsey came to a sudden halt. “You—”

“Show him whatever he needs to see.” Mrs. Abernathy headed away. “Thank you, dear.”

DeVries rose to his feet, trying not to crack up at the expressions chasing over the little submissive’s face. Frustration and worry smoothing to an attempted nonchalance.

“Don’t ever play strip poker, pet,” he said. “You’d be naked within three hands.”

Her irritated look was fucking adorable. “I’m supposed to be your escort. Where do you want to go?” She still stood in the center of the room.

After jotting down what would be needed for the front door, he slung his bag over his shoulder and walked over to her. Watched her hands tighten at her sides as he stepped into her personal space, and she had to look up at him. “Are you afraid of me, Lindsey?” he asked softly.

Fuck, he could almost see every single vertebra in her spine stand at attention.

“No, no. Of course not.”

“And we’re friends. You said we were friends, didn’t you?” Damned if he could figure her out. Definitely attracted to him, yet trying to keep a distance. Why?

“I…right. You bet. How could I have forgotten?”

“Well, good. Worried me for a second.”

She heaved a frustrated sigh and—okay, he was behaving badly, but he’d never seen anyone quite so much fun to tease.

“Show me the back door, please,” he said. When she spun and almost trotted away, he extended his gait and caught up easily, setting his hand a few inches above her ass. In a friendly way, of course.

“You know, touching me could be considered sexual harassment,” she muttered.

“Maybe. Maybe not. Saw your lips turn pink. Cheeks too. You’re leaning toward me. I’d say your body wants to fuck me. ‘Course, might be your brain says you should knock me into next week.” He stepped in front of her and tilted her face upward. “Am I wrong, Tex?”

Was that a little growl? Definitely cute.

“I think I’d put more weight on the knocking-you-into-next-week side.”

“I’ll keep it in mind.”

When she headed into another room at a fast pace, he followed and stopped at the sound of gasps and an actual shriek of fear. Jesus. One side of a wide kitchen held a large table filled with children apparently having an afternoon snack of fruit and yogurt. All staring at him as if he’d killed their pet dog.

Their caregivers weren’t much better; two of them had backed against the wall. The third held her ground.

“Criminy, Mrs. Abernathy should have warned people,” Lindsey muttered. “At ease, ladies. This is Zander. He’s a nice—” She stopped, obviously remembering he was a sadist. “He’s a good guy.”

The certainty in her voice shook him.

“Why’s he in here?” one of the women asked. “Did he come to get…someone?”

“Hell, no,” deVries answered for himself. “I’m here to set up a security system to keep you all safe.”

After studying him for a minute, two of the braver kids slid off their chairs and approached. One barely came to his thighs, looking up at him with the softest brown eyes he’d ever seen. He gave Lindsey a glance. “Bet you looked like her when you were little.” He crouched down and still loomed over the mite. “You got a question for me, baby?”

“What’s a scurty stem?” she asked.

Her companion—with identical brown eyes—stared at deVries. “Will it keep Mama and Jenna safe too?”

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?