Edge of the Enforcer

by Cherise Sinclair

  At least deVries had honestly found her sexy to desire. Had liked her enough to want to be with her. Totally awesome. He likes me.

  She tied the robe closed. Didn’t it just figure that now she had someone over who might appreciate hot lingerie, she couldn’t afford any? Her life sure had changed in the blink of an eye—from a Texas ranch, to college, to Victor’s fancy San Antonio house, to being on the run and broke.

  She bit her lip. She couldn’t live like this the rest of her life. Not only for herself, but for everyone else being hurt. Victor’s brother, Travis, wouldn’t have shut down the smuggling operation. Guns, drugs, slavery. Travis had to be stopped. Somehow.

  The last time she’d talked to a cop, she’d almost died.

  Her cheerful mood was broken as a chill swept over her. She’d slept like an exhausted puppy with deVries in her bed. Not worrying about whether Travis Parnell might have found her and sent someone to silence her.

  She glanced back at the shower and headed for the kitchen.

  A few minutes later, she set the small café table in front of the bay window. Pretty convenient she’d baked quiche the day before—it made a great ready-made breakfast. He’d probably think her an idiot to feed him, but Mama had exacting notions about hospitality.

  Of course, her mama would consider deVries more of a devil than a guest, and she’d be right. Be that as it may, if Lindsey fed the man, maybe he’d mellow and actually talk to her. Breakfast with the Enforcer. God.

  On the way back to the kitchen, her gaze fell on the antique rolltop desk. And the newspaper clippings showing Craig’s body, his police uniform stained with blood. More articles were there about the hunt for Lindsey Rayburn Parnell who had apparently shot her husband, Victor, then murdered a cop to escape. Lies, damn them.

  Footsteps reminded her of her guest. Breath catching, she shoved the rolltop down to cover everything even as deVries walked out of the bedroom. Her voice shook as she said, “Good morning.”

  “Morning.” His gaze ran from the desk up to her face.

  “I have some breakfast for you.” She hurried over to the kitchen island, picked up the plates, and carried them to the table. Be cool. Be cool. After a calming breath, she turned and gave him a bright smile. “I hope you like quiche.”

  He hesitated, obviously surprised. “Long as eggs are cooked, I’m good.” He joined her, nodding when she lifted the coffeepot. “Thanks.”

  While he ate, she burbled about the weather, the club, anything she could think of. She’d never had trouble talking with people. Psychology and social work degrees had perfected her ability to plow through the most awkward of moments.

  If only he would stop looking around the room. The worry she might have left something else out made her squirm. Even worse, every time his eyes met hers, her brain emptied of thoughts like water swirling down the drain.

  As he took his last bite and leaned back with coffee in hand, she finally asked, “So, what do you do for a living?” Aw heck, she sounded dumb. Nonetheless, she was dying to know where those scars came from. “Are you a cop?” Her fingers tensed on her cup.

  His eyes were more green than gray in the morning light, and she could have sworn amusement lurked in the depths. “I work for Simon.”

  Right. Rona’s husband owned a security and investigations firm. “Is it that dangerous?” Oh shit, she’d blurted her question out.

  “What?” He paused with his cup halfway to his mouth.

  Her gaze dropped to where his leathers covered the stitches on his hip.

  “Happened during my time off. A buddy tripped—the clumsy bastard—and I ended up with this.”

  Jeez, was his buddy playing with a knife or something? “Oh. That’s a crappy thing to happen on a holiday.”

  “Guess so.” Although his eyes had somehow darkened, his lips twitched.

  She eyed him suspiciously. Sometimes she got the definite impression he thought she was funny, even that he was teasing her—but surely not. Honestly, as a social worker, she had awesome instincts about people. Normally. However, the Enforcer somehow managed to wipe her mind as if she were a computer and someone hit Delete File.

  “So where in Texas were you raised?” he asked.

  “Um. Did I say I was from Texas?” Why had she been stupid enough to ask him questions?

  “Got the accent, babe.”

  “Oh.” Here she’d thought it wasn’t very noticeable. Where in Texas… Hmm, she sure wouldn’t mention her town on the Mexican border where everyone knew Lindsey Rayburn. “A-around Dallas. How about you?”

  His gaze was on her fingers…and the napkin she was crumpling. “Born in Chicago.” He glanced around the room. “Guess you don’t have to do anything to make a living.”

  At least she could tell the truth for this one. “Oh, but I do. I work as a receptionist.” Well, she would work for another day or so until the woman whose position she’d filled returned from maternity leave.

  “Receptionist?” He straightened. “Right. Bullshit.”

  WHEN THE PRETTY submissive’s gaze jerked up, deVries almost winced at his rude statement. Still—no receptionist could afford this place. The table where they sat would take a year’s salary. The rest of the furniture was of the same pricey level. Not possible.

  He’d already been annoyed over her “raised around Dallas” bullshit. She was a piss-poor liar. “Did you inherit money or something?” Like this condo.

  She gave him an incredulous look. “I wish.”

  Curiosity drove him on. He’d never been able to release a question once his teeth were dug in. “Guess you must have married for money, huh?”

  “I—” Red swept into her face, one shoulder went up, and damned if her head didn’t give an unconscious affirmative. “I—” She picked up her cup as if it could provide a shield.

  Married for money. One major kick to the gut. It brought a partnering thought. “You telling me I fucked a married woman?”

  “No. No, I don’t have a husband.”

  That, at least, looked honest. “Divorced, huh?” Was that how she’d ended up rich? His mouth tightened.

  When her cup shook, she set it down. “Why all the questions?”

  Receptionist married a wealthy man only to divorce him. The guy had probably owned the condo before she took it and everything else the poor bastard had. She sure as fuck wasn’t paying the mortgage on her salary. “Bet you didn’t have a friendly divorce, did you?”

  Even as she flinched, she averted her gaze, confirming his suspicions.

  Goddamn women. The guy probably worked his ass off; then wifey decided she was entitled to everything he’d earned. “Sorry, Mr. deVries, your account is overdrawn.” He’d never forget the bank teller’s voice when he’d asked why his debit card hadn’t worked. A decade later, the memory still kicked him in the gut. Nothing like having a “loving” wife clean out the account while he served his country in hell. Yeah, thanks, Tamara.

  He inhaled deliberately and tried to control his temper.

  “Um. More coffee?” Lindsey ventured, lifting the pot.

  Such big brown eyes. He felt as if he’d kicked a puppy. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe she hadn’t cleaned the guy out. “I guess your ex is living in ritzy shit like this too?”

  The coffeepot thumped onto the table as she paled. He saw guilt on her face, plain as hell.

  He didn’t need an answer. A muscle twitched in his jaw. “I got to be going.”

  She rose as he did, silently watched him retrieve his toy bag and electro-case.

  When he glanced at her, she took a step back, and her arms wrapped around her torso. All big eyes, innocent as a baby. Damned if she wasn’t even smoother than his ex. Lindsey’s poor bastard of a husband probably hadn’t seen the viper beneath that smooth skin until the poison flooded his veins.

  He yanked open the apartment door.

  “DeVries?” Even her voice sounded sweet.

  Made him want to puke. Before the door closed behind him, he lo
oked back. “Debt’s paid.”

  LINDSEY FELT HER knees buckle. She dropped down into the chair, staring at nothing.

  What did I do? Everything had been going fine. Last night, he’d actually smiled at her a couple of times. The sex had been rough, yet somehow gentle. He’d even kissed her as if he liked her. Not sexual kisses—friendly ones.

  Yet the minute she’d told him what she did, he’d turned all cold. And his face… He looked at her as if she was a-a slut or something.

  Her heart was shriveling up like a winter-blasted weed.

  What had gotten his panties all in a wad? Because he didn’t like her job or didn’t approve of divorce? Seriously?

  Indignation flickered to life, attempting to overcome the empty feeling inside her. What a jerk. He’d deliberately made her feel like a whore. “Debt’s paid.”

  Well, he’d sure gotten everything she’d owed him. Her face heated as she remembered what all she’d let him do. How crazy he’d driven her. She’d let him face-fuck her. Take her anally. Laugh at her and call her greedy.

  Now he acted as if she was a slut. Her lips trembled.

  I’m not a whore.

  He’d used her like a whore, hadn’t he? When would she learn?

  Miguel hadn’t desired her—he’d needed to marry her so he could get a green card. Victor had wanted her ranchland that bordered Mexico, not her. She drew in a shaky breath.

  She’d thought maybe here, away from everything, she could get herself back together. Dark Haven had been a refuge, a place to swim free, to rediscover who she was.

  At least until now.

  She drew the robe tighter, covering her legs. Maybe she had acted like a slut. After all, she’d known her time with deVries would be a one-night stand. Just sex.

  She’d told herself it was okay for a girl to have fun as the men did, without obligation or guilt. Surely no one in the lifestyle would disagree.

  But to find out deVries hadn’t even liked her when he…fucked…her. As with her husbands, she’d been something to be used. And once he’d finished, he’d tossed her away like garbage.

  Her hand shook as she forced herself to drink the coffee. He was wrong. She was a good woman. A fine person. Not a slut.

  Oh God, I’ll never be able to face him again.

  At least she could avoid Dark Haven for a while since Saturday would be her time with Rona and Abby. She squeezed her eyes shut. If enough time passed, she’d find the courage to share with them what had happened. Surely they’d have some insights.

  She’d known he was a weasel. She’d known.

  Chapter Four

  “I love girls’ night out.” The next Saturday, Lindsey popped a stuffed mushroom in her mouth, smiled at Rona and Abby, and checked out the room. The place was one step up from a fern bar, with great appetizers, strong drinks, and lots of good-looking men. Yet no matter how good-looking, no male was going to tempt her for a long time.

  Maybe a lifetime.

  “Agreed,” Abby said. Her tailored shirt and dark slacks were balanced out by the pale yellow hair curling in a froth around her face. “I’ve missed you both.”

  Rona’s blue-green boatneck dress matched her eyes and enhanced her curves. She pushed her wavy blonde hair back. “Me too.”

  “Me three,” Lindsey finished. With Abby’s new marriage and college job, the women hadn’t been able to get together often.

  Abby looked Lindsey over. “What happened to the red-and-gold streaks in your hair? You look so sedate.”

  Trust a sociologist to be observant. “I’m job hunting.” Lindsey’s mood took a dive. “And was apartment searching for a couple of days too.”

  “Is the condo-sitting over? I thought Xavier’s friend wouldn’t return for another month,” Rona said.

  “She wasn’t supposed to, except she got homesick and asked if I could move out early.” Lindsey shrugged casually. She’d had a signed agreement, but the woman had cried on the phone, and Lindsey hadn’t had the heart to say no. She knew what homesickness felt like. “I found a new place easy enough.”

  Probably because no smart person would live there. Nonetheless, she had no job and couldn’t afford anything nicer. San Francisco rental prices were outrageous, which was why she’d jumped on condo-sitting. Sure, her friends would put her up, but she followed her daddy’s philosophy—don’t borrow what you can’t pay back.

  “What day do you want us to show up to help you move?” Rona asked.

  “No need. I’ve got it covered.” When she’d taken the condo, they’d helped move her newly acquired furniture into storage. Her stuff could stay there; she didn’t want her property in the dive. And no way would she let her friends visit her either. Shoot, there were fist-size holes in the living room walls. Outside, every corner had gangbangers and drug deals and hookers.

  Neither Abby nor Rona would think the little mouse who scavenged in her kitchen was cute—although he kinda was.

  “Lindsey,” Abby said. “You know we’re happy to—”

  “Look. My hair still has some color,” Lindsey interrupted. She lifted her long hair, showing the purple underlayer. “See? It only shows if I put my hair up.”

  “That’s quite a dark purple,” Rona said. “Are you in mourning for the job or the condo?”

  Mostly for the wretched memory of a sweet night gone bad. “Neither. The condo was lush but awfully fancy for my comfort.” And too much like Victor’s carefully decorated house, where everything had been bought to impress. Lindsey swirled the remnants of her drink in her glass. “And the temporary receptionist position wasn’t a great job, even though the people were nice.”

  “You always think people are nice,” Abby commented absentmindedly as she waved to get the attention of their waitress.

  Rona turned, lifted a hand, and the waitress trotted over. “Another round, please, and the check,” Rona said.

  Abby glared. “I don’t know why waitstaff will respond to you and not me.”

  “Charge nurse, nursing supervisor, hospital administration,” Rona said. “I’m always giving orders. You have no idea how wonderful it is to sometimes hand all decisions and control over to Simon.”

  Abby smiled. “Actually, I have a rather good idea.”

  For one whole night, Lindsey had felt that wonder. Had wanted to give deVries anything he asked for. With a sigh, she lifted her glass and finished off the watered-down cosmopolitan. The alcohol hummed in her blood, making her feel sentimental. And glum.

  “Sweetie, you weren’t at the club last night.” Abby tilted her head. “I saw you leave with Zander last weekend. I’ve been waiting to hear how it went.”

  Even as Lindsey’s mouth flattened at the jerk’s name, she felt a flush heat her cheeks. “Not much to say.” Best sex of my life, worst putdown of my life.

  “Not a good evening?” Abby didn’t sound surprised.

  Everyone knew the hard-core sadist never stayed with a submissive.

  I knew he didn’t. And his spending the night had seemed…wonderful. Special. Yay me. “His jets were revved after a scene with johnboy, so he called in my debt from last summer. He just wanted to…to get off.”

  “That’s damned cold.” Rona curled her hand around Lindsey’s.

  Lindsey’s eyes burned with tears. As the eldest, she’d always watched out for her two sisters and flighty mom. How strange—and wonderful—to be on the receiving end.

  “Here you go, ladies.” The waitress handed out the drinks and gave the check to Rona.

  When Lindsey dug in her purse for money, Rona shook her head. “My treat tonight.”

  “You paid last time.”

  “After you land a job, you can take us out to celebrate. All right?”

  Pride warred with practicality before she nodded. “I guess so.”

  “You sure had a wretched week.” Abby’s face filled with sympathy.

  “At least the week is over.” Her smile felt a bit twisted. “And I’ll stay away from deVries.”

&nbs
p; Rona straightened. “Did he hurt you?”

  Oh spit, her declaration hadn’t come out right. “Just my feelings. Physically, he pushed my limits some, but”—and wasn’t it hard to admit?—“I liked it.”

  “I know how that can be,” Abby said.

  Rona nodded. “All right, then.” She picked up her drink in a toast. “Here’s to Lindsey finding a fantastic job.” As the glasses clinked together, Rona added, “Take your time finishing your drinks. I’m going to text Simon not to pick us up for a while.”

  Close to an hour later, Rona’s husband appeared, striding across the room as if he owned the place. He didn’t, did he? Her head a bit muddled, Lindsey tried to remember. No, he had an international security business. No bars.

  Of course, Abby’s husband, Xavier, probably owned some bars, and he’d look right at home in this swank establishment.

  DeVries wouldn’t. Considering the faded leathers he wore, the bouncers might not even let him in. Nope. He was a total loser. Jerk. Asshole. She took another sip of her drink. No more thinking about the creep.

  When Simon reached the table, he slid his fingers into Rona’s hair, tugged her head back, and the possessive kiss he gave her made Lindsey’s chest ache.

  She loved knowing her friend had such an affectionate, territorial husband, even if it emphasized how alone Lindsey was. Yanking her gaze away, she bent over, looking for her purse. They shouldn’t keep their designated driver waiting, especially since he’d been nice enough to come inside to get them.

  To her surprise, Simon dragged a chair from the next table and sat between her and Rona. He lifted Rona’s glass. “Should I even ask how many of those drinks you’ve had—let alone what they are?”

  Rona smiled. “I think it’s best you don’t know.”

  Simon took a sip and winced. “You have a point, lass.” His laugh was dark and easy, like a smooth scotch as opposed to deVries’s rotgut, harsh laugh.

  So why did Lindsey crave deVries’s?

  Simon set the drink down with a thump and turned to Lindsey.

  She flushed as she was treated to the intent regard of one of Dark Haven’s most experienced Doms. “Rona says you’re job hunting,” Simon said.