Cherise Sinclair - Edge of the Enforcer

“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.

“This is boring, guys,” she said to the teens. Piercings, tattoos, oddly designed hairstyles—about what you’d expect from a gang in this neighborhood. And dirty? Sheesh. The ripe aroma of young male sweat was enough to make her eyes water. “Y’all go home. Dakota and I will do the same.”

She’d already been here at least ten minutes. Why the heck hadn’t someone called the cops? But she knew. This wasn’t a neighborhood where people stepped forward—even to dial the police.

The knife in her jeans pocket seemed to wiggle, begging her to pull it. Regrettably it was awfully small. And a blade would ramp up a standoff to a whole new level.

“Get your ass gone, bitch. This ain’t your biz.” The ugly words came from a boy with an ambitious shadow of a mustache. Her daddy would have washed his mouth out for using such language to a lady.

“He’s not even close to your age. Why are you mad at him?” Sheesh, Lindsey, as if they’re going to see reason? Logic wouldn’t dent their attitudes—and yet, she couldn’t help but try. The tiny canister of pepper spray was slick in her sweaty fingers. More sweat trickled down her back despite the cool autumn air.