Cherise Sinclair - Edge of the Enforcer

What the hell? DeVries stared. Why would she throw away her phone? No…wait…it hadn’t been her red smartphone. Had she just tossed a burner phone? The cheap, cash-bought cells were often used to avoid being traced…by people who worried about being traced. Something wasn’t right here.

He stepped forward, deliberately scraping his foot on the flat stones.

She jumped and spun around. “Oh! De—Zander!” As he walked over, she gave him such a fake smile he wanted to shake her. “Uh, hi.” Her voice wavered before she firmed it up. “It’s nice out here, isn’t it? Xavier has a gorgeous view of the bridge.”

“You missed a tear.” With his thumb, deVries swiped away the dampness on her cheeks. “You running from the law, babe?”

Her eyes rounded. A second later, her chin came up. “Do I look like a criminal? Lordy, what a question.”

Great nonanswer. If she wasn’t a felon, who was she avoiding? Fake identity. Burner phone. Twitchy about being in the open. Definitely on the run. Forestalling her retreat, he put a hand on the railing on each side of her, trapping her.

She still smelled like the pumpkin pies she’d baked. Edible. With grunt of exasperation, he kissed her cheek, her soft hair with the new glints of red and green, and the curve of her neck.

“Don’t,” she whispered. “This isn’t the time.”

“There is only now.” Unable to resist, he snuggled her against him. Despite her firm body and lush ass, she seemed far too fragile. “Wish you’d tell me what’s going on. Let me help, Tex.”

The stiffness melted from her, and she leaned her head against his chest. Finest feeling in the world, taking a woman’s weight like that.

“I can’t…Zander.”

Hearing her say his name was good. Very good. Didn’t make up for her refusal, though. “Why not?”

Her fingers clenched, wadding his shirt, before she pushed him away. “I can’t.” She looked into his face, shook her head, and walked toward the house.

Too pissed off to try to continue the non-discussion, he let her escape. “Can’t,” huh? He was seriously regretting he’d stopped his computer search on her. At the time, he hadn’t felt right about investigating a bedmate.

Now? Now, Miss Nonexistent Adair had just won herself a free ticket to a full-blown background investigation. When he finished, he’d know the color of panties she’d worn in college.

His lips quirked. Probably a bright red.

Once he knew the story, he’d do what needed to be done to fix her life.

And if she didn’t think he should get involved? Well, that would be a shame, since he had no intention of backing off.

Pacing the patio until his annoyance decreased, he felt his phone vibrate.

The display showed Blevins. “What?”

“Job came up. South America. Need you on a plane ASAP.”

Through the French doors, he could see Lindsey talking with Rona. Smiling valiantly. He admired the little submissive’s strength. Admired a lot about her. Wanted more from her.

Needed to know what trouble she was in.

“Iceman?” Blevins prompted.

But if he stayed the relationship course, it wasn’t fair to offer her a body that might return home riddled with bullets. “I’m done, Blevins. Remove me from the list.”

“Shit.” After a brief silence. “I figured you were getting close to this point. I get it. All the same, can you take this one last job? It’s a kidnapping, Iceman. The boy’s not even ten.”

Fuck. Blevins knew he wouldn’t refuse. DeVries watched joy fill Lindsey’s face as she played with the pup. He wanted her sweetness. “Last one. After this, I’m out. Completely. No calls; no contact. Agreed?”

“Your choice.” Blevins hesitated. “Thanks.”

“Yeah.” Hopefully he wouldn’t get blown away before he could come back and claim his woman.

***

On Friday, Lindsey dropped into the chair at the small desk in a corner of her living room. Hanging out in the kitchen at the Thanksgiving dinner, she’d missed the football game, and after Zander got her all upset, she’d not even asked the guys about the score.

With high hopes, she called up an online newspaper. Scowled. Her fingers twitched with the urge to slap the numbers right off the monitor.

The Cowboys had lost to the Saints because of some stupid fumble. Seriously, what was with that? C’mon, guys, you can do better. Perhaps it was best she hadn’t been able to watch the game yesterday; Zander had threatened to gag her last time.

And—the nerve of the jerk—he’d said since she lived in California now, she should follow the 49ers.

When hell freezes over.

With a frustrated grunt, she switched the papers to the San Antonio Express-News . Half breathing, she waded through the articles. Muggings. Drug busts. Immigrant woes. Murders. Nothing new.

That was good news. At least they hadn’t announced her arrest—LINDSEY RAYBURN PARNELL CAPTURED IN SAN FRANCISCO. Visualizing the imaginary headline sent a chill up her arms.

If only something would go wrong for Parnell and Ricks. Why didn’t someone catch them?

She shivered. Ricks’s voice was always sliding into her nightmares. “ Be a while before Parnell can pick you up. Enough time to do you. He doesn’t care if you’re damaged.” He’d ripped her shirt, shoved her to the floor, and unbuckled her belt. She’d fought, but he was twice her size and weight. When his fist had slammed into her cheekbone, her face felt as if it had broken in half. Eyes blurring, she’d battled to scratch him, hit him—and he’d snickered. He’d been excited by her struggle. And then he’d punched her over and over until she was retching and crying as he’d unzipped her jeans.

God. She swallowed hard. It was in the past. Over. He hadn’t succeeded, and she’d gotten away. Arms covered in blood from the window, but free .

If there was ever a next time, though—the upsurge of sickness made her swallow hard—if he caught her, her rape would be…ugly.

Unable to sit longer, she walked through the house, trying to lose the taste of fear. Ricks wasn’t here; neither was Parnell. She was in San Francisco, buried in a city, with a new name. Perfectly safe as long as she was careful. And she’d be careful.

And darn well watch her back more carefully.

How could she have let Zander sneak up on her? How long had he been listening? Even worse, he’d seen her throw away her disposable phone.

Damn man. Her life would be much easier if she could just brush him off.

However, he was so…so amazing. Like at Thanksgiving dinner with Dixon’s jerky wanna-be Dom. She smiled. Tad had insisted a “real” submissive wouldn’t safeword out, and Zander’d told him, “I’m trying to see it from your point of view, but can’t get my head that fucking far up my ass.” The silence afterward had been glorious.

And Zander wanted to help her. His offer made her all quivery inside—and terrified her. He couldn’t fix her problems. If he tried, he could end up arrested or hurt.

If she only knew what was on those flash drives. If there were anything there to incriminate Parnell or Ricks, she’d take the risk of sending off the information. Everywhere. All the law enforcement agencies in Texas. The newspapers.

If only she could break the encryption.

Maybe she should contact a different law enforcement agency. Surely not all of them were corrupt.

And how did that work out for you last time, honeybunches? She rubbed the scars on her arms, remembering how the glass had ripped the skin away. Hadn’t worked so well, had it?

Smuggling weapons and drugs meant the bad guys had money to buy off just about anyone. What was the life of one Texas woman when compared to hundreds of thousands of dollars?