Cherise Sinclair - Edge of the Enforcer

Ugh . But if she went, she might avoid a discussion with Zander. She wasn’t prepared to lay everything out. Somehow, she couldn’t see him calling the cops on her. Unluckily that meant he could be arrested for not turning her in. God. Okay, go with, and once Zander was occupied, she’d break away. She wanted to talk to him—she did—however, she needed to think first. Somehow. “I don’t have a gun, but sure, I’d love to join you.”

“I’ll grab Becca’s revolver for you, sugar,” Logan said.

Zander lifted an eyebrow before nodding. “Let’s go.”

Already in the clearing outside the lodge, Simon handed deVries a dark bag. “Joining us, Lindsey? Good enough.”

A couple of minutes later, Logan returned and led the way up a trail.

Lindsey felt as if an internal blizzard had arrived, filling her bloodstream with ice. What was she thinking? She hated guns. Hated, hated, hated.

DeVries studied the shooting range. Fenced-off and backed up to a dirt cliff. Probably to prevent people and animals from wandering into the field of fire. Inside the fencing, various posts held range markers and were topped with head-size metal plates. Along the firing line, waist-high stumps served as tables. “Nice setup,” he said to Logan.

“It works for small arms. We have a rifle range farther out.” Logan handed him a revolver, box of bullets, and earmuffs. “You can start her with the .38s, and I have .357s if she gets enthusiastic.” Choosing a stump, Logan set his range bag down next to it and pulled out a box of bullets.

Simon followed suit.

DeVries motioned for Lindsey to join him at the far end.

Well, his comments about murder had definitely shaken her. Her face was still pale. He should have dragged her back to her cabin, but…dammit, he wanted her to tell him voluntarily.

Think hard, girl. Make the right decision.

“Okay. What am I doing?” She straightened her shoulders, looking sick.

“You know how to shoot at all?” She didn’t like firearms, he remembered, as he put the earmuffs on her.

“Uh-uh.” She stared at Becca’s Smith & Wesson lying on the stump top as if it were a snake.

“Right. You watch me load and shoot this. I’ll walk you through it for your turn.”

Becca’s pistol should do well for her, he thought. She might find the pistol’s six-inch barrel heavy, but the longer length decreased the recoil.

After loading and donning earmuffs and eye protection, he took his stance, feet apart, double-handed grip, sighting, breathing, moving precisely so she could absorb without him having to say anything. Slowly he squeezed the trigger. A high metallic sound gave auditory indication he’d struck the target. When the post swayed slightly, he realized the Hunts had used a car spring as part of the target construction. He glanced over at Logan and raised his voice to be heard. “I like the feedback.”

“Me too. We put the springs in when we taught Becca to shoot. Instant gratification works a treat.”

No shit. Enjoying the dinging and shaking of the targets, he emptied the S&W.

“You didn’t miss once.” Lindsey was wide-eyed.

Her admiration felt good—and made him feel like a fucking teenager. What was he, twelve? “Get killed if you miss.” He wanted to take back the words when she flinched. What the fuck had happened there in Texas? Had she really murdered her husband? He wouldn’t think a cold-blooded killer would cringe at the word.

Tell me, baby, so I can fix it.

“Here.” After giving her the safety glasses, he handed her the pistol and showed her how to eject the spent shells and reload. The revolver was a good choice for a beginner—almost idiotproof when it came to loading. His S&W 1911 semiautomatic was his preferred weapon, but he did enjoy the heft of a revolver at times.

As she stepped up to the line, he adjusted her stance, enjoying the feel of her. Her sweetness. Dammit, if she’d murdered her husband, the bastard must have had it coming. And yet, there was the dead cop. “Ready?”

She nodded and took aim. Squeezed the trigger.

THE GUN BUCKED in Lindsey’s hand, and her world fell in. Even as the muted noise hit her ears and the acrid stench of gunpowder filled her lungs, darkness closed, turning even the snow to black.

She could feel Victor’s body landing on top of her. Hear his screaming. The gun bucked in her hands, the bullet hitting him with a horrible punching sound. Screaming and screaming. Her vision filled with red. Hot and sticky, Victor’s blood soaked into her clothing.

His body pinned her down as he convulsed. His feet hammered the floor, and then nothing. There was liquid on her face. She pushed, pushed, smothering under his weight, under the terror.

Couldn’t breathe.

Something stung her left cheek. Her right. Powerful hands held her shoulders and shook her. “Lindsey.”

She grabbed the arm, holding on as the world disintegrated around her. “He’s—” Her voice cracked. “He’s dead. Oh God, Victor’s dead.”

“Open your eyes, babe. Look at me.”

The hard-edged tone ruthlessly sliced through the blackness. She still felt the lifeless weight of her husband’s body. She’d waited and waited for him to take a breath.

“Look. At. Me .”

She blinked.

Sea-gray eyes bored into hers.

“Zander?” She was on her knees, pushing him away from her.

His painful hold on her shoulders loosened. “Fuck, baby.” He yanked her forward, hauling her into his arms, squeezing the breath out of her. They were sitting on the ground. Earmuffs and safety glasses lay nearby in the snow.

Snow.

This was California, not Texas. Not her ranch. She swallowed, trying to keep her breakfast down.

“What the fuck happened?” She knew the voice. Logan.

“Guessing a flashback.” Zander drew her closer on his lap, enfolding her in strength.

“That sounded as if she saw a murder,” Simon said.

She burrowed her head against Zander’s shoulder. Red still hazed the edges of her vision, and shudders shook her until her bones hurt.

“More than just saw . She didn’t react to us shooting. Didn’t react till she used the S&W herself.” His callused palm cupped her chin and lifted, forcing her to look at him. “You shoot your husband, Lindsey?”

She quivered under his hard words, his merciless stare, his unbreakable grip on her face—yet he held her to his chest. Relentless and gentle. A Dom’s paradoxical traits.

Around them, the tree branches creaked in the light wind. The world was so still she could hear the thudding of her heart.

“Lindsey, answer me.”

“I killed him,” she whispered, turning her gaze away. But Victor’s eyes stared back at her from a dark tree; red started to pool in the snow. A scream built up inside her, filling her ears, erasing the silence.

“Stay with me, pet.” Zander shook her lightly. “Why’d you kill him?”

“I—” Why? “He…” She saw the rifles along the side of the metal walls. “There were guns.” She hadn’t meant to shoot him. The boy. Screaming. The pistol bucking in her hands. Blood hot, covering her chest. “He wanted…”

“Fuck, she’s lost in it.” A stinging smack on her cheek. “Girl, look at me.” Zander’s sharp gaze pinned her in the present.

“I’m sorry. Sorry. Sorry. I didn’t—”

His eyes turned soft as a morning fog over the bay. “You’re doing good. Now, step by step.”

She nodded.

“Back me up, Simon,” he muttered.

“I ask and push; you comfort.” Simon went down on one knee, facing her. His olive complexion and black hair stood out against the whiteness of the snowdrift behind him. “Lindsey, where did this happen?”