Cherise Sinclair - Edge of the Enforcer

Simon pulled her onto his lap and held her forearms out to deVries.

“No!” She struggled…halfheartedly. Her fear was obvious, but she needed help and deep down, she knew it.

“No more running, pet. That option is gone,” he said gently. With one segment of rope, he tied her wrists together and used the second length on her ankles. The ropes would drive home that escape wasn’t possible. “You’re going to let us help you.”

He scooped her up, holding her firmly. Mercilessly.

Surrounded by Doms, restrained, choices gone. Showing her subconscious had surrendered, she sagged against him. Right where he wanted her.

Cradling her gently, he sat on the low bed. “He—Victor—was going to kill you. What happened?”

Her level gaze met his. She’d lived a nightmare but wasn’t trapped in it now.

“I’ve got you, baby. Share with me.” Trust me. Please.

When she started to speak, he felt his eyes burn with tears. He’d stretched the bond between them, and yet it hadn’t broken.

“Victor took a step forward, and the boy kind of rolled into him.” She looked down at her bound wrists. “I don’t know why—trying to save me or panicking. Victor stumbled back into the crates and dropped the pistol, and it slid a little ways. I was still on the floor, and I jumped for it.”

Her hands fisted. “I grabbed the gun and rolled over. Victor lunged too, and he hit my foot and landed on me.”

Her face drained of color.

“THE GUN WENT off.” Her finger had been on the trigger, and Lindsey bit her lip at the memory, feeling the sickness return. The recoil of the pistol and the jerk of Victor’s chest had been almost simultaneous. The blood splattered on her, even her face. His body had been half on top of hers, pinning her down. She shuddered.

Zander clasped her tighter. God, she loved him.

“I—” She regulated her breathing and found a smidgen of courage when her gaze met Simon’s compassionate eyes.

“It was an accident,” she whispered, “but…even if it hadn’t been, I think I would have shot him anyway.”

“Good to know you’re not an idiot,” Zander muttered.

Her gaze went to him. “What?”

“He’d have killed you and the boy. What part of that didn’t you understand?”

“I—yes.” His matter-of-fact statement smoothed the jagged edges of guilt. “I called 9-1-1.”

“So far, so good. And?”

“I untied the boy, and we…we kind of had hysterics together. Finally the police came—well, one. He’d been in high school with me. After checking things, Craig believed us. He let me go up to the house because I…needed…to clean up.” Victor’s blood had covered her face, her clothes. She swallowed hard.

“Easy, babe. I’m here.” Her fingernails were digging into her palms. Zander uncurled her fingers and wrapped them around his.

“Okay.” She concentrated. “I was cleaning up when I heard the chief of police talking outside the bathroom window. Victor is—was—Chief Parnell’s brother. Travis had been to the shed and seen Victor’s body. He was crazy mad. Wanted to kill me—to cut me up, he said.” She felt the cold slide up her spine. “…cut her so bad that even in hell, Victor will hear her screams. I’ll see how many pieces I can chop off before she dies.”

“He was talking to Craig?” Simon asked.

She shook her head. “Another officer. They said Victor’s death was a p-problem. Chief—Travis—is in charge of the smuggling. Victor worked with him.”

“Oh hell,” came a low comment from Logan. She’d actually forgotten he was there.

“He told the detective with him to kill Craig and make it look like I did it. They could dump my body in the river and tell people that I’d run.”

Zander made a noise, a growl deep in his throat, and she stopped. “Go on, babe,” he said.

“They’d say I killed Victor and later shot Craig, trying to get away. The ranch would be tied up in legal stuff, and they could keep using it.”

“I stood there.” She’d been numb. “Craig was yelling that the boy had run, and I ran to the front door and screamed for Craig to watch out. I heard the gunshots.” Too late. Too, too late. Grief and guilt churned inside her. “If I’d moved faster. Yelled sooner.”

“Wouldn’t have mattered, pet,” Simon said gently. “They were his comrades. He’d never have believed you in time.”

“How’d you escape?” Zander asked. His jaw was tight, his eyes furious. For her.

He was on her side. The relief drained the strength out of her.

“Babe?” Zander prompted.

“I hid.” She managed a weak chuckle. “My grandpa was crazy. Paranoid. During the Cold War stuff, he made a hidden room off the basement to prepare for a nuclear war and Commie invasion. It gets ventilated through an outside pipe, has an old chemical toilet, and was stocked with ancient civil defense cans of drinking water and food. I hid there for a week.”

“No shit.” Zander cupped her head against his hard chest. “That took balls.”

“I guess.” She’d bitten her knuckles raw to keep from screaming. Not knowing who was around, she couldn’t afford to make any noise. Day after day. Alone. Sometimes it’d seemed as if the floor was covered with blood. Sometimes she’d wake to see Victor over her or Chief Parnell with a knife. Each night, the walls would move in closer.

She managed a smile. “If I ever smell another can of canned lunch meat, I’ll puke.”

Simon shook his head, his expression holding only respect. “How did you decide when to get out?”

“My sisters came.” The thought of them was like sunshine in the murk. “My car was still at the house. The police said I’d escaped—hitchhiked out or died somewhere on the ranch, but when I didn’t turn up or call, my sisters thought maybe I was hiding.”

When the door had opened, they’d scared her so bad she’d screamed. And had hysterics. “I told them what had happened and they…they believed me.”

Simon said, “Anyone who knows you would, Lindsey.”

Zander kissed the top of her head with a growl of agreement.

As tears filled her eyes, she blinked furiously. “I knew I’d have to run. And I hoped—I’d told Victor about the hidden safe once, and since he was using the place for illegal stuff, I hoped maybe he’d left something I could use. I found lots of cash in it and a case with flash drives.” She shrugged. “I wasn’t sure what the drives contained. I figured maybe evidence, so I took them.”

“What was on them?” Simon asked.

“I couldn’t read them. They’re—”

“Encrypted,” Zander finished for her. He half smiled at her startled look. “I’ll explain later about my stamp hunt.” He looked at Simon. “She’s been trying to find the password.”

She nodded. “With the money, I bought a fake ID in San Antonio, bought a second one in Chicago. And another in San Francisco.”

Silence hung heavy in the room, like a snowfall, muffling all sound.

Without speaking, Zander untied her wrists, rubbing the dents out of the reddened skin.

Simon was frowning. “Why didn’t you go to a different law enforcement agency to tell your story?”

She blinked, realizing she’d left a part out. “I did. I called the border patrol and talked to an agent—Orrin Ricks. But he worked for—with—the chief. It wasn’t good.” Tears rose again. “I—I don’t want to discuss it.”

As Lindsey stared at the three men, pressure landed on her chest, a massive boulder of realization. What have I done? By telling them about her crime, she’d made them…whatevers. Accessories. Knowing a murderer and not turning her in was against the law. “God, I shouldn’t have said anything.”