Edge of the Enforcer

Chapter Six

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.

“His bro hit me. So I’m gonna fuck his brother up.”

There was logic. The gang activity in the area was the reason Dakota’s family was moving. This was his last day in school. Probably the group had missed catching up with his older brother, so they’d take their anger out on the kid.

“I’m not leaving,” she said. “And whoever tries to get him will have to come through me.”

Oh shit, wrong thing to say!

They lunged at her from all sides.

She hosed them with the pepper spray.

Shouts of anger filled the air.

She hadn’t gotten nearly enough of them.

Blinded, one ran into her, knocking her back a step. Another brought a 2x2 down on her wrist. Pain ripped through her flesh and bone. Hell. The spray canister dropped from her nerveless hand.

A fist slammed into her face. She shook her head, blinked back tears, and nailed the creep in the eye. A kick to the balls downed the next guy.

The one behind him knocked her sprawling onto the unforgiving concrete. A boot hit her hip. As pain blasted into her, she barely muffled a scream.

They were getting past her. No!

On hands and knees, she kicked at the legs bypassing her for the tree. One yelled when she got his knee. Another hit the ground. Panting, she tried to stand, failed…and someone on the sidewalk screamed. Pulling her pocketknife out, she managed to open it.

The shouting went silent as the gang around her moved back. Had the cops arrived?

With a grunt of pain, she pushed herself to her feet and retreated to defend the tree. Her eyes were blurred with tears, and she roughly wiped her hand over her face. What was everyone looking at?

Oh. My.

DeVries faced the gangbangers, and she recognized his cold, cold expression. He’d looked at her that way.

Around him, three of the mob were down—one with an obviously broken arm. The rest of the hoods were inching sideways. Away.

He didn’t even seem to notice as he prowled toward her. One fool swung at him. He caught the young man’s fist and yanked him forward far enough to slam an elbow into the tattooed face. The sound of the nose breaking barely preceded the wail of pain.

Like cockroaches under bright light, the gang fled in all directions.

DeVries hadn’t even spoken.

He stopped in front of her, plucked the knife from her hand. “Like that’d scare someone,” he said sarcastically. He closed and dropped it in her jeans pocket.

Feeling the trickle of blood running down her face, Lindsey swiped at it.

DeVries’s gaze settled on her fingers, his jaw tightening. “You have to be one of the stupidest people I know,” he said in a frozen tone. “Risking your life for a fucking—”

Her gratitude died—thankfully before she threw herself in his arms—and she turned away. Got to get Dakota. Leave before the gang returned. Grabbing a low branch, she tried to climb up, but her right hand was still half-numb from the blow to her wrist. Her fingers wouldn’t close. A whine of frustration escaped.

Hard hands closed on her shoulders and pulled her back. His eyes had gone more gray than green, piercing through her as he lifted her chin, turned her face from side to side, looking at what was probably a gash and bruise. Felt like it anyway, and God knew, she’d experienced far worse at the hands of the crooked border patrol agent, Ricks.

She tamped down her anger. DeVries had risked his life to save her, after all. Some gangs carried firearms. And knives. He could have been badly hurt. “I appreciate the help. Thank you.” She wrenched back and got nowhere.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m fixin’ to get Dakota. You just let go of me now.”

A corner of his mouth tipped up, the ice leaving his gaze. “Your accent gets thick when you’re mad.”

She glared.

He gave a low chuckle. “Where’s the fucking cat? I’ll get it.”

“What cat? I’m fetching Dakota.” She pointed up in the tree, where the eight-year-old boy had his little arms wrapped around the trunk. He was crying silently.

“I’ll be damned.”

She’d never seen him startled before. What—he’d thought Dakota was a cat? When she started to laugh, his eyes narrowed into a cynical look.

“Makes more sense, except…you’d probably have done the same thing for a cat, wouldn’t you?”

Of course. She shrugged and winced at the pain.

“What I thought.” He pointed at the sidewalk. “Sit there while I recover your kid.”

Instead she looked up. “Dakota, this is…” She glanced at deVries. Would he kill her if she used his first name?

The dimple appeared beside his mouth. “Friends call me Zander.”

Well, maybe he could consider Dakota a friend, right? “This is Zander. He saved us, sweetie. Now he’s going to help you get down.” She frowned. “You be gentle with him or—”

“Or you’ll kick my ass, Texas?”

The affectionate half hug he gave her almost stopped her heart.

He swung easily up into the tree. Before he reached Dakota, he paused, and she could hear the rumble of his voice.

After a few seconds, the boy offered a wavering smile and let deVries haul him into his arms.

While they were occupied with climbing down, she used the bottom of her T-shirt to clean her face of blood and tears.

After deVries was down, she pulled Dakota into a hug. Tremors still shook his skinny frame. But he was safe. “Let’s get you home, honeybunches.”

He clung to her hand on the silent walk back to the apartment building, and she noticed with a stab of the heart that when deVries walked too far away, Dakota tucked his fingertips into the man’s jeans pocket, keeping him close.

DeVries didn’t say a word.

They met Dakota’s frantic mother running out of the lobby, trailed by Dakota’s sister. They all walked upstairs together. DeVries stayed in the hall while Lindsey went into Dakota’s apartment to finish explaining to his mama what had happened—and how dangerous it was.

When she emerged, she looked around, hoping deVries had gotten bored and left.

He was still there, waiting silently by her door.

Oh. Damn. She was too tired to fight with him or answer his snoopy questions. Yes, he deserved a thanks—and it was going to be delivered in the hallway.

“Thank you again,” she said, trying for warm and cool both. “Now, did you come here for a reason?”

“Yeah.” He touched her chin with a light finger. “And we’ll talk once you’re cleaned up.”

“My face will keep. What did you need?”

He held his hand out. “Keys.”

“You are such a butthead,” she muttered and heard him snort. After digging her keys out of her pocket, she slapped them in his palm.

As if escorting her home from a dance, he unlocked her door, put his arm behind her back, and guided her into her apartment. “You got antibiotic ointment?”

He was past stubborn. “I can tend myself, thanks.”

“Where is it?”

She huffed in exasperation. When Abby and Rona had complained about their annoyingly overprotective Doms, Lindsey had only felt envy. Now she was beginning to comprehend their feelings on the subject. “Bathroom.”

“Good.” He herded her like a cattle dog into her tiny bath, sat her on the toilet seat, and tipped her face up. Anger tightened his jaw as he studied the damage. “Caught yourself a good one,” he said, the concern not concealing the steel beneath.

She scowled. She hadn’t rolled belly up like a coward. With Ricks, she hadn’t had a chance to fight; this time she’d done better. “I gave some good ones back.”

The approving glint in his eyes was unexpected and made her heart jump inside her chest. “I saw that, baby. You’ve got a nice right hook.”

Before she could recover from the compliment, he turned to rummage for a washcloth.

His hands were harder than iron yet disconcertingly gentle as he washed the blood from her cheek. He applied ointment before dealing with her scraped palms the same way. “All done.”

“Thank you.” The gratitude was real…as was the need to blink back tears.

“Not a problem. Let’s get some ice on your face.” After sitting her down on her living room couch, he sauntered into the kitchen.

The minute he disappeared, the aftermath of the fight set in. First a tightness in her throat, a flutter in her stomach. Hold together a little longer, and he’ll be gone.

Nothing could stop it.

Coldness swept through her body, and she shivered. Huddled in a corner of the couch, she wrapped her arms around her knees and shook as the sound of shouting crashed back over her, the fear, the feeling of fist meeting face. Her jaw ached from trying to keep her teeth from chattering.

Holding an ice pack, deVries appeared in front of her. “Ah hell.” After setting the pack on the end table, he scooped her up and took her place, settling her on his lap.

“Don’t.” She retreated into herself. No matter how nice he was now, he didn’t like her. She could do without his charity. “Just go. I don’t want you here.”

“Too bad for you that’s not going to happen.” His voice wasn’t mean, simply matter-of-fact. Almost affectionate. Tucking her head into the hollow of his shoulder, he rubbed her neck with his free hand.

He was so warm…and she didn’t want to be alone. Not now. She turned her face into him, inhaling the soap fragrance of his shirt, the underlying masculine scent. When she sighed, he hugged her closer. She’d never realized what a difference it made to feel safe.

“Did you know you have a mouse?” he asked. “I saw it run across the kitchen.”

“A mouse?” She blinked. As her muscles relaxed, tiredness swept through her. Her head felt too heavy for her neck. “You mean Francois?”

There was a pause, and he burst out laughing. Rough and dark and sexy. She wasn’t sure she’d ever heard him really laugh before. Hadn’t thought he knew how.

She drank in the sound like parched soil in an autumn rain. “Hey, only the finest of apartment rentals provide a ready-made pet.”

He grinned at her.

She grinned back…until she remembered he didn’t like her. How he’d treated her like a whore. “Debt paid.” She stiffened.

“Lindsey.” He shifted her to a more upright position and looked straight at her. “I screwed up. I’m sorry.”

Whoa, little doggies. “Huh?”

His dimple appeared, disappeared. “I thought you’d taken your ex for everything he owned to get your fancy condo. You looked guilty when I asked if you married for money. And you did say it was a bad breakup and he isn’t living in a ritzy place.”

Her mouth dropped open, and her irritation slid right down the banks into a river of rage. “I was condo-sitting for a friend of Xavier’s.”

WHEN THE LITTLE Texan’s face turned red, deVries knew he was in deep shit. Her hand slapped his chest to push him away.

He didn’t relax his grip. She was going to hear him out—before she kicked him out.

Assuming he could stand to leave her in this dump.

A shame it looked as if he needed to explain further—which was like gutting himself. He cupped her stubborn little chin, stroked his thumb over her lips. She shoved at his wrist without effect. He saw her consider biting him.

Damn, he liked her. “Tex.” He softened his voice. “I was married before. It ended badly.”

The pushing stopped as her gaze met his. “You were married?”

The incredulity was humorous. And insulting. She figured he was too much of a bastard to catch a woman? “When I was your age.” Stupid twenties.

“You’re divorced?” she asked carefully.

He had her attention. Good. Unable to resist, he ran his fingers through her wavy hair and discovered glints of a dark color under the mink-brown strands. Purple?

She tried to jerk her head away.

“When I was overseas, she screwed around,” deVries said. “I got shot up and was stuck in rehab, so she emptied our bank account to have her breasts enlarged and lips puffed up. I came home to divorce papers.” The taste of bitterness was still foul. “A month later, she married a rich CEO.”

Lindsey’s frown softened into understanding. “I’m sorry.”

He’d been too fucked-up to fight her for his savings. Sure his severance pay had kept him fed, yet starting over had been…difficult. He shook his head. Dragged his thoughts back. “I jumped to conclusions about you. Simon said you’re not rich.”

The sympathy disappeared from her face. “You talked to Simon. About me.” Mouth tight, she pushed off his lap and stood. “You know, deVries, your problem isn’t you jumped but that you didn’t bother to talk with me at all. I was just an easy fuck.”

“Lindsey.” He rose. “I said I screwed up.”

She retreated. “Yeppers. You did. Thank you so, so much for the rescue. Now go home.”

Like hell. He curved his hand around her nape, pulled her closer. A brush over her lips, her resistance started to disappear. She had a great mouth. Soft and—

She shoved at him. “Go away.”

He needed to leave; she was right. She didn’t need more stress. Not now. He took a step toward the door.

A scratching sound stopped him.

The goddamned mouse. She lived in a complete dump. In a fucking bad area. Unease gripped the back of his neck coldly. The gang would return, bent on revenge. He took out his cell and hit Xavier’s speed-dial number.

“Make your calls some other time. deVries…”

He eyed Lindsey. She knew his first name now and kept using his surname. Was starting to piss him off. “Call me Zander unless we’re in the club. Use it there, and I’ll whip your ass.” And wouldn’t he enjoy doing that?

Despite her obvious ire, a flush of arousal crept up her face. She liked the thought of punishment. In fact, if she were his, she’d probably call him by his last name just to see what he’d do.

She’d find out.

He’d whip her ass. Before he fucked her. Jesus, he was getting hard thinking about it.

“Problem?” Xavier’s voice came over the phone.

Focus, Iceman. “Yeah. Does Abby still need a renter for her place?”

“She does. An ad goes into the paper tomorrow.”

Lindsey’s brows drew together. “That’s not any of your busi—”

“Lindsey’s new apartment is in the slums, and her building should’ve been condemned last century. Now she’s pissed off a local gang.” DeVries felt a ripple of mirth when she lunged in an attempt to swipe the phone from his hand. Fisting her hair, he held her far enough away to avoid getting kicked while he continued his conversation. Feisty, wasn’t she?

“I can’t afford Abby’s place.” Lindsey jerked on his arm. “DeVries…I can’t—”

Xavier had obviously heard, since he said, “Abby would be delighted to have her there. Let’s try it like this—for the first month, Lindsey can pay utilities only. If she wants to stay after that, she and Abby can work out a rent to suit them both.”

“No. I won’t take advantage of friends,” she growled. “I don’t—”

“Sounds good.” DeVries smiled down at her flushed face, enjoying the hope lighting her face—as well as the dismay. Had more pride than a US Marine, didn’t she? “When can she move in?”

“Get her out of there. Give me her address, and I’ll send movers over tonight.”

“This your stuff, babe?” DeVries motioned to the stained couch and chair.

“DeVries, I can’t let Abby—”

“Not what I asked.” He waited, his gaze holding hers.

“Jeez.” Her clipped voice almost disguised her accent. “The place came furnished. My furniture is still in storage.”

“There’s a relief.” He spoke into the phone. “Hear that? No movers needed. We’ll pack what’s here and meet you at the duplex.”

“Good.” Xavier’s voice hardened. “Now that I know she can’t be trusted to look out for herself, I’ll keep a closer eye. As will Simon.”

You won’t be the only ones.