Edge of the Enforcer (25 page)

“Worthington is a nice guy,” deVries said, able to acknowledge it now.

“I had a chat with HurtMe,” Xavier continued. “And I referred him to one of the kink-friendly counselors in town. Apparently he wants a Master so badly he’s misinterpreting what happens during a scene.”

Abby nodded. “I think, now he sees it, he’ll be able to get straightened out.”

“That’s good.” Lindsey gave deVries an unhappy look. “In his case, I’d rather you—”

“I won’t.” Unable to resist, he handed Xavier the bowl and pulled her close. Her small body fit against his, and after a second of surprise, she snuggled into him.

Living in the moment was all very good. Nonetheless they were going to have a long chat about her future plans and Texas.

* * * *

Midweek, Lindsey stared in horror at the video playing out on her laptop. A younger Victor walked across the screen toward a barely pubescent Hispanic boy, like the one who had escaped from the ranch building. The child was blindfolded and tied facedown over a stack of crates. Crying, then screaming in pain as—

Lindsey’s skin went clammy, too hot, too cold. As roaring filled her head, she swallowed convulsively, trying to watch, to finish, to—

Her stomach revolted, and she ran into the bathroom. And vomited again and again, endlessly, draining her strength, her sight, everything.

When the sickness finally eased, her clothes were damp with sweat, and her belly muscles ached. With a trembling hand, she closed the toilet seat and rested her cheek on her forearms.

How could she possibly have lived with the monster and been so blind to his evil? She swallowed again.

God, she was glad he was dead. She’d never get over the ghastliness of having shot him, but…she was glad he’d never hurt another child.

He couldn’t—both the others still could. Rubbing her face, she attempted to set aside her wrenching disappointment. She’d figured out a password, opened one flash drive, and found only nightmare. She needed incriminating documents showing Ricks and Parnell were bad cops. A film of Victor raping a boy, no matter how horrendous, wouldn’t help, except to show she had motivation to kill him. People would believe she’d murdered the police officer to escape arrest.

It would be her word against Parnell’s, and he’d been police chief for a decade now. If she testified against the border patrol agent, she’d have the same problem. Agent Ricks was well established.

If only she could tell Zander. Keeping things from him—anything—bothered her more and more. Filled her with regrets for what they might have had if she wasn’t in such a mess. But she was.

With a moan of exhaustion, she pushed herself to her feet. Maybe the other flash drives contained evidence she could use.
Please, God, let them not have more rape footage.

Now that she’d hacked into a file, she knew how Victor had created one password, at least. He’d used his birthdate along with his middle name and a few random numbers. So she could restart the software to try variations on that theme. Unhappily the next success might take a long time.

Meanwhile, although Victor was dead, the smuggling of children into the United States wouldn’t stop. Ricks and Parnell were still using her ranch for those crimes. How could she let them continue? Fear slithered like an icy touch over her skin.
I can’t fix that—I can’t.

She had to try.

With wobbly legs, she regained her feet. The video didn’t incriminate Victor’s brother or Ricks; however, maybe someone watching would realize the crates were boxes of smuggled weapons and see more than the perversion.

If she visited an Internet café and e-mailed copies to the various Homeland Security offices in Texas—customs and border security and ATF, surely some official would pay attention.

Hopefully, not so much attention they’d trace her back to San Francisco.

She held her hands out, watched them shake, and heard John Wayne,
“Well, there are some things a man just can’t run away from.”

There really were.

* * * *

DeVries unlocked the front door of the duplex. Every time he used the key Lindsey had given him, his mood lifted.

Trust.
Hell of a thing. They both had suffered shit in their lives, and trust didn’t come easily. Nonetheless she’d started to let him in.

He smiled. And she was worming his secrets out of him in return. Sneaky little brat.

After tossing his jacket on the old-fashioned coatrack, he looked around. The house was silent. She wasn’t upstairs or in the kitchen. He headed out to the backyard.

And there she was, kneeling on a blanket next to a flowerbed. The sunlight streamed around her, glinting off the cute green-and-red streaks in her rich brown hair. As a breeze swirled dry leaves on the patio, the wind chime swayed and tinkled peacefully.

He started across the grass. Stopped. The little Texan was jumpier than a merc who’d blundered into a kill zone. So, staying put, he cleared his throat.

She startled, and the fear filling her face infuriated him…until she really saw him and relaxed. “Hey.” Her brows drew together. “Is it that late?”

“’Fraid so.” He crossed the small lawn and squatted beside her.

With an oddly unreadable expression, she laid her palm against his cheek. “I’m glad you’re here.”

The naked emotion in the sentiment shook him slightly. She looked whiter than normal, he realized. He put his hand over hers and kissed her fingers. “I am too, baby.” A seed packet lay on the grass. “Planting?”

“I thought I’d see how lettuce would do—it can pretend to be an edging plant and still give us salads.” She’d tilled a line in front of the taller plants behind. “It’s so pretty out, I wanted to get my hands in the soil again.”

He ran his finger over her cheek, brushing off the dirt. “Not used to being a city girl, are you?”

A flash of sadness crossed her face before she smiled. “Actually, I like living here. At least while I’m young enough to enjoy it.” She finished planting the seeds. “Having a backyard helps a lot. I hadn’t realized how closed in I felt in my condo.”

“Got that. I grew up in apartment buildings.” He sat beside her on a corner of the blanket. Tipping his head back, he looked up into the sky. Light blue with a few misty clouds. Pleasant day for the bay area, and he wouldn’t have enjoyed it without this backyard patch. “I didn’t know what I was missing.” A house and a bighearted, sociable, energetic, submissive woman to share it with.

“Really?” Her expression brightened. “You can share it anytime you want.”

“Thanks, babe.” Was that a timid way of inviting him to move in? Not her usual straightforward manner, but she hadn’t quite returned to her previous easiness level with him either. Needing more contact, he bracketed her with his legs. Time for the first assault. “You get lonely, being so far from Texas?”

“From home? Yes.” Her open joy faded slightly. Still, rather than pulling away, she put her elbows on his knees. Pleased the hell out of him she liked to touch and be touched.

So what was his competition back there? “Your mother still in Texas?”

“Yep. Mama and Melis—” She broke off to correct herself, “and my sisters.” With his body touching hers, he could feel her tense, a contrast to her light answer. “We don’t have anyone else.”

No one else. So, Melis-something. Melissa? Not many variations on the combination. Another item to include in his search. Tex answered to “Lindsey” so readily, he figured it must be her given name. Melissa and Lindsey. Tonight, he’d add the combo to the program.

Doing a search on a lover went against his personal credo. A pity she hadn’t given him a choice. Dammit, wouldn’t she ever let him in? “Who got your ranch in the divorce? Is one of your family running it for you?” And if she had property, why was she broke? Or here?

“It’s complicated.” With the noncommunicative answer, she tensed further before smiling. “No one would let Mama run a ranch. She has trouble managing a two-bedroom house. She loves us—God, she really does—but she’s not exactly practical.”

“At least she loves you,” he muttered. Even though he’d been married before, he’d never experienced true loving. In a myriad of small ways, Lindsey had been showing what he missed. Like doing his laundry with hers. Turning on the front door light for him if he was late. Buying the brands of groceries he liked and adding in other “treats” she thought he might enjoy. Cooking his favorite foods. Always having his favorite beer in the refrigerator. Saving up news tidbits to discuss.

His mother had done those things for him…before his father died.

“Your mama must have loved you,” Lindsey protested. Her fingers closed around his.

“She did.” He looked away, watching how the wind chime glinted in the sunlight. “And then she didn’t.” Her love had disappeared into the vacuum of a drug-driven life. “I knew she’d stopped when I was ten, and she sold me to get money for a fix.”

Lindsey’s mouth dropped open, and she snarled, “That
bitch.
” When her hand fisted, damned if he didn’t smile. Given the chance, his little submissive would probably start a knockdown fight.

Only Lindsey could make him smile when talking about his mother. “Easy, Tex.” He pried her fingers open. “I ran. Ended up in foster care, which wasn’t fun but was better than that.”

When he heard her growl under her breath, he couldn’t help but lean back, pull her on top, and kiss her until she forgot his past, her past, and they could both think about the present. The future would have to wait for a little while.

* * * *

Where the hell did Lindsey keep her stamps? Friday afternoon, DeVries glanced at his watch and scowled. Simon would arrive any minute.

DeVries sure wasn’t pleased with the crazy transportation arrangements the women had arranged for the weekend at Serenity. That morning, Lindsey had picked up Dixon and Rona at the Demakis offices. The three had wanted to leave early to sightsee in Yosemite Park. Since deVries and Simon had work to finish up, they’d ride together.

He’d left the office thinking he was finished. Unfortunately, once home, he remembered paperwork he’d worked on here last night. It needed to go out today. If he could find a fucking stamp.

He detoured to the kitchen to open a red candy tin and grab a hunk of Lindsey’s fudge. He’d never understand women and their addiction to chocolate, but this shit was damn good. A shame she’d given most of it away to her favorite shelters. She’d taken another big tin to drop off for Mrs. Martinez when she picked up Rona and Dixon.

The girl liked her holidays. She’d talked him into helping decorate the pine tree. He’d managed to win the Christmas music war, so it was Ella Fitzgerald instead of Willie Nelson. Papier-mâché angels dangled in front of the kitchen window. The fireplace boasted the red felt stockings she’d sewn, and handmade cards from women and children at the shelters covered the mantel. The rooms smelled of pine and chocolate.

The delight she took in creating a holiday atmosphere made him feel odd. Maybe because he was enjoying it.

She’d giggled like a maniac when he gave her a fleecy tan hoodie with teddy bear ears on the hood. Later, she’d rewarded him by wearing only the hoodie while they’d watched TV.

Focus
. He was supposed to be looking for stamps. He frowned. Probably in her desk. He went through the top drawer. Pens, pencils, scissors, brightly colored paper clips. The next drawer looked as if she’d locked it, but the wood was so warped a firm jiggle opened it. He found envelopes and stationary. Getting close. Beneath them were…printouts of newspaper clippings? He frowned at the heading for a San Antonio daily. Wasn’t she from Dallas?

Expecting to see graduation, wedding, or birth announcements, he realized the first article was about a woman who shot her husband. The responding officer was murdered by Lindsey Rayburn Parnell, the rancher’s wife.

Fuck. Yesterday, his search program had returned a hit for sisters named Lindsey and Melissa. Both born with the surname
Rayburn
.

A cop murdered? Feeling as if he’d been punched in the gut, he sank down into the desk chair. This was the secret Lindsey had been hiding? “No,” he muttered. No fucking way would she have killed anyone.

He dug through more of the clippings. One article insinuated the wife had been screwing a ranch hand. She and her husband fought, and she killed him. Maybe…maybe that scenario was possible. Not that she’d cheat. However if this was the pedophile husband, he deserved to die. So maybe she’d killed him.

He couldn’t visualize any circumstance where she’d murder a cop.

One clipping showed the murdered officer. Uniform bright and shiny. Idealistic. Probably younger than Lindsey. The girl couldn’t have hurt someone like that.

Piece by piece he went through the papers and found she had extensive background information about the police force in a small Texas town, the border patrol, and an agent named Ricks. She had e-mail addresses for ICE—Immigrations and Customs. What the fuck was she doing?

At the bottom, he found articles on password recovery and breaking into encrypted files. No reason for a little social worker to be reading those—not unless she wanted to hack into something.

His jaw was clenched tight as he shoved the clippings back in the drawer and shut it with a frustrated slam. She was in some seriously bad shit. And she’d damned well have to accept his help.

Babe, we’re going to have a chat.
About everything.

The next drawer yielded a stamp. And he heard a car stop outside. Simon had arrived.

* * * *

At the Hunt brothers’ Serenity Lodge in the mountains near Yosemite National Park, Lindsey stepped out of her rustic cabin and stopped to stare. After living in the misty bay area, the starkness here was visually astonishing. She was surrounded by a forest of black tree trunks and snow. Above them, the gray granite tops of the lower mountain ranges worked up to pristine white peaks.

“Brrrr.” Pulling her coat more tightly around her, she headed down the narrow footpath toward the main lodge. Hopefully Zander would be here soon. There wasn’t anything planned for tonight, and she looked forward to a quiet evening beside the fire with their friends. Tomorrow would be more exciting—a dungeon party.