Edge of the Enforcer by Cherise Sinclair Read Free Book Online Page B

he was teasing her—but surely not. Honestly, as a social worker, she had awesome instincts about people. Normally. However, the Enforcer somehow managed to wipe her mind as if she were a computer and someone hit Delete File .
    “So where in Texas were you raised?” he asked.
    “Um. Did I say I was from Texas?” Why had she been stupid enough to ask him questions?
    “Got the accent, babe.”
    “Oh.” Here she’d thought it wasn’t very noticeable. Where in Texas … Hmm, she sure wouldn’t mention her town on the Mexican border where everyone knew Lindsey Rayburn. “A-around Dallas. How about you?”
    His gaze was on her fingers…and the napkin she was crumpling. “Born in Chicago.” He glanced around the room. “Guess you don’t have to do anything to make a living.”
    At least she could tell the truth for this one. “Oh, but I do. I work as a receptionist.” Well, she would work for another day or so until the woman whose position she’d filled returned from maternity leave.
    “Receptionist?” He straightened. “Right. Bullshit.”
     
    WHEN THE PRETTY submissive’s gaze jerked up, deVries almost winced at his rude statement. Still—no receptionist could afford this place. The table where they sat would take a year’s salary. The rest of the furniture was of the same pricey level. Not possible.
    He’d already been annoyed over her “raised around Dallas” bullshit. She was a piss-poor liar. “Did you inherit money or something?” Like this condo.
    She gave him an incredulous look. “I wish.”
    Curiosity drove him on. He’d never been able to release a question once his teeth were dug in. “Guess you must have married for money, huh?”
    “I—” Red swept into her face, one shoulder went up, and damned if her head didn’t give an unconscious affirmative. “I—” She picked up her cup as if it could provide a shield.
    Married for money. One major kick to the gut. It brought a partnering thought. “You telling me I fucked a married woman?”
    “No. No, I don’t have a husband.”
    That, at least, looked honest. “Divorced, huh?” Was that how she’d ended up rich? His mouth tightened.
    When her cup shook, she set it down. “Why all the questions?”
    Receptionist married a wealthy man only to divorce him. The guy had probably owned the condo before she took it and everything else the poor bastard had. She sure as fuck wasn’t paying the mortgage on her salary. “Bet you didn’t have a friendly divorce, did you?”
    Even as she flinched, she averted her gaze, confirming his suspicions.
    Goddamn women. The guy probably worked his ass off; then wifey decided she was entitled to everything he’d earned. “Sorry, Mr. deVries, your account is overdrawn.” He’d never forget the bank teller’s voice when he’d asked why his debit card hadn’t worked. A decade later, the memory still kicked him in the gut. Nothing like having a “loving” wife clean out the account while he served his country in hell. Yeah, thanks, Tamara.
    He inhaled deliberately and tried to control his temper.
    “Um. More coffee?” Lindsey ventured, lifting the pot.
    Such big brown eyes. He felt as if he’d kicked a puppy. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe she hadn’t cleaned the guy out. “I guess your ex is living in ritzy shit like this too?”
    The coffeepot thumped onto the table as she paled. He saw guilt on her face, plain as hell.
    He didn’t need an answer. A muscle twitched in his jaw. “I got to be going.”
    She rose as he did, silently watched him retrieve his toy bag and electro-case.
    When he glanced at her, she took a step back, and her arms wrapped around her torso. All big eyes, innocent as a baby. Damned if she wasn’t even smoother than his ex. Lindsey’s poor bastard of a husband probably hadn’t seen the viper beneath that smooth skin until the poison flooded his veins.
    He yanked open the apartment door.
    “DeVries?” Even her voice sounded sweet.
    Made him want to puke. Before