Edge of the Enforcer by Cherise Sinclair Page B

applications and looking for work can be more emotional than you’d expect.”
    Oh, she knew all about emotional. Realizing a life was not only ripped up, but years were lost, never to be replaced. Childhood dreams didn’t always make it into the future. “I understand completely.”
    A smile flickered on his hard lips. “I thought you might. Want the job?”
    She wanted to jump all over an acceptance, but… She gave him a suspicious look. “This isn’t a makeshift offer to keep Abby from nagging at you?”
    “She hasn’t nagged me since I hung a ball gag by the bed.”
    From Abby came a muttered nasty word.
    After kissing the top of Abby’s head, he gave Lindsey a level look. “It’s not makeshift work. I can use you if you’re up for it. And, quite honestly, I think you’d be excellent.”
    Her smile couldn’t be restrained. “In that case, yes. Yes, yes, yes.”
    * * * *
    “…and then I’ll cut her up so bad that even in hell, Victor will hear her screams.” The knife came down on her thumb. Cut deep. The pain…
    Lindsey jerked awake, hearing her screams echoing inside the room—no, not the room, inside her head. God, God, God.
    Gasping for breath, she fumbled beside her pillow, found the lamp, and turned it on. The bare room took form around the pile of bedding she’d used for her bed. No Travis. No knife. She was in San Francisco. In Abby’s duplex.
    With a shuddering breath, she struggled to a sitting position and forced herself to look down. The ancient secondhand flannel shirt was white and blue and damp with only sweat—she wasn’t covered in Victor’s blood.
    Her thumb—she flexed her fingers—was fine. Okay. Okay. Just a dream.
    As her breath hitched, she laid her head on her knees…and cried.
    Eventually, she realized light was seeping under the curtains onto the glossy hardwood floor. Dawn had arrived. Thank you, God. The door to the bedroom was closed, the dining room chair she’d carried upstairs was still shoved under the handle. And the idea of opening the door made fresh sweat break out on her palms.
    She could almost see her daddy make a c’mon gesture with his hand. “Courage is being scared to death but saddling up anyway,” he’d always tell her—and she’d tease him about watching too many John Wayne movies. Except, who knew? Maybe there was a section of heaven for old cowboys.
    Saddle up, girl. Picking up her tiny pocketknife, she rose, feeling every bruise from yesterday’s fight. Her cheek hurt, her hip, her arm. Once steady on her feet, she grasped the chair and set it away from the door. Her skin prickled with nerves as she opened the door. She went through every single room in the place. And found nothing.
    There was no Travis Parnell lying in wait with a knife. No Ricks hiding in a closet. No gang outside on the patio.
    By the time she finished, she was trembling, her insides hollowed, her bones toothpick fragile. Sinking down on the steps, she leaned against the railing. Hell of a way to start a morning.
    After a few minutes, she straightened. Time to set up her computer and make coffee. She could shower when she wasn’t feeling so antsy.
    Later, the movers would come. Damn and bless Xavier. She smiled ruefully. After everyone left yesterday, she’d found a note propped on the kitchen counter. Movers are scheduled to arrive with your furniture tomorrow at ten. Don’t bother to argue; I won’t listen. Xavier.
    Overprotective, managing Doms were something else . She huffed in exasperation, recalling when Rona and Abby had helped transport her furniture to the storage unit, she’d given Abby the spare key…and now Xavier had it. Sneaky, wonderful friends.
    The secondhand furniture she’d bought last summer would look nice here. Her white linen couch and chairs should go well with the delicate floral wallpaper, whitewashed fireplace, worn needlepoint carpet in the living room. Maybe she could bring in some houseplants. With a pang of grief, she thought of