Page 15 of The Enforcer (Damn! #2)

He wanted her fed. Wanted her steady. Wanted her close enough that if she slipped, he could catch her, or stop her.

And that part? That unsettled her most of all.

Zane leaned back, arms folded, watching her. Big, lethal, and amused in the quiet way only he could be. Here he was, cleaning up her mess, feeding her, making sure she didn’t run herself ragged.

Jesus. He was taking care of her.

He didn’t know whether to laugh or put his head through a wall.

Then, more soberly: “It’s possible those men were after me. But I’ve sure as fuck been in this game long enough to know when I’m not the target. They came fast and heavy. Like someone was trying to clean up a loose end.”

She went still. “You really think they were after me?”

“I think it’s more likely than not,” Zane retorted. “And if I’m right, they’ll come again. But next time, it’ll be with a hell of a lot more men.”

Lily glanced down at her plate, then back up at him. “Then I better figure it out fast. Because if you’re right, I’m the problem that needs solving. And if I’m not, then I’m just another liability in your house. Either way, the clock’s ticking.”

“I think someone slipped in through a blind spot and used you, maybe directly, maybe by hijacking the code you thought you utilized. Either way, the breach traces back to you. That’s the part that matters.

That’s the part they’ll come after. You need to retrace your steps, find the access point, what was taken, and how they covered their tracks.

It’s not about guilt. It’s about who they think you are now.

And what you know that they can’t afford you remembering. ”

She went quiet for a long moment. Then: “You think I’m compromised.”

Zane held her gaze. “I think you’re smart enough to know that’s not the same as being complicit. But that doesn’t make it less dangerous. Whoever set you up, or whoever you accidentally exposed, is still out there. And they know your name now.”

Lily exhaled through her nose. He nodded toward her plate and she picked up the calzone with a sigh, taking a huge bite.

“So what?” she asked, her voice muffled slightly by the bite she hadn’t bothered to finish chewing.

She didn’t stop to swallow, just pushed forward, like the question couldn’t wait.

“You want me to backtrace the breach? Dig into the logs, see what was taken?”

He nodded once. “And find out who gave you that target. You were hired for a reason. Someone wanted what was in that account. We need to know why.”

Lily’s voice was quieter now. “And if we find it? The file, the person, the motive, what then?”

Zane didn’t look away. His voice dropped, low and final.

“Then we take it back. Whatever they stole, data, money, leverage, we reclaim it. And the people who thought they could use you? We burn them out of every system, every shell company, every hidden pocket they’ve got left.

We make it so they don’t just regret hiring you, they wish they’d never even heard your name. ”

Lily stared at him a second longer. Then she nodded.

Once. Tight. But even as she agreed, her mind was already spinning.

She could trace it, dig back through what little access she’d been granted, if she had the right tools.

Her eyes flicked toward the far wall instinctively, like her gear might still be there, waiting.

But it wasn’t. It had been stripped when Zane had claimed her.

“Shit,” she muttered, dragging a hand through her damp hair. “My equipment. Your men stripped everything. I need it back.”

Zane didn’t move. He just watched her, his expression unreadable. “I know. It’s secure. Boxed and shielded. Double-wrapped with non-networked isolation and physically tagged the second we took it.”

He almost smiled, almost, at the absurdity of listing technical specs to her, like she didn’t already know. Like she wouldn’t check them all anyway.

But he also knew she needed to hear it. Needed certainty. And for now, this was the best he could give her.

“Where?”

“A safehouse three blocks from here. I can have it brought over in twenty minutes.”

She folded her arms. “I need all of it. Not just the laptop. External drives, signal shield, the sandbox machine. If anything’s been tampered with—”

“It hasn’t,” he said, voice clipped. “My people know better. They also know I’d rip their hands off if they laid so much as a fingerprint where it didn’t belong.”

She gave him a look, one brow raised. “I’ll need a dedicated space. Nothing connected to your system. And no surveillance.”

Zane inclined his head. “Done. But I’m watching you. Every keystroke, every pause. Not because I don’t trust you, but because I’ve seen what you can do. And I’ve bled enough to know better than to let talent like yours run unchecked.”

Something shifted in her posture. Nothing dramatic, just a stillness that told him she’d heard every word. It wasn’t fear he saw in her eyes. Not quite. But it wasn’t ease either. Not when she knew he meant it. She dropped her gaze for a beat, then lifted it again, steady.

“I’m sorry I’ve been a problem,” she said, quiet, not soft.

He didn’t respond right away. Part of him wanted to lie, to tell her she hadn’t been a problem, to offer something softer than the truth.

But that wasn’t what either of them needed.

So instead, he watched her. Took in the tension in her shoulders, the flicker of something unreadable behind her eyes.

And he let the silence stretch just long enough to make it clear, she wasn’t a problem.

She was a pivot point. And if this went sideways, the fallout would start with her.

He nodded once, letting her words hang for a beat.

Then his gaze flicked toward the door. It would only take a call to have her gear brought over. The real question wasn’t whether she could do the job. It was whether he could trust her to do it without lighting another fuse.

She’d know. Not if. When. The rig he’d slipped into the loadout looked identical to her own.

Even the thermal wear patterns on the keys matched.

Same boot sequence, same minor cosmetic scratches on the casing.

But inside, inside, it was wired with passive monitoring code.

Silent. Undetectable unless you were looking for it.

It wouldn’t interfere with her work, not directly.

It would just let him watch it happen in real time.

She’d catch it. He just didn’t know what she’d do when she did—call him on it, break it apart, or use it to test him right back.

“What happens if I can’t trace the breach back to whoever set me up?”

“Let’s just say I won’t be happy. And you don’t want to see me when I’m unhappy.”

He meant it to be a warning. But the truth was, it came out darker than that, quieter, heavier. He saw the way her expression shifted again, just slightly, and some bitter part of him noted how used to threats she must be by now.

Still, she hadn’t flinched. That counted for something.

Not many people did when he let that edge bleed into his voice, most got cagey, quiet, or stupidly brave.

But Lily just absorbed it like she’d seen worse.

Like she was worse. And maybe she was. That thought had weight.

It lodged somewhere low in his gut and refused to budge.

Zane drew in a breath, let it sit in his chest a beat too long. It wasn’t hesitation. It was calculation, the kind that came when instinct tangled with consequence and refused to let go. He wasn’t a man who second-guessed. But this next part? It mattered. And not just to her.

“There’s something else we need to talk about.”

She regarded him warily, no doubt waiting for the other shoe to drop. Not just a shoe, a steel-toed boot. Or hell, maybe an anvil with her name etched in the side. That was the kind of weight Zane carried. And the kind of mess she knew she was still knee-deep in.

“What?” she finally asked.

He studied her a long moment. Then, dryly, like the words cost nothing when they clearly cost everything: “Are you on birth control?”