Redeemed By The Cowgirl

A brusque tap on his door had him looking up as Bridger entered.

“Please tell me you’ve found something.”

His second-in-command shook his head, a hangdog expression on his face. “Nothing with FBI or Treasury. We even checked Interpol. The Rowlands are everywhere, but the girl? She’s a ghost, at least under that name.”

Cash leaned back in the massive leather desk chair and scratched at his cheek. His dark stubble was becoming a beard, a decision he made after he’d impersonated his twin in an attempt to make Chase and his wife separate, and realized how simple it was. “Maybe we’re looking at this wrong.”

“How so?”

“Could she have been the mark?”

Before Bridger could answer, his phone pinged. He checked the screen and a huge smile creased his cheeks. “Bingo. We found her.”

Bridger pressed some buttons on his phone and a second later, a link popped up on Cash’s computer monitor. He clicked on it and waited as the tab opened. There she was. Sort of. His brow furrowed as he stared at a face familiar yet that of a stranger. He read off the information.

“Roxanne Rosetta Rowland. Bachelor’s degree in history, followed by a master’s in museum studies.” Cash continued skimming the information. “She graduated from the University of Central Oklahoma?”

“Yup. And with that information, we should be able to find out where she’s currently living and working, and why there’s no record tying her to the Rowlands, especially since she’s using their name.”

“I want to know everything there is to know about her.” Cash rubbed his chin. Oh, yeah. He wanted every last detail about Roxanne Rowland, especially where she’d been and what she’d done since that interview at the Fairfax Police Department. Man, but he’d been a fool to believe her sob story and not follow up, despite assertions from the school that she was a victim. Innocents didn’t use fake names. Now he’d have the facts before the day was out.

* * *

Roxie paced the confines of her cluttered office. No one in her family had contacted her. She’d managed to get to her room in Vegas, grab her stuff—sans the blackmail items—and run. Ha! She knew all their tricks, and had found the incriminating evidence and deposited it in the lost and found box on a maid’s cart on her way out. She’d caught the first flight out of Las Vegas, then made her way home.

Every time her phone dinged with a text message, she jumped. Was it one of her brothers? But there had been no phone calls. No emails. Nothing. Aggravated, she’d put her research skills to work. What she’d discovered about her family left her worried, feeling stupid and more than a little angry. She’d guessed they walked the wrong side of the line. Con men. Grifters. But like an ostrich with her head buried, she’d had no clue how illicit their activities were. Her father and brothers were wanted by the FBI and Interpol for fraud, theft and questioning in a murder.

“What have y’all dragged me into?” she muttered as she paced. And what did the Barrons have to do with it? Nobody took on the Barron family and won. Everyone at Reade-Cannon-Mansfield was in awe of the family people called Red Dirt Royalty. She wouldn’t be surprised if the advertising firm had originally coined the phrase. While she really wanted to work in a museum, she loved her job as corporate archivist for the ad agency. She didn’t want to jeopardize her position by tangling with the Barrons.

So what could she do? Going to the police was a bad idea. One, she had no clue what her family had done—if anything—and two, she’d likely be considered an accessory. If the police got involved, she could kiss any chance of a career goodbye.

She clutched her cell phone in her hand and stared at it. Should she call Max and ask him what was going on? Would he tell her? She bit her bottom lip in indecision. Scrolling to his name on her contact list, her thumb hovered over the call button. When the phone vibrated in her hand, she almost dropped it. Fumbling and juggling, she got it back in her grip and stared at the text message from Brax.

FORGET U EVER WENT TO VEGAS

She texted back frantically. What’s going on?

NOT A WORD TO ANY1 ROX BAD THINGS HAPPEN IF U TALK

I want to know what’s happening!

WILL CALL WHEN WE NEED U JUST REMEMBER FAMILY IS EVERYTHING

Family is everything? That was rich. Growing up, she spent every Christmas alone at boarding school. The one time they’d remembered her birthday, it had been to hide their ill-gotten gains. And graduations? Ha! Their idea of family and hers were oceans apart.

She stared at the screen. Wait. Bad things would happen if she talked? What did that mean? She panicked for a moment, sinking onto her chair and putting her head between her knees. When she stopped seeing stars, she straightened. Her father and brothers were criminals. And they were up to their necks in something involving the Barrons—something they wanted her in the middle of. That was so not going to happen.

“What to do, what to do?” she mumbled, standing to pace again. One of the open tabs on her computer browser caught her gaze. A web search for “Barron Companies.”

Dropping into her chair, she scooted it up to the desk and began investigating. Five minutes later, she had a phone number for Barron Security Services, at the helm of which was CEO Cash Barron. She hadn’t known who he was back when she was sixteen and he’d stood in that dingy interview room at the Fairfax Police Department. But she’d never forgotten him. He’d starred in some of her more...lurid fantasies over the years. Should she call him? What would she say?

She needed a plan.

* * *

Cash put his best tracer on Roxanne Rowland. The information they’d discovered did not mesh with what he knew about the rest of the family. The girl lived in a cheap apartment in the northwest part of town and worked at Reade-Cannon-Mansfield, the premier advertising firm based in Oklahoma City. He’d made some phone calls to the Barron account executive at RCM to get a rundown on her. According to his investigation of the Rowlands, Max and the boys lived the high life. From the French Riviera, to the luxury hotels of Dubai and Hong Kong, to the Gold Coast of Florida, the Hamptons, Aspen. Every playground of the rich and famous had been a hunting ground for the larcenous clan. None of that jibed with the information they’d dug up on Roxanne.

His door burst open and Bridger stood there with a shit-eating grin. “You aren’t going to believe who’s on line one.” His cousin nodded toward the phone console on the desk.

Cash arched a brow, waiting for Bridger to fill him in. He didn’t have to wait long.

“A woman wanting to speak to whoever is in charge of casino security. The call was routed to Cheri. When she asked the caller’s name, the twit gave it to her. Roxanne Rowland.”

Suspicious by nature, Cash reined in the surge of adrenaline spiking through him at the news. “What are the odds, Bridge?”

“High enough I wouldn’t lay a bet on ’em. That said, we don’t have anything to lose. I’ve already started the trace on the call. I can keep her on the line long enough to pinpoint her location.”

Cash motioned him closer, and before hitting the line to put it on speakerphone, said, “You take the call.”

“Bridger Tate. How can I help you?”

“Um...” Several muffled breaths puffed through the speaker. “Uh...hi. I...are you the one in charge of security for the Crown Casino out in Las Vegas?”

“Yes.”

“Uh...you said your name is Tate?” The voice on the other end sounded hesitant.

“That’s right. Bridger Tate. I’m vice president of BSS.”

“Oh. Okay. That’s okay then. I guess.”

“Is there a reason you’re calling, ma’am?”

“Oh. Roxie. Er, Roxanne. Roxanne Rowland. You don’t know me or anything.”

Cash made a circling motion with his hand, indicating Bridger should move things along.

“Should I know you, Ms. Rowland?”

“No.” The word came out forcefully. “I mean, no.” Softer this time. “I don’t think so. I...look, I’m sorry. This was a bad idea.”

“Don’t hang up!” Cash’s order cut through the air. “This is Cash Barron.”

“Oh.” The single syllable all but trembled as it sighed through the speaker.

“Why are you calling, Ms. Rowland?”

“My family...you see, they...”

They what? he wanted to shout. Her father and brothers were criminal scum and she had to be calling on their behalf. What sort of scam were they trying to set up? “I don’t have all day, Ms. Rowland. There must be a reason you’re calling. Get to it.”

“Oh, okay. Yes. Well, see... I’d like to meet with you. Explain in person.” Her voice grew a little stronger. The woman was a helluva actress.

“Explain what?”

“Can we meet somewhere?”

“I’ll be happy to set up an appointment here in our offices.” And he’d have the cops on speed dial to take her into custody.

“I... I’m not sure that would be a good idea.” She inhaled deeply and blew out the breath. “Oh, never mind. This was a stupid idea. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

“Ms. Rowland,” Cash snarled. “Roxanne.”

“I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know what they’re doing. Only that it’s bad. I’m sure of it. It was stupid to call you. I just... When I saw you in Vegas, and recognized you... I thought maybe...oh, heck. I don’t know what I thought.”

“Come to my office, Roxanne. We’ll talk.”

“No. I don’t know if they’re following me.”

“Who?”

“My...never mind. I...look, I’ll be at the...at the—” She cleared her throat. “Cyrano’s. At Thunder River Casino. You know where it is, right? Eight o’clock tonight.” Muffled voices sounded in the background. “I have to go. I’ll be there. For an hour.”

The dead line hummed over the speaker. Cash hit the button to end the call. Oh, yeah. He knew where the nightclub was all right. He stared at his cousin. “What’s your take on this?”

Bridger lifted his shoulders and dropped them, his expression perplexed. “Your guess is as good as mine. I do find it interesting that we hit pay dirt with our search on her and she just happens to call. Out of the blue.”

“Don’t trust coincidences?”

“Nope.”

“Neither do I.”

“Then again, Cash, maybe we shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“You’ll meet her?”

Cash curled his lips into a sarcastic smile that didn’t reach his eyes but coated his voice. “What do you think? I mean, gift horse and all that.”

“Yeah, I figured. I’ll arrange backup.”

Backup was easy. Barron Security was the authority in casino operations, and in addition to the Barron family properties, they had contracts with most of the tribal entities in Oklahoma. Meaning they’d have their own security force in place at Thunder River.

After Bridger walked out, Cash studied Roxanne’s driver’s license. Fresh-faced, her red hair a tangle of wisps and waves, eyes the color of the aged whiskey he liked to drink. With a click of the mouse, he displayed the clearest photo he had of her from the Barron Casino. Smoky eye shadow smudging her lids. Kiss-me red lips. Heightened color on her cheeks. The girl in the first photo appeared sure of herself, almost cocky, but with a sweetness under the surface. The second? She looked like a kid playing dress-up. Who was the real Roxanne Rowland? Cash planned to find out. And would in a matter of hours.

He couldn’t wait.

Three

Cash studied the monitors in the Thunder River Casino’s security room. He’d manually added photos of the Rowland clan to the facial recognition program. He didn’t trust Roxanne and trusted her family even less. That slip of the tongue indicating she might be followed could be paranoia, real fear or calculated intent. He leaned toward calculation. She’d certainly played him when she was a teenager.

He almost missed her when she walked in. This was not the woman he’d seen in Vegas. Everything about her was toned down—hair, makeup, clothing. He had to look twice to be sure. Then he checked her ID photo. Yes. Same woman. He wondered again who the real Roxanne Rowland was. The ID and the woman waiting at the hostess station in Cyrano’s, or the femme fatale in a little black dress and four-inch designer stilettos. Tonight, she wore tight jeans tucked into blinged-out Western boots and a body-hugging sweater belted with leather and silver.

“Keep your eyes open for any of the suspects,” Cash ordered the security supervisor.

“Yes, sir. Monitor three is the camera for her table.”

Cash’s breath came quick and sharp as he watched the hostess escort Roxanne to the table. Concentrating, he leveled out his nerves. This was business. Nothing more. He needed to stay focused. Moments later, a waitress arrived, took her order, then delivered what looked like plain iced tea.

Over the next hour, Roxanne nursed the tea, declined several offers from men and fended off increasingly impatient attentions from the waitress. She became jumpy, staring at the entrance and coming to attention every time someone entered, and constantly checked her watch. Interesting. She looked at her watch a final time, finished the tea and left a tip far larger than the cost of the drink.

Cash smiled, feeling predatory. Showtime.

Roxanne was looking over her shoulder when she plowed into him just outside Cyrano’s entrance. Reflex made him grab her arms to steady her, but something far more perverse had him hauling her up against his chest. She held still for a long moment, then pushed her arms between them and attempted to shove him away. He allowed only enough room between them that he could look down into her face.

Those amber eyes of hers widened and she wet her bottom lip with her tongue. He corralled his libido and pasted a disinterested expression on his face. Snagging her hand, he tugged her along as he returned to the security area. Two uniformed guards waited at the secured door and escorted them to a small interview room. Roxanne’s hand tightened convulsively on his as he led her inside. Interesting.

“Have a seat, Ms. Rowland.” He held out a chair for her and waited until she sat down before asking, “Why are you here?”

* * *

Roxie did her best to curb her panic. She hid her hands under the table, gripping her thighs to control their trembling. Swallowing around the lump clogging her throat, she prayed her voice remained steady. “Why am I here?”

“Easy question, Roxanne.”

“No, not really.”

“So enlighten me.”

Enlighten him? Easy for him to say. She needed to understand what was happening—why it was happening to explain her reasons for contacting him. “Do you have a couple of hours?”

He arched one brow, and darn if that didn’t set hummingbirds loose in her stomach. He was just as dark and sexy and...no, not debonair. He was too intense for debonair, too cynical. Cash didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. His piercing gaze and that oh-so-eloquent eyebrow spoke volumes.

“You probably don’t remember me.” Why would he? She’d been a gangly teenager, just turned sixteen, with wild red hair and more than her share of freckles. Mortified, she’d sat in that interview room for almost twenty hours until a fast-talking lawyer in a cheap suit had shown up with the headmistress. Sometimes, Cash had sat across from her, never speaking, just watching. Other times, he’d stood in a corner, shoulder braced against the wall, legs crossed at the ankle and arms either crossed over a very muscular chest or shoved into the front pockets of tailored slacks. Her teenage self had totally fallen for him. Her grown-up self was torn between that remembered hormonal hero worship and total terror.

She huffed out a breath, placing her fisted hands on the table. “My father is a thief.” She didn’t expect the sharp burst of laughter her statement evoked.

“There’s no need to be rude, Mr. Barron.” Heat suffused her cheeks but she ignored it. “I didn’t have to call you.”

“We would have tracked you down eventually.”

“I’m not that hard to find.”

He slid a hip onto the corner of the table and stared at her. “Last time we sat in a room like this, your name was Anne Landerson.”

Her lips pursed at that and she quickly smoothed them out to a hard line as his eyes focused on her mouth. “That’s the name I was enrolled with at that school. My father told me it was for security reasons.”

Cash laughed again, but this time, the sound was dark and derisive. “Oh, this ought to be good. Spell it out for me, Red.”

“Don’t call me that.”

And there went his eyebrow again. “I...didn’t spend much time with my father or brothers growing up. I was left with a family called the Millers until I was old enough for boarding school. I had...” She wondered how to phrase this part. “I was told not use my real name and had a false birth certificate. I had no clue what my father did. I only knew that he traveled, was very dashing and mysterious, and on more than one occasion, I imagined he was an international spy.”

His other eyebrow rose, accompanied by a twist at the corner of his mouth. Cash’s expression caused her to feel dumb about those childish fantasies. What little girl wanted to believe her father was a criminal?

“On my sixteenth birthday, a box arrived. As I’d never received a gift from my father before, this was a momentous occasion.”

“Yeah, I bet.”

Ooh. The sarcasm fairly dripped from those three words. “For a girl who had little contact with her family, who had never celebrated birthdays or Christmas, it was.”

He shifted off the table, moved to the corner and assumed a posture she’d grown familiar with. Something jiggled his jacket pocket. He reached in and withdrew his cell phone, presumably to send and receive texts. She couldn’t keep herself from admiring his long, nimble fingers, even though her blush deepened as her thoughts wandered down completely inappropriate paths.

Cash Barron was fantasy-inducing. Tall, broad-shouldered, with long legs, a slim waist. She could attest to the muscularity of his chest from her stolen moment of weakness earlier that evening. She couldn’t help but be struck by the black hair, brown eyes the color of dark-roast coffee and a sculpted face that would make a fashion model jealous. When she’d looked up his bio before calling, Roxie had been shocked to learn he wasn’t all that much older than her. At sixteen, she’d been a starry-eyed girl and he’d been very much a man. Confident, handsome, strong. She’d sat there in that room, dreaming about kissing his full lips, about falling into his arms, about... Jerking back from the sexy images, she deep-breathed through a slight panic attack when she discovered him watching her intently. The glint in his eyes was...unsettling.

“So, you received a gift from your mysterious father.”

Right back to business. This was good. She should concentrate on business, not...other things. She centered her thoughts. “Yes. I was excited when I opened it. I found what looked like costume jewelry, which I thought odd, given my age and the fact that we’d had little interaction over the years. And then I found the little picture. I thought it was a print—ballerinas in tutus, and I was thrilled. I wanted to be a ballerina at the time, despite the school’s dance master rolling his eyes whenever I attempted to dance in toe shoes.”

Cash snorted and she glared at him. “I was a lonely girl with no particular talent, Mr. Barron. I was touched because I believed the picture was my father’s way of acknowledging my dreams. I didn’t read the note attached to the package until later, when it was too late.”

“Okay. I’ll bite. What did it say?”

And why did her thoughts go right back down that dark road to sexy city? Biting was a big no-no. She cleared her throat. “My father told me to stash the box and keep it safe. I was never meant to open it. It never even occurred to him that I might mistake it for a gift. He didn’t remember it was my birthday.”

Roxie lifted her head, her gaze colliding with his. “I discovered on my sixteenth birthday that, not only was my father a wanted criminal, but he had so little regard for me that he couldn’t be bothered to remember my birthday. As you know, the jewelry turned out to be real and that sweet little print of the ballerinas turned out to be an original Degas, scammed from an eighty-year-old woman by a smooth-talking stranger, according to the police.” She dropped her hands to her lap and wiped her sweaty palms on her jeans before continuing. “The next day, I returned to the Millers. I used my birth name after that.”

“Want to explain how you ended up here?”

She contemplated that question for a moment. “Here here or here in general?”

“In Oklahoma. In Oklahoma City. Why did you go to UCO?”

“Oh. I took online classes and got my GED when I was seventeen. I checked out a directory of American colleges and universities from the library, closed my eyes, opened the book and stabbed my finger on the page.”

His dubious expression said it all. “That’s the truth, Mr. Barron.”

“Why were you in Vegas?”

“I don’t really know.” She canted her chin at a stubborn angle as her hands gripped the edge of the table. “The itinerary, hotel reservations and boarding pass showed up in my inbox. A weekend jaunt in Vegas, all expenses paid. The email said I’d won a contest. I checked with the airline. The ticket was real so I had no reason to think it was a setup until my brother Brax met me at the airport. I was given a bag of clothes from a high-end boutique, told to—and I quote—doll myself up. On the way down in the elevator, Brax told me I was to...” Her voice faltered and she swallowed down a wave of nausea. “They had a mark. Max was working him on the casino floor. I was supposed to...to be nice to him.”

“What does that mean?”

She clasped her hands and stared at them, unable to meet Cash’s gaze any longer. “They wanted me to get him to his room, to...” She had to swallow again.

“I get the picture.” His voice sounded gruff but she still couldn’t face him.

“The lights went out and then...”

“And then I almost caught you.”

“Yes.”

* * *

Cash almost believed her—that lonely little girl act was guaranteed to play on a man’s protective instincts. If this were a movie, he’d nominate her for an Oscar. She was one terrific actress. The blushes, the swallows, the trembling hands fisted together were all perfect touches.

“Why is your family targeting Barron properties?” He moved closer, then dropped into the chair across from her.

Roxanne’s head jerked up and for a fleeting moment, he wondered if he’d taken her by surprise. A look of consternation quickly followed the one of shock created by his question. Cash had interviewed a lot of people in his life. Instinct insisted this girl was exactly what she seemed—a sweet kid too naive for her own good. But experience persisted in believing her to be as big a con as the rest of her family.

Maximilian Rowland was a consummate thief and scoundrel who had raised his sons in his own mold. Why would such a man not utilize every tool he had—including his beautiful daughter? He shoved the parallel to his own father and brothers to the very back of his mind.

“I...didn’t know they were.” Her eyebrows pulled into an intriguing vee above the bridge of her scrunched-up nose. She looked cutely perplexed. “I suppose that rather falls in line with why I contacted you.”

Leaning back in the chair, he waited for her to continue.

“My father is a...criminal, Mr. Barron. We’ve been mostly estranged my entire life, but especially since that one incident. My brothers have contacted me periodically, checking up on me, occasionally sending money—which I sent back.” She hurried to add that bit of information and again, he almost believed her. “Anyway, the trip to Las Vegas was a complete surprise.”

She blinked at him, still portraying her innocence. “So you had no idea you’d be...” He searched for a word. “Working with them?”

“No! None at all. But...” Her voice trailed off and she wouldn’t look directly at him.