LITMIR.BIZ

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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.

      “But what?”

      “I have the feeling they aren’t done with me.” She leaned forward, her expression earnest. “To be perfectly honest, Mr. Barron, I want nothing to do with them. I like my job. There are things I want to do with my life and they do not include jail time.” She inhaled deeply, huffed out the breath and plastered a serious look on her face. “I have a proposal for you.”

      Cash watched, making sure there was nothing on his face for her to read. “A proposal.”

      “Yes.” She nodded enthusiastically and leaned even closer.

      He glanced down, just to see what she was “offering.” Nothing. Her sweater remained sedately in place. He was almost disappointed. Then her pursed lips caught his attention.

      “You see, as I stated, I don’t want anything to do with them, but if you—or the police—can catch them, then I get to keep my life.”

      “And keeping your life is important to you?”

      She tossed him a cute expression meant to convey “duh.”

      “Exactly. Look, I’m a museum curator by education. I want to work in a museum. Being the corporate archivist for RCM is interesting, but I really want to use my history degree. My father and brothers? They’ll ruin everything.”

      “And your proposal?”

      “Oh! I thought I’d said. I’m pretty sure they plan on dragging me into whatever their scheme is. I can pretend to play along, notify you, and you and the police can swoop in and arrest them.”

      “Swoop in.”

      She nodded enthusiastically again. “Exactly.”

      Cash didn’t believe her, but he admitted things were getting interesting. “Tell me what you do know.”

      She rambled along, either filling in blanks or making stuff up as she went. She was an imaginative little thing. He was busy texting Bridger. She had a proposition? He had the beginnings of a plan.

      “Um... I still have the dress.”

      “Dress?” He looked up from his phone.

      “Yes, the one I told you about. The one I wore to the casino? It still had the tags when I wore it and I was told not to tear them off because my brother planned to return the dress for credit. Or he shoplifted it and just told me that.”

      “Uh-huh.”

      “I want to send it back to the store...or at least find out if someone actually paid for it. I might keep it if Braxton did. He’s a pig.”

      Somewhere along the way, Cash had lost control of the conversation, though the flurry of texts he exchanged

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