by Silver James
Alex peeled away and Braxton took his place, herding the woman toward the table where Max sat, relaxed and cheerful. She stumbled and Cash found himself reaching forward as if to catch her. Braxton made no move to assist, and it was a stranger who offered a steadying hand. He managed to read her lips, the words and expression easy to translate. “Pardon me. I’m so sorry,” she mouthed before Braxton swept her along in front of him.
“Bridge, pull in some markers. Find out when the Rowlands added a woman to their crew. I want to know who she is.”
“On it.”
Cash continued to study the woman. She looked...uncomfortable. Unsure. If it was an act, it was a good one. She ended up squeezed between Max and the man next to him at the table, all but sprawled in the man’s lap. Something hot and angry lanced through him. Keying the camera on her face, he could see that she looked young and scared despite the getup. That didn’t fit the Rowlands’ MO at all. That odd sense of recognition continued to niggle at him and he sorted through memories of all the women he knew. He’d figure it out sooner or later.
He’d been so intent on the woman—girl—he’d lost track of the other Rowlands. “Where’s Alex? And where did Ajax and Dexter disappear to?”
Various scenes flickered on the monitors mounted to the wall in front of him and a lot of cuss words filtered into muttered conversations as Chase’s security staff combed the screens for a sighting. Something popped, and then there was a hum like a generator winding down. Moments later, lights dimmed, monitors died and the room was plunged into darkness.
Cash was out of his chair and headed toward the door as backup lighting kicked in. He tapped the emergency code into the keypad and had to shove the door open when the lock clicked. He heard Bridger shouting behind him.
“Lock down the counting room and the vault. Deploy personnel to all the exits.”
Knowing Bridge would take control of the security room, Cash sprang into action. He needed to get his hands on one of the Rowlands. And he definitely wanted to get his hands on the red-haired woman.
* * *
The lights went out and the packed casino floor erupted into pandemonium. Women squealed. Men shouted. Other voices rose, yelling above the melee in an effort to restore order. Lights from cell phones added ghostly illumination to the scene as emergency lighting flickered on.
Someone gripped Roxie’s arm and jerked. She attempted to pull away but hearing her name growled shocked her into compliancy. Max. She tripped after him, trying to stay upright. Blasted shoes. She hobbled in her father’s wake, then he shoved her at Dex with a muffled, “Get her undercover.”
The next thing she knew, she was tossed over her brother’s shoulder like a sack of flour, and no amount of beating against his back made him release her. She tried to kick her legs but his arm was an iron band across her knees. When they reached one of the exit doors, he set her down and backed her against the wall. A moment later, the door slammed open, missing her by a hair.
She watched a tall man sprint through the exit. Dark hair, broad shoulders, a shadowed jawline. His suit was likely hand-tailored. Roxie wondered who he was as Dex disappeared into the stairwell and the door closed. She pulled on the handle, panicked now that she was alone. The door didn’t budge. She had to get away.
Roxie turned, feeling the blood drain from her face. She recognized the man now. Cash Barron, standing there, bigger’n Dallas. She whirled to run the other direction only to be brought up short by two security guards who could play middle linebacker for the Dallas Cowboys. She pivoted very slowly to face the man she’d never been able to get out of her fantasies. She was in so much trouble now.
“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”
Two
As soon as Cash saw her up close, he remembered who she was—or who he thought she’d been. Anne Landerson—a slightly clueless student who’d been involved with the theft of some jewels and fine art from his great-aunt Elizabeth. He reached out to snag her but she charged, ducking under his arm and diving into the crowd milling around the lobby. He plowed after her but she was gone, running right out of her shoes. He was left with a pair of killer stilettos in a color his sisters-in-law described as “Do-Me Red.” Like a whiff of smoke, she was gone.
Two hours later, he was no closer to capturing any of them. Despite the lockdown, the Rowlands had escaped, as had the girl. Frustrated at every turn, Cash threw in the allegorical towel and returned to Oklahoma City.
Cash spent the week chasing shadows, but no concrete leads had popped up. Neither had the Rowlands. Frustrated, he sat in his office staring at the designer high heels displayed on his desk. How the hell did a woman walk on stilts like them? Then he remembered the stumbling gait of the woman in the security footage. A woman dressed to the nines, with makeup meant for seduction, wearing a black cocktail dress that hugged her curves like a lover. A curious dichotomy. He’d pulled the file on his aunt’s case, one of the first Barron Security had handled after he took over.
The girl had claimed to know nothing about the stolen goods—only that she’d received a package in the mail and the items had been inside. She’d been scared, panic and apologies reflected in her huge amber eyes—eyes Cash hadn’t forgotten in the six years since the incident. The school’s headmistress and the lawyer who’d showed up had met with the prosecutor and a deal had been worked out. Seemed the kid was probably an innocent dupe so Barron Security signed off on community service and recovery of the property.
Now he had another problem. He’d run a search on Anne Landerson. She didn’t exist. There was no record of her in any databases his team could access. Bridger was calling in favors to check those they couldn’t without special dispensation. In the meantime, he had to focus on the Rowlands. He was no closer to discovering why they were targeting Barron properties and what their endgame could be.
Twice now, this girl had been in the Rowlands’ crosshairs. Why? Was she with one of the brothers? That created a tangled knot of thoughts. For reasons he couldn’t identify, Chase didn’t like the idea of her belonging to someone.
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.