Redeemed By The Cowgirl

“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 (#u425a392b-c8b9-5f64-8b48-c8613b744528)

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.