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  “I’m all yours.” He sat down on a wooden kitchen chair and eyed her expectantly.

  Thinking: he was all hers. This past week had been total joy. Each day he grew to know her better…to like her more. Having her in his bed was bliss, but having her beside him all day, every day, was a special kind of pleasure he’d never expected.

  Was he falling in love?

  He’d never used the l word in connection with anyone not related by blood, not even privately. He enjoyed women, both intimately and otherwise, but he’d never met one he thought he could be happy with for the rest of his life.

  Until now.

  The object of this newfound affection swallowed hard and licked her lips. Whatever was bothering her must be a beaut.

  She took a deep breath. “You’re going to hate me,” she said in a despairing voice.

  His chest constricted. “Why would you say a thing like that?”

  “Because it’s true.” Nervously she wrung out the dishcloth and spread it over the rim of the dishpan to dry. “I haven’t been—” she took in another deep breath “—quite honest with you.”

  “That’s okay,” he said, feeling the first pangs of alarm. “I wasn’t quite honest with you, either, until a couple of days ago. Tell me now and whatever it is, we’ll forget it.”

  “I don’t think so.” She pulled out a chair and sat down, a picture of dejection. “See, it’s…I think you should know, uh, that…”

  Her uncertainty alarmed him even more. She’d never minced words before. “Honey, just say it,” he urged. “I’ll understand.”

  She lifted her downcast gaze. “First you have to make me a promise.”

  “Of course.”

  “Don’t be flip. This is serious. You have to promise you won’t call the police.”

  His alarm escalated. “Why would I call the police?”

  “Because I know where Bill Overton is—or rather, I know where he’s going to be tomorrow night.”

  Rand almost fell off his chair he was so shocked. “How the hell would you know Bill’s plans?”

  She licked her lips. “Because Helen Reed is my sister.”

  Who the hell was Helen Reed? He didn’t know any Helen—And then he remembered. “Bill’s secretary? That Helen Reed?”

  She nodded miserably.

  The truth crashed into him like a runaway stagecoach: if Max was the sister of Bill’s secretary, then her appearance on that airplane in Chicago had been no accident. And when she’d agreed to marry him, that was no accident. And when she’d asked if he’d ever made moves on Bill’s secretary, that sure as hell was no accident, either.

  She shrank back. “I knew you’d be mad.”

  “Mad? Me, mad? Why would I be mad?” He sprang to his feet, awash in a flood of horrifying possibilities. “What kind of a two-faced double-dealer are you, Max?” He banged a palm flat against his temple. “I thought Bill made a fool of me, but it was nothin’ to what you’ve done.”

  “Please, Rand, let me explain.” She leaned forward, her movements jerky. “I was just trying to help my sister get out of a jam.”

  “A jam? You call being in cahoots with an embezzler a jam?”

  “She’s not in cahoots with him—she really isn’t. Helen’s weak where men are concerned—”

  “Unlike her sister, who can marry a guy and sleep with him without batting an eye.”

  She turned her head away with a strangled groan. “It wasn’t like that—it honestly wasn’t. How was I to know what would happen when I got on that plane?”

  “Yeah, how?” Couldn’t she just look at him and see he wasn’t a crook? But the final nail in her coffin of lies was that she’d slept with him. If she didn’t trust him, how could she have done that? That question left him reeling. “Lies. It was all lies.”

  A crimson flush moved up her throat and tinted her cheeks. “I’m telling the truth now,” she said miserably. “I…I also stole your briefcase in Mexico. I saw your safe-deposit key, although I didn’t realize what it was until later.”

  “You did that?”

  She hung her head. “Please believe me, I feel just awful about it. But m-maybe there’s some way we can get your money back. I’m willing to do anything so long as it doesn’t make Helen’s situation any worse.”

  “Helen, the accomplice to the real crook—that Helen? And you’d help me because…?”

  “Because I was wrong about you and I don’t want you to have to sell this ranch.”

  “Like you care.” That was cold, but he was too angry to spare her. “There’s something I can do, all right. I can be in Las Vegas to confront that—” He stopped short. This wasn’t going to be as easy as simply confronting Bill. He’d need a confession or some kind of evidence.

  What he needed was the safe-deposit key the police were so hot to find. To get it, he needed details.

  “Say something.”

  “I’m going to Las Vegas.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “You damn sure will. Do you know when and where they’re meeting?”

  “Yes, but I won’t tell you unless you promise not to involve the cops until I can get Helen out of there.”

  “Sure, hell yes, why not? Anything you want. You can trust me just like I can trust you.”

  “You can trust me—now. Can’t you see I’ve made my choice?”

  “All I see is that you’ve been working that knife deeper into my back ever since the day we met.”

  Her head drooped. “I don’t guess I can blame you for feeling that way, but I’m going just the same.”

  “I won’t stop you,” he said shortly. “So spill it—what’s the deal?”

  MAXI LOOKED anxiously around the garish lobby of the Double Play Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas, wondering if Bill Overton was already here. “Now what?” she wondered aloud.

  Rand gave her a scathing glance. He’d been cold to the point of icy since her confession, speaking to her only when it was absolutely necessary.

  “Does Bill know you?” he asked abruptly.

  “I met him once or twice. Why?”

  “I have to get him out of his hotel suite long enough for me to get in. I need to catch him in the act of taking that key.”

  “Do you think his wife will be with him?”

  He shook his head. “He’ll leave her wherever they’ve holed up. He won’t want to risk having her find out about your sister.”

  “Helen thinks she and Bill are going to run away together. Any chance of that?”

  “None whatsoever. He’s crazy about Kristi.” His gaze remained chilly, as if he didn’t care. “If you asked Bill to meet you in the lobby, would he do it?”

  “Yes.” The way he’d ogled her the only time they’d met, she was sure of it.

  “Could you keep him occupied long enough for me to break into his suite?”

  That sounded dangerous to her. Since he obviously wasn’t in any mood for solicitous expressions, she just said, “Yes,” again.

  Her tone apparently displeased him. “You may be a trifle overconfident. Overton’s a player. I don’t mean to insult you—” He ran his gaze over her dismissively. “I’m mad at you, but my mama taught me to be a gentleman. To be brutally honest, he’d never look twice at you—certainly not long enough for me to get in and get hid.”

  “That’s what you think.” What else did she have to lose? Rand might as well know that, too. “I can get him out of his suite and keep him out—forever, if that’s what you want.”

  “Yeah, right.” He rolled his eyes, adding, “I don’t think so.”

  “I do.”

  “Dammit, Max, I know the man. I doubt you could coax him across the hall, no offense intended.”

  “None taken.” Which was a lie. She held out her hand. “I’ll need some money.”

  He eyed her suspiciously. “What for?”

  “If I’m going to be your decoy, I have to look the part.” She sounded confident—very confident.

  And it hi
t him: maybe she had even more secrets than she’d hitherto revealed. Numbly he pulled out his wallet, extracted several bills and laid them on her palm without counting.

  She rolled her hand into a fist around the money. “I’ll meet you upstairs.”

  “Is that a promise?”

  “Dammit, Rand, I’m not going to run out on you.”

  Their angry glances clashed. She broke away first.

  “I’ll see you later,” she said.

  “Later.” He turned and made his way across the casino to the bank of elevators.

  Taking a deep breath, she turned in the opposite direction, toward the shops. Almost giddy, she realized that soon he’d know everything…almost.

  RAND BANGED on the bedroom door. “It’s nine-thirty. Do you ever plan to come out?”

  “I’m almost ready!”

  “You said that ten minutes ago. I’m losing patience out here.” And I never did have much faith this was going to work anyway, he added to himself.

  “Okay, stand back.”

  The knob rattled; the door flew open and out walked a goddess. Realizing his jaw had gone slack, he snapped his mouth closed, but he couldn’t stop staring.

  The short red sequined dress bought with his money plunged almost to her waist and clung to what little it covered like a coat of sparkly paint. Fabulously long legs in black stockings ended in high-heeled black slippers, and her face…her face…

  Long-lashed golden-brown eyes beneath sleek eyebrows, the kind of cheekbones that couldn’t exist in real life, lips as lush and bright as raspberries. Bright hair suddenly looking more gold than brown curled around her face and fell over alabaster shoulders. Her skin glowed like satin, while her breasts rose seductively outside the meager confines of the flashy fabric. When she moved, it was an undulation across the thick carpet.

  Even her voice sounded different: lower, sexier. “Do I pass muster?”

  Rand could hardly breathe. “You lied to me again.”

  “Not really.” She glanced down at her splendiferous self. “This is the lie. That was the real me at the Rocking T.”

  “Yeah, and I really am a rocket scientist.” He’d never felt so foolish in his life, despite the fact that the past twenty-four hours or so had hit a new high—or low—for personal stupidity. “What are you—a supermodel? You’ve got that gloss about you.”

  “I’m a plain old Violet’s Advantage catalog model, which isn’t as super as you might think.”

  He’d probably seen her photo, he realized with a sickening lurch. He’d picked up a Violet’s Advantage once while waiting for a date. Paging idly through, he’d rather absently admired the glossy women in silk and satin.

  Good old Max had been one of them?

  Bewildered by this turn of events, he crossed to the fully stocked bar and poured himself a stiff shot of straight scotch whiskey. “So what’s your name?” he asked.

  The sophisticated air fell away. “You know my name,” she said indignantly.

  “You model as Maxine Rafferty?”

  “Of course. Or at least, a nickname. Most people know me as ‘Maxi.’”

  “Maxi.” He had control again. When he turned, nothing trembled but the hand holding the drink. “That makes sense. You don’t look much like a Max at the moment.”

  She lifted her chin, her hands going to her hips. It was a pose, he realized; she was more anxious than she cared to show.

  “Okay, let’s get this show on the road,” she said.

  “We already have. I sent the message to Bill while you were dressing. He’ll meet you in the casino in—” he checked his watch “—exactly ten minutes. While you keep him busy, I’ll break into his place and hide until your sister shows up with the key. You have to keep him occupied long enough for me to get in.”

  “Just how do you intend to do that?”

  “Don’t ask.”

  She lifted her chin. “All right, I won’t.” But he could tell she wanted to. “You’ll make sure Helen doesn’t get hurt, won’t you?”

  “No one will get hurt.” He hoped.

  “And you’ll allow her to leave before you call the police.”

  “Let’s just say I won’t make any effort to keep her there. It’s Bill Overton I’m after. Look,” he added impatiently, “I need you to occupy Bill for at least a half hour. Once you dump him, come back here to this suite and wait. If you hear a commotion, call the cops.”

  “No cops.” She wavered. “What kind of commotion?”

  “You know—gunshots, bombs, anything like that.”

  “Rand! Surely you don’t think there’ll be gunfire.”

  “Nah,” he said, “I was kidding. Just stay out of the way, okay? If I have to worry about your sister, I don’t need you to worry about, as well. Just do your part and we’ll pull this off.”

  He finished his drink. “You’d better head on down. Take the service elevator in back so you won’t risk running into him.”

  She licked those glossy lips. “All right.”

  He didn’t want to soften, but he did. “Scared?”

  “Only for Helen.”

  “Good girl.” Damn! He couldn’t let her get to him again.

  She undulated to the door and paused with her hand on the knob. “Good luck, Rand.”

  “Good luck…Maxi.”

  She was gone.

  RAND LOITERED near the bank of telephones in the lobby, pretending to read a newspaper but really shielding his face. When Bill stepped off an elevator, it was harder than hell to let his former friend stroll past as if he were king of the world. Once the coast was clear, Rand darted inside an elevator and punched the up button, glad this part of the plan was over.

  Watching Maxi wow the throng had not been a pleasant experience. By the time Rand got downstairs himself, she was surrounded by a mob intent on seeing the glamorous model up close and maybe even get her autograph.

  Hell, he liked her better as plain old Max—and he wasn’t jealous.

  On the eighteenth floor, he moved out cautiously. Bill’s suite was just around that corner. Luxuriant greenery spilled from niches evenly spaced along the wall between doors, offering some cover for his furtive approach to the double doors of 1808.

  But he didn’t stop there, instead heading for his own suite next door at 1810. He crossed the room swiftly and let himself out onto the balcony in back. With care, he climbed up on the high balustrade, holding on to the building for support.

  Las Vegas sparkled below him in all its garish glory, but he wasn’t interested. All his attention focused on 1808. A good eight-or nine-foot gap separated the two balconies—and they were eighteen stories high. Still, he figured he could make the jump.

  If he tried really, really hard…

  Hell, he’d done this sort of thing for a movie when he was only twelve. All he had to do was remember Trey’s advice: if you’re gonna do it, go all out. Halfway measures can get you killed.

  He closed his eyes for just a moment to center himself, opened them again and without hesitation hurled his body into space.

  His feet hit the balustrade of Bill’s balcony and he fell forward, landing hard on his hands and knees on the artificial turf. For a moment he crouched there between a patio chair and a planter, head down, breathing hard. His hands and knees stung with the force of his landing, but he’d made it. The rest should be easy.

  Nobody was going to worry about locking a sliding door eighteen stories up. If Bill had walked outside to admire the view—and who wouldn’t?—that door would be unlocked.

  Quietly Rand tested the mechanism. The door slid open easily and he stepped inside. He moved stealthily to the entryway and pressed his ear against the front door.

  And almost immediately heard someone fumbling with the lock. He ducked around the edge of the enormous planter in the entryway, wiggling deep into the lush greenery. Lighting here was low and dramatic, which would make detection difficult.

  Had Bill lost interest in Maxi already?

&nb
sp; Jeez, not a chance. Which could only mean—

  That was not Bill Overton pushing open the door.

  A woman whipped through the arched entry and slammed the door behind her. Long blond hair swirled around her expensively tanned face and he recognized Kristi Overton. Bill’s showgirl wife, small overnight case in hand, was about to surprise her husband. Judging by the expression on her face, it wouldn’t be a pleasant surprise.

  Pausing, she fumbled at the pocket of shiny skin-tight jeans and shoved a credit card inside. That really worked? If it was that easy, Rand should have tried it himself instead of playing Spider Man.

  The doorknob rattled again and Kristi sprang around like a tigress. Jeez, someone else was trying to get in. Rand fought the desire to press deeper into the foliage. Trey had explained that the eye was attracted by motion. It was better to simply hold still and pray.

  So Rand did. The door opened and another woman stood there, but this one didn’t stride boldly in. She slipped inside as if she expected the police to jump out at her any minute.

  It was Helen Reed, early for her rendezvous with Bill Overton. She saw Kristi and stopped short.

  Kristi planted her hands on her hips. “And you,” she said coolly, “would be Helen Reed if I’m not mistaken.”

  Helen blinked. She was pretty but not nearly the knockout her sister was. “I…I’m sorry, I thought this was Mr. Overton’s suite.”

  “It is. I am Mrs. Overton.”

  Helen’s eyes widened still more. “That’s impossible. Bill never told me he was—”

  “Well, he is, and I’m her. I think you and I better have a nice long talk. Then—”

  “Ms. Reed! Wait up!”

  What was this—Grand Central Station? R. Renwood Keever rushed into the entryway, briefcase flapping at his side. Helen let out a little squeak of alarm and fell back a few steps, while Kristi started forward.

  “Ah,” Keever said, “I see you two have met. I was afraid of that.”

  At which point he pulled a revolver from his pocket and pointed it awkwardly at the two women. Suddenly Rand’s options narrowed to exactly one.

  MAXI DISTRACTED BILL for forty minutes before realizing she couldn’t stand any more of this, even if he could; he was practically salivating. She had already confided her deep fears for her sister and he had already assured her that Helen was in no real trouble, which Maxi knew was a lie.