that money—I’m as good as dead. I know Marrón has men on the inside here. Hell, even the guards let him set up this fake fiancée arrangement, not just once, but three times now. It wouldn’t take more than a snap of his fingers to get me killed.
And yet, here I am. Here I am, softening toward her. Here I am, thinking about doing this. Thinking about telling her the truth, about trusting her.
I shouldn’t. I can’t. And yet…
“You have to promise me something, Ashley,” I murmur.
“Anything,” she replies, without hesitation, without guile. I’m right. She’s too good for her old man. By miles. Too good for this entire shit situation she’s been roped into.
“Promise me, whatever happens, that you won’t think worse of me, for telling you this. I shouldn’t. I should take this story with me to the grave. But…” My words catch in my throat.
She shifts in my arms. Rolls over, and this time, I let her. Let those big brown eyes of hers find mine, and lock on. I can’t lie. Not when she looks at me like that. “But?” she murmurs.
“But you make me want to tell the truth. No matter how many people it puts in danger.”
A little frown line appears between her brows. A crease of concern that I want nothing more than to kiss and smooth away. But I’m about to make that frown line deeper, and I know it.
“Telling me about the money won’t put anyone in danger, Damon,” Ashley whispers. “All it will do is secure my father’s business—my business, for a little while longer. That’s it. We don’t want to hurt anyone, I promise you.”
“You don’t, Ashley. And I believe that. But I was telling you the truth when I said you don’t know your father as well as you think you do.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She lifts her chin, meets my gaze without fear, without judgment. She just wants the truth. I’ve not met many people like her, people who aren’t looking for white lies to soften the blow or to ease the pain. I’m usually a straight shooter—I’m not used to being the one tempted to lie, tempted to tell her another story, any story, that will make this easier for her.
But when I stare into those big brown eyes of hers, and when she whispers, “Tell me, Damon,” I can’t do anything else.
“I agreed to do a job for your father. To rob the Cornerstone Bank. Local business, owned by Eric Brown. Small job, not a huge payroll, but I was in a bind, needed the cash.”
Her brow furrows a little bit more. “I know all this.”
“No,” I tell her, “you don’t. Not the whole truth of it.”
“Then explain to me what I’m missing.”
I lean closer. Tilt my head forward until my forehead rests against hers, and I have an unimpeded view of those gorgeous eyes, the kind of eyes a guy like me could drown in. She might look innocent, but Ashley Marrón is dangerous, all right. Possibly the most dangerous woman I’ve ever met.
I decide I don’t care.
“Things went south. The owner’s wife and kid were at the bank too. The wife started to scream the moment she saw my gun. I managed to calm her down, got the owner to fill the bags I carried. But when my back was turned…” I groan. “The wife had a cell phone. She dialed the police. I called your father, told him we had to abort—he was outside in the car. I was running to meet him, bag from the vault in hand, when I ran into him going the other way. Back into the bank.”
I pause, check Ashley’s expression. She’s still staring at me, deadpan, waiting for the reveal.
God, I hope I’m doing the right thing. I hope this blow doesn’t hit her as hard as I fear it will.
“He had a gun drawn, Ashley. I sensed something was wrong. I shouted for Eric, the bank owner, to run. He didn’t, though. He helped his wife and daughter out the side door, then faced your father alone, unarmed.”
“No,” Ashley breathes. “Dad didn’t—he wouldn’t.”
“I stole the car your father left idling. Picked up the wife and daughter around the side of the bank. Drove them away, just as we heard the gunshot back inside.”
“He wouldn’t.”
“Your father doesn’t like leaving loose ends, Ashley. He was worried Eric would talk, pin this back on us. He called, left me about a dozen voice messages telling me how