Her Sexiest Surprise. Dawn Atkins

weak and sad and helpless. Something was wrong, just as she’d suspected.

      Going closer, she noticed how much older and frailer he seemed, his hair a wispy gray, his face drawn and wind-burned. He was only forty-five. Her heart squeezed tight in her chest.

      Whatever it is, we’ll fix it, she promised the sleeping man. She touched his thin shoulder. “Dad?”

      “What? Huh?” He jerked upright, eyes wide. “Oh, Chloe. It’s you. So late.” He groaned, rubbed his face and dropped back to the headrest, staring up at the ceiling.

      “What is it, Dad? What’s wrong?”

      “Nothing,” he said, his eyes telling a different story. “Everything’s…fine.”

      “Not exactly.” She held the liquor bottle before him.

      “It was a mistake. I slipped.” His mouth went grim.

      “You had a reason. Tell me what happened.”

      “I can handle it. Don’t you worry about me.”

      “Tell me what it is and we’ll fix it together.”

      He stared at her, swallowing hard, his fingers picking at the fabric of the armrest. “It’s just something with Sal, that’s all. I will handle it.”

      “Sal Minetti?” Sal was Enzo’s nephew. He was bad news and his friends were even worse. Enzo complained about him a lot.

      “I’ll work it out. Don’t give it a thought.” Her dad reached for her hand, but his was trembling.

      “Tell me what happened, Dad,” she said levelly.

      Tears slid from his eyes and he shook his head slowly back and forth, the way he used to when he’d lost too much at the track or had to be picked up from a bar, too drunk to drive. He was ashamed, tortured by his failure.

      He’d never been drunk at work or spent grocery or rent money, but they’d also never had spare cash and Chloe had become expert at creating arty looks with thrift-store buys.

      He’d assuage his guilt with ridiculous extravagances—a fancy boom box, a giant stuffed giraffe, a top-of-the-line mountain bike. He tried. He loved them. He just had…limits.

      “Talk to me.”

      “Sal asked me to drive for him,” he said shakily. “He and his buddies, Carlo and Leo, wanted to go to this strip mall in Glendale. So, no problem, I drive ’em. They’re quiet, which should tip me off…” He swallowed again and eyed the ceiling.

      “So they tell me to pull around back, they need to talk to a guy, and they get out with backpacks. Next thing I know they’re running to the car, backpacks jammed. They robbed a jewelry store. They had some guy fox the security system and I dunno what all, but it’s not on the up-and-up. That I know.”

      “You didn’t get caught, right? So you’re okay?”

      He shook his head, miserable. “No, but they want me to keep driving. ‘Special assignments,’ Sal calls it.”

      “You have to tell him you can’t do it.”

      “You don’t say no to these guys.”

      “They can get somebody else, Dad.”

      “But, see, that’s it….” He swallowed hard, as if gathering courage. “See, Sal helped me out with a shortfall. If I do this, I’m covered.”

      “More gambling?”

      “An investment idea went south.”

      Anger stabbed at her. Why was her father so vulnerable to something-for-nothing schemes? At least it hadn’t been illegal gambling. She fought to focus on the problem at hand.

      “We have to talk to Enzo, Dad. He’ll stop Sal.”

      “Absolutely not.” He lunged forward, his eyes wide. “If Enzo finds out, I don’t want to know what Sal might do, who he might hurt.”

      Sal had threatened them? She couldn’t imagine. He didn’t seem violent, but she only saw him flirting at the bar. Her father looked petrified. Maybe someone above Sal was the danger.

      “Then the police,” she said. “If Sal’s doing crime, he should be arrested.” What about Riley? Her heart leaped with hope. Riley would help her. He’d been so kind and generous.

      “Not with my record.”

      “It was a few days in county for drunk and disorderly. And in Chicago, they conned you as much as they did, those business owners, who were crooks, too.”

      “It’s enough, trust me. Cops only care about the rules.”

      “We’ll get an attorney to protect you.”

      “With what money? No. Just let it ride for now. I told you I’ll handle it. I will.”

      “This won’t just go away.” She lifted the bottle again. “And this makes things worse.”

      “I know. I lost my strength. I had so much hope, see, and I wanted you to be proud. It was for your school. I wanted to surprise you on your birthday. Instead I screwed up again.” His eyes were red and desperate.

      “Just don’t drink, Dad. That’s the gift I want from you. And use good sense. No quick deals, no easy money. Think before you jump. If it looks too good to be true, it is too good to be true.” She was babbling the same advice she always gave and he somehow failed to heed, but she had to do something with her frustration. “It’ll be all right, Dad. I know it will.”

      First, she’d talk to Riley. Thank God she’d met him. He wasn’t a hard-ass like the highway patrolman who gave her a speeding ticket outside Blythe. That guy hadn’t cracked a smile when she’d asked if his day was going better than hers. He just lectured her like she was an idiot and slapped the ticket into her palm. Riley would be sympathetic.

      Maybe all he had to do was put out the word and this could go away. It felt strange to ask for a favor from a man she’d only known naked, but when it came to family, you did what you had to do. That was something the old Chloe knew cold.

      THE DOORBELL WOKE RILEY. Seven o’clock, according to his clock. Who could it be? He’d told Max and the squad he intended to sleep all weekend as a reward for solving the Sanchez case.

      Climbing out of bed, he noticed gray light through the window and the drip of water. More spring rain. A good thing, since it had to hold them through the broiling Arizona summer. But hearing it made him want to curl under the covers for a morning snooze. With Chloe.

      Too bad she hadn’t stayed. Not his typical response. He liked waking up alone and peaceful. But the sex hadn’t been typical and neither had the woman.

      He’d have made her breakfast. Oatmeal anyway, but he’d have made it special. Didn’t he have a banana? Then some leisurely sack time, after which they could read the paper from the terrace, watch the quail boss their newborn chicks around, smell that great wet-desert smell. Someone had explained it was only creosote and dust, but to him it smelled healthy and pure and made him glad to be alive.

      Idle clattered to the door as Riley stepped into jersey shorts and fished out a T-shirt.

      The doorbell rang again and Idle barked. “Hang on,” Riley shouted. Where’s the fire? He wanted to sink back into bed and conjure up Chloe’s moves and cries. She’d intrigued him, charged him up, made him feel new.

      Leave it alone. He couldn’t see her again, not with what he was doing at Enzo’s—gathering leads, watching who ate with whom and what they said to each other, then passing it on to the Phoenix FBI’s Task Force on Organized Crime. They considered him a resource and often picked his brain.

      Besides, he liked things simple and Chloe was not a simple girl—taking care of her family the way she’d described told him that. Last night was a one-time deal. She clearly wanted