Nope.

He reached across the table and took her small hand in his. Although she'd seemed a large presence behind the security desk, in reality she wasn't especially large and her hand shivered when he took it.

"I knew it," she whispered.

He nodded. She was a Native American. If ever there was a people who should have developed a sixth sense for false promises, for offers too good to be true, for even common decency, they were it. Rick didn't think that kind of sixth sense could be selected for by evolution but it could be trained by the stories Indians would have told their children. Beware the white man's promise. When he offers blankets, beware the smallpox they carry. When he promises land for as long as the sun shines, suspect an eclipse on the way. When they offer jobs too good to believe, suspect they're jobs that lead to jail or worse. Then again, he was another white man offering promises.

"We have a plan," he told her.

"I'll bet."

"Come back to my room and I'll tell you."

She laughed. "That has got to be the worst pickup line I've ever heard."

"Yeah, well, my skills lie elsewhere. Besides, you have your gun. If I make a move you don't like, you can shoot me. Who would argue with the head of security?"

"I didn't say I wouldn't like your moves."

Well, yeah. He had picked that up from her response. That didn't mean he didn't have a plan. He couldn't undo centuries of mistreatment the Native Americans had suffered but bio-DNA could cure the plague of alcoholism that affected so many and the tribe had to have some resources, investments. Given the right timing, a few million tribal dollars could make the difference between a downturn and a market rout. "Let's give it a try, then, shall we?"

She stared at him for a good twenty seconds before pulling her hand back from his. "Yeah, why the hell not?"