Page 395 of Devil’s Disciples

“You said you went right to the diner, and then came up here, right?” I asked.

He nodded. “Yep.”

“And Cash was driving in the dark? At almost sunrise?”

“Yep.”

“Where the hell were you?” I asked with a laugh. “Mexico City?”

“About as bad,” he responded dryly. “Fucking Bakersfield.”

My heart stopped. “Did you say Bakersfield?”

“Yeah, why? You ever been there?”

Two weeks earlier, I would have done what I always did. Skirted the truth. Through a series of carefully-worded manipulative responses, I would have left Goose thinking one thing while knowing his interpretation of what I’d said wasn’t the truth at all.

Now?

I wasn’t willing to manipulate him. Complete honesty was the only way things could work between us. I either had to trust him or walk away. I wasn’t about to walk away.

“Yeah, I’ve been there,” I said.

I left it at that, and then I felt guilty. I started to elaborate, but he interrupted my thoughts before I could speak.

“What took you to Bakersfield?” he asked. “Hell, you’ve only been here for what? Three months? That place is a shit-hole.”

“I went there for work,” I said.

He chuckled. “Went there to pick a pocket?”

“No.” I swallowed regret. “It was a bigger job than that.”

“Well.” His gaze fell to the toes of his boots. He rubbed his head with the palms of his hand. “Our night in Bakersfield wasn’t very fruitful.” He looked up. “How was your trip there? Fruitful?”

“I was there last night,” I admitted. “It was very fruitful.”

I held my breath.

His eyes widened. “You were in Bakersfield last night?”

It could have been coincidental. I doubted it. My mouth went dry. I swallowed hard. Twice. “I was.”

He turned sideways. Now facing me directly, his eyes went from wide to thin. Paper thin. “How big of a job?”

“It uhhm. It was big. Really big.”

He lifted one eyebrow. The curious one. “Care to elaborate?”

The only way things would truly work between us was for both of us to be brutally honest with one another. Keeping secrets, regardless of the reason behind them, was a recipe for disaster.

“We’re going to have to reach an agreement,” I said.

“What kind of agreement?”

“I’ve never talked to anyone about my work,” I explained. “Well, short of my father, and he was my partner. Or, I was his. I keep to myself and do my thing. If I’m going to talk to you about everything and be honest, entirely honest, you’re going to have to do the same with me. That’s the only way things will ever be on the up and up between us. Agree?”

He looked away. “I don’t want to lie to you. I just. I don’t think I can tell you everything.”