Burn It Up(82)

She couldn’t read his face, but she knew he was hanging on her every word.

“I don’t know if that’s still what I want,” she admitted. “I think maybe I’m in danger of wanting more. And I think if we keep going like we have been, and sleeping together, I’m going to get myself into a position where I might get my heart broken.”

After a long pause, he finally spoke. “Wow. Okay.” Was that shock in his voice? Awe? Sheer terror?

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” she said.

“I’m thinking nobody’s ever made me feel half as flattered as you just did,” he said, smiling still but looking nervous, too. “But if you’re going to be that honest, I better be, too. I don’t know what I want. Wait—no, that’s not entirely true. I don’t know what I’m capable of, I guess. Even knowing my mental health is stable, I’m afraid to promise more than I’m used to delivering on. Because it’s different, with a baby in the picture.”

She nodded. “It is. And I’m not exactly sure what I want, either.” She drew her spine up straight and did something she wasn’t accustomed to—she made a demand of the man she was sleeping with. “Before I could ever know if what I want from you is a future, I’d have to know what it is you’ve been up to, since you left Fortuity. What you were doing in Texas.”

He swallowed. “I’m not sure I could tell you that.”

That brought a frown to her lips. “It was illegal; that much is obvious. And if you don’t think you want anything serious, of course you don’t need to say. But if you ever thought maybe you did, I’d have to know. I’ve gotten real good at ignoring red flags, but I can’t do that, now that Mercy’s here. I thought at first, I just couldn’t fall for another man with a criminal record. But you seem like you’ve changed, like you said, and I’m starting to wonder if maybe I could get past that.”

“I have changed. Or I’m starting to. Trying to.”

Abilene nodded, feeling hopeful. She’d forgiven James a lot, and he’d hurt people. For all she knew, he may have killed people, and if not, she had little doubt that the weapons he ran would have managed the crime by proxy. There was no way Casey was a hit man or a rapist or a sex trafficker or anything truly heinous. He used to care about money, a lot. So a thief, maybe? A counterfeiter? A criminal of some sort, she imagined, but not a violent one. She trusted that. Sensed it. And he couldn’t scare her off. Not unless . . .

“It’s not about drugs, is it?”

He shook his head. “Nothing to do with drugs.”

She sighed inside, relieved beyond measure. That was the only deal breaker she could think of. Anything else he might’ve been in his old life—scam artist, bank robber, porn star—she assured herself that she could take in stride.

“Okay. Good.”

“But it’s tricky, honey. If I told you what I’ve done, you’d have all the information you’d need to get me put away for the rest of my life.”

Her bubble promptly burst.

“I can’t have you knowing those things.”

“You think I’d tell someone?” She couldn’t say which hurt worse now, that or the fear of hearing the details. Do I even know who I’ve been sleeping with? Who I’ve let into my life, and my daughter’s?

She did know who Casey was, in some ways. Knew he was kind, funny, patient, caring, passionate. She’d finally done it, it seemed. After years and years of falling for bad boys, she’d found a good man—good in the here and now, if not in his past. A good man who lit her up, and who seemed lit right back. She refused to give up on that dream, not until she knew the ugly truth.

“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he said. “Not at all. But if you knew, and somebody came investigating me in a few weeks or months or years, that could make you complicit.”

“Jesus, Casey. What on earth did you do?”

He smiled his apology, the gesture tired and sad.

“You promised me you didn’t hurt anyone.”

He shook his head. “Not physically, no. I was a thief, but in exactly what way, I can’t tell you. Not yet, anyway.”

“Okay.” A thief, just as she’d suspected. Her chest loosened, if not completely. “Would you at least tell me what it is you served time for?” She could probably go online and find out, or ask one of his friends, but she wanted to hear it from Casey.

“I did six months, when I was twenty-two,” he said, then smirked. “The charge was impersonating an officer.”

She blinked. “What?”

“It’s a long, ridiculous, blurry story. I was pretty new to Vegas. There was a lot of alcohol involved, and a girl, and me agreeing to pass myself off as a cop to try to keep her friend from getting the real police called on him by a pit boss. I was young and dumb—it didn’t occur to me that she was asking me to commit a felony. But anyhow, I did my time, and the friend I got busted trying to help, he wound up being my in with all those card-counting folks, so there was that, at least.”

Her nerves unknotted. “That doesn’t sound so terrible.”

“Nah, it was just stupid as shit. My first attempted con, you might say. I learned a valuable lesson at least—don’t drink on the job.”