Purty hooked a thumb through the waistband of his jeans and moved forward. "The gal's gotta answer a few questions."
"Like, how'd you know our names?" Mose boomed out.
Viloula shot a worried glance at Lainie.
Lainie smiled and gave her a meaningful look. I'm a writer, her look said. Trust me.
Viloula nodded slowly, as if she understood. "Go .. . go ahead, Alaina... . Tell him the trut'."
"No, tell us a goddamn lie," Mose snapped, surging forward. Purty stopped him with a quick hand movement.
Inspiration struck. Lainie grinned. "You want the truth, do you? All right then, the truth is ... I'm Viloula's granddaughter."
Silence crashed into the cabin. Viloula's mouth dropped open at the blatancy of the lie.
"She thinks we're stupid," Mose hissed, his eyes narrowing.
Lainie struggled to hold back a smile. "Why, Mose, I would never think that."
"You're white," he said, taking a threatening step toward her.
"Am I?" One dark black brow winged upward in silent question.
Mose stopped.
Purty studied her, his smile flattened now. "I knowed a whore once in Abilene. Her daddy was black as night, and she was pale as you or me, Mose."
Mose turned slowly to Viloula. "You're one of us, Viloula. You backin' her story?"
"Yes," was all Viloula said, but it was enough. Lainie
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knew that the men couldn't question the old woman. As Mose had said, she was one of them.
"You told her about us?" Purty asked.
Viloula nodded. "She left Seattle just two weeks ago. I meant to meet her in de Flats?but she ran into you boys instead."
Lainie looped her thumbs through her belt loops and grinned. "It was quite a piece of luck."
Viloula shot her an irritated look.
The frown on Mose's face was so deep and dark, it looked as if he were standing in shadows. He watched Lainie's every move, studied her, but he didn't say a word.
"Can I get you boys a cup of coffee?" Viloula said, gesturing toward the stove.
"Naw," Purty said, "we got to divide up the loot from the robbery."
Lainie gave him a broad smile. "An outlaw's work is never done."
Purty shook his head. "Lordy, you shore got a mouth on you, lady."
Viloula elbowed her, hard. "She get her mout' from her papa. He was a slick-talking shoe salesman from Detroit."
Purty grabbed Mose by the arm and maneuvered the bigger man out of the cabin. Killian waited, watched them go, then he turned back to the women.
"That was a hell of a performance," he said in a soft voice. He leaned against the doorjamb, one leg crossed over the other. To all outward appearances, he was relaxed, calm. But Lainie wasn't fooled. There was a tenseness in his body, a dangerousness in his eyes. He reminded her of a coiled snake, all sleek, contained power, waiting to strike.