Becoming Rain (21 page)

“A lot of people would have a hard time turning that down,” I concede, as hope sparks inside me. A shred of guilt means a
chance
to turn away. Unless he's lying to me about everything. Only time will tell, I guess. I plant a kiss against his neck, decidedly my favorite body part on him. It allows me to whisper, so quietly that no room bug will pick it up. “And
no one's getting hurt?”

His jaw bumps against my cheek as he shakes his head. Pushing my chin up with his hand, he locks eyes with me again. “I don't hurt people.”

Oh, Luke.
My heart begins to hurt for this guy, in some ways still such an impressionable boy. He's going to have a rude awakening when Sinclair gets ahold of him. When he drops those evidence photos in front of him, like I expect him to, of Wayne Billings's dead body, and the other victims. And he proves to him that while not directly . . . Luke
does
hurt people, by helping his uncle keep the vicious cycle alive.

His thumb drags along my bottom lip. “You don't have to be afraid of me. I could never hurt you. I can't stand the idea of anyone hurting you.”

I believe him.

I wonder what Luke would say if I came home with my eyes blackened and my lip split open up after a bad day at work. Would he accept it as part of my profession? Or would he give me the same ultimatum that David did: it's either my job or him. I resented David for forcing me to make the decision, even though it was an easy one. Of course my career would come first, before any guy. That's been my philosophy since the day I joined the police force and I've never questioned it.

Until now, it would seem. I guess maybe my feelings for David were never really that strong. Or, maybe my feelings for Luke are growing much too strong.

I inhale deeply and dare ask, “What are you doing with your uncle, Luke?”

He cups my jaw gently, pulling my face into his in a kiss much sweeter than before, his forehead pressed against mine as he whispers, “Would you leave me if I told you?”

“Maybe I'm greedy too.” I force a smile.
No, I won't leave you until I have to arrest you
.

He suddenly flips me over onto my stomach and reaches for another condom on the nightstand, his tongue following the swirls of the tattoo on my shoulder.

I give in. He's not ready to divulge everything to me. This is just the beginning.

The beginning of a true “us” in his eyes.

And the beginning of the end for Luke Boone.

■ ■ ■

I lie for hours in Luke's arms, watching him snore softly, his face more boyish and angelic than it deserves to be. Replaying his words—his admission.

And with the eastern sky beginning to lighten beyond the window, I don't care about any of it. All I want to do is lean forward and kiss him. Steal him away from the bad stuff, convince him to start over because I believe he isn't beyond saving yet.

I'm so fucked.

It doesn't take a genius to see that we've just reached a new level in our “relationship.” One with a steady climb of constant texting and spending time together. And sex. There's no way I can maintain this. Not as an undercover with a federal surveillance team on me.

I need to distance myself.

Luke doesn't stir as I pry myself from his arms and dress. I duck out of his cabin and tiptoe into mine, being sure not to make even the slightest sound as I slide into my bed. When I fake a few morning coughs, I make sure I aim them directly at the dragonfly necklace that sits exactly where I left it on the nightstand.

Chapter 33

■ ■ ■

LUKE

“Shit . . .” The second I crack my eyes to find the other side of my bed empty, panic takes over. I went too far. I told her too much.

Scrambling out of bed to pull a pair of pants on, I throw my door open, intent on begging, apologizing, denying . . . anything.

Rain, who must have been just leaving her cabin, lets out a small yelp as I surprise her in the hallway. After a delayed second, she smiles. “Hey.” Her eyes trailing over my hair remind me that it's probably on end. I self-consciously reach up to begin taming it.

“Don't.” She laughs and curls her hand over my bicep to stop me. “It looks good like that. How did you sleep?”

She's impossible to read. I can't even guess at what's going on inside that pretty head of hers, about what I told her last night. “Never better.” My gaze drops before I can help myself, taking in the long, tight sweater and leggings that hug every curve I had my hands and mouth on last night.

She smiles secretively, her hand falling to squeeze mine. “Must have been all that fresh air.”

I pull her toward my door, ready to peel off every stitch of her clothes to prove to her that I'm not a bad guy, that I would never hurt her. “Rain, I—”

She gives me a soft, tentative kiss. “They're serving breakfast on the top deck and I'm starving. I'll see you up there?”

She's halfway up the stairs before I can manage, “Yeah.”

She's fine. Everything's fine.

Everything's amazing.

Chapter 34

■ ■ ■

CLARA

The sail down the Columbia River, with the sun's rays kissing my skin and a gourmet breakfast fit for the Queen and the nattering, annoying voices of the former nanny and escort were easy. Pleasant even.

It wasn't until I climbed into Luke's car that the first beads of sweat began running down my back. Now, twenty-five minutes later and in front of my condo, my clothes are drenched and I'm in desperate need of a shower.

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, why?”

Luke's brow is furrowed a bit. “Well, not that I minded it at all, believe me, but  . . . I've never heard you talk so much. You seem nervous. I just hope . . .” He stalls. “You're not uncomfortable around me now, are you?”

Uncomfortable.
That's a good word for my agonizing.

What I did last night was
so
wrong, on so many levels. My wire is on again, as it has to be. I'm terrified that Luke's going to say something that will reveal to my cover team that I wasn't in my room last night. Because if they find out, I'm gone. On a plane back to D.C., off the case. Blacklisted in the big book of undercover officers. Probably blacklisted, period.

So, to reduce the risk of that happening, I brought up everything I could during the drive home to keep Luke's words from wandering in that direction. Anything that came to mind—my pet rabbit when I was five; the time I broke my leg playing soccer, age seven; my first trip to Italy when I was nine; a terrible case of food poisoning when I went to Jamaica at nineteen.

It worked. Up until now.

“I'm not uncomfortable at all. But I meant it when I said I need to take things slow.” I take his hand with a smile. And I give him the excuse I mentally prepared earlier this morning, laden with lies and laced with regret. “I went on one date with my ex and then, suddenly, all of my time and focus was consumed by him, almost overnight. I don't even know how it happened, but I stopped doing what I love to do. Being who I am.”

Luke frowns. “Like how, exactly?”

“Oh . . .” I begin spouting off the common dating atrocities all girls have committed at one point or another. “I cancelled out on a trip with my girlfriends because he was afraid I'd meet someone else. I started working out for him instead of for myself. I ignored my family, stopped responding to my friends' messages, and when I was with them, I was glued to my phone, waiting for his texts. He liked to play golf, so I'd spend my Saturdays driving him around in the cart. I'd sit around at these pretentious lounges with his loser friends, and listen to them discuss Socrates and Confucius like the pompous, self-indulgent asses they were.” Somehow, fragments of my real dating history—Clara's string of failed relationships—are now leaking in, creating a Frankenstein of a boyfriend. “He wouldn't let me wear heels because I'd be looking down on him and he had a major height complex. He wouldn't let me wear leather because of the oppression of the ‘bovine population.' ” I cut myself off abruptly when I notice that Luke's lips are pressed together tightly.

“He sounds like a real winner,” he says with mock sincerity. “I can see why you fell for him.”

I can't believe I dated
any
of them. It's embarrassing, admitting it now. “I don't think you're like him at all,
believe
me. But I just need to make sure that I don't get caught up in
this
,” I gesture back and forth between us, “and forget who I am again.”

The undercover cop who just slept with her target.

Oh, hell.
I'm sweating again. I need to get out of here.

He reaches up to cup my jaw, his smile brightening his eyes. “You can wear leather and heels and I don't really golf. We can take it slow. Whatever you need.” His eyes dart to my mouth and he leans in to kiss me. I have to kiss him. There's no excuse for not kissing him, I tell myself.

His lips just graze mine when his phone rings. Again. It's been ringing and vibrating for the entire drive home but he hasn't answered it, even though I've told him he could, every time. He lets his forehead fall against mine gently, groaning. “Sorry, that's probably Rust. I've ignored him enough. He's going to lose his mind if I don't answer.”

“That's okay.”

He smiles. “God . . . how are you so understanding?” I just smile until he plants a quick kiss on my lips. “I'll give you a call later? Or you can call me?”

I force myself to pull away from him and step out of the car, hearing him say “yup” just as I shut the door.

■ ■ ■

“What the fuck was that? You could have blown the entire case!”

“Don't be so dramatic. That woman was making me nervous, so I sent Bill in. I thought you were made for a minute there.” Warner heads straight for my fridge as Stanley trots over to greet me. They were waiting in the stairwell for me when I came up the elevator.

“You caught on to that too, huh?”

“Yup. I've been on pins and needles all night long.” He slams the door shut, beer in hand. “How was your game of tonsil hockey?”

Didn't waste any time bringing that up
. “I had no choice. You know that. I have to give him
something
or this cover will be dead in the water.” I lean over to give Stanley's belly a scratch. He responds with several hoggish snorts. “I can't believe I've missed you,” I mutter.

“You didn't have to—” Warner stops mid-sentence with a deep inhale. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he finally heaves a sigh. “Whatever. I'm not arguing with you about this. You're the one on the front line. I trust you.” He cracks a can.

“It's beer o'clock already?” I check my watch. Noon. Warner looks like he hasn't slept at all.

He ignores my jab. “There were a lot of veiled comments but nothing incriminating on the wire. Did you witness anything useful?”

“Besides some lines of coke?” I hope he can't hear the lie in my voice, when I say, “Just a lot of rich assholes wining and dining and passing out on a giant yacht.” And a conversation that could arm the Feds with everything they need to get the noose ready for Luke's neck. I'm not ready to divulge that yet. I
can't
divulge it, now. I can only set Luke up for future admissions. When I'm ready.

He nods, more to himself. “Yeah, rough life. Sounds like 12's walls are starting to come down for you, though. That's good.”

“Yeah. Slowly.” I hate that Warner trusts me so much. All my cover guys do, because they need to in order for us to win this case. Still, it makes this deception that much more painful.

“Why'd you tell him all that stuff about an ex, before he dropped you off? Sinclair's going to grill me on that if he listens to it.”

“Because I have to keep playing hard-to-get. Otherwise I'm going to run out of excuses for keeping him out of my pants.”

He grumbles in response. “And what the hell was all that other rambling? You had a pet rabbit?”

“Yeah, until the crazy old man next door shot it and ate it for dinner.”

He pauses, mid-sip. “What the fuck, Bertelli.”

I shrug. “I had an interesting childhood.”

Pouring the rest of his beer back in record time, he crushes the can and tosses it to the counter. “Yeah, I think I'll need sleep to hear about that. I'm going to crash. It's been a long night for all of us.” At the door, he throws back, “And, by the way, you sleep like the dead.”

“So I've been told.” I release a breath of relief as the door clicks. And make room for more guilt to slide in as I pull my window blinds open. Luke's pacing back and forth with a phone pressed to his ear, already changed into sweats. I'm sure he'll be going for a run.

My heart begins beating frantically, and I can't tell if it's fear of getting caught or excitement over him in general. Or worry for Luke and what may happen to him. Probably all three. But I do recognize the ache growing inside me. It's there because I already want to see him again.

“This is so bad,” I whisper as Luke tosses his phone on the couch and leans over to give Licks a good head scratch.

Stanley throws his head back and begins barking, hopping around like a bucking bull as he watches Licks. Maybe he catches the motion, or maybe it's just a fluke, but Luke suddenly looks up. He begins laughing.

I can't help but laugh too. “Can't you learn how to play a little hard-to-get, Stanley?”

Luke holds up a leash to the window and nods toward the park behind our buildings. He wants to see me again? Already? He starts doing the running man in the window, looking absurd. And adorable.

Dammit
 . . . So much for distancing myself a bit. Plus, I hate running. I don't run for anyone. David was a runner and I refused to go with him.

Now, all I want to do is see Luke.

Throwing Stanley's leash on him, I change and head out the door.

No wire.

No cover team.

Pushing aside my guilt.