Becoming Rain (27 page)

Wiping them away with the back of my hand, I manage to get out, “Nicholas Sparks movies don't make me feel better.”

“Okay, I'm sorry.” Luke takes turns brushing and kissing away the steady stream. “What else do you want to do?” He glances out the window. “It's raining outside. We could go run around in the park?” He pauses. “Naked?”

I burrow my face in the crook of his neck and he wraps his arms around me, his chuckles soothing.

That's what makes the severe knock on the door that much worse.

“Million-dollar condos and security doesn't screen anyone, do they? I'm sorry.”

I trail him over, nearly stepping on his heels. He checks the peephole and his face pales.

“Who is it?”

A momentary flash of him opening the door and Vlad being there with guns aimed hits me. With Rix and Franky watching, I know that's not likely. Still . . .

He looks at me, worry etched over his face. “It's the cops.”

Another second and another knock on the door.

Finally, he opens it. And steps back. I know what he's thinking. That they're here to take him in. I almost wonder if that would be better.

“Are you Luka Xavier Boone?”

He folds his arms across his chest. “Yeah.”

I stand three feet away and watch as the storm—the rain I've been trying to save him from—hits Luke.

And I don't feel an ounce of satisfaction.

Chapter 47

■ ■ ■

LUKE

“Hey.” A hand softly squeezes mine. I peer up into Rain's eyes, brimming with tenderness.

Where am I?
Still sitting on my couch, with a bowling ball weighing my chest down. Where I've been since the police told me that Rust is dead. They wouldn't give me any details, other than that he had been identified by their forensics team and that the death was under investigation. And then they grilled me for ten minutes, asking me if Rust had enemies, if I was aware of any altercations that Rust had been in lately.

One name came to mind immediately.

But, to name him would mean opening up a giant can that I don't know how to handle yet.

Rain told them in a polite but firm way that they needed to leave and we'd get back to them soon.

“Is Bridgette okay with watching the dogs?” My next-door neighbor, a thirty-eight-year-old wealthy divorcée with two boys in private school, has always been willing to dog-sit Licks when I'm in a jam.

“Yup. For as long as we need.” Rain holds up her keys. “Let's go.”

She insisted on running back to her condo to pick up her car keys. I don't know how long she was gone. I don't know why she insisted on driving her own car. I don't know how I'm going to get to the front door.

But I manage, with Rain holding my hand the entire way.

■ ■ ■

“This one, right?” Rain asks, pulling her car into the driveway of the tidy white bungalow where I grew up. It was my grandparents' home, and when my grandpa died, Rust not only let my mom have it free and clear, he also sunk money into it, replacing the roof, the furnace, and the flooring, and bringing the '60s-style kitchen and bathrooms into the twenty-first century.

Rust has always been there to take care of us.

And now he's dead.

Bile rises up my throat for the hundredth time in the last hour. I'm about to ask Rain to stop the car so I can hop out and puke. Thankfully, the driveway's short and I'm out of the car within seconds.

“It's a nice, old neighborhood,” she murmurs, her eyes roaming over the giant oak trees that Ana and I used to climb. Clutching her purse tight to her side, she takes my hand. “Come on, let's get inside.”

Even in this perpetual state of shock that I've fallen into, I can't help but notice the edge in Rain's movements. Maybe she's wondering the same thing I am—does this have anything to do with the angry Russian from last night?

And am I next?

I don't see any benefit to killing me. But, without Rust, the entire organization falls apart, so killing Rust wouldn't be smart on Vlad's end either.

Which leaves me wondering . . . who the hell did it?

She leads me up the front steps to the covered porch that my mom used to sit on, waiting for Ana and me to come home from playing with the neighborhood kids. They don't creak like they used to, thanks to Rust, who had the entire thing replaced after Ana, at eight years old, fell through a rotten floorboard. I remember that day well. Rust and Deda went head-to-head, my old-school Russian grandpa's philosophy of hiding imperfections behind a fresh coat of paint every year the cause for Ana's broken leg.

It was the first time I ever saw my grandpa, a stubborn man by his own admission, relinquish power to Rust.

My mom answers the door in a red robe, the light from the porch highlighting the near black roots of her platinum-blond hair. For a woman who works as a hairstylist, I'd think she would stay on top of that more. I asked her about it once; she said she liked the look.

“Luke, what are you doing here so late?” Her worried eyes dart between me and Rain. “Is something wrong?”

That painful ball forms in my throat again. I don't know how to tell her. She and Rust have always been close. The only reason she wasn't listed as next-of-kin instead is because Rust knew how fragile she was. God knows what this will do to her.

Ana appears in the doorway behind her, the same confused look on her pretty face.

Rain gives my hand a squeeze. Somehow it helps. “Yeah.” I clear the rasp out of my throat. “Something's definitely wrong.”

Chapter 48

■ ■ ■

CLARA

The elevator doors open to allow residents off, freshly showered, dressed, and ready for a day of work. We're the exact opposite, in rumpled clothes and with red, tired eyes, which watched wave after wave of emotion grip Luke's mom and sister, their tears coming from a seemingly never-ending tap of grief. What Luke didn't shed in tears he made up for in cigarettes, burning through one after another, he and his mom emptying three packs while sitting on the steps of the front porch.

Like sitting ducks.

Only a dozen cars traveled down the quiet side street all night, but each one had me ready to pull the gun tucked inside my purse—that I grabbed from my safe before we left, using the excuse of forgotten car keys.

“Hey.” Luke sticks his hand out to hold the elevator door. “Don't take this the wrong way, because you've been amazing, but . . . I need to be alone for a bit.” I've seen the look that now sits in Luke's eyes many times—the vacant stare of a person who doesn't know what to do next.

But it's against my direct orders. And I'm not letting him walk into his condo without making sure no one's waiting there for him.

“Sure, okay. Do you mind if I just go up to grab Stanley?”

He shakes his head quickly, like he forgot about the dogs. “Yeah, of course.”

The elevator ride up is silent, Luke leaning back against the wall, his eyes closed. No doubt exhausted. I'm exhausted, and I'm used to going a full day without sleep. Still, my mind frantically works to find a way into his condo without sounding forceful. “Hey, with everything going on, I couldn't find where I put Stanley's leash last night. Let me go grab it? Stanley's less obedient in the morning for some reason. I'll bring Licks home, too.”

“Yeah, sure,” Luke says absently, his keys dangling from his fingers. I pull them from him with a smile, unlocking the door, giving me the advantage of walking into his condo first. Everything looks the exact same, right down to half a glass of red wine sitting on the kitchen counter and the brown Thai food take-out bag.

I move through quickly, pretending to search for the leash—that I didn't forget to give to Bridgette when I dropped off the dogs—with my gun hidden between my purse and my rib cage. If my behavior seems erratic, Luke doesn't seem to notice, dropping down into his couch, his head hung, his elbows resting on his knees.

My heart aches for him, in a way that it isn't supposed to, in a way that isn't allowed. I force it down to focus on the more critical matters at hand.

“Weird. Can't find it,” I call out when I've checked the last closet and can clear Luke's condo from any crazy Russians wanting to exact more punishment. Slipping my gun back in my purse, I squeeze Luke's shoulder. “Let me go grab the boys. I'll be back.”

I duck out and run down the hall, cutting chitchat with Bridgette short and forcing Licks to gallop behind me. Luke has moved into his bedroom and shut the door behind him. I can hear the shower running.

So I quickly update Warner.

“Sinclair made some calls. We've got jurisdiction on the murder now. We're running a couple of partials from the SUV. See if that gives us anything we can use. Anything on that end? Phone calls? Visitors?” he asks.

“Nope. Nothing.”

“That'll change soon. The media's all over this now.”

Shit.
We haven't so much as glanced at the TV since last night. Reporters can be insensitive assholes, creating ugly headlines to hype a story with little consideration for the people it impacts.

My body is starting to ache. “Okay. I'm going to grab a bit of sleep, before I accidently shoot someone.”

“Keep your phone by your ear. I've got eyes on the outside.” There's a pause and then he asks, “What does your gut say? Do you think he's going to spill?”

“Too soon to tell. Right now he needs some space.” I make sure my tone leaves no room for persuasion.

“Okay. Be ready. Once the shock wears off, these guys tend to do stupid things, and fast.”

Not Luke. That's just not him. But I don't say that to Warner because he wouldn't understand.

I make sure every deadbolt is latched in place and then, drawing the blinds, I set my purse on the ground for easy access to my gun. Just in case. Peeling back layers until I'm left in nothing but my tank top and panties, my fingers graze the dragonfly pendant. Desperate for the day I no longer need to wear it. I know that day is coming soon. I just hope I'm strong enough to handle the aftermath.

I set it on the coffee table and stretch out on the couch, trying to catch an hour or two of sleep.

Sleep doesn't come to me, though.

My eyes are fixed to that closed door, and the eerie silence behind it. The shower stopped running long ago.

And then I hear it. The first sob.

It seizes my heart in an instant. I don't know if the microphone will pick that up. It's pretty far away. But I grab the remote and throw on one of the music channels, just loud enough to kill any possibility. He has the right to suffer in private. I think Warner would understand that, and if he doesn't . . . fuck all of them.

What none of them would understand is me tiptoeing from the living room to the closed door. Trying the handle, I find it unlocked. I slink in quickly, making sure not to make a sound as I shut it behind me. Daylight squeezes through the edges of the closed blinds in slits. Between that and the muted TV flashing in the corner, there's enough light for me to see Luke's towel-clad body lying on his bed, his back to me, one arm curled under his pillow.

Without a word, I crawl into bed, until my chest is pressed against his back and my arm is wrapped around his waist and my hand is curled within his. And I listen to him cry softly, his tears rolling down his cheeks to slide over my fingers.

Not until he quiets do I offer, “I'm so sorry, Luke. Really, I am.”

A deep, ragged breath lifts and drops his chest. “Vlad killed him. Or someone for Vlad.”

“How do you know?”

“It's all over the news. They found him in a stolen black Mercedes SUV. That's what we were lifting for Aref to ship overseas. He has a buyer in Africa who specifically wants black SUVs.”

“That's what this illegal thing that you're into is? Stolen cars?” It's the first time he's ever said it so blatantly.

“Yeah. Mainly chopped cars, but some high end. Rust has an organization through Portland, Seattle, San Francisco . . . basically the Western seaboard. He rounds them up on this side and Vlad sells them to buyers overseas. We ship them in Aref's cargo ships and we split the profits. But Vlad started dicking Rust around, claiming higher payoffs to get people to look the other way. Rust was sure he was ripping him off. Then Aref stepped in, wanting to get in on some of the money. He had a buyer lined up in Africa. So, I convinced Rust to do a separate deal with him. That's what that was about the other night. Vlad was pissed.”

“At you?”

“Rust told him that the deal was all on him and that I had nothing to do with making it. To protect me, I think.”

This, in a nutshell, is everything that we've been waiting to hear Luke admit.

I hold his body tighter.

“But what good would killing Rust do for Vlad? Don't they need Rust for this deal you were talking about?” I have to remember to choose my words carefully, so I don't sound like I actually know what I'm talking about.

He rolls onto his back, and I get my first look at his tear-stained face. “That's what I can't figure out. Rust was the only one who knew all the levels and players and how everything worked—all the fences and wheelmen, who was lifting the cars, who was chopping them, how they were moving from location to location. I don't see how either delivery is going to happen now that Rust is gone.”

“Unless Vlad figured things out on his own . . .” I say, more to myself, as the mess of clues starts to make sense. A plan was in place, Elmira had said. Was that the plan? Was Vlad honing in on Rust's protected network? Based on what Luke just told me, they were splitting half the profits. But if they removed Rust . . . “Vlad could take over and not split profits, right?” But how does Aref fit into all of this?

I can see the wheels churning inside his head. “Yeah . . . I guess. But I don't know how they'd figure that out. I mean, I know two of the fences, and Miller knows two, but aside from dropping an order that Rust gives us and paying the fences for delivery to the warehouse, we don't see anything but a wad of money at the end of it.”

My ears perk up. That big, burly garage manager is a part of this too?

“It's not that easy to figure out. I mean, if the cops can't do it . . .”

Unless someone's been doing their own surveillance on Rust. One that doesn't require following laws and respecting privacy. I can only imagine how much easier it would be to get things done when we aren't held back by warrants and civil rights. I mean, look at the kind of information I've gathered through dishonest means!

He wipes away a stray tear still sitting on his cheek, vacant eyes locked on the ceiling above. “This just doesn't feel real. I can't believe he's gone.” He shifts until an arm ropes around my shoulders and he curls into me, our noses grazing. I automatically inhale the scent of him, freshly showered and smelling of soap, his skin soft and warm against my body.

Feeling the walls tighten around us, as Elmira's warning screams inside my head. I'll never forgive myself if I don't try to stop this.

“Luke?”

Red-rimmed eyes open to meet mine.

“Whatever you have going on with Vlad and with Aref . . . it's over. Forget about it. Please, just walk away. I can't lose you.” I can't keep my own tears from unleashing, because I know that I'm going to lose him regardless. “Please. Just promise me it's over.”

He blinks back a fresh wave of tears. And nods, pulling me into his bare chest.

I don't mean to drift off in Luke's bed.

■ ■ ■

“Hey.” I feel someone shaking me awake.

“Hmm?”

A gentle kiss touches my temple. “Your phone's been ringing nonstop. Do you think it's important?”

My phone.

Warner.

I bolt up in bed and sprint out of the room.

“I've been trying you for an hour,” Warner says, his tone thick with accusation.

I dart toward the small mudroom on the opposite side of the condo. “Sorry, I didn't hear it.”

“Really? Because I've been listening to it ring on the wire. It was pretty damn loud.”

“I fell asleep,” I hiss, checking around the corner to make sure Luke hasn't appeared yet. I doubt he's in any rush to move.

Dead silence answers me. Infuriating me. “Any reason you're calling?”

“Just checking in.”

“I have to take the dogs out and grab a change of clothes. Watch that he doesn't leave.” I hang up before Warner can argue with me.

■ ■ ■

Licks trots through my condo, his nose to the ground, oblivious to his master's devastation. I gave Luke one of the Ambien pills that his mom slipped into my hand as we were leaving her house, a full container from her own medicine cabinet. Hopefully it knocked him out by now.

I didn't like leaving him but I couldn't risk making this call from his place, on my phone. It's just a hunch, one that's been bugging me, one that may sabotage this case, but it will give me the answer I need.

“Hello.”

The sound of that woman's crisp London accent triggers my unease. I get the distinct impression that she knows who's calling, even though the number is blocked on my personal phone. “Hi, Elmira.”

“We've been watching the news. How is Luke doing?” Calm, cool, collected. Not the reaction I would expect after a business partner of her husband's was found murdered.

“As well as to be expected.”

“Please send our condolences. Rust was a good man.”

“I didn't know him well, but I know he was well liked.”

“How is Luke taking it?”

“Not well. I feel so sorry for him. He's had such a rough couple of weeks. First, with his car being stolen, and now this.” The two don't even begin to compare but it doesn't really matter, for my purposes.

“Oh? I didn't know that happened. I'll bet he loved that car.”

“Yes, he does.” I hesitate for just a moment, but then commit fully. “Luckily the cops found it in a storage locker right away.”

There's a short pause. “Well, that's
lucky
.” Is it just me or has her voice risen an octave? I'm sure she's weighing my words. Wondering if I have my own hidden purpose for telling her.

But I can play the same game that she does. “Yeah. I just wish they'd release it. I don't know why they're not. Being assholes, I guess.”

“Local police are lazy.”

“Must be it.”

There's another long pause. “If there's anything at all that we can do to help Luke during this time, please let us know. We'll see you at the funeral.”

“Thanks, Elmira.” Now that my small trap is laid, I toss the phone back into the safe, leash the dogs up, and head back to Luke's.

But not before I find myself standing in the rain, waiting for it to wash away the filthy feeling of my betrayal to my team.