Becoming Rain (12 page)

“Assholes?”

“Yeah.” He tips his head back and finishes his drink. “Russian assholes.”

“Those crazy Russians,” I tease, earning Luke's chuckle and a gentle squeeze of my shoulder.

“Hey, bite your tongue, woman. I'm half-Russian. My mom's side.”

Come on, Luke . . . give me more
. “Well, I'm sure your uncle must have his reasons.” I pause. “What kind of business is it?”

“Cars. We sell cars, all over the world.”

“Oh yeah? What kind?”

“All kinds. My uncle co-owns RTM International.”

Right
 . . . the legitimate business. The one I highly doubt Luke is talking about right now. But maybe he is, that little hopeful voice in the back of my mind purrs. Maybe this is all just a terrible misunderstanding. After all, why would a man like Aref, who has so much to lose, get involved with a car theft ring?

Tipping back the rest of his drink, Luke slips his hand into mine and pulls me up with him. “Come on. We should go join the party.”

I let him lead me down the path lit by flickering torches and toward the hordes of privileged guests, secretly enjoying the warmth of his hand within mine.

Telling myself this is all good for the case.

Aref meets us at the bottom of the steps up to their two-tier deck. “So Elmira tells me that you enjoyed the tour of our yacht?”

“I did. And your wife is lovely. Thank her again for me.”

“Have Luke buy you one for your birthday,” Aref jokes, winking.

“Don't be teaching her any bad habits,” Luke answers with a laugh, just as easily.

“About that issue . . .” Aref's dark eyes level Luke's. “It's all good.”

“Yeah? Great. Thanks, man.” He reaches out to shake the tall man's hand.

“You give me a call tomorrow so we can sort out the details. And talk to your uncle for me, okay?”

“I will,” Luke promises somberly. “I'm actually heading out to do that right now.” I can see the admiration he has for Aref in his eyes. That's a little concerning. Being too trusting, too open with these kinds of people never works out. Guys like Aref get where they are by being as ruthless as they are generous. Whatever Luke may be involved in, I already know that I don't want to find him lying in a gutter.

Someone taps Aref on the shoulder, and with one last salute toward Luke, he gets pulled into another conversation.

“That worked out well . . .” Luke murmurs, his hand settling on the small of my back. “Let's get out of here.”

■ ■ ■

Luke's Porsche coasts into my condo entrance with me silently wishing the Feds had gotten me one of these instead of my Audi.

“Thanks for tonight. It was . . . educational, seeing how the disgustingly rich live.”

He laughs, revving the engine, his gaze skating over my legs again. I've caught him doing it several times tonight. I need to keep him interested for another date, so I shift in my seat, casually letting my dress slide up just enough, given he seems to respond well to my body. He squeezes his eyes shut in response and begins whispering, “Glass . . . glass . . . glass,” under his breath.

“What?”

Heaving a sigh, he reaches over and pulls my hand to his mouth, muttering, “Nothing,” as he kisses the backs of my fingers. A gesture I have always written off as completely cheesy and yet somehow sends tingles straight to my thighs. I think Luke is seriously into me, a realization that may be making me excited for the wrong reasons. “I'll give you a call this week. Maybe we can go out again.”

“I'd really like that.” Letting go of my hand, he leans back in his seat. I take that as my signal to leave, so I do. I can feel his eyes on my back all the way to the condo doors, before he peels out of the driveway.

And I silently accept that I don't want the night with him to end.

Chapter 17

■ ■ ■

LUKE

The heavy, rhythmic bass at The Cellar is normally a soothing lullaby to me. But tonight it's irritating.

Or maybe it's Rust that's getting under my skin.

“The way I see it, dealing with Aref makes way more business sense than wasting our time with Andrei and Vlad. He has his very own fucking freight system, for Christ's sake!”

“He's young and he's arrogant.”

“
I'm
young and arrogant!” I throw back.

“He comes from an endless supply of old money. It's a dangerous combination. Look . . .” Rust leans forward, and his voice drops. “Aref's already shipping
all
of our product. Who's to say he won't try to use that against us in the future? Hold us hostage, claim a bigger share.”

“You mean like Vlad?” I pause. “Aref seems trustworthy.”

“Don't be naïve. You can't trust anyone but your blood. You and me, that's all.” Rust sighs. “Besides, we can't just break ties with a man like Andrei.”

“But they're being dickheads. They're ripping us off. You said so yourself—you don't want Vlad to have a monopoly on our business.”

“I was pissed off,” he mutters through a drink.

“Okay, fine. So we keep getting bent over a table and fucked by Andrei and Vlad, but let's see what Aref can do. It's a big world. Why not have a partnership with him, too?”

“Going into business with anyone else while I'm in business with Andrei is risky.”

“What if I ran it? You keep your deal with Andrei and I deal with Aref.”

“There's my entrepreneurial nephew . . .” He pats my back. “Let me give it some thought. No more talk of it now, though.” His eyes flicker up, past me, and he smiles. “There she is.”

The smell of coconut and flowers hits me. “Hey, Luke.”

I look over and up to get an eyeful. “Hey, Pris.” She likes showing her tits off in tight shirts and I can't help looking at them, even though I've seen them so many times now, they're no longer especially thrilling.

Her sharp blue eyes float over my empty glass. “How about I drive your car home for you?”

I've had too much to drink. That's always her excuse to get into my bed. I guess she didn't ensnare any sugar daddies tonight and her ego's taken a hit. Her confident stride, her nose in the air—it's all an act. I remember when this all started between us, when I first came here with Rust, started meeting his friends, his associates. Started being treated like a man. She was already working behind the bar. I couldn't keep my eyes off of her. I thought I was such a lucky bastard when she started flirting with me. I heeded Rust's warnings, though—he was right about the kind of girl she is—and kept my heart out of it.

And because I did, we've become odd friends. Or at least, we're comfortable together. We've gotten past the acts we put on for others. Neither of us pretends to be something we're not. We've been playing this game for a year and a half now. Long enough that I can tell her to wipe that bright pink lipstick off her lips before they come anywhere near me tonight.

Am I in the mood for this, though? Rain's smart, crystal-blue eyes flicker through my thoughts. I like her. Her and her cute nose as she scrunched it up, hating the scotch. Her, standing next to me, my arm linked with hers.

Maybe I'm starting to like her too much.

It doesn't matter. I'm not wrapping my brand-new Porsche around a light post and, if anyone can handle a stick, I know Priscilla can.

“Yeah, fine. Let's go.”

Chapter 18

■ ■ ■

CLARA

“Someone's been drinking my beer.”

“Said Papa Bear . . .” Warner's blank stare tells me he doesn't catch my Goldilocks reference. “You know I hate beer.”

He gestures at the inside of my fridge. “I had six in here. Now I have five.”

“Yeah, I gave one to 12.”

He scowls, cracking open a fresh one. “My beer is off-limits.”

“If he shows up here, I have to offer him something. Which reminds me . . . I thought this place was out-of-bounds for my cover team now that he knows where I live.”

“Are you expecting him at . . .” He glances at the clock. “. . . two a.m.?”

“No, but I'm also not expecting my handler, and yet here we are.”

“I'm not your handler, I'm your cranky asshole of a brother, remember?”

“Stepbrother,” I correct him, rolling my eyes.

“Whatever. Bill's on him. He's out at the club.” Clinking his beer against my glass of wine, he announces, “You did great tonight. Sinclair's happy.”

“You talked to him?”

“An hour ago. Gave him a rundown. I think there's enough here to keep the investigation going.”

Seriously? “There's really not that much.”

Warner shakes his head, laughing. “Do you have any idea whose house you were at tonight?”

“I'm guessing the man who ships their stolen cars.”

“Well, look at you, Nancy Drew.” He chuckles. “Aref Hamidi. Owner of Hamidi Enterprises, one of the wealthiest international freight companies in the world, going back five generations. Also one of the richest families in Iran.”

“Impressive fact gathering.”

His brow quirks. “Oh, it gets better. He's married to Elmira Zamani, who has ties to the now dethroned Iranian empire. As in, she's distant royalty. As in, almost a real live fucking princess.”

“Wow.” I think back to her shiny black hair, her exotic features, her regal movements. Doesn't surprise me one bit.

“Yeah. Between the two of them, they have enough money to feed a third-world country.”

That doesn't surprise me either. “And their money's dirty?”

“All money is, somewhere along the line,” Warner mutters between sips, his cynical side making its appearance. “But, no, not that we've known of, up until now. The Hamidi family has been on our radar for over two decades, given their connections to that part of the world and their business. Right after 9/11, when we were able to get warrants signed with nothing more than a loud sneeze, we used to jam them up bad with searches. They always took it in stride, and they always turned up clean.”

“So, what do you think this means?”

He shrugs. “Maybe Aref isn't following the family's legitimate ways.”

“Maybe Luke was there on legit business for RTM,” I say, playing devil's advocate. Maybe his uncle isn't dragging him down with him.

“Maybe. All I know is Sinclair was like a fat kid in a candy store tonight. We thought Rust's network was strictly with the Russian mob, but this is even bigger.”

“I guess he'll get an extra-big shiny medal then, won't he?” I mutter, wryly.

Warner chuckles, perching on the arm of the couch. “Something like that.”

I suck back my wine, considering the expanding landscape of this criminal enterprise. “I don't get it. I mean, you have that much money and yet you go and do something stupid and illegal to get more?” My words are rhetorical, of course. Everyone has their ­motivations—even criminals. Usually it's pure, blind greed.

A phone starts ringing. I eye Warner's pocket, where I know his personal iPhone is tucked away. “Are you going to answer that? She's called three times.”

“Yeah, to yell at me for missing the wedding. I don't need that right now,” he mutters through another mouthful of beer. It's going down fast tonight.

I chew the inside of my cheek, deciding if I should say what I want to. “You should call her. Smooth things over.”

“Why do you care?”

“Because I need to know that there's hope for a normal relationship in this job.”

He laughs, sliding from the arm to fill the couch seat next to me. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but there's no such thing as normal for us. What we see, what we have to do, the way we learn to think . . . no one but us will understand that. You're doomed the second you start having feelings for someone.”

“Jeez, Warner! Then why are you even bothering with this poor woman?”

He shrugs, twisting and turning the tag on his beer can for a long moment before dark eyes lift to meet mine. “I guess I'm just biding my time until I find the perfect non-normal partner for me.”

He's waiting for another agent, or cop, or . . . the way he's looking at my mouth right now, I'm afraid to think that he's waiting for me. When did
that
happen?

Thank God his work phone pings, ending the awkwardness.

“Okay . . . 12 should be entering his condo any minute,” he confirms, reading his screen.

All thoughts of anyone else disappear as I find my way over to my window. “Did he meet with 24?” I ask, peeking past the edge of the blinds.

In time to get a clear shot of that dark-haired bartender stepping into Luke's bedroom before the blinds shut.

It feels like a punch to my stomach.

“Bill said he's not alone.”

“Yeah, I see that.” I hear the strain in my own voice. And
Luke
closed his blinds this time. He's never bothered to before. He's hiding her from me. He took me out tonight, kissed my hand goodbye in such a sweet, genuine gesture, and then went to the bar to pick his bartender up.

I'm so stupid.

“Clara?”

I turn back to see Warner watching, a stern expression on his face. “You okay?”

“Of course.” I glance back, taking in the glow of the light within his room.

A mental picture of what's going on behind it hitting me like a wave of sickness. This is what he does. I knew this. It shouldn't bother me, and yet it does.

“Clara.” Warner's voice is right behind mine now, the warning in it.

“What?” I step away from the window, around him, and head back to the couch, downing half my glass of wine. Suddenly, I want my guest gone. I want to be alone.

But I get the sense he's not going anywhere. “You're not falling for 12, are you?”

“Jesus, Warner! What do you think I am, an idiot?” I burst out laughing, releasing some of the tension in my body. “I'm not going to fall for my target. What's wrong with you? He's a fucking criminal! You think I'm going to just throw my entire life away for some guy?”

“Is that why you're yelling at me now?”

“I'm not . . .” I temper my tone. I
am
yelling. “I'm not yelling at you.”

“It wouldn't be the first time it's happened,” he offers, all traces of his usual smile gone.

“What do you mean? What does that mean?”

He sighs, shaking his head to himself, like he'd rather not tell me. “I was handling a human trafficking case two years ago, with a female undercover agent,” he begins. “She was good. Smart. Our target was this young Turkish guy. We were making great headway in the case. Until she fell in love with him.”

“Oh, please, Warner. I—”

He holds his hands up. “All I'm saying is that I've seen it happen. Woman sees the good side in the guy, wants to change him, thinks she can . . .”

“So you think I'm an idiot.”

“Special Agent Mason wasn't an idiot.”

“She fell in love with a guy who
traffics
humans
, Warner.”

“She wasn't an idiot,” he reiterates, his words slow, his voice loud and hoarse, full of emotion. “Actually, she reminds me a lot of you. Young, like you. Still not completely jaded by the job.” His eyes drift down to my mouth.

The silence in my condo is deafening. Even Stanley's normally heavy breathing seems to have stalled. I check my tone, sensing an explosion if I don't tread lightly. “She got fired?”

“I wish.” His faint head shake answers me. “Found her in her cover house with a bullet in her head.”

A shiver slips through my body. I've heard of undercovers having death threats shouted at them at trials and I myself have had the shit kicked out of me once while trying to buy heroin, but actually getting killed on the job is rare. “Jesus.”

“Yeah.” Warner bows his head for a moment in silence, and I can see that it's still heavily under his skin. “Not sure how he found out, but knowing how hard she was falling, I'd bet she told him. So . . . don't do anything stupid, like fall for your target. I don't want to bury another agent.” He studies me with big hazel eyes, giving me a brief glimpse of the sadness behind them.

I give his shoulder a friendly rub. “Don't worry about me, Warner.”

He shrugs. “He's a good-looking guy. Sounds nice enough. Could trip up anyone.”

“You want me to set you two up, don't you? Forget me. Maybe my big brother can get in close with him and crack this case.”

“Alright . . .” The tension in the room vanishes instantly as he tosses his empty can into the kitchen sink. “Get some sleep, wise-ass.” He ducks out of my condo, a little more quickly than usual.

Warner's words of warning linger in the back of my mind long after I crawl into bed, Stanley snoring by my side. My bedroom blinds are drawn open, eyes locked on the condo directly across from me.

My heart rate spikes when Luke strolls out of the bedroom and into the kitchen, his sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his waist, the ridges in his stomach hard and defined, even from this distance. Grabbing a glass from the cupboard, he fills it with water from the fridge tap. I guess he worked up a thirst.

My thoughts are laced with bitterness, but that doesn't stop me from moving. Before I realize it, I'm out of bed and standing a few feet away from the glass, admiring him as he sucks back a glass, and then another. Setting the glass down on the counter, he stares at it for a long moment. And then his attention suddenly shifts out the window.

To me.

Can he see me? No, there's no way—my room is in complete darkness, my pajamas are black. He doesn't wave, he doesn't smile, he does nothing but stare, his hands dangling beside his hips, a look of disquiet on his face.

He's riveted.

Then his head snaps toward the bedroom, as if someone has called him. I'll bet she did.

On his way back, he hits the wall panel, casting the space into darkness, closing the remaining blinds. And an unpleasant feeling begins coursing through my body, keeping me company until I finally drift off.

■ ■ ■

Licks wants to know if you'd like to go to the park.

Well, my target's up early today. He's normally not up until noon on Sundays. Maybe she made him breakfast. Maybe they did it again
before
she made him breakfast. Does that kind of girl even know how to fry an egg?

I toss my phone onto the counter and rifle through my thoughts, searching for my rational ones, as I down my orange juice. A night of sleep always clears my head. Helps me think more logically. I'm a logical thinker. No room for emotions in this job.

So, I'll admit that I'm attracted to my target. He's a nice guy. He's good-looking, he's charming, and I'm playing a role where I need to attract him. It only makes sense that my human instincts will get a little scrambled. As long as I keep my head, I'll be fine.

It's actually a good thing that he brought that whore over. If she's giving him what I can't, then maybe he'll be more apt to play the waiting game with me. All I have to do is act normal and keep charming him. No problem.

A second beep.

Licks wants you to bring Stanley, too.

Not a bad idea. Maybe Stanley will do me a favor and bite Luke again.

I take another minute to chew my thumbnail nervously, and then I punch out a return message.

Stanley will oblige. Meet us at his favorite park bench in an hour and bring your throwing arm
.

See you then.

An hour. That barely gives my cover team time to get in place. I'm definitely keeping Warner and the boys busy lately, after weeks of nothing. It's silly, really, that they have to be there during even the most minor of meetings.

Warner answers the phone with a groan.

“Ready for another glamorous day sitting in your car and making sure I don't fall in love with my target?”

He swears under his breath.