Becoming Rain (14 page)

Chapter 22

■ ■ ■

CLARA

An incoming text message wakes me up. I paw at my nightstand, squinting to read my screen through one eye.

What are you doing today?

It's Luke. Suddenly I'm wide awake and sitting up.

Gym. Shopping. No big plans. Why?

Road trip?

I smile.

Where?

Into the mountains.

My glee gives way to wariness. Into the mountains? Kind of random. Unless . . . Knots begin to form in my stomach. Has someone tipped him off? Will this end with a bullet in my head? Things a normal person doesn't have to worry about, but I have to make sure that I don't ever forget. Not for a minute.

I'll need some more information about these mountains of yours.

I have to check out a car.

To buy?

To sell.

My sheets fall away from my body as I crawl out of bed, frowning at my phone. To make sure I'm reading it right. What? Does he mean . . . Could he be
this
stupid?
This
trusting of me? A slow, sinking burn ignites in my chest. It's not curiosity or excitement, like what I normally feel when I'm about to nail someone to the wall.

It's disappointment. He's about to prove the Feds right. He's about to prove to me that he's a criminal. But that's what I'm here for, I remind myself. He is what he is. It doesn't matter how nice he is, or how attractive, or how he makes me feel.

I quickly punch out:

I like road trips.

Great. Pick you up in an hour.

Where EXACTLY are we going?

This podunk town in the interior. Called Sisters.

I immediately dial Warner's number, my resignation already taking over whatever stupid fantasies my subconscious may have spun about all this being a big mistake. There's no thrill in my voice. “Get dressed. You won't fucking believe it.”

■ ■ ■

“I just had it washed, too,” Luke grumbles, deftly steering his Porsche around the potholes as we crawl up the old dirt driveway. “They need to pave this, or some shit.”

“I can't imagine what that would cost,” I say, not really listening. Too busy taking in the line of trees ahead on this mile-long drive to somewhere unseen. High mountain peaks create a striking background for the vast acreage of fields and trees surrounding us. “Stop for a sec?” I ask, rolling down my window.

He does, and I aim my lens out to capture the view. My instincts tell me that, no matter how this all ends, this picture—full of beauty and tranquility and peace—is one I'll pull out many years from now, with fond memories. “Who did you say lives out here?”

“A good friend of mine named Jesse. He used to be my roommate.” Rounding the bend, we stop in front of a farmhouse with a big front porch and an old swing that sits empty, save for a colorful quilt stretched across the back. A dog lies at the top of the stairs, his chin resting on the wood as he takes us in, whiskers twitching but otherwise unmoving. “They've done some work around here.” Luke's eyes graze the matching red roofs over the house, garage, and barn.

A row of cars sits in front of the large barn, the shiny black muscle car and dingy yellow farm truck so odd next to each other. Corrals and fence lines stretch out behind as far as the eye can see.

The sound of horses pounding against dirt pulls my attention to our right. “Do they live here?” I point out the two little girls on the backs of galloping thoroughbreds. Several other horses nibble peacefully on the fresh spring grass.

“No. They board horses here.”

I trail Luke to a garage, inhaling the fresh air, absorbing the tranquility. The peace I don't often find in my life. “It's beautiful out here.”

Luke's eyes are hidden behind a pricey pair of sunglasses, but I feel them studying me all the same. “If you like this sort of thing.”

Does he not? Does he want a city girl whose nose twitches at the sight of a horse? Not sure what to say, I finally go with, “You have to admit, it's nice to visit, at least.”

Slowing his footsteps, he reaches back long enough to give my hand a squeeze. “It is really nice to visit.” Letting go, he cups his hands around his mouth and booms, “Welles!”

A clang sounds, followed by a few curses, and then a moment later, a young guy with a red-and-black checkered shirt and worn jeans streaked with black emerges.

“Boone.” He sticks a dirty hand out.

Luke laughs. “Get the fuck away from me before you wreck my clothes, you gearhead.” Reaching under the back of his shirt to produce a thick envelope that I didn't know was there, he slaps it in the guy's palm.

My stomach tightens. I know an envelope of cash when I see it. And lots of it. Now that I've seen it, it's evidence. It'll hold up in court. But what has Jesse done to earn that?

“Never could stand getting dirty, could you?” Eyes so dark they look black settle on me, catching my breath for just a moment.

“Rain, Jesse. Jesse, Rain,” Luke says by way of a quick introduction.

“Nice to meet you. I'd shake your hand, but . . .” Jesse holds his up in a blank-faced apology. I get the impression he doesn't smile a lot. I've met guys like him before. They're smart, hard to read. That tends to make them more dangerous for undercovers.

And then his gaze drifts behind me and he lets out a loud whistle. “Uncle Rust finally gave in to your whining, did he?”

“I earned it,” Luke corrects with a smirk.

Exactly how, I'd love to ask, but I bite my tongue. He's never said much about the recent “gift,” but by the way he gently shuts his doors and generally babies it, I can tell it's a source of great pride on his part.

“We can race,” Jesse suggests. So, I'm guessing the black Barracuda is his.

“On these roads? Hell no. But I'll let you play with it later. So?” He nods toward the garage.

“Come see for yourself.” Jesse leads us in, a slight swagger in his step, suggesting he doesn't have a care in the world. Or that he has everything he wants. Another glance around this ranch would make me believe it.

At the far end of the spacious garage is an old pea-green Mustang, its engine out and in pieces beside it. Jesse and Luke stop in front of a Corvette with faded red paint and rust panels, its hood up, an array of tools lying all around.

Are these stolen cars? Are they fixing up stolen cars? What exactly is going on? A horse ranch with boarders and children coming in and out, and a small car theft ring in operation right here, out in the open with the doors rolled up? That doesn't make any sense.

Jesse leans in and cranks the engine. It comes to life in a loud purr.

“Wow. Sounds a helluva lot better than before,” Luke exclaims, his face lighting up with childish excitement.

“I'll need another week, probably,” Jesse answers, offering the tiniest smile of pride. Even covered in black grease, he's an attractive guy. And perhaps another criminal.

“That's fine.” Turning to me, Luke says, “Jesse's somewhat of a god when it comes to engines.”

“Is that who I think it is?” a female voice calls out. A few seconds later, a pretty blond rounds the corner and heads straight for Luke, throwing her arms around his neck in a friendly embrace.

“Oh, man. Are you two dressing the same now?” Luke jokes, peering down at her red-and-black checkered jacket, that typical cockiness suddenly edged out and replaced with something soft. “This is what happens when you move out to the mountains, isn't it?”

“She keeps stealing my clothes,” Jesse mutters, but his eyes are twinkling as he takes her in, all pretenses of being aloof vanishing.

Luke gestures to me. “Rain, this is . . .” He holds his hands out, palms up, in question. “How should I introduce you?”

What?

“Hi, Rain, I'm Alex.” She smiles and turns to face me, giving me full view of the thin scar that runs down the right side of her face, from temple to jaw. It's a clean line, like that from a blade or a sharp piece of glass. Something she was slashed with. I avoid gawking openly at it by focusing on her eyes instead, the color a mesmerizing reddish-brown, reminding me of rich terra-cotta tiles.

“Hi. It's nice to meet you.”

Alex stands behind Jesse, wrapping her slender arms around his waist, resting her head against his back. Jesse may be complicit in something illegal, but they make a really cute couple. “What color are you going to paint this one?”

Luke kicks the tire gently. “Red. Should get a good return on it.”

“Well, we appreciate it. It gives Jesse and Sheriff Gabe something to do.”

Sheriff
Gabe?

A scuff of boots against the gravel announces someone new a second before I hear, “When is she going to stop calling me that?”

“Never. You'll always be the sheriff to me,” Alex answers, smiling at an older version of Jesse.

There's a sheriff involved in whatever scam this is? I shouldn't be surprised. Small-town law, keeping the peace, no one the wiser. Still, this is getting more interesting by the minute.

“I wish he was still sheriff. Then he wouldn't be in here, fucking up my engines,” Jesse says, turning to lay a tender kiss on Alex's cheek. If her scar bothers him, he doesn't let on.

Maybe he's the one who gave it to her?

Jesse heads for a rustic sink beside the wood table that runs along the entire back length of the garage, neatly lined with tools and jars of small bits.

“So you finally got rid of the Mustang, did you?” Gabe reaches, patting Luke on the shoulder with a “nice car,” before sticking his hand out in front of me. “I'm Gabe. And you are . . .”

Screwed, if this guy has radar for fellow law enforcement. My biggest selling point is that there's absolutely
nothing
about me that hints “cop,” and yet all I can think about right now is a story about this one guy on the D.C. force who had the uncanny ability to peg every last undercover he ever met.

I hope to God Sheriff Gabe isn't that talented.

I smooth away my internal struggle with a smile as I return the handshake. “I'm Rain. Nice to meet you.”

As he walks past Luke, I hear him throw a low mutter of, “Well, it's about time.”

Luke smirks. “How's your restoration going?”

“It's coming. I'd be driving it by fall, if you'd stop giving Jesse all these cars to fix up.”

“Better money than what I'll make in town,” Jesse throws back.

Luke pats the back of the Corvette like a proud parent. “This one will go up for auction in a month if it's ready.”

Gabe knocks the side panel with his knuckle. “And it came from . . .”

“I already told you, Dad,” Jesse protests but Gabe ignores him, black eyes just like his son's leveled on Luke. His voice overly calm.

And I realize what this is. An impromptu interrogation. Gabe wants to see if Luke's story matches his son's. He's asking the questions that I want to, but can't. Which begs the question: how much does the retired sheriff know about what Luke and his son are involved in?

Luke smiles easily. A smile that says he knows exactly what Gabe's getting at and it doesn't faze him. “For three grand, off some old guy in Boise who bought it thinking he could fix it up before he realized that not everyone is meant to rebuild cars.”

“Hey! Just like you!” Jesse chirps with mock surprise, smirking at his father.

A long pause, a shrewd look, and then Gabe relents with a slight smile and a nod, satisfied with his answer.

And giving me mine. There's nothing shady happening here. Luke and his friend are flipping cars honestly. I release the breath I held trapped in my lungs, relaxing with each second that passes, swimming in relief. Relief that I haven't witnessed anything damning to Luke yet, that I can hold onto this fantasy that Luke hasn't been pulled into the theft ring for just a while longer. Because the sooner I'm proven wrong, the sooner this case will be over, and the sooner I'll have to look into those big blue eyes and condemn him.

But today . . . I can relax.

“Come and show me your new ride,” Jesse says, wiping his somewhat clean hands on a rag. But I don't miss the low murmur to his dad as he passes. “I already told you, none of that shit will come here.”

None of that shit.
So both of them know something about Luke's involvement with Rust and it seems that neither approves. I wonder how much they know. I wonder what it would take to make them talk.

Too many questions I can't answer, but I do know that Jesse's another door. So is the sheriff. More mental notes, more potential informants.

“You interested in looking at car engines?” Alex asks me as the three men wander toward the Porsche.

I should really stick with Luke in case something important is mentioned. I should.

But my gut tells me that what's happening over there is just three guys with a love for cars getting hard-ons for Luke's latest toy. Nothing the FBI needs to invade. I'm more curious about this girl and what happened to her face. There's
definitely
a story there.

“Not particularly . . .” I laugh.

She waves me toward the barn and I follow. “Do you all live here?”

“Just Jesse and I. His mom and dad and sister live next door, over there.” She gestures to the ranch-style house hidden behind a line of trees.

“You must get along well,” I muse. As much as I love my parents, the idea of buying the house right next to them brings a dull ache to my head.

“We've been through a lot together,” she says absently, draping her arms over a newly mended fence, her gaze locked on the two horses drinking from a stream not far from us. “They're such beautiful animals, aren't they?” A slight frown zags across her forehead. “I used to be afraid of horses growing up. Can you believe that?”