Becoming Rain (28 page)

Chapter 49

■ ■ ■

LUKE

Rain squeezes my hand.

It's a warning squeeze, signaling that I'm getting too worked up.

I take a deep breath to calm myself. When Rust told me he was making me executor to his estate a few years ago, I didn't spend too much time thinking about it. I definitely didn't think that, at twenty-four years old, I'd be planning a closed-casket funeral for him. But now that the police have finished gathering evidence off of him—there's no need for an extensive autopsy; it's pretty clear that the bullet through the brain is what killed him—that's exactly what I'm sitting here doing, with a very calm and collected Rain on my right side and the emotionally unstable duo—Mom and Ana—on my left, fighting me tooth-and-nail for a traditional Eastern Orthodox service.

“Rust didn't want a service of any kind, or a wake. He made that very clear in his will. Which I spent all morning going through with the lawyer,” I say, tempering my tone. Rust never had much patience for the funeral process and he sure didn't believe in God.

“But what about what
we
want? What his mother and father would want?” my mom cries, rubbing away the fresh tears streaming down her cheeks. “If we go by those stupid papers, well . . . why don't we just toss his body into the family vault!”

Reading between the lines, he's basically asking for just that. But I don't say that now.

“Are you going to keep fighting me on this? Or can we just move on with the arrangements?” Because I just want this to be over with.

“We can arrange for a lovely—and quick—service at the burial site for you that may help serve everyone's needs while respecting Mr. Markov's wishes,” the funeral director offers with a sympathetic smile. It's the same smile she's worn for the past hour, relieving it only with well-timed frowns or closed-eye nods to convey her deepest understanding. I wonder if these people are born with funeral worker genes or if they take extensive schooling for it, because everyone we've walked past on our way into this office is the exact same.

Rain's ringer is off but I can hear her phone vibrating in her pocket. It's been vibrating nonstop since we sat down in here but she hasn't so much as pulled it out. I lean over. “You can take that if you need to. It could be about your dad.” With everything else going on, I haven't even asked her what's happening with him and she hasn't mentioned it.

She frowns. “Yeah, I probably should. If you're okay here?”

“What else do we need to do?” I ask the funeral director.

She lays a catalogue out in front of us with utmost care. “Well, there is the matter of choosing a casket, writing the obituary . . .”

Her words drift off as I turn back to Rain. “We can handle this.”

She pats my leg and then stands. “Okay, I'll just be outside.”

I watch her walk out, feeling immediately lonely. She's been by my side—watching reruns of my stupid favorite shows, feeding me, walking the dogs with me, lying next to me while I fall asleep—since the cops first showed up at my door. I don't know what I'd do without her.

Chapter 50

■ ■ ■

CLARA

“This is creepy. And disrespectful,” I mutter, glancing over my shoulder at the casket on the other side of the room, an elderly man lying peacefully within.

“Why? He doesn't care. His visitation doesn't start until tonight.” Warner holds a finger to his lip, checking for blood. I was halfway down the hall, passing a row of viewing rooms, when an arm shot out and grabbed me. I threw a fist out and connected with flesh before I realized it was my handler who was abducting me.

“You're insane. Have you been waiting here all this time? I was just about to call you. Way safer than this.”

“Relax. I can explain my way out of anything,” he mutters. “And I honestly don't know what's safe anymore. I feel like there are more eyes on us than we know about.”

“Why do you say that?”

Warner reaches up, his hand grazing my chest as he grasps my necklace, switching the wire off. “Our decoy Porsche got dropped off on the side of the road last night. Wiped clean and abandoned.”

Last night. Only hours after my phone call with Elmira. A mix of satisfaction and guilt stir inside me with the proof that my hunch paid off. Aref set that car theft up and staged it to look like Vlad was behind it, should the thief get busted and questioned. I have my guesses as to why.

Maybe I'll still have my chance to ask him myself.

But for now, I have to look disappointed for Warner's sake. “Do you think someone tipped them off? Or did they find the bugs?”

Warner shrugs. “Hard to say. We knew it was risky to begin with. But it means we've lost that lead. At least we got a few names and locations out of it, though.” He clamps up as low voices pass by in the hall. “There's more.” Turning, he levels me with a hard stare.

It makes me uncomfortable. Like I've done something wrong and am about to get called on it. “What?”

“A G-Class Benz and a Lexus LX were hijacked last night.”

“Hijacked?”

“Yeah. One of the drivers has a few scrapes. The other one's in the hospital for gunshot wounds. Both SUVs are black.”

Black SUVs. Exactly what Aref's African buyer wants.

“Rix's guy called him this morning, asking him to help out with a couple of rush orders that just came down the pipes. They need the SUVs within the next forty-eight hours. We're thinking that someone's pushing up the date for a shipment and bringing in guys from around the street to fill the order fast. 24's usual crew isn't normally sloppy, but someone is definitely still running the show. Too coincidental to be anything else.”

“It's not Luke. I mean 12. He's too preoccupied. His phone hasn't even left his nightstand in the last two days.”

“Well, it's sure someone.”

“Vlad.” I say it with certainty, though I can't be 100 percent sure that it's not Aref. “I'm betting one of those two cut Rust out of the mix and took over.”

“Maybe. All I know is that we're about to lose whatever edge we had on this investigation.”

I hold my breath as I ask my next question. “Is Sinclair about to haul Luke in?” I'm not ready to say goodbye yet.

“Not yet. He's still hoping for a break.”

“Was there anything coming out of the investigation on 24?”

“Some grainy video from a business that we're analyzing, and a ton of fingerprints on the SUV that are probably the registered owners'.” Warner peers at me through hard eyes. “Stay on him. Don't let him out of your sight, and . . .” He heaves a sigh. “. . . do whatever you have to do to get him talking. Sinclair's orders.”

Suddenly Warner's risky in-person visit and shutting off the wire makes sense. This is off the record. I don't back down as he looms over me. “What exactly does that mean?”

“It means keep doing what you've been doing.” His jaw clenches. “Like that night after you met 24 at the club . . .” He leans in farther, until he's so close his spearmint-scented breath tickles my nostrils. “. . . when I watched 12 show up at your building and not leave until the next morning.”

Warner was spying on me? “You said you—” I bite back the accusation because I have no right, after everything I've done. Swallowing against the bubble of hysteria rising, all I dare ask is, “Does Sinclair know?”

A wicked smirk answers me. “Sinclair doesn't give a shit as long as he gets what he wants and our hands stay clean in the courts. And you've worked hard to make sure everything on the wire keeps us looking good, haven't you?” His eyes drift to my mouth. “You even had me fooled for a while there.”

“Warner, I . . .” I can't seem to find the right words. There are no right words for this kind of betrayal.

“Just keep the case conversations on the wire and everything else . . . off.” His iciness melts slightly. “And promise me you won't blow your cover.”

I swallow. “I promise.”

He looks about ready to say something else but then presses his lips firmly shut. Cracking the door open, he checks the hall, and then disappears.

Leaving me shaking with guilt.

Chapter 51

■ ■ ■

LUKE

I hang up as I pull into the lot at the garage. “Rust's partners at RTM, offering their condolences.”

“That's . . . nice of them?” Rain offers hesitantly.

“Yeah . . . I give them two weeks before they start talking about buying me out of Rust's share.”

“Is RTM . . .” she pauses, “part of that business you mentioned you had with Aref and Vlad?”

“No. This is completely separate. A hundred percent legit. Just like this garage. Rust kept that other stuff away from here.”

“And it's all yours now?”

“Yeah. Or it will be, once it goes through probate. He already signed the garage over a few weeks ago.” All kinds of thoughts have been crawling into my head these past few days. Namely, did he have an idea that this might happen? And if he did, why the hell didn't he do more to protect himself? Why didn't he tell me to fuck off when I pushed him on the Aref deal?

“So, what are you going to do?” Her eyes land on the garage sign hanging above us.

“I don't know. There's definitely more than enough here to keep me busy and comfortable.” I take her hand. She's been more quiet than usual since leaving the funeral home. This must be a lot for her to deal with. It's one helluva way to meet my mom and sister.

“It'll take months to sort out all the legal stuff, so I have time to decide if I want to step into Rust's place or—”

“Take his place where?” Her pleading eyes rise to take me in.

“At RMT. Doing something that's not going to put a bullet in my head. That's all, I promise.” I'm still upright and breathing, with no sign of Vlad, so I have to think he's not too worried about what I could possibly say. But what kind of future is this? If Rust's death did anything, it served as a wake-up call. Maybe Vlad is right—I am an idiot, because I got myself involved in a multi-million-dollar car theft ring with the fucking Russian mob and I didn't see this coming.

I don't want to live the rest of my days worrying that I may piss someone off and end up dead. What kind of life is that? A hundred Porsches don't make it worthwhile.

“That, or you could just take the money and start over. Clean,” Rain suggests.

“Yeah.” Whatever it is, it won't be anything to do with stealing cars. “Let's do this.” I nod toward the garage and then slide out of the car. It's the first time I've been here since Rust died.

Was murdered.

“Luke.” Tabbs is the first to walk up to me, offering a clean hand and a rare, somber expression. “If there's anything we can do, please let us know.”

I nod, afraid my voice will give away my grief. “Is Miller inside?”

“Yup. He's been pretty much holed up in there.”

I find Miller sitting behind his desk, staring at his lap. When he finally looks up and notices us standing there, he's on his feet instantly, coming around the desk to offer me his hand.

“Luke, I . . .” He clears his throat. He looks even worse now than he did after his short hospital stay a few weeks ago. He may even have lost weight. His face looks gaunt. “I'm sorry about Rust. He . . .” He bows his head. “He was always good to me.”

“For what it's worth, he always spoke highly of you. He trusted you unequivocally.”

“I'll . . . uh . . . I'll take care of things around here. Don't worry about any of that.”

There's just no way I'm ready to come back here. “Thank you. I just . . .” I exhale heavily, sliding my hands into my pockets. Looking at the wall across from me, where an array of recognitions and business awards for the garage hang, including one of a smiling Rust shaking hands with the mayor of Portland after winning an area consumer award, a lump fills my throat. He was so proud of this business. He took pride in all his ventures, legal and otherwise. Everything he touched was successful. Until now.

“It's hard, Miller. I'm still waiting for it to really hit me. But don't worry. You'll always have a job here while I own this place.”

He clears his throat again, his voice turning rough. “You can count on me.” Then he storms past us, out the door and down the hall, rubbing at his cheek as he disappears into the restroom.

I feel Rain sidle up to my back, her arms roping around my waist to give me a hug. “Were they close?”

“Yeah, you could say that. Miller's been running this place since it opened.” My phone's ringing, pulling me away from thoughts of Miller.

It's the police. My car is
finally
being released.

I'd let them keep it if only I could have Rust back.

Chapter 52

■ ■ ■

CLARA

“Security just let through a delivery guy with more flowers,” Luke says, dropping his house phone on the counter, taking in the floral jungle that's sprouted in here. Bouquets from Luke's business partners, Dmitri, other family friends.

Nothing from Vlad or Andrei. Not a word. That both comforts and worries me.

Luke rubs his eyes, tired from a day of running around and drug-induced sleep.

I rub his back affectionately. “I'll take care of it. Why don't you go and jump in the shower? It'll make you feel better.”

“Yeah . . .” His gaze drifts over my body, and I see a sudden spark of interest. It's the first one I've seen in days, which, up until this morning, was a saving grace.

Back when I thought that this little affair of ours was a secret.

I can't believe Warner knows. And Sinclair. And maybe the rest of my cover team. Here I was, thinking I've been careful and covert all this time.

He reaches up to tug at the hem of my shirt. Tugging me toward the bedroom.

Keep doing what you're doing,
Warner told me. Orders from the top. I wonder if I'm going to get burned for it at the end. Will this be the last case I ever work on? Has Sinclair written me off?

I can't think about that right now, though. I need to focus on keeping Luke safe.

“Go ahead.” I nod toward his bedroom. “I'll wait for them to bring the flowers up.”

I listen for the sound of the running water, and then I quickly text Warner to confirm that there is in fact a real delivery truck outside.

There's been no indication that Vlad is looking to get rid of Luke too, and pulling my gun out to receive flowers is probably an overreaction on my part. But I get it out anyway, tucking it into the back of my pants as I wait by the door.

The knock comes within minutes.

I open the door to a young, brunette woman with a clipboard for me to sign. I do a quick appraisal and decide she's simply here to deliver flowers. “Here you go,” she says, handing me an exotic arrangement of black orchids.

I don't have to read the card to know who these flowers are from. They have Elmira written all over them. And, because they do, I start picking through the leaves and stems, searching the entire bouquet for anything suspicious.

“Who sent those?” Luke's sudden voice behind me makes me jump. I spin around, hoping he was too distracted by the flowers to notice the bulge of my gun on my back.

I hand him the card.

“You should probably call and thank them,” I suggest, looking down at the towel wrapped around his waist. “Maybe after your shower.”

“No point wasting time,” he mutters, grabbing his phone and punching out a number he's memorized. “Rust always used to say that.” I step in closer, both so I can touch his bare skin and so he doesn't step out of earshot.

“Hey . . . I did. Thank you. They're really nice . . . Of course, thank her for me . . . Yeah, I know . . .”

I lean in and press my lips against Luke's arms. And plead with my eyes. He looks down at me and sees the silent words. I know he does.
You promised me to walk away,
I remind him.

He brushes the hair off my face. “Listen, with Rust gone, any deals he made—” Aref has obviously cut him off and is controlling the conversation now. I wish I could hear him. “Right . . . I couldn't even help if I wanted to. He's the only one who knew the business. I don't see how this shipment for Vlad is going to go through, and yours . . . Okay . . . Thanks.” He frowns slightly as he hangs up.

“What's wrong?”

Luke stares at the flowers, through them, for a long moment. “Aref took it surprisingly well.”

“Are you happy about that?”

“Yeah. But . . .” Concern clouds Luke's eyes. “That's a lot of money for Aref to just walk away from.”

Unless he's not walking away from anything at all.

“Aref already has a lot of money,” I offer.

“Yeah.” Pulling me close to him, he leans down and kisses me. “I don't want to think about any of it anymore.”

“Good plan. I'll meet you in there in a minute.” I seize his hands before they wander far enough to discover my gun.

“Okay, but hurry up. I need you.” He pulls me flush with him, proving exactly how much.

Once he's safely out of view again, I hide my gun in my purse and unfasten my necklace, leaving it on the counter.