Becoming Rain (31 page)

Chapter 60

■ ■ ■

CLARA

Luke kicks off his shoes and unsnaps Licks' leash, who bolts straight for Stanley, their tails wagging frantically. “Where am I sleeping?” The same vacantness in his voice that I've listened to for hours in the interrogation room still exists. He hasn't said a word to me since he demanded to see me. The car ride home was painfully silent.

“In the spare room, next to mine.”

He begins heading toward it, duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

“I need you to leave your phones with me. I'll let you know if someone's calling.”

I'm expecting some form of resistance, but he simply slides his hand into his pocket and tosses both phones onto a side table before continuing on.

“Just so you know, they've installed several cameras in here, as well as at the front door. They're being monitored at all times. We also have twenty-four-hour surveillance around the building.” He's been nothing but cooperative—much more so than most people when their backs are against the wall. Most would have said “fuck you” and strolled out that door. “There aren't any in your bedroom, though.” Or mine. “And I'm not wearing a wire anymore.”

His feet slow for just a second, enough that I think he may stop, may turn, may say something to me. I'd take anything right now. Yelling, accusing, swearing. He can call me a bitch; I don't care.

But then he disappears behind a closed door.

I toss my keys onto the counter and answer my ringing phone.

“We have twenty-four-hour detail on 48, 60, and 72. 36 has already left the country.”

Miller, Andrei, Vlad, and Aref.
Ugh
 . . . Too many targets. The code names are getting confusing.

And Aref is gone. “Fuck . . . he's going to get off, isn't he?”

“Yeah. He probably will. We won't even be able to seize his ship. He'll just say that he has no knowledge of what ended up on there and the customs papers will all be falsified anyway.”

It's not fair. “Otherwise?”

“We're in good shape. A crew is getting organized to check out 24's warehouse. We've got the name of two fences now, thanks to 12.” Warner's excited. I could almost see the adrenaline pumping through his veins with each new piece of information that came from Luke's mouth. “Plus I'm guessing we'll get two more, if we bring in the registered owners of the storage spots that held the stolen Porsche. Rix is gaining headway at the low level. Those guys are getting sloppy in their rush to get this done. I'm going to bring in that port guard and set him up as an informant, and when we finally pull 48 in here, he's going to help us cripple their entire operation.”

“Good.”

There's a pause. “You could have said no to Sinclair. For the record, I don't think this is a good idea. We should have put 12 in a safe house for the next few days.”

“And risk that shipment not happening because someone suspects he's turned?” Sinclair and the team went through a lot of effort to cover Luke's time being questioned. Of anyone, Luke would have the motive to want Vlad punished. “No. He won't hurt me.”

“Are you sure? 'Cause you sure as hell hurt
him
.”

I take a deep, calming breath. Amidst all the emotions assaulting me over the last couple of days, the sense of relief is the most overwhelming. Relief that the lie is over, that Luke knows what I am. I didn't realize just how much that guilt was weighing on my conscience until today.

“Bill had a floor safe added to your bedroom to hold your gun, along with the deadbolt. 12 doesn't have a lock on his door, and we bolted his furniture down, in case he tries to barricade himself in.”

“You guys really think of everything, don't you? And his name is Luke, not 12.” He's no longer my target.

Sinclair's sigh fills my ear. “Just keep an eye on that kid. He's been through a lot this past week. I wouldn't want him doing something stupid.”

For a long time after I hang up the phone, I stare at his closed door. Fearful of Warner's warning. Wondering if there's truth to it.

Until I can't help myself anymore. Beckoning the dogs, I walk over to the spare room. My knock earns no answer, so I crack the door open. “Luke?”

No answer.

He's lying on his back, eyes closed. He's been up for nearly thirty-six hours and under extreme stress, so I'm not at all surprised he fell hard and fast asleep. I feel the urge to crawl into bed and wrap my arms around his body, rest my head on his chest, and somehow find a way to make him understand how I could do this to him. How I know he's a good person who was led astray by people who loved him, by his own, entirely human desires.

Make him realize that, while he probably feels like he's drowning in a torrential downpour of bad choices and consequences, this is all for the best.

That he will survive this.

I want him to know that I did everything I could to save him from the worst of it. In a way, I think I did. Maybe one day he'll see it. Right now, all he feels is guilt and anger and hurt.

Stanley and Licks push past me and run straight to him, as if they can sense the sadness in the air. I'll bet they can. Licks is on the bed with one leap, but my poor little mutt can only paw at the edge and whimper. With hesitation, I tiptoe closer, until I can lift him up. “Shh . . . Let him sleep,” I scold softly, pushing at Stanley's backside until he stretches out along Luke's side.

It isn't until I'm closing the door behind me that I see Luke's arm shift to wrap around the affectionate dog's body, pulling him close.

Chapter 61

■ ■ ■

LUKE

“He's two and a half. His name is Mason,” Rain says, pointing out the little boy who dumps stones from the ground onto the slide, watching them fall and scatter. His mother stands nearby, rocking a stroller for the sleeping baby inside while talking quietly with another mom. “She just got a job at a twenty-four-hour supermarket deli counter, working midnights. Her mom looks after the kids while she's there.”

So she probably got as much sleep as I did last night, which was next to none. Neither did Rain. I know because I kept hearing my door creak open. When she stuck her head into my bedroom this morning and told me to get showered and dressed, I figured it was to take the dogs for a walk. I didn't bother asking her where we were going. I'm not ready to talk to her. God knows what may spill out of my mouth, and there's no way I'm letting her know how much she hurt me.

If I had known this was the destination—watching that murdered guy's little boy play in a park and hear about how his wife is struggling, her face drawn, her eyes tired, her smiles sad—I might have refused.

“She's going to have it rough for a while. You can't raise two kids on minimum wage, not without a lot of help. But who knows, maybe she'll meet someone new one day down the road.”

“Why are you doing this to me?” finally bursts out of my mouth, my sore throat from yesterday's marathon confessional making my voice hoarse.

Rain—she'll always be Rain to me; I don't know that I'll ever call her anything else—stares at the little boy. “A few months ago, I sat outside this woman's window, her entire world crumbling around her, and watched her rock him to sleep. I wanted to punish everyone involved in the ring that killed her husband. They were scum. Every last one of them. And . . .” she hesitates briefly “. . . this was going to be my big break. I was going to win this case, impress Sinclair, and go Fed. It would open up so many exciting doors for me—all the resources at my disposal, the cases I'd be working on . . .” She studies her nails, usually polished, but bitten down to the quick in the last twenty-four hours. “I was eager and willing, and when Sinclair said jump, it wasn't too hard to get me doing all kinds of things that I never thought I'd do. That I'm not proud of doing.”

I grit my teeth against the jab to my ego. Is she trying to make me feel better by admitting to this? “Was it really that bad?”

“No, it wasn't. That's the thing,” she whispers, and I feel her eyes burning into the side of my face. “It was too easy because I wanted to.”

I meet her eyes—so sincere, so deceptive—for just a moment before turning away again.

“I think I'm a pretty good cop and person, but I did things that I'm ashamed of. At first it was because of my ego and my career, and then . . .” She ducks her head, blushing. “. . . it was because of you. The entire time, I knew it was wrong, but I kept doing it. I couldn't stop myself. I didn't want to.” She turns to focus on the little boy again. “You're a good person, too, Luke. I believe that.”

Even though I don't trust her, her words temporarily soothe the guilt burning my insides.

A baby cries out and the woman reaches down to fuss over her other son, adjusting his soother and blanket. “Do you think they'll get an arrest for her husband out of this?”

“The truck is long gone, so not likely, unless someone confesses. Which they tend not to do,” Rain says matter-of-factly. “But maybe we can uncover the stolen SUVs involved in the latest hijackings and get some arrests out of that.”

“Aref's not going to go through with that shipment if Vlad is busted,” I counter.

Rain doesn't answer. While I've spilled my guts about all that I know, I have no idea exactly what else they've gathered, or how far they've reached into Rust's organization.

Looking at the remnants of Wayne Billings's family across from me, I find myself hoping they have enough to bring it down.

Ringing sounds from Rain's purse and I recognize it as my phone. “It's Miller,” she says, pulling it out of her purse to read the screen. “Act normal and don't try talking through code because I'll know right away.” With that warning—reminding me that she isn't Rain, she's a cop—she hands it over to me.

“Hey, Miller, what's up?” Can he hear it in my voice? Does he know I've given him up?

Miller's usual gruff voice fills my ear. “I have some more checks I need you to sign. Can you make it in this afternoon?”

I look at my watch and then at Rain. It's noon and we're a good drive away. “Yeah, give me a few hours.”

“What does he need?” she asks right way.

“I need to sign some checks.” I sigh. “What's going to happen to him? It seems unfair that I get off and he doesn't. He's got three kids. One of them's in a wheelchair. Isn't there something you can do to help him?”

I see Rain's throat bob with a swallow, her eyes leaving mine. “Miller's going to help himself. Trust me.”

Chapter 62

■ ■ ■

CLARA

“I'll make this quick,” Luke mumbles as we step out of his car and head toward the garage. He keeps flexing his hands. I know he's nervous.

I am too.

We have a lot riding on everything going smoothly and, while we have no reason to suspect that anyone's after Luke, given that he's basically been cut out of the ring since Rust's death, we can't leave anything to chance.

Miller's on his feet as soon as we step in, dark bags hanging under his eyes.

He's not going to last long under Sinclair's glare.

“Thanks for coming, Luke.” He moves quickly, collecting the sheets and a pen, and walking over to lay them all out on Luke's desk for him. “This one's for the repairs on one of the lifts. And this one's . . .” He goes on, explaining each invoice, that abrasive demeanor gone, replaced with only helpfulness. Some may say it's because he feels a strange kinship with Luke, for what happened. Others may say that he's worried about keeping his job.

I know that it's pure guilt.

But I keep my mouth shut, pulling my phone out to check my texts, because that's what a twenty-something-year-old girl standing in a garage would do, while her boyfriend sits down and signs away money.

“Is that it?” I watch Luke's face as he barely glances at Miller, like he's having trouble making eye contact. Of all the confessions he made, giving up Miller's name was the hardest. I saw it in his eyes; I heard it in his voice.

If he only knew what I suspected, he wouldn't feel so guilty.

Miller nods. “Yup. But, listen . . .” He checks his watch, clearing his throat several times. “I hate to do this to you, but I need to head out a bit early tonight. I've got to take Paige to an appointment.” Eyes downcast, shifting on his feet.

Miller's a terrible liar.

“I can stick around and lock up.” Luke turns to me. “You don't mind, do you?”

Anyone could explain Luke's reserved, overly calm temperament as the lingering effects of the shock of his uncle's murder, but this all feels way too awkward and wrong. Sliding my phone into my pocket, I plaster on my softest smile and stroll around the desk to lean against his side.

He stiffens immediately.

“Of course.” Casually sliding my arm around his shoulder, I dig my thumb into his back in warning.

With a soft exhale, his body slackens slightly.

“Are you sure? Because I could ask Tabbs. He's good for it.”

“Did I just hear my name?” A short, bald mechanic sticks his head in and tosses a set of keys to Miller. “Brakes are done on the Jeep.”

The Jeep. Hearing that word reminds me of
my
Jeep
—
the one I left sitting at my parents' house months ago so my dad can drive it around the block every few days to keep the thing from seizing.

I wonder what it'll feel like, driving it again.

Being only Clara again.

Saying goodbye to Luke.

Tabbs grins, winking at me. “How's that clutch of yours doing, pretty lady?”

“Good, though I hardly ever get to drive it anymore because Luke's too in love with his to let it sit idle. Right?” Luke hasn't been in his car since the day he drove it home from the police forensics impound lot. When I suggested that we take his car today to keep up appearances, he immediately shook his head.

I think it's lost its luster.

I wait for Luke to respond, because normal, confident Luke always responds. It takes a moment. “Don't you know it.” He ropes his arm around my waist and pulls me down, onto his lap. His grip on me tightens until I can feel his heart pound against my rib cage.

He's struggling with keeping up appearances, and it's in sharp contrast to how he used to be. How confident. How suave, when talking to Aref about “business.” I can't figure out if it's because of everything, or because of me.

I know I shouldn't, but I can't help myself. Turning in to him, I lean forward and steal a kiss from his lips.

I doubt anyone else hears the sharp inhale that escapes him. I hold my breath and pull back just slightly, waiting for him to respond. Hoping he'll respond.

He doesn't. And when he turns his attention back to Miller and Tabbs, my stomach drops with disappointment. And hurt.

“Okay, lovebirds. Some of us have to work,” Tabbs jokes, heading for the door. His voice turns sober. “Any news on Rust's case?”

Luke's body stiffens beneath me. “No. Nothing. The police are fucking useless. A bunch of liars.”

That was for my benefit, I'm sure.

Tabbs shakes his head and disappears through the door. Miller trails behind him, his jacket slung over his shoulder, offering a gruff, “I'll see you guys later.”

I stand from Luke's lap before he has a chance to throw me off, and dial Warner. “48's on the move. He says he's taking his daughter to an appointment.”

“Got it. We just left the warehouse outside of Astoria. The gate was busted down and the storage shed emptied.”

“What do you think?”

“I think they're taking precautions.”

Or, it's all already on a ship and about to go out, and we're going to miss it.

I can feel Warner's adrenaline pulsing through the phone. Everyone's on high alert right now, armed and ready to move in on Sinclair's call. It'll likely be a sloppy bust, if we even manage to catch them, given we're working off Luke's knowledge, a bunch of tails, and the hope that Vlad hasn't had enough time to change everything we know. That he's too damn arrogant to think anyone's on to him. “Okay. Do you need me to do anything?”

“We're covered. You should get him back to your condo, though.” Normally, I'd hate being relegated to what most cops would call “babysitting.” It doesn't bother me now, though, because I know it's one of the last nights I get with Luke.

“What was my number?” Luke asks.

“12.”

“Did you call in every time after we met?”

I find the courage to turn and face him. “No. There were a lot of times that I didn't call in. A lot of times that no one knew where I was.” I take a hesitant step toward him, craving the feel of him again, after the brief one I just got.

“Do they know now?”

“Yeah. They figured it out.”

“And they don't care?”

“This could be the last case I ever work on,” I admit, voicing my fears out loud for the first time. Sinclair hasn't said a word to me about my “extracurricular activities” with Luke. Maybe Warner's right and he truly doesn't give a damn. Or maybe he's ignoring it until he no longer needs me. Right now, all I care about is keeping Luke safe. I'll take whatever punishment's coming after. “Can you ask Tabbs to close up?”

■ ■ ■

I've been sitting on my leather couch, staring at the same page of a book I couldn't even name for over an hour as my mind spins frantically, desperate for an update.

Vlad's shipment is going out tonight.

Miller didn't have a doctor's appointment for his daughter yesterday. He didn't even go home. He led his tails directly to a commercial storage facility in NoPo. They photographed Miller unlocking the doors, his head bobbing this way and that, obviously on guard but not perceptive enough to suspect the beat-up cargo van across the road. Several cube vans showed up over the course of an hour, backing into the storage warehouse to unload before swiftly taking off. The team waited until Miller was locking the doors before they pulled in, flashing badges and the emergency warrant they had obtained.

Apparently Miller's face went so pale, they were afraid he had died on his feet.

But he was alive, his hands shaking so badly that he nearly broke the key in the lock. Inside they found a storage warehouse
full
of stolen car parts and even some cars. Hundreds of thousands of dollars that they could pin on Miller for the simple fact that he was holding the key to it all.

That's what Sinclair told him when he pulled him into an interrogation room.

It took only two hours and plenty of sobbing before Miller was ready to sign his life away in blood and tell us everything we wanted to know.

We guessed right.

Some months back, Vlad met Miller outside one of their shady money exchange spots, and Vlad began commenting on how reliable Rust's “team” was. Miller thought it was odd—how civil Vlad was acting. His questions and suggestions were casual enough, asking if Miller worked with any of the guys. Maybe some of the guys at the garage were helping to chop? Did Rust ever pass on orders to Miller to handle through the fences?

Miller wasn't involved in that side of things, and he told him as much.

About a week after that, Vlad showed up at Miller's house one night. He stood in front of the family pictures that Miller's wife, Marie, had hung all over the living room wall, studying each one of his daughters at length while sipping from the cup of tea Marie had so graciously handed to him. Telling Miller that he had a beautiful family. That he must be worried, having three teenage girls in this world. That it must be hard, managing with Lauren's cerebral palsy.

That if Miller were to get more involved in “that side of things” with Rust's business, he'd make it worth his while.

Miller had never talked to Vlad about his family or his daughter's issues. He'd never invited him to come to his home. Vlad's tactic here was unmistakable: a veiled threat. Miller didn't trust this guy; he never understood why Rust got involved with him, seeing as he was so successful in his legitimate businesses. But Lauren had been in more pain lately; she needed more therapy, more injections.

Miller needed more money.

So he agreed.

It wasn't hard to convince Rust, who had suggested several times that he should get more involved. But Miller had always drawn a line. It was one thing to stop and grab a bag of money every once in a while. Calling guys and telling them which car they needed to hire someone to steal, though . . . Miller only needed to give Lauren's name for Rust to understand why he was now asking. Rust didn't suspect a thing. He trusted Miller completely.

It was easy enough at first, Miller said. Just a phone call to a guy named Leon on an untraceable phone whenever Rust swung by and wordlessly handed him a one-page printout with a list of cars, which Miller would shred immediately after making the call. A week or two later, he'd meet Leon and a few guys out at Rust's backwoods warehouse to exchange the cars for the money. Miller described how scared shitless he was every single time, expecting to end up with a bullet in his head.

Then it became a phone call to Leon when Vlad called to pass on an order. Miller didn't understand why both guys were feeding orders to him—but he didn't know how everything worked anyway. He figured the cars were going to the same place, the same pot of money was being divided, and he needed to keep his mouth shut about it.

Not long after, Rust had him working with another fence by the name of Kyle. Which meant Miller was sending orders to Kyle for both Rust and Vlad.

Then Vlad showed up at his house—again—with a bonus envelope of cash in exchange for bringing him along to the next meet with the fences.

Miller did, introducing him to both Kyle and Leon.

Vlad had a conversation with them that Miller didn't hear, and then he saw Vlad hand them envelopes. No doubt with cash in them. The envelope of cash Vlad handed him for “cooperating” and the way Vlad ducked down to avoid the cameras on the way in kept Miller quiet.

Two weeks later, Vlad told Miller that he
needed
to find out who the other high-level fences were. Vlad knew there were others, because his father was sending Rust orders and the orders weren't being passed through Miller. Miller had guessed as much anyway. He'd seen cars that he didn't order at Rust's storage.

So Miller asked Rust if he could do more.

But Rust said no. Someone else was handling those guys.

It wasn't hard for Miller to figure out who that someone else was. Rust's useless nephew, Luke, who would no doubt be owning the garage soon enough and firing Miller. Miller, who had to work his ass off just to fill a drug prescription for his kid, while Luke had just been handed a fucking Porsche.

Vlad was livid when he heard Luke was now involved.

The orders kept coming in for Miller to manage, only the ones from Rust were growing smaller while the ones directly from Vlad increased. At first Miller figured that Rust was passing his share on to Luke.

Miller began meeting Leon, Kyle, and a new guy who simple went by Smith—one of Vlad's additions—at a new location: the commercial warehouse just off Highway 5 in North Portland where we caught Miller.

At that point, it was pretty obvious to Miller that Vlad was using what Rust built to run his own ring. Still, Miller said nothing because now he was an accomplice to Vlad. If Rust found out, his steady, legitimate job as manager at the garage would be gone.

That's when the anxiety began to take its toll on him.

The day Vlad called him and asked if he had ever heard Rust talking about a guy named Aref Hamidi, Miller didn't think much of mentioning what he overheard at the office—Rust asking Luke to set up a meeting at Corleone's. That seemed to really piss off Vlad.

A week later, Vlad sent Miller an order for a ton of vehicles. All late models, all black, all SUVs.

All needed within the week, in shipping containers at an Astoria shipyard.

A few days after that, Rust ended up with a bullet in his head.

Miller doesn't have the context we have. He hasn't figured out that that last order was for Aref. That the deal Luke says was made with Aref that night in Corleone's didn't stick. That when Vlad found out about what Rust was doing, he must have gone straight to Aref and demanded the business. That the lead time Rust insisted on obviously wasn't ideal for Aref, but instead of telling Rust that, he simply smiled and nodded and agreed.