by K. A. Tucker
Wary blue eyes flash up to me. What are you going to do, Luke? Risk looking suspicious by getting up and walking away? Or just stop talking altogether?
I hold up the can. He nods. So I take my time, placing the empty glass on the table, cracking the can, and slowly pouring its contents in.
“No . . . No . . . He’s a dumb ass . . . We have to help . . . You should give him a call . . .” I feel Luke’s eyes on me. I turn and offer him my most innocent, oblivious smile and then keep pouring.
While I and the FBI listen in.
“Yeah . . . Can you call Vlad and see what he can . . .”
Vlad. There’s that name.
“Really? . . . I don’t know . . . Yeah, I guess so. ’kay . . . Thanks, Rust.” He hangs up just as I’m holding out the glass for him. “Sorry, that was work.”
“No worries. I just thought you might be thirsty.”
He pauses for a long moment to consider me, a curious, unreadable look passing over his face. “I am. Thanks.” He stands and, instead of taking the drink, he curls a hand around the back of my neck and pulls my mouth into his.
I’m somehow completely unprepared as the taste of mint and just a hint of tobacco fills my mouth, as his other hand slides around my back, as he slips his tongue against mine with the skill of a guy who is confident that it’s okay that he’s doing this.
And for about three seconds, it is okay. As my heart begins racing and I lose my ability to breathe, it’s more than okay. As I feel the heat from his hard body press up against me, warming me, this kiss is all-consuming. But then reality comes crashing down and I remember that this is not okay. This is my job, and there are several agents sitting in a car right now, listening to every close-range sound coming from us. All of this is being recorded and entered into evidence for people to listen to at a later date.
As gently as I can, I push against his chest until he breaks free. I clear my throat and offer him a genuinely embarrassed smile, though not for the reasons he assumes. “I’m going to burn the meat if I don’t get in there.”
“So?” He leans in for another kiss, but this time I manage to turn away and his mouth skates across my cheek.
“Listen, Luke . . . That bad breakup I told you about?” I wasn’t planning on using this excuse yet, but I guess I don’t have a choice. I just hope it doesn’t derail everything so soon. “It was really bad. Like . . .” I frown for impact. Lord, forgive me for this lie. “. . . abusive bad. I’m just not ready for this yet.” I give his chest a gentle pat to ease the rejection, wishing for the moment that I didn’t know exactly what he looked like under this shirt. “I really like hanging out with you, though.”
He steps back, his face softening. “Of course. Okay.” He has a knowing look in his eyes. Does my little criminal have a sympathetic side when it comes to a woman being hurt? There weren’t any records of domestic violence in his family, which is usually what sparks that kind of reaction. But my gut is telling me he knows a thing or two about battered women.
I laugh, an attempt to lighten the mood. “You’re just trying to sabotage my cooking. Give yourself a fighting chance for next week when you have to feed me. Nice try.” I head for the kitchen, sensing him trailing behind me.
“Listen, I’m sorry I have to do this but I’ve got to head out. Some work stuff to deal with.”
“At the garage?” I don’t even need to fake the disappointment in my voice as I start switching out browned meatballs for raw ones. Is this about that phone call? Or is he pulling his chute in this “friendship” of ours already because I just denied him? If so . . . I’m screwed.
“Something for my uncle.”
“That’s too bad, but I understand. You can come back and eat after, if you want,” I offer, nonchalantly. If it really is work, then I can’t scare him away with guilt trips and neediness.
“I’ll call you.” He gives my elbow a light squeeze and then he’s on his way out the door.
No mention of going out tonight.
No attempt at another kiss, to my relief.
So why do I also feel a twinge of disappointment?
I lock my front door and, whispering, “Officer Bertelli, out,” I switch the listening device off. My phone rings almost immediately.
“You did great.”
I frown and glance at the clock. “You’re calling me from San Francisco, right?”
“The others were tied up with their kids. They couldn’t make it in time.”
I shake my head. I should have known that Warner wouldn’t leave. “Dammit, Warner. You should have told me. I would have put him off.”
“And risk the case? No way.”
He’s right. But . . . “Does your girlfriend understand that?”
His heavy sigh fills my ear. “She understands that my job comes first.”
I roll my eyes. “Good luck with that.”
“Whatever. Drop it.” The irritation in his voice swells. “How are you feeling after that? Are you okay?”
I know what he’s referring to. “I’m fine. Nothing some Scope won’t cure.” I chuckle, thinking about a story I once heard about a female undercover who was forced into kissing a meth head she was trying to bust, to prove herself and keep from getting shot. She downed half a bottle of mouthwash afterward, trying to rid herself of the vile taste.
There’s no vile taste in my mouth, though. In fact, if I concentrate, I can still feel my target’s lips—softer than I expected them to be—on mine, and my heart begins to race again.
“Okay, go relax. I’ll be on for tonight.”
“If there is a tonight,” I mutter.
“Don’t worry. You’ve hooked him. He just may not know it yet.”
Chapter 13
■ ■ ■
LUKE
“Come on, you can move it, right?” I ask between puffs of my cigarette. With the noise from the city streets and being on the tenth floor, I’m not worried about being overheard.
Vlad’s heavy, irritated exhale fills my ear. “Perhaps, but . . .”
Rust warned me that this would be a challenge before he gave me Vlad’s number. I insisted on it, though. Because it’s Dmitri, and because I want to try to negotiate with the bastard. I like to think I have a knack for negotiations. And because I have to come to some agreement, seeing as I promised we would.
I also want to prove that I’m not the half-wit he seems to think I am. But I really hate talking to this guy. “Dude, come on. They retail for a quarter-million here. What’s the problem?” I don’t know what the fuck Stefan was thinking, pinching some rich guy’s custom-made Ferrari Spider on a weekend trip to Seattle. Then he shows up at his father, Nikolai’s, doorstep with it. According to Rust, who talked to Dmitri after my call with him, Nikolai lost his mind. Gave his son two black eyes for being so stupid. At least the idiot was smart enough to jam the tracking system on it.
“I may have a buyer. He was talking about wanting to impress a mistress with a new car, recently.”
“She’d be impressed, alright.” From what Dmitri told us, the owner had every upgrade imaginable put into it. “Look, you can even take an extra five percent off our cut, for your help.”
A vacant chuckle answers. “If I do this, the cost is seventy off the top.”
“Are you fucking crazy?” Just like Rust warned.
“No, I’m a businessman and this is business. Dude.”
“There’s no way we can give you that big a cut.”
“Then I hope you enjoy giving that car back.” I hear the click.
“Asshole.” I dial Rust to announce, “Seventy percent off the top.”
He curses under his breath.
“Do we take the deal?” Rust gave me an earful earlier. I shouldn’t have promised to help Dmitri without talking to him first. Now that I have, we have to follow through.
&nb
sp; “Let me see if Andrei’s still awake. Sit tight. And keep your night open until you hear back from me.”
I fall back into my chair and stare at the layers of purple and pink in the sky. I don’t want to cancel plans with Rain, but I also don’t want to have to ditch her suddenly if Rust calls, like I did this afternoon. After showing up at her house, dragging her out, and demanding she cook for me. She was oddly understanding about it all.
I glance across the way, wondering what she’s doing now. Her lights are on but her blinds are closed, unfortunately. Is she sitting by her phone, waiting for my call? I glance at my watch. Eight o’clock. Early by my standards, but she’s probably wondering if we’re still on. Girls are like that.
Licks groans from his resting spot by my feet and I smile. He hasn’t left my side since I came home, after sniffing me up and down, growling a little. I’m pretty sure he’s jealous of Stanley. He’s going to have to get used to it, because I’m sure I’m going to see Rain—and her dog—again.
She’s been in my head all afternoon. The way she hummed when she stirred her sauce, the way she stepped through puddles in her boots, as if she intentionally wanted to make a splash. The way she listened to me when I talked. Really listened. Not like Priscilla, who just goes through the motions.
The way she looked, stretched out in her bed last night.
She’s everything I’m used to and yet she’s completely new. She’s easygoing and witty. She seems smart. She doesn’t talk my ear off about the car or the clothes or the jewelry that she wants, subtle hints for things she’d expect me to buy her. She wouldn’t even take my money today. That was a refreshing change. Maybe it’s because she has enough of her own. But I’ve never met a woman yet who has enough money. Well, maybe Alexandria Petrova.
Just the thought of that name makes my stomach clench.
When I kissed Rain today and she pushed me back, asking for space because of her past, my blood turned cold. She’s been abused. Not nearly as bad as Alex, if the lack of scars indicates anything. But Rain’s words brought me back to that scary night over a year ago, to the days after, waiting to hear from Jesse, hoping for good news. Praying that, when all was said and done, my conscience would be cleared for once dismissing what I knew was happening to her.
As soon as Rain broke away and told me about her ex, she became glass to me. Fragile. To be handled with extreme care. The fact that she was so open to begin with was promising, I guess; I think it means that she trusts me.
I’m just not sure how that works in my life. She said she likes “hanging out” with me, but what does that look like? Like Dmitri said, would Rain “fit”? Especially now? Or is this all a waste of time? I hate wasting my time. Maybe I should just stick with Priscilla. There are no pretenses with her. She grew up in the same environment I did; she knows what this world is all about. Her moral compass is as skewed as mine, maybe more.
My burner phone rings. I answer it in time to hear, “Fucking Russians.” It makes me smile, despite everything. “I take it the call to Andrei didn’t go well?”
Rust heaves a sigh. “No. It didn’t. Andrei’s siding with Vlad.”
“Shit . . . I don’t know what to do, here. Do you want me to tell Dmitri or do you?”
“No, we can’t back out now.” A long pause. And then he says very precisely, like the idea’s coming to him as he speaks, “I want you to go and meet with Aref Hamidi. He handles our shipping, but he expressed interest in becoming involved in more several years ago. He may be able to help us out.”
I frown. “Wouldn’t it be better for you to go meet with him?”
“You brought this problem to the table, so I think you should be the one to solve it. It’s a good little test.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Why? You don’t think you can handle this?”
“No, of course I can.” I hope I sound more confident than I feel.
“This will be good for building your rapport with him. It’s a simple side deal. I’ll let Aref know you’re coming to discuss some business. Just don’t commit to anything until we talk.”
“Where?”
“He’s hosting a party at his house tonight. Bring a girl with you. It’ll look more social.”
My gaze drifts over to Rain’s window. “I can do that. You don’t think this’ll cause problems with Vlad?”
He heaves a sigh that tells me that it probably will. “Like he said, this is business. We have our deal with them, and this is outside of that. Plus, I don’t like Vlad thinking he has a monopoly. Just . . . we won’t mention it to Vlad.”
“Got it.” I can see Vlad being the kind of guy to fly off the handle. A lot of screaming and shouting. Possibly some threats.
“How’s the car?” I hear the smile in Rust’s voice, so I know his mood has already shifted. I’ve never seen him so happy to give me something as he was that day last week, when I drove off the lot in my brand-new shiny black Porsche 911.
I beam, just thinking about it. “Fucking beautiful. Thank you, Rust.”
“Well, you make me proud, son.”
I hang up wondering if Rust would still say that had I not willingly gone into business with him. Would he still be treating me like the son he never had, or instead like a nephew he checks in on once in a while? Would my name be on the deed to a million-dollar condo? Would I have all that I have?
Dialing Rain’s number, a slight bubble of nerves spikes in me as I wait. It’s an odd sensation, not one I’m used to. She answers after the third ring. Lick’s head pops up as Stanley’s yappy bark comes through in the background, making me chuckle and the tension in my back quickly slide away. “Hey. You’re still free tonight, right?”
■ ■ ■
She has a nice walk. It’s sleek and steady and catlike.
I watch Rain approach my car, her calf muscles tightening with each step, thanks to those wickedly tall red shoes.
The kind I like.
So is the snug black dress she’s wearing. Strapless, showing off the curves of her neck and shoulders. One of my favorite parts of a woman.
The entire package is impressive. I suddenly wonder how the hell I could have been distracted enough not to call her the day I met her. How it took getting attacked by her dog to notice her in the park. How I’m going to give her space, when all I want to do right now is touch her.
“Nice car,” she murmurs, her crystal-blue eyes sliding over the frame of my Porsche before she slides into the passenger seat. The back of her dress dips down even lower, highlighting her sleek curves and that sexy tattoo. The one I saw last night, when she was in her underwear . . . My heart rate spikes a little.
“New?” She stares at me, waiting for my answer.
Focus, Luke. “Yeah, I just got it last week.” I drove it off the lot and around Portland with a massive hard-on for three hours.
Pulling out of the condo parking lot, I let my hand rest on the gear stick. “You look really . . . nice.” I steal a glance at her firm thighs and smooth skin. She definitely takes care of herself.
Glass. She’s glass, I remind myself.
She dips her head in that almost embarrassed way, the way she always does when she catches me looking at her, her fingers fumbling with the gold chain of her necklace. She does that quite a bit, I’ve noticed. Must be a nervous habit. “So, where are you taking me?”
“A business associate’s party.”
■ ■ ■
“Easily five million. Maybe more,” I murmur, taking in the lit-up mansion that sits by Columbia River, handing my keys to the hired valet. Not surprising that Aref would hire someone to manage all the guests filtering through here. Rust said he likes throwing parties and people like coming to them.
I steal a glance Rain’s way to see her eyes widen, skittering over all the details, taking it all in. As if she’s not used to places and par
ties like this. Hard to believe, given what she said her father does, what she drives, who she is. The condo she’s living in would have cost her dad a million, easy. I know because that’s what the one I’m living in cost Rust and they’re about equal. An investment, he said.
People don’t invest in million-dollar condos unless they’ve got serious cash available.
Her large eyes catch me studying her. “It reminds me a lot of a place we owned when I was younger. Who did you say this guy was again?”
“His name’s Aref.” Simple and vague. I don’t have much else to go on, except that I’m looking for a tall Iranian man with a slight scar bisecting his upper lip.
She doesn’t push. I like that. Maybe it’s because of my time with Rust. Maybe it’s because there is so much I can’t talk about. In any event, too many questions generally irritate me. Sliding her arm through mine, she purrs, “Let’s see what kind of wine Aref’s serving tonight.”
I lead her to the house and into a sea of unfamiliar faces.
Chapter 14
■ ■ ■
CLARA
Who the hell are these people and how do they live like this?
I mean, I know who they are, in general. And I know exactly how they live like this.
Yet, as I stand in the backyard of this palatial home, overlooking the expansive Columbia River beyond, surrounded by landscaping and wealth the likes of which I can’t say I’ve ever seen on the job before, a wave of envy washes over me. These criminals are living in luxury that I’ll never experience. Not on a cop’s salary. Not even on an FBI agent’s salary. I’ll be the one trying to bust assholes like this, while they sip their Champagne and rest their feet on the rails of their yachts. And laugh at poor suckers like me.
Of course, I don’t have any intel on who Aref is. Yet. The team will be looking into him as we speak, so I’ll get a good rundown from Warner later. I’m assuming Aref is a criminal of some sort and in business with Rust, though.
“You like being near the water as much as you like the rain?” Luke holds out a glass of red wine for me, then nods toward the expansive dock below, where two speedboats and a yacht bigger than some homes sit tied up next to a waterfront guesthouse.
