by K. A. Tucker
“I do.”
“So do I. We’ll sneak down there later. After I talk to Aref.”
My pessimistic side had already written Luke off for our date so when he called, my excitement was genuine, and hard to hide. He told me we were going to a party but was vague otherwise. I didn’t want to press him with questions.
The way Luke’s eyes scan over the crowd now, searching, skimming over the attractive female faces without pause, I’m beginning to think this isn’t just a casual party. I shouldn’t be surprised. A lot of shady business deals don’t happen in the back of tinted-window cars and junkyards, like in fiction. They happen out in the open like this, in casual settings like coffee shops and parties and over a nice bowl of pasta.
There’s not much I can do here except sip my wine, catalogue as many guests’ faces as I can, in case they become important later on, and hope that Luke has the good grace not to simply abandon me.
I nudge him, pulling his attention back to me easily. “Do you know a lot of the people here?”
“No.” A pause. “You said your family used to have a place like this?”
“Kind of,” I lie. “My dad decided to sell. I wish he had kept it.”
“Well, I’m going to have a place like this one day. You can come visit me.” He smiles, his eyes dipping to my mouth for a second.
“You’re sitting on millions?” I tease.
“Not yet.”
“Oh yeah?” I cock my head in a playful, seductive way. “So how are you going to earn all that?” Maybe Luke is the type to brag about his money-making schemes.
“Luke,” a deep voice sounds out beside us, interrupting us. I turn to see a man with smooth skin and jet-black wavy hair watching Luke through large, dark chocolate eyes.
“Aref.” Luke offers his hand and the man takes it, a smile stretching the scar that cuts into his top lip.
They size each other up, as if they’ve never met before.
“Welcome. You’re enjoying yourselves, I hope?” He has an indeterminate accent—English mixed with something else, and regal-sounding. I shouldn’t be surprised. An international operation like the one Rust Markov runs needs affluent ties from all over the world.
“Great place.”
Aref’s eyes flicker to mine and I respond with a smile and a nod. “I was just admiring your yacht.”
“I’m sure my wife wouldn’t mind giving you a tour.” He reaches behind him and a tiny woman with long, shiny black hair and matching inky eyes materializes, almost magically. Her boyish figure makes her look more like a twelve-year-old girl than someone’s wife, though her beautiful, exotic face has an ageless quality to it. “Elmira, would you please show Luke’s friend . . .”
“Rain,” Luke confirms.
“Would you please show Rain around the yacht?”
She smiles dutifully. Her expression is not altogether unpleasant, but it’s not exactly genuine, either.
Luke leans in to place a chaste kiss on my forehead. “I’ll come find you.” With that, he turns and follows Aref through the crowd and into the house.
Dammit.
“Shall we?” Elmira’s voice is soft and soothing, her gaze appraising me as she floats past, her white dress reminding me of Greek mythology. For a moment, I consider dumping my glass of red wine all over it and ending this tour so I can find Luke, but I quickly dismiss the idea. Aref clearly doesn’t want an audience for whatever they’re discussing. So I follow her down, refocusing my energy for the time being. Wondering how much Elmira might know.
Maybe she’s another door into this network.
That’s all these people are to me. Doors that I need to figure out how to push open.
Chapter 15
■ ■ ■
LUKE
“I take it you like boats.” I scan the framed photos of various ships that fill an entire wall in Aref’s office.
“I do. They’re all mine. My family owns a shipping company. We have a cruise line, tankers, freight . . .”
I watch him pour a golden drink from a fancy glass bottle into two fat-bottomed glasses. “So, a lot of ships.” There must be twenty pictured. And they’re all big enough to cross the ocean, no doubt. Rust said that Aref handled the shipping. I didn’t think that meant he owned the bloody ships.
He flashes a white-toothed smile. “A lot of ships. And some planes, too. And transport trucks.” He hands me the glass. “That’s how I met your uncle. We were buying trucks through RTM. I liked him the minute I met him. He’s a smart businessman.”
“He is.” My eyes wander over all the custom woodwork and ornate carvings in this expansive office located at the back of the house—past a locked door and down a long hallway, as if designed specifically to avoid prying ears.
“What do you think?” He nods toward my glass.
“Whisky?” Rust took me to a whisky bar and taught me how to drink it. A skill every refined, intelligent man should have, he said. Of course, the night ended with us trying to carry each other home and painting the sidewalk with our puke.
“A Macallan single-malt scotch, actually. Special edition, from 1946.”
I take a small sip, swirling the pungent flavor around my mouth. It’s like nothing I’ve ever had before.
“I bought it at an auction several years ago for four hundred and sixty thousand dollars.”
I struggle not to choke as I swallow. “You’re telling me this right here is, like . . .” I do some quick, rough math in my head. “Twenty grand?”
He smiles, clinks my glass in answer, and takes a small sip of his own. Clearly amused. Either he’s trying to impress me or show me up. He’s succeeded at both.
Aref isn’t just rich.
He’s filthy rich.
“So tell me more about this opportunity that Rust mentioned to me.”
Leave it to Rust to call it an “opportunity” rather than what it is—us needing help to offload this car. I give Aref the rundown. “So, would you know anyone who may want it?”
He stares at his glass, as if in thought. “Yes, I believe that I do.”
“It’s as custom as custom gets,” I warn him.
I get a dismissive wave in response. “That won’t mean anything to a buyer in Dubai. When would you need it moved by?”
“As soon as possible.” Apparently, Nikolai is a few blood pressure points away from a heart attack with that thing sitting in his garage. Getting caught in possession of a two-hundred-and-fifty-thousand-dollar car at your own home earns instant jail time and a reputation for being an idiot.
Aref pulls a phone out of his desk drawer and punches in a few numbers. Someone answers and he goes off in a language I can’t even begin to understand. So I busy myself with savoring the most expensive drink I’ll ever have in my life and listening quietly until he drops the phone into his pocket. “I’ll have a definite answer shortly, but it shouldn’t be a problem.”
He seems so relaxed by the entire thing. “You sound like you’ve done this before.”
He shrugs. “I’ve helped out a few friends.”
“And what’s this going to cost us?” I hold my breath, waiting for it. The ridiculous terms he’s going to lay out to do this favor for us, his “friends.” At least maybe he’ll be willing to negotiate.
Dark, calculating eyes settle on me. “It was Viktor who approached me years ago to see if I’d be interested in shipping merchandise overseas. Cars weren’t part of my . . .” He pauses, searching for words. “ . . . portfolio. At first I said no, simply because I didn’t trust the man. But then I met Rust and I liked Rust. So I agreed to move their cargo for them. They pay me a rate per car and I make sure all the paperwork is legit and no customs officers stick their noses in where they don’t belong. It’s easy money.
“But I’ve figured out that there’s a lot more money to be had in sellin
g the cars than simply shipping them. And I also know that Rust has a solid organization.” He pauses. “I’m a good person to know, Luke. I have buyers in other parts of the world. We could make each other a lot more money if Rust would ever consider selling directly with me.”
“What are you suggesting? That we stop doing business with Vlad and Andrei?” I’d be game for that, to be honest.
But Aref’s head is already shaking. “No. You keep that arrangement, and I’ll keep taking my minuscule fees for shipping. But why not start something new with me in a new market? I can ship and take care of the buyers on the other side.”
At what terms? Is he thinking about a partnership? Going halves? Would he try to rip us off like Vlad and his father do? Impossible to say, and I want to talk to Rust before I make myself sound too interested. For now, we have an immediate problem to handle. “How much is this deal going to cost us?” I push.
“I’ll tell you what—I’ll take a cut for red-tape cost and I’ll pass on the rest to you. Just this once, though, as a token of my appreciation for your trust, and a gesture of goodwill. If you are happy, then we can talk about a partnership. Fifty/fifty. You and Rust get me the cars and I’ll ship and sell them.” He’s smooth in the way he speaks. Obviously well educated. Definitely more pleasant to deal with than Vlad. “How does that sound?”
Too easy. But if Rust trusts him . . . “I think we can live with those terms.” I wasn’t supposed to commit to anything, but how can I not commit to that?
His laughter immediately relaxes me. “You remind me of Rust. I’m very glad we met.”
So am I. Walking into Aref’s office and asking for help face-to-face has been a million times easier than picking up the phone to call Vlad.
“I need to get back to my guests, and I believe you have a lovely lady to entertain out there.” He fills my glass with more scotch. That’s forty grand, by my calculations. Enough to buy a decent car. I’ve drunk a car tonight. “I’ll find you as soon as I hear something.”
“Thanks, Aref.”
The second we part ways, I dial Rust. “I’m waiting, but it looks like it’s a go. At cost.”
I hold my breath and wait for him to berate me, but he only says, “Good.” I can hear him sipping a drink on the other end. Likely vodka. He’d bathe in it if he could.
I drop my voice to a hiss. “Fuck Andrei. Why aren’t we working with Aref?”
“Come find me at The Cellar when you have an answer.” The phone call ends, leaving my frustration skyrocketing. Why the hell is Rust even talking to those other idiots when Aref’s sitting here, practically begging?
Chapter 16
■ ■ ■
CLARA
“You have a beautiful home.” I follow Elmira down the path, lit by flaming torches that dance under the slightest breeze.
She smiles. “Thank you. It’s my favorite out of all of them, I think.”
She says it casually, but I roll my eyes nonetheless. Maybe it’s her prim Londoner accent that makes her sound so snooty. We sweep around a small pocket of guests and reach the dock. She glances down at my shoes. “You should remove those. I’ve broken plenty of heels over the years.”
Over the years? I’m still wondering if she’s even considered a legal adult. Regardless, I listen and slip my shoes off to save myself the embarrassment of hobbling home.
Elmira leads me down, down . . . down . . . past the speedboats, along an impossibly long dock that branches off, and toward the rope and a sign that reads, “Thank you for not boarding.”
“I didn’t think you could dock a boat like this privately,” I murmur, taking in Elmira’s name scrolled across the side.
“Enough money buys anything.” I follow her as she ducks under the rope. “This is Aref’s pride and joy. He bought it for me for my eighteenth birthday.”
“Nice birthday gift,” I offer, silently thinking back to my eighteenth birthday and the six-pack of woolen socks and case of Budweiser that my boyfriend at the time bought me. I didn’t like beer then, either.
“Aref can be a very generous man.” Something about the way she says that sounds off. Before I can ponder too much, she leads me through a narrow door and into an interior painted with money, in the form of shiny chrome and crystals and lacquered mahogany walls. The metallic ceiling reflects, and the sleek lighting illuminates, cocooning us in luxury.
It’s easy to forget why I’m here as I trail Elmira down marble winding staircases and narrow hallways, weaving in and out of small but lavish cabins, through three floors of sleek living spaces and open decks of white leather banquettes and wet bars.
“Do you spend a lot of time on here?” I ask as we end the tour on the top floor, a deck next to the captain’s command room. Elmira punches a code into a panel and the ceiling begins sliding open, revealing the yacht’s sunroof, now blanketed by an expanse of stars over the Columbia River.
“We usually spend our winters in the Cayman Islands. It’s quite comfortable on here, even though it’s a boat.”
“That sounds nice.” And unfortunate, given that I’d consider squatting if they happened to store this boat in a marina over the winter.
“We also sail along the Pacific seaboard every summer. It’s my favorite thing to do.” Elmira disappears behind a small bar to produce a bottle of Champagne and another glass. She delivers one to me without asking, even though I’m still nursing the full glass of wine in my hand. Normally I’d just dump a little at a time while no one was looking, but a place like this must be laced with surveillance video. Getting caught doing that would raise questions I don’t want asked. “Have you ever been on a cruise?”
I don’t even pretend. “No.”
“Well, we are here for a few more months. Perhaps we can host you and Luke one day soon.”
I’m sure it’s an empty offer, but I say, “I would love that.” If I can get enough dirt on Luke to convince a judge that this is worthwhile, maybe I’ll be around until then. But that’s a long time to string him along, hiding behind the guise of a physically abused woman still learning to trust men again.
“How long have you two been dating?”
I open my mouth to object to the term but catch myself. “Not long.”
“He’s very handsome. And young, too, right?” she says casually, sipping on her drink, curiosity dancing within her eyes, along with other thoughts that I can’t get a handle on.
“Yes, he is.” It’s all superficial conversation but I need to keep it going, regardless. “What about you and Aref?”
“I met Aref when I was sixteen. He was twenty-nine. Our parents arranged our marriage a year later.” When she sees my expression, a soft laugh escapes her lips that makes her suddenly sound much older. “He’s handsome, and extremely wealthy, so I didn’t object. That’s the only element of my culture I accepted, though. Otherwise I’ve fully embraced the Western way of thinking, much to my parents’ dismay.” She holds up her glass of Champagne, now almost empty, to prove a point, and fills it up again. A tiny body like hers can’t possibly handle that much alcohol, that fast.
“And Aref? Has he embraced the Western way of thinking?”
She shrugs noncommittally. “Mostly.”
Mostly. As in Elmira’s not 100 percent entirely satisfied, perhaps? It’s crazy, the things that people will admit to complete strangers when they’re unhappy. And drunk. Elmira’s shoulders are slouching just enough to tell me she’s probably tipsy by now. Plus, she sounds lonely. Lonely people are all too willing to answer questions.
I’d love to come right out and ask her what she means, but if I bide my time, I’ll get it out of her. “What do you do when you’re not on this yacht?”
She shrugs. “Organize parties. Volunteer at charities. I keep myself busy. Aref wants me to keep busy. He works a lot and I don’t know many people in Portland. Those I do know, I don’t particu
larly like. Mostly Aref’s business partners and their wives.”
Well, that was brutally honest. “So, what does Aref do?” This is beginning to sound like an interrogation—I’m half-expecting my phone to go off and Warner to hiss at me on the other end of the line—but I can’t help myself.
She doesn’t seem at all bothered, scanning her perfectly manicured nails. “He owns a transportation company.”
“Transportation,” I repeat.
“Ships. Lots and lots of big ships, that bring all kinds of things overseas, like clothing, packaged foods, cars . . .”
Bingo. Excitement bubbles up inside me as the pieces are clicking together. I’m a cat, cornering its mouse. “Cars?”
“There you are . . .”
Luke’s voice is like a long, thin needle jabbing into the bubble. It takes all my effort to keep my face neutral as I glance over to see him climbing the steps. His dazzling smile dulls the disappointment quickly, though.
“If you’ll excuse me, I should check on my husband. It was lovely talking to you, Rain.” Elmira sweeps past me.
“Thanks for the tour. I hope I see you again.” I truly do. Unhappy, young wife with loose lips when she’s drinking? Definite informant potential.
She pauses and looks over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing slightly at me. Just enough to create a twinge of insecurity on my part. “Yes. I’d like that.”
She’s cunning, that one. I had better be careful how I handle her.
“This place is ridiculous, huh?” Luke strolls over to the glass panel dividing us from the control room, pulling a cigarette out of his pack.
“You know, they say smoking will kill you.”
“Yeah, I think I’ve heard that.” He holds the lighter to the tip, but then pauses. “Does it bother you?”
“No, not really. I guess I’m used to it. My dad was a heavy smoker for years. He just quit a few years back, after my grandfather died of lung cancer.” I worry that it wasn’t soon enough.
