by K. A. Tucker
Elmira dives off the edge with the sleek movements of a well-trained athlete and swims the length of the pool before pausing, her eyes trailing over my one-piece. “It’s warm enough.”
Okay.
Inhaling a lung’s worth of chlorine-scented air, I dive off the side and into the deep end, reveling in the feel of the tepid water. When I emerge, I find Elmira waiting for me, treading water in the center of the expansive pool. “So, how have you and Luke been, Rain?”
It could be my paranoia, but the way she says my name . . . “Uh . . . we’re good. Great, actually.” What is it exactly about this woman that puts me on edge like this?
“Yes, Aref says that you and Luke are growing much closer.” She adds, almost as an afterthought, “Luke told him, at dinner the other night.”
I highly doubt that Aref and Luke were talking about our relationship, but I play along. “At Corleone’s?”
“Yes. That’s right.” She says nothing else, waiting. She’s fishing. She wants to know what I know, what Luke has told me. Maybe she’s here at her husband’s bidding. The deal’s in motion and he wants to know who can identify him, should things go sideways.
I’m not giving her anything. “I’m glad Luke feels that way.”
“Did he tell you that he and Aref struck a deal recently?” She mentions it so casually, as if we were drinking cappuccinos at a café patio and talking about our husbands’ legitimate jobs.
I was counting on her knowing. The question is, what can I get out of her? “He mentioned it, yeah. I didn’t get many details, though. Luke’s still pretty tight-lipped.”
A small, amused smirk touches her lips. “I took you for a woman who would do whatever she needs to get what she wants.”
It’s an art, speaking as Elmira does. The average person would miss it. Or, if they were already paranoid, they’d stumble and stutter over their words, giving her the answers she’s looking for without uttering a word.
But I know how to search for the crack in her armor. “Like you?” I volley back. Elmira is clearly more than just arm candy. Does she actually help run their empire?
She smiles. There’s something that looks like respect. Does she realize that she’s finally met her match?
That’s why her next words are so jarring. “You need to get him to back away from the deal.”
I swallow my shock. “Why?”
“There are things in play now. Plans that began some time ago, before Luke ever became involved, and when they come to fruition, there will be no room for Luke in them. The less involved he is, the better.”
My heart is pounding against my chest as I digest what I begin to realize is more warning than threat. “What things?”
The creak of a door introduces several ladies, chattering and laughing as they enter the pool area in their bathing suits. When I turn back, Elmira has begun her laps again. I guess our conversation is over, for now. I trail her in the next lane, using this time to process.
There are things in play? What plan? And who does it involve? Obviously Aref, but who else? Have Aref and Elmira figured out that there’s a full FBI investigation underway? Aref sure as hell isn’t playing on our side or I’d know. And she can’t know who I am, or he wouldn’t have gone through with this deal to begin with.
I almost wish I had worn a wire today, so that I could talk through this with Warner. Then again, nothing would have been captured while in the pool.
It finally dawns on me.
This meeting spot was a very intentional choice on her part.
I eye her black-capped head as she glides over the water with a smooth breaststroke. Elmira suspects that I’m wired. Or she’s at least afraid of it.
We continue our laps for a good twenty minutes, until my arms are sore and my breath is ragged, and I still haven’t figured out what angle she’s playing here, what benefit there is for her in warning me.
“Hey,” I call out as she pulls her lithe body out of the water and grabs her towel. The only sign that she’s tired is a slight pant. She peels off the cap to let her long black hair cascade over her shoulders, and then crouches down beside me as I hold myself over the side of the pool with folded arms.
“If you care about Luke, get him to back away from this deal. It won’t end well for him otherwise,” she says, her words hard and slow and unmistakable. “Aref likes Luke. But he loves money, and he’s a businessman who keeps all of his doors open.”
My mind begins spinning with possibilities. “Is one of those doors Vlad?”
“Enjoy the pool.” She stands. “And trust that I’m saying this for your benefit. And Luke’s.” I watch her stroll toward the change rooms.
Trusting that woman is the last thing I see myself doing.
I wait five minutes before ducking out, hoping that I might tail her.
She’s already gone.
■ ■ ■
“Come on, just one episode!”
“Why do you like this show so much? You don’t even get to see anything. They blur all the good stuff out!”
Luke’s brow spikes. “The good stuff?”
I roll my eyes. “You know what I mean.”
“I don’t.” His fingertip tugs at the V at my T-shirt, exposing the lace on my bra. “Why don’t you show me.”
I smack his hand away with a smile and point at the screen.
“Fine . . . Maybe there’s a good movie on. One without aliens.” He scrolls through the pay-per-view channels, taking a second to check his phone screen. He frowns.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, just . . .” His frown deepens, and he moves to set his phone back down on the end table. “Nothing. I was just expecting a call.”
“Oh yeah? A work call?” The dragonfly pendant hanging around my neck weighs ten pounds tonight.
Elmira’s words weigh ten times that.
I’ve replayed them all afternoon, twisting and turning them, trying to read between them. Unable to figure out her motives. Aref’s wife wants Luke and Rust to back out of the deal. She can’t know I’m investigating him; otherwise she’d never bother trying to get me to steer Luke away from business with Aref.
Unless she knows that I’ve already been sabotaging the case so far.
I’m torn between doing my job—or at least, making it appear like I am—and relaying Elmira’s warning, something I can’t do with ears on me.
“I’m just waiting for Rust to call me, to sort something out.”
Perfect intro. “How is he after last night? Did he and that Vlad guy work things out?”
He snorts. “I doubt it. That guy’s an asshole.”
“I’m sure your uncle wouldn’t want to lose his business, though, right?” I choose my words carefully so as not to repeat anything we’ve shared in our private moments, going off only what’s been captured on the wire. But it’s getting harder to distinguish the conversations; there have been so many private moments now.
“No, not yet anyway. Not until he has things up and running with Aref.”
I curl up into his chest. Hating myself for setting him up like this. “How long will that take?”
“Well, we’ve got a deal with Vlad next week and one with Aref in about a month, so we’ll see how that goes.”
I close my eyes against the sound of that “we.” “Big ones?” I hear myself ask.
He sighs. “Yeah. One of them’s worth—” A phone rings and Luke’s hand jumps, his words dropping off. But it’s not his phone ringing. It’s mine. There are only two people who have that number besides Luke: Sinclair and Warner. But neither would be calling me while I’m meeting with my target.
Unless it’s serious.
“Sorry, I need to grab this. I was waiting for my mom to call.” I step over Licks and Stanley, curled up on what I’d now call the communal bed, and move to whe
re Luke won’t hear the male voice on the line.
“Hi.”
“Can you talk?” Warner’s gruff tone fills my ear.
“Yeah.”
“We’ve got a big problem.” He sighs. “24’s body was found this morning.”
I turn toward the kitchen, away from Luke, so he can’t see the color drain from my face. “Why am I just hearing about this now?”
“Because I just found out an hour ago. I was waiting for Sinclair to make a call on our next move.”
Shit . . . “How bad?”
“Bad. Execution-style, in a black SUV. But he was obviously roughed up beforehand. The kind of roughed up when someone’s trying to get answers. I think this may have something to do with the Russians and this other deal.”
“No shit.”
Luke snorts in the background. I glance over my shoulder at him to find him staring at me in disbelief. “You talk like that to your mother?”
I turn away, feeling like I’m about to vomit. Luke’s listening to my conversation. I need to be careful what I say. “So what happens next?”
“Well, at first Sinclair was ready to bring 12 in and give him the hot-lamp treatment.”
“No!”
“He changed his mind. We don’t have 12 on anything solid. It’s better to see where his head’s at after he finds out. He may sing like a little choirboy. I just called Franky and Rix so they know. They’re listening in on this all right now. I’ve got more reinforcements coming. We need around-the-clock surveillance.”
“Is that the best choice?” I’m struggling to make my answers ambiguous to Luke but clear to Warner. “Is that the safest option?”
“It’s the only option right now because it’s what Sinclair has ordered. You need to stay on 12. Have your gun on you at all times.”
“How?”
“I don’t care how. Figure it out. If we lose 12 too, this case is dead.”
Lose Luke. I can’t even think about that without feeling a sharp pain piercing my heart. “Okay. Yeah, definitely. How long before . . .” Before Luke’s happy, oblivious bubble is crushed.
“Uniforms just pulled into his building. 12’s marked as his next-of-kin.”
Of course he is. And that’s why Warner called now. He had no other choice.
“Keep them from asking too many questions. We can’t let the locals fuck up this case for us.”
“Got it.”
“You can do this.”
“I’ll talk to you later, Mom.” I force myself to take a few breaths before I turn around. “Hey, sorry about that.” I can’t keep the shake from my voice.
Luke stands, frowning. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, it’s just . . . just some procedure my dad’s having done next week.”
“Is it serious?”
I swallow against the bitter taste of my lies. “As any surgery is.”
Luke pulls me into his side and kisses the tip of my nose. “He’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”
“Thanks.”
Leading me back to the couch, he waves the remote toward the screen. “I’ll even watch this if it’ll make you feel better.” He has a sappy Nicholas Sparks movie highlighted.
I manage a laugh, which quickly morphs into tears. Why the hell am I crying? I’m an undercover cop and a criminal got himself killed doing illegal shit! I don’t care about Rust!
But I do care for Luke.
This is going to crush him.
Knowing that breaks the last of my defenses and suddenly the tears are flowing down my cheeks. For Luke, for what he’s about to go through. For the anguish of replaying what his uncle’s final minutes might have been like. Not the uncle who led a car theft ring. The one who raised him the way a loving father raises a son.
Wiping them away with the back of my hand, I manage to get out, “Nicholas Sparks movies don’t make me feel better.”
“Okay, I’m sorry.” Luke takes turns brushing and kissing away the steady stream. “What else do you want to do?” He glances out the window. “It’s raining outside. We could go run around in the park?” He pauses. “Naked?”
I burrow my face in the crook of his neck and he wraps his arms around me, his chuckles soothing.
That’s what makes the severe knock on the door that much worse.
“Million-dollar condos and security doesn’t screen anyone, do they? I’m sorry.”
I trail him over, nearly stepping on his heels. He checks the peephole and his face pales.
“Who is it?”
A momentary flash of him opening the door and Vlad being there with guns aimed hits me. With Rix and Franky watching, I know that’s not likely. Still . . .
He looks at me, worry etched over his face. “It’s the cops.”
Another second and another knock on the door.
Finally, he opens it. And steps back. I know what he’s thinking. That they’re here to take him in. I almost wonder if that would be better.
“Are you Luka Xavier Boone?”
He folds his arms across his chest. “Yeah.”
I stand three feet away and watch as the storm—the rain I’ve been trying to save him from—hits Luke.
And I don’t feel an ounce of satisfaction.
Chapter 47
■ ■ ■
LUKE
“Hey.” A hand softly squeezes mine. I peer up into Rain’s eyes, brimming with tenderness.
Where am I? Still sitting on my couch, with a bowling ball weighing my chest down. Where I’ve been since the police told me that Rust is dead. They wouldn’t give me any details, other than that he had been identified by their forensics team and that the death was under investigation. And then they grilled me for ten minutes, asking me if Rust had enemies, if I was aware of any altercations that Rust had been in lately.
One name came to mind immediately.
But, to name him would mean opening up a giant can that I don’t know how to handle yet.
Rain told them in a polite but firm way that they needed to leave and we’d get back to them soon.
“Is Bridgette okay with watching the dogs?” My next-door neighbor, a thirty-eight-year-old wealthy divorcée with two boys in private school, has always been willing to dog-sit Licks when I’m in a jam.
“Yup. For as long as we need.” Rain holds up her keys. “Let’s go.”
She insisted on running back to her condo to pick up her car keys. I don’t know how long she was gone. I don’t know why she insisted on driving her own car. I don’t know how I’m going to get to the front door.
But I manage, with Rain holding my hand the entire way.
■ ■ ■
“This one, right?” Rain asks, pulling her car into the driveway of the tidy white bungalow where I grew up. It was my grandparents’ home, and when my grandpa died, Rust not only let my mom have it free and clear, he also sunk money into it, replacing the roof, the furnace, and the flooring, and bringing the ’60s-style kitchen and bathrooms into the twenty-first century.
Rust has always been there to take care of us.
And now he’s dead.
Bile rises up my throat for the hundredth time in the last hour. I’m about to ask Rain to stop the car so I can hop out and puke. Thankfully, the driveway’s short and I’m out of the car within seconds.
“It’s a nice, old neighborhood,” she murmurs, her eyes roaming over the giant oak trees that Ana and I used to climb. Clutching her purse tight to her side, she takes my hand. “Come on, let’s get inside.”
Even in this perpetual state of shock that I’ve fallen into, I can’t help but notice the edge in Rain’s movements. Maybe she’s wondering the same thing I am—does this have anything to do with the angry Russian from last night?
And am I next?
I don’t see any benefit to killin
g me. But, without Rust, the entire organization falls apart, so killing Rust wouldn’t be smart on Vlad’s end either.
Which leaves me wondering . . . who the hell did it?
She leads me up the front steps to the covered porch that my mom used to sit on, waiting for Ana and me to come home from playing with the neighborhood kids. They don’t creak like they used to, thanks to Rust, who had the entire thing replaced after Ana, at eight years old, fell through a rotten floorboard. I remember that day well. Rust and Deda went head-to-head, my old-school Russian grandpa’s philosophy of hiding imperfections behind a fresh coat of paint every year the cause for Ana’s broken leg.
It was the first time I ever saw my grandpa, a stubborn man by his own admission, relinquish power to Rust.
My mom answers the door in a red robe, the light from the porch highlighting the near black roots of her platinum-blond hair. For a woman who works as a hairstylist, I’d think she would stay on top of that more. I asked her about it once; she said she liked the look.
“Luke, what are you doing here so late?” Her worried eyes dart between me and Rain. “Is something wrong?”
That painful ball forms in my throat again. I don’t know how to tell her. She and Rust have always been close. The only reason she wasn’t listed as next-of-kin instead is because Rust knew how fragile she was. God knows what this will do to her.
Ana appears in the doorway behind her, the same confused look on her pretty face.
Rain gives my hand a squeeze. Somehow it helps. “Yeah.” I clear the rasp out of my throat. “Something’s definitely wrong.”
Chapter 48
■ ■ ■
CLARA
The elevator doors open to allow residents off, freshly showered, dressed, and ready for a day of work. We’re the exact opposite, in rumpled clothes and with red, tired eyes, which watched wave after wave of emotion grip Luke’s mom and sister, their tears coming from a seemingly never-ending tap of grief. What Luke didn’t shed in tears he made up for in cigarettes, burning through one after another, he and his mom emptying three packs while sitting on the steps of the front porch.
