Becoming Rain (13 page)

Chapter 19

■ ■ ■

LUKE

I slow to a stop, my heart rate pounding as hard and fast as my feet just were against the pavement.

And I admire Rain, sitting on the bench with the row of cherry trees blooming behind her. Teasing Stanley, who paws the air in front of her, begging for the ball with those bulging eyes of his. It's a rare sunny day, the rays making her chestnut hair look almost red. Even though her exterior appearance—her expensive clothes, the perfect makeup—matches that of Priscilla, Rain is beautiful in a more confident and sophisticated way than Priscilla, or any other woman I've ever been with.

I realized that last night, with Priscilla splayed out on my bed, waiting for me to climb on top of her. When I first met that woman, she was only telling me what she thought I wanted to hear. Once I got to know her and she opened up, I knew that she would never be someone who would truly care about me beyond our superficial friendship. But I didn't care, either. We both got what we wanted out of each other without a headache or guilt.

Until now.

Today, I woke up—way too early—with a weight settled on my chest. One that wouldn't let me fall back asleep. One that I needed to resolve right away.

I don't do well with guilt.

My moment to admire Rain doesn't last. The second Stanley spots me, he abandons his owner, tearing down the path, those offset eyes on Licks. I'm ready for him this time, though, grabbing his stout little body before he goes for Licks's legs.

I laugh as he squirms. “Why so angry, buddy?” He answers with a round of snorts as he playfully nips at my hand. Crouching down, I hold him at nose level with Licks, who just sits there, looking apathetic. “You guys need to learn how to be friends. You'll be seeing more of each other.”
I hope.

The sound of slow, even heels pulls my attention up. Rain is taking her time coming over, tucking her hair behind her ear. Her skintight jeans only accentuate the fact that she has perfectly toned thighs. A cropped black leather jacket hugs her upper body, the gold from her dragonfly necklace jumping out against it.
Hell,
she's fucking hot.

And I'm dripping in sweat from my run.

A cool smile touches her lips. One that doesn't reach her eyes. “He obviously doesn't like sharing your affections,” she says with an unusual hardness in her voice.

Shit.

I knew it.

She saw Priscilla come in.

I didn't even think about the possibility until I stepped into my bedroom last night and spotted the faint glow burning beyond Rain's blinds. I made a move to shut my own blinds right away, but I could have sworn I saw a face peering out from the edge of her living room window. And her bedroom curtains were open later. They're never open. I know because ever since that night I saw her lying on her bed, I've been checking every night.

So, if she saw me bring a woman home last night, just hours after dropping her off, why the hell is she here now? Why did she even answer my text?

She tosses a tennis ball first in the air and then across the path, into a clearing on the other side. Stanley leaps from my arms with surprising agility, taking off for it.

“He has a lot of energy.”

“Too much, most days,” she agrees. “What are you up to today?” Her eyes drop over my shirt, clinging to my body. “Besides showering.”

“I have some things to do.” I need to sort out the Ferrari stuff with Aref later. But not before I sort this out. “You?”

“Same.” She smiles at me but it's off. Forced.

Stanley, oblivious to the growing tension, bounds back with the ball in his mouth, dropping it in front of me with a bark. I toss it across the way, freeing my hand to reach for hers. After a second of hesitation, she gives it to me, her long, delicate fingers slipping into mine, the contact spiking my already racing heartbeat.

I lead her over to the park bench, leaving Licks stretched out in a patch of grass. I never have to worry about him running away. How do I bring this up?
Do
I bring this up? In reality, I just met Rain; we're not exclusive, we're not even really dating. We're “hanging out,” as she calls it. But something tells me that how I deal with this now is going to dictate what happens tomorrow.

I don't know a lot about what's going on in my life right now, but I know that I want there to be a tomorrow with Rain.

So I decide on blunt honesty. Rust has always schooled me on being straight up and dealing with things head on. Not to dance around issues, because it's a waste of time and breath and patience.

Locking eyes with her, I say, “You saw me come home last night, didn't you?”

Surprise flashes across her face before she smothers it. Her mouth opens and closes several times. I can almost see the various answers churning, as she decides whether she should lie or not. “Yes,” she finally says, breaking our gaze to watch Stanley roll in the grass like he's got a terrible itch on his back.

“I went out to meet my uncle after I dropped you off and had too much to drink. My friend Priscilla gave me a ride home.”

“Is that what you call it? A
friend
giving you a
ride
home?” Her voice is low, unreadable, and yet telling me everything I need to know. Yes, seeing me with another woman bothered her.

I sigh. “No, that was a friend driving my car home and then coming up to spend the night with me.”

She winces but then smooths her expression yet again. “Look, we just met. We're just friends, right? So I get it. You don't have to explain anything to me.”

“That's the thing. I feel like I do because . . . nothing happened.” When she rolls her eyes, I quickly continue. “I'm not lying. Look at me.” I gently grab her chin, directing her gaze to mine, hoping she sees the truth for what it is. “I wasn't into it.” Sure, watching Priscilla pull her clothes off made me hard and when I stripped down, I was physically ready. And then I thought of Rain—of her smile, of her laugh, of how she's a breath of fresh air in this world that I'm finding myself in, a world in which, when I'm lying in the quiet dark and taking longer than usual to fall asleep, doesn't feel quite right. And I thought of how she would feel if she knew what I was doing.

The fact that I cared what Rain might think was jarring. Even my best friend, Jesse, says I'm a selfish bastard.

Suddenly I didn't want Priscilla anymore.

I told her I was too tired, too drunk. She just shrugged and climbed into the shower to wash a night's worth of club work off. Another sign that she doesn't really give a shit about me. I pulled my sweatpants on and grabbed a drink of water from the kitchen. That's when I saw Rain's bedroom blinds open. That's when I knew, without a doubt, who I wanted to be with last night.

“Why are you telling me this?” she asks quietly, her focus seemingly fixated on the pebble she's shifting around with the toe of really sexy black boots.

I slide my hand over hers, pulling her eyes back to mine. “Because I want to be honest with you.”

She stares at me through shrewd eyes for the longest time, likely measuring my words. I hold her gaze. Stanley's incessant barking is what finally breaks the spell, forcing her to turn away long enough to toss the ball extra far. “Are you going to have more friends driving you home?”

I push the strands of hair that always seem to fall across her face back. “Do you want me to?”

After a pause, she shakes her head. “But . . . I can't give you
that
right now. I don't know how long it'll be before I can. I just . . .”

“I get it.” I don't, really. I need to talk to Jesse about this, about how to handle this. About what
not
to do, about how to resist the urge to push. Because right now all I want to do is drag her back to my condo and into my shower.

The first genuine smile of the day stretches across her face.

“There it is again,” I tease, cupping her jaw as gently as possible, my thumb running the length of her lips. They're just so tempting. I can't help myself; I lean in and kiss her as softly as I can. Not like I did on her balcony.

She hesitates for only a second before responding, her lips tasting so sweet next to the salt that's coating mine.

Two howls of complaint sound beside us.

“Are you fucking serious?”

Rain's head falls back with laughter. Licks, previously in a borderline coma, now stands next to Stanley, in front of us. Protesting. “I guess they've found common ground.”

“Yeah, well, they'd better get used to this and a lot of it,” I mutter, flashing a sly grin Rain's way to catch the flush in her cheeks. I wish I could spend the rest of the day with her. I'm considering how to shirk all responsibility and do just that when my phone starts vibrating in my pocket. I know it's Rust without looking. “Shit, I'm sorry. I've gotta get going.”

“Yeah, you do.” She drops her gaze down again. “Go shower.”

“Join me?”

She only smiles, snapping her fingers at Stanley. He trots over obediently. “Here.” She stands and tosses me a paper bag that was sitting beside her on the bench. “Your lunch for today, and tomorrow, and the next day . . . so you don't have to eat that awful street meat.”

I let my phone ring as I watch her walk down the path, those slow, sleek movements stirring my blood.

Chapter 20

■ ■ ■

CLARA

“Good save on that, Bertelli,” Warner's voice fills my ear as I walk along the path, not ready to go back to my condo yet.

“Thanks.” I toss the ball for Stanley. For the hundredth time today. Somehow he still hasn't lost weight.

“I can't believe he came right out and admitted to the bartender. Surprised me.”

“Yeah, me too.” More like flabbergasted, actually. Criminals don't admit to doing jerky things because criminals don't realize that they're in the wrong. Hell, almost any other regular guy would consider that a pass, seeing as we barely know each other. And yet Luke came right out with it, those beautiful baby-blue eyes staring at me in earnest.

“What a fucking lie, though, that he didn't bang that broad.”

“Yeah.” But Luke was telling me the truth. I know it was the truth.

What I can't believe is that he could read me in the first place. That I walked in prepared to act like nothing was wrong, like I didn't want to punch him in the face for the not-small twinge of disappointment stirring in my gut. That I couldn't hide my true feelings. That I even have true feelings.

“You played it up perfectly. Not too upset but just enough.”

Played it up
, that's exactly what I did.

And the massive relief I felt when he said he didn't screw that whore? Also not real. Not at all.

Chapter 21

■ ■ ■

LUKE

A Jaguar sits to my left and a high-end Volvo sits to my right.

I'm not out of place here, I think to myself, smiling as I hit the “arm” button. My Porsche chirps. My fucking beautiful Porsche.

Man, I'm so lucky to have Rust in my life.

I stroll through the downtown parking lot, my keys swinging casually by my finger, a cover for the nervous knots twisting in my stomach as I head toward the building Aref instructed me to go to. I've talked to him several times since Sunday. Sometimes about business, other times just to shoot the shit. I can see why Rust likes him.
I
like him. For all the money he's got and as arrogant as he is, he's still a cool guy. And making the arrangements for this Ferrari? Piece of cake. I've done nothing besides make a few phone calls to Dmitri and Nikolai. There's been virtually no risk to me.

Not until now.

“Gold Bonds,” I say to the security guard behind the desk, and he waves me through, directing me to the fourth floor without another look.

I've never stepped inside a jewelry wholesaler business, so I don't know if the security level is normal. All I know is that it's tight. Four cameras, two armed guards, three bulletproof security doors, and one metal detector later, I'm heading down a narrow, sterile hallway to the office of Jerry Rosenthal.

Anyone paying Aref, anyone taking money from Aref, gets it through this guy. He doesn't do dark motel parking lot drops. He's too classy—and too smart—for that. Apparently that's been a bone of contention with the Russians, but the simple fact is they need Aref's ships. He doesn't need them for anything.

“Sit.” Rosenthal waves his stubby hand toward to the chair across from him before dialing his phone. “He's here,” he mutters into the phone. “Yes . . . okay.” Shrewd gray eyes glare at me. “Address?”

I dig the folded sheet of paper out of my pocket and slide it across the desk. The one with detailed instructions to the garage where the Ferrari's sitting, waiting to be driven into a moving truck trailer and taken away by Aref's guys. They're already in the general neighborhood, but Rust told me not to hand over the address until I was sitting in front of Rosenthal. Just in case. This is our first deal like this with Aref and, while I don't think he's going to screw us over . . . I'm going to trust Rust.

Rosenthal reads the address and then throws the page in the shredder and hangs up.

“What now?”

“Now . . .” He strums his fingers, each one decorated in a gaudy gold ring, an unfriendly look on his face. “. . . we wait for the phone call.”

I let my eyes wander over his desk, which is clear except for one neat stack of papers in the top-right corner and a strange metal contraption with various metal rings hanging off it. I can't help but eye it, thoughts of mobsters and cigar cutters and missing fingers flashing through my mind.

“Give me your hand,” he demands abruptly.

As much as I don't want to, I don't know what else to do, so I humor him. He picks up that weird metal thing and slips one ring over my fourth ringer. “You're a size eleven. Would you like to see the latest wedding bands that just arrived?”

“Only if they come with a noose.”

Finally . . . his face breaks out in a wide smile, displaying a gap between his middle front teeth. “Okay, okay.” Rolling over to a wall panel, he punches in a few buttons and a lock pop sounds. Pushing open a hidden display case full of gold and diamonds, he says, “How about a piece of jewelry for a lovely woman? You must have one. Or two.”

This guy is unreal. Is
this
what he does while waiting for drops to take place? I open my mouth to decline his offer when a particular piece catches my eyes.

“Ahh . . . of course.” How he knows exactly what I'm eyeing I have no idea, but the little man stands—and he truly is little; I'm guessing five-foot-two—and seizes the necklace from its hook. “One flawless carat in each. White gold, rhodium-plated.”

The mention of rhodium reminds me of the pile of catalytic converters back at the warehouse. I know it's worth a lot. Rosenthal dangles the necklace in front of me, letting it sway back and forth, the sparkling raindrops almost hypnotic.

I'm picturing it around Rain's slender neck. “How much?”

“Ten.”

I laugh. “What's that, a five hundred percent markup?” Rust filled me in on this guy before I got here. While he runs a legit wholesaler's business, that doesn't mean he buys completely legit. A good chunk of his stock is coming from smuggled inventory at 50 percent less than what's considered market standard.

“What are you saying? That I'm trying to rip you off?” That sour look has returned.

Trying to rip me off is exactly what he's doing, but I need to be careful. He's still holding our money. “No, I'm saying that I didn't come in here to spend ten grand for a necklace.”

He hangs the necklace back up, but I know he's going to come back with a lower offer. This is all negotiation 101. Before he does, we're interrupted with ringing. He's on the phone for all of three seconds, long enough to say, “Hello . . . Okay.” Punching a code into a safe behind his desk, he pulls out an overstuffed manila envelope and drops it on the desk, sliding it across. Stacks of money sit inside. Stacks that will earn Dmitri's wide grin, no doubt.

Hell, I'm grinning because some of this is mine. Handler's fee, Rust calls it. I glance at the necklace again, hung so intentionally front and center. I wonder how Rain would react to that? She'd probably tell me I'm fucking crazy. I've known her for only a few weeks. We've barely kissed. But it'd be a good gift down the road, maybe. “How much are you
really
going to sell that to me for?”

He twists his mouth tight. And then smirks. “Only because you're a good friend of Aref . . . two.”

I dig the cash out and slap it on the table. “Now that's more reasonable.”

He has the jewelry wrapped and packaged in under a minute, certificate of authenticity and everything. When I walk out of there, it's with a smile and a handshake and an “until next time.” I make it all the way past the last security door before my smile falls off abruptly.

Vlad is here.

His eyes widen in surprise, and then narrow as they drop to the messenger bag hanging over my hip, where I've tucked away a shitload of cash. “What are you doing here?”

I should probably bite my tongue, but I don't like the way he's talking to me. It makes my brass balls come out. “None of your fucking business.” What am I doing here? What is
he
doing here!

He takes a step closer, the smell of black coffee and salmon assaulting my nose. “Why are you here?”

I decide that starting a pissing contest with this guy isn't the best idea. “Buying my girlfriend a necklace.” I pull the long, slender box out of my jacket pocket and hold it up as proof.

The way he pushes his tongue over his teeth, he doesn't seem too impressed with my explanation. “How's the Ferrari?”

Shit.
Has he truly figured out that we went through Aref to move it? “Don't know what Ferrari you're talking about. I have a Porsche. And it's awesome.” I stroll past him, out the door.

Feeling his eyes on my back the entire time.

I don't trust that guy at all.