Becoming Rain (24 page)

Chapter 40

■ ■ ■

CLARA

“Do you think we'll get anything useful out of this?” I ask through a yawn, waiting for the caffeine in my coffee to kick in as I watch Warner toss the ball across the park for Stanley.

He huddles into his rain jacket. “Not sure yet. We'll see if this plays out like we hope it does.”

The tracking companies worked fast, dispatching police to storage lockers in North Portland, where the thief left Luke's Porsche and took off on foot to a parked car three streets away, Franky waiting in the wings for him. Franky tailed him for a few blocks before calling a friend of his, a local cop on duty. As soon as the thief saw the cruiser, he sped up and began weaving in and out of traffic. It was dangerous enough to bring him in on suspicion of intoxication.

Of course the guy had a bag of speed in his pocket.

Sometimes these idiots make it too easy.

By the time Warner got there and played him the video of him stealing Luke's car, the thief was ready to turn in everyone he knew to avoid charges. It's always the same. They're so predictable. There is no honor in keeping quiet with these guys.

Apparently he was hired by someone with a “thick, mean accent, like the bad guys from Bond movies” who promised that he'd get eight grand cash if he lifted the car and left it in that particular storage locker. “He was paid for 12's car, specifically?”

“Specifically. From the sounds of it, anyway. He was given the plate number and the address of the garage to scope it out ahead of time.”

That means someone was following us to the movie theater? Shivers run down my spine but I push them aside. “So how is this all going down?”

“We're working with the local office on this. We need to,” he rushes to say, when I glare at him. “Don't worry, your cover is intact and it'll stay intact. But there will be a point where we need to bring in more people. We've got a local undercover who fits the profile ready to head to the jewelry wholesaler downtown with a phone number. I'm assuming the wholesaler is acting as the middleman with the money. He'll have a mild description of who's coming to collect. As soon as the person on the other end of the line confirms that they've got the car, they'll hand the money over. That's how it usually works.”

“Who runs the jewelry store?”

“A guy by the name of Jerry Rosenthal. We're looking into him and Gold Bonds right now. Not sure if we have anything on them.”

I frown. That name . . . That name was on the certificate for the necklace at Luke's place. Is that mere coincidence? Or does Rust's organization also use this Rosenthal guy for their money exchanges? How many car theft rings would be operating through the same middleman? There can't be many. Maybe only one. But, if that's the case . . . No, I was with Luke. I saw his face. It wasn't the face of a guy staging a theft of his own car as part of an insurance scam. He was genuinely shocked and upset. And relieved, too, when they found it. Plus, he put three tracking systems on it.

“What are you thinking?” Warner asks.

That something just doesn't add up here.
I'm used to sifting through thousands of seemingly useless pieces of information that make no sense until we have the entire picture. We spend most of our time speculating, downright guessing, and not being able to act without concrete evidence. This is definitely a case that's testing my skills at deduction.

I shake it off. “So we're going to go through with the money drop and arrest the person who shows up at the storage locker?”

“Nope. The person who shows up at the storage locker is going to find a black Porsche 911 with a matching license plate loaded with bugs.” Warner smiles as I start to understand the plan.

“You're going to try and get through the fences.” I toss the ball for Stanley again. This still isn't sitting right. “But this was an intentional hit. What happens when they see 12 driving around in his car again? They're going to know that the one they've got is staged.”

“He won't be driving that car around anytime soon. I'm impounding that car for as long as we need to.”

“How are you going—”

“The magic of being a Fed, darling.”

I smile as he scratches behind an impatient Stanley's ear. Warner's not usually so overtly cocky about the power he wields with his badge.

“And what if 12 tells everyone that his car was lifted but the cops found it, and the person who did this hears about it?”

“It's a risk. But if I were running a gig like 12 and 24 are and someone stole my car, I'd keep it quiet while I was looking for the thief, because I'd be pissed.”

“It's a big risk,” I emphasize.

“And we need a big break in this case.”

I nod slowly. “What's your take on the thick, mean Bond accent? Russian?”

“Sounds like it but it doesn't make sense. Why would 24's associates steal his nephew's car?”

I shake my head, wondering the same thing. “Luke did say that the Russians he was working with were assholes. Maybe he did something to piss them off? Or  . . . do you think they were fishing to see if Luke has a tail on him?”

“If so, then we need to be extra careful.”

“Yeah. That means no more face-to-face visits, big brother. Not even pop-ins to my condo. It's too dangerous. There's nothing stopping someone from tailing me. And you, too.”

I feel Warner's eyes on my face but I keep my eyes on Stanley. “Yeah, you're right.” I don't miss the disappointment in his sigh.

Chapter 41

■ ■ ■

LUKE

“Dinner was magnificent. Please tell the chef,” Aref announces as the waitress sets our drinks down in front of us. She's the same one that served us last time. What a difference between the two nights, for both her and me.

She smiles. “He'll be happy to hear that.” Her eyes drift over both Rust and me as she collects the last of our dishes.

“What can I say, Rust, except that I'm very pleased,” Aref offers.

“So am I,” I throw in, the burn of the scotch not nearly enough to quell the relief I feel. Maybe working with a guy like Aref will help erase the hint of distaste and guilt I feel being involved in this racket.

“I'm glad Luke connected us for this. I have my network onboard for one order, to start. And . . .” Rust pauses to place his napkin on the dishes that the server carries, on her way past. “. . . I think Luke's already made it clear that this does not involve our other partners. That shipment will go through as planned. If all goes well here, it'll be the last one.”

Aref waves away any concerns. “You know I prefer business with you. And I already have a buyer who will make it well worth our while. He needs delivery in two weeks.”

Rust begins chuckling, but I see the tension in his jaw. “Sorry, Aref, but that's not doable. It's too risky, especially with what we're looking for.”

“I'm afraid he'll go to another buyer if I don't produce.”

“They all say that. Buy us five weeks and we can deliver. That I will guarantee.”

Aref's lips purse tightly, but then he seems to relent with a nod and a smile. “I'll see what I can do.”

Chapter 42

■ ■ ■

CLARA

“They took the bait.” I can almost see Warner's big, goofy smile through the phone as I pace around the island in my kitchen. “It's sitting in a commercial warehouse right now. The bugs picked up a couple of names that mean nothing so far, but we're working on it. Also, our C.I. at Corleone's just confirmed that 12, 24, and 36 were at dinner two nights ago.”

36. New code name for Aref.

“I'm working on a warrant for the restaurant's surveillance videos, but her descriptions of the three of them match. She recognized 12 from the last time they were there.”

I'll bet she did
, my jealous streak snarls. “Did she overhear anything valuable?”

“That both 36 and 12 are very pleased about something.”

I used to like getting calls from Warner. Now I dread them. Maybe because I see the walls closing in on Luke. And fast. “Hey, I was thinking of swinging by and dropping lunch off for him. When's the next surveillance detail?”

“Ah, shit. I just pulled Bill and Franky off him. My agent has a huge rip planned in NoPo that I need all the guys on. Two kilos' worth of coke.”

“Okay. I need to touch base with him at some point soon though.”

“I'm sure he's busy setting up cars to steal.”

I roll my eyes. “Yeah, probably.”

“Did Sinclair call you again?”

“No.” Thank God, Sinclair's eased off me a bit, letting the proper channels work. “Why?”

“Just . . . if he does, just say yes to whatever he tells you to do and then ignore him and keep doing what you're doing, at your own pace. No one can expect 12 to spill his guts after a few meets.”

Alarm bells go off inside my head. “Is he talking about pulling me off this case again?”

“Don't worry about that. You're in too deep for him to pull you out.”

You have no idea.

“How about I put the guys on you tomorrow. Does that work?”

I lick a gob of tomato sauce off my thumb. “Yeah, I guess. I'll just go . . . kill time somewhere.”

“Don't you have pictures to take and homeless to feed?”

“I suppose.”

“It's a rough life you lead, Bertelli.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I set my phone down and go about wrapping some sandwiches in foil, then packing them into my oversized purse, along with my camera.

Stanley paces at the door, like he knows who I'm going to see. “Sorry, not this time.”

■ ■ ■

Luke's eyes light up the second I step into the office, and my insides tighten. I knew this would be the right move.

“Can we help you, miss?” Miller asks gruffly.

“
You
can't.” Luke is on his feet, coming around his desk within seconds to plant a kiss on my lips. “This is a nice surprise. You want to go and grab lunch?”

“Actually, I was in the mood to cook this morning, so . . .” I hold open my purse and he peers in. And groans. “Damn, is that what I think it is?”

“Can you take off for an hour?”

He pulls his wallet and keys from his desk in answer.

“Actually, why don't you let me drive. I can't surprise you if you're driving.” And, if for some reason someone comes to check up on 12's whereabouts, they'll see his uncle's Cayenne that he borrowed and assume he hasn't gone anywhere.

■ ■ ■

“I've never actually been here,” Luke says as we step through the entranceway of the Japanese Garden, one of Portland's highlights and a place I've visited at least once a week since I began this case, both for the serenity and the chance to experiment with my camera. Enough that the lady charging admission at the front waves at me.

“Why doesn't that surprise me?” I smile back at him. “I'd love to see it in the fall, when the leaves begin to change.”

“Then we'll come here in the fall and you can see it all.” There's a pause. “Right?”

“Right.” I smother any doubt in that one word with a broad smile and then focus on the oddly shaped trees and exotic pagodas ahead. Inside, sadness is quickly building. I have no idea where this case will be by then, if this thing with the Porsche is going to pan out. Luke may very well be behind bars by the fall.

He could hate my guts.

“What's wrong?”

He's frowning at me, and I realize that I'm not hiding my feelings very well after all.

“Nothing. Come on.” I grab his hand and lead him down my favorite path. Acres of beautifully cultivated land are divided into five themed gardens. Stone pathways weave throughout, climbing hills, edged with exotically shaped bushes and rich green moss, connecting bridges over ponds and streams. Each plant, each tree, each man-made structure was placed with such intent, creating an enchanting serenity that I've come to love.

“How easy is it to get lost in here?” he murmurs as we wind along the path, through a denser section. We haven't crossed paths with a single person yet, which is kind of nice.

“Not easy enough. See that waterfall over here?” I point out the gentle cascade, and then hold my camera up to show him a shot I took of it when I was fooling around here a few weeks ago. It was a rare sunny day, the rays hitting the rocks in such a way that the water sprays sparkle.

“This is amazing, Rain.” He takes the camera from me and begins flipping through the images, a serious frown drawing his brow together. “Why haven't you ever shown me any of these?”

“I don't really know what I'm doing yet.”

“Sure looks like you do,” he murmurs, and my ego swells.

“Besides, I didn't think you'd be into that sort of thing.”

“I'm into anything you're into.” A smile curls over his lips. “Have any pictures of me?”

“Not yet,” I lie. That memory card is hidden away, for just me.

“Hmm . . . we'll have to change that.” He hands my camera back to me with an arrogant smirk. “So, where are the picnic tables? Because I'm starving.”

I burst out with laughter. “That's the thing . . .” I loop my arm through his and pull him off the main path, to head up a set of perfectly staggered stone steps. “We're technically not allowed to eat in here, so we'll have to do it where it's not so obvious.”

“Are you suggesting we break the garden's law?” His eyes widen with mock seriousness.

“Because you have a problem with that, right?”

“That's right, I do. You're leading me astray with your wicked ways.”

“I've been known to do that.” I chuckle. “Relax. It's a Wednesday and they're calling for heavy rain this afternoon, so no one's going to bother us.” I know because I tend to come here on those days and stand on the Moon Bridge, letting the drops soak through my hair, my clothes, and my skin as I capture the downpour using the waterproof casing that I bought.

He smiles. “Don't worry about me. I think my conscience can handle breaking the garden's law.”

I hesitate. “Your conscience is already handling quite a bit, though, isn't it?” We haven't so much as hinted at Luke's work with his uncle since the night on the yacht. Either Elmira was right and pillow talk does loosen these guys' lips substantially or he regrets ever telling me.

By the look on his face, I'm afraid it may be the latter, and I need to be careful. To be honest, I'm not sure I want to know. It will only add to the guilt. I brought him here because it's private enough to enjoy our time together but public enough that it can't get out of hand again, like it did at the movies.

“It's getting a little bit harder lately, but nothing I can't deal with,” he finally admits.

“Do you plan on doing it forever?”

“I dunno . . .” He kicks a loose stone off the path and follows it as it skitters away. “I've just always figured I'd spend my life working for and with Rust. I don't know what else I'd do.”

“Well, you could just work in the garage, right? And you like fixing and reselling those cars with Jesse.”

His jaw tightens. “It bothers you, doesn't it?”

I sense the first bricks of a wall being laid between us, and that's something I absolutely can't have. Slipping my arm around his waist, I step in front of him, my body intentionally pressed against his, as I look up into bright blue eyes that I've begun to see in my sleep. “I just don't want you to get into trouble, or get hurt.”

“I'll be fine.” He pushes my hair back from my face and smiles. So confident.

So very wrong.

“And what are
you
planning on doing, anyway, ‘Miss Figuring Out Life'?”

So he remembers that ambiguous answer. He really was listening to me that first day. “I'm not sure yet. It's hard to know which path to take when you're so young, when you have so much to experience.”

His stomach grumbles between us, making us both laugh and his cheeks turn just a touch pink. It's the first time I've ever seen him at all embarrassed. We step into a small, leafy alcove with a simple wooden bench and I hand Luke his sandwich. He has it unwrapped and in his mouth before I even sit down.

“You're the fastest eater I've ever met in my life,” I muse.

“So, seriously . . .” He balls the foil up in his fist, his tone growing somber. “You're not planning on going back to D.C., are you? I mean, I know you have your friends and family there, but . . .” His words trail off.

I'm a natural liar. I tell lies all day long. So why is it becoming harder to lie to Luke with each passing day that we spend together? I feel the urge to get up, to step farther away, as if that will somehow make this easier. I wander over to a nearby lattice structure. “I don't know. Maybe one day.” I hesitate, knowing I shouldn't make this harder on myself by asking. “Do you want me to stay?”

“Maybe.” Sincere eyes meet mine. “Honestly, I don't really know what I'm doing with my life or how things are going to play out here. But I do know that, if I looked out my window tomorrow and knew that you didn't live across from me anymore . . .” He clears his throat and ends with a soft, “I wouldn't like it. At all.”

“I know what you mean.” I turn away from him so he can't read the fear on my face. More and more, I catch myself trying to imagine a permanent life here. A
real
life. With Luke. It always ends with the same damning question: how could that ever work, with him being who he is and me being who I am?

It can't.

That reality weighs more heavily on me, but I have to push my growing disappointment down and keep pretending for Luke's benefit. For the success of the case.

“I do love Oregon.” My gaze wanders over the quiet, natural beauty surrounding us, which isn't limited to just this garden. “Being near the river, and the ocean, and the rocky mountains, and all this nature . . . the weather.”

He chuckles. “I've never met anyone who actually loves rain. It's kind of weird. But cool, too,” he adds quickly, as if afraid to offend me. “I just don't get it.”

I shrug. “It's not so much that I
love
rain. I just have a healthy respect for what it does. People hate it, but the world needs rain. It washes away dirt, dilutes the toxins in the air, feeds drought. It keeps everything around us alive.”

“Well, I have a healthy respect for what the sun does,” he counters with a smile.

“I'd rather have the sun
after
a good, hard rainfall.”

He just shakes his head at me but he's smiling. “The good with the bad?”

“Isn't that life?”

He frowns. “Why do I sense a metaphor behind that?”

“Maybe there
is
a metaphor behind that.” One I can't very well explain to him without describing the kinds of things I see every day in my life. The underbelly of society—where twisted morals reign and predators lurk, preying on the lost, the broken, the weak, the innocent. Where a thirteen-year-old sells her body rather than live under the same roof as her abusive parents, where punks gang-rape a drunk girl and then post pictures of it all over the internet so the world can relive it with her. Where a junkie mom's drug addiction is readily fed while her children sit back and watch.

Where a father is murdered because he made the mistake of wanting a van for his family.

In that world, it seems like it's raining all the time. A cold, hard rain that seeps into clothes, chills bones, and makes people feel utterly wretched.

Many times, I see people on the worst day of their lives, when they feel like they're drowning. I don't enjoy seeing people suffer. I just know that if they make good choices, and accept the right help, they'll come out of it all the stronger for it.

What I do enjoy comes after. Three months later, when I see that thirteen-year-old former prostitute pushing a mower across the front lawn of her foster home, a quiet smile on her face. Eight months later, when I see the girl who was raped walking home from school with a guy who wants nothing from her but to make her laugh. Two years later, when I see the junkie mom clean and sober and loading a shopping cart for the kids that the State finally gave back to her.

Those people have seen the sun again after the harshest rain, and they appreciate it so much more.

Luke has seen only the gold watches and fancy cars, luxurious apartments and beautiful women, promises of endless money and opportunities. But sooner or later, he is going to face the storm that comes from the choices he has made. It's going to pummel him where he stands, drown him in regret, punish him for his ignorance and greed.

I can only hope it's harsh enough to make him leave this life behind for a new one. An honest one that he can be happy with.

I focus on the moss growing between the stones by my feet, unsure of what else to say except, “The world needs rain.”