Becoming Rain (Burying Water 2)

“There’s my entrepreneurial nephew . . .” He pats my back. “Let me give it some thought. No more talk of it now, though.” His eyes flicker up, past me, and he smiles. “There she is.”

The smell of coconut and flowers hits me. “Hey, Luke.”

I look over and up to get an eyeful. “Hey, Pris.” She likes showing her tits off in tight shirts and I can’t help looking at them, even though I’ve seen them so many times now, they’re no longer especially thrilling.

Her sharp blue eyes float over my empty glass. “How about I drive your car home for you?”

I’ve had too much to drink. That’s always her excuse to get into my bed. I guess she didn’t ensnare any sugar daddies tonight and her ego’s taken a hit. Her confident stride, her nose in the air—it’s all an act. I remember when this all started between us, when I first came here with Rust, started meeting his friends, his associates. Started being treated like a man. She was already working behind the bar. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of her. I thought I was such a lucky bastard when she started flirting with me. I heeded Rust’s warnings, though—he was right about the kind of girl she is—and kept my heart out of it.

And because I did, we’ve become odd friends. Or at least, we’re comfortable together. We’ve gotten past the acts we put on for others. Neither of us pretends to be something we’re not. We’ve been playing this game for a year and a half now. Long enough that I can tell her to wipe that bright pink lipstick off her lips before they come anywhere near me tonight.

Am I in the mood for this, though? Rain’s smart, crystal-blue eyes flicker through my thoughts. I like her. Her and her cute nose as she scrunched it up, hating the scotch. Her, standing next to me, my arm linked with hers.

Maybe I’m starting to like her too much.

It doesn’t matter. I’m not wrapping my brand-new Porsche around a light post and, if anyone can handle a stick, I know Priscilla can.

“Yeah, fine. Let’s go.”

Chapter 18

CLARA

“Someone’s been drinking my beer.”

“Said Papa Bear . . .” Warner’s blank stare tells me he doesn’t catch my Goldilocks reference. “You know I hate beer.”

He gestures at the inside of my fridge. “I had six in here. Now I have five.”

“Yeah, I gave one to 12.”

He scowls, cracking open a fresh one. “My beer is off-limits.”

“If he shows up here, I have to offer him something. Which reminds me . . . I thought this place was out-of-bounds for my cover team now that he knows where I live.”

“Are you expecting him at . . .” He glances at the clock. “. . . two a.m.?”

“No, but I’m also not expecting my handler, and yet here we are.”

“I’m not your handler, I’m your cranky asshole of a brother, remember?”

“Stepbrother,” I correct him, rolling my eyes.

“Whatever. Bill’s on him. He’s out at the club.” Clinking his beer against my glass of wine, he announces, “You did great tonight. Sinclair’s happy.”

“You talked to him?”

“An hour ago. Gave him a rundown. I think there’s enough here to keep the investigation going.”

Seriously? “There’s really not that much.”

Warner shakes his head, laughing. “Do you have any idea whose house you were at tonight?”

“I’m guessing the man who ships their stolen cars.”

“Well, look at you, Nancy Drew.” He chuckles. “Aref Hamidi. Owner of Hamidi Enterprises, one of the wealthiest international freight companies in the world, going back five generations. Also one of the richest families in Iran.”

“Impressive fact gathering.”

His brow quirks. “Oh, it gets better. He’s married to Elmira Zamani, who has ties to the now dethroned Iranian empire. As in, she’s distant royalty. As in, almost a real live fucking princess.”

“Wow.” I think back to her shiny black hair, her exotic features, her regal movements. Doesn’t surprise me one bit.

“Yeah. Between the two of them, they have enough money to feed a third-world country.”

That doesn’t surprise me either. “And their money’s dirty?”

“All money is, somewhere along the line,” Warner mutters between sips, his cynical side making its appearance. “But, no, not that we’ve known of, up until now. The Hamidi family has been on our radar for over two decades, given their connections to that part of the world and their business. Right after 9/11, when we were able to get warrants signed with nothing more than a loud sneeze, we used to jam them up bad with searches. They always took it in stride, and they always turned up clean.”

“So, what do you think this means?”

He shrugs. “Maybe Aref isn’t following the family’s legitimate ways.”

“Maybe Luke was there on legit business for RTM,” I say, playing devil’s advocate. Maybe his uncle isn’t dragging him down with him.

“Maybe. All I know is Sinclair was like a fat kid in a candy store tonight. We thought Rust’s network was strictly with the Russian mob, but this is even bigger.”

“I guess he’ll get an extra-big shiny medal then, won’t he?” I mutter, wryly.

Warner chuckles, perching on the arm of the couch. “Something like that.”