Becoming Rain (Burying Water 2)

“Rain?”

“That girl I took with me to Aref’s party.”

“Right. You never gave me her name before. How’d you meet this girl, again?”

“She’s the one who brought her Audi in that day, remember?”

“Ah . . . yes. Pretty girl.” He nods slowly, smiling. The smile is quickly wiped away with a frown. “You’re spending a lot of time with her.”

“Not really.” Not nearly as much as I want to. Every night when I get home, my eyes wander to my window and across the way, looking for her. She said she’d be busy with some assignments that she’s been slacking on this week. I don’t know what kind of photography course this is, but she seems to be taking it fairly seriously. That, or this is all part of that speech she gave me about “not losing herself to another guy.”

“More than your usual girls.”

“So?”

He shrugs. “So, you should bring her around one night. I’d like to meet her.”

“I don’t know if we’re quite there yet.” Introducing her to Rust is basically introducing her to a parent. Worse, I’d actually care if Rust didn’t approve of her. It would crush me.

“Fine. Then at least meet me at The Cellar tonight and pretend that you remember who I am.”

I start laughing, earning his smile.

The door squeaks open and a haggard Miller walks in.

“Hey! Look who made it back! You feeling better?” Rust exclaims, watching his diligent manager amble toward his desk.

“I’m fine. Marie’s just overreacting,” Miller grumbles in response.

“Hey, I had no idea you were married,” I say.

Rust chuckles. “Maybe you two should actually talk once in a while. Who knows? You may learn to like each other. Miller, take it easy. Let Luke handle more. I need you firing on all cylinders, right?” I’m guessing the high-browed look Rust shoots Miller has nothing to do with operating the garage. The big shipment night is coming up and Miller will be the one picking up the payout from Vlad in the dark motel parking lot.

“I’ll be fine.” Miller clears his throat, bringing up all kinds of phlegm that contradicts his words.

Rust knocks against my desk. “Tonight. We have some things to talk about. And . . . I’ll have some paperwork for you to sign.” There’s that smile again. The one I always see when he’s about to surprise me. “I wouldn’t recommend changing the name, though.” He winks. “ ‘Rust’s Garage’ is kind of known around these parts.”

My jaw drops. Out of the corner of my eye, I see that Miller’s is hanging low too. “Seriously?” Rust is keeping his word and signing over the garage to me?

“And set something up with Aref at Corleone’s for later this week.” He levels me with a stare on his way out the door, and I know I had better get my ass in gear and not get distracted by his latest display of generosity.

I look up to see Miller watching me quietly. I wonder what he’s thinking. Probably that my first order of business is to fire him. Truth is, if this week taught me anything, it’s that Miller is a really good manager and this place needs him. “I took care of most of the invoicing and orders. Payroll’s done. There’s just that yellow folder left that I had no idea what to do with.”

“Maybe you’re not completely useless, after all,” he grumbles as he begins rifling through the unfinished work.

“Relax. Your job is safe,” I chuckle. “You run this place better than I ever could.”

That seems to soften him a bit. “No car today?”

I wait until he lifts his oversized mug of coffee to his mouth before I say, “It’s with the cops, being processed for evidence after some asshole jacked it last night.”

Coffee sprays out of Miller’s mouth and all over his monitor, over his desk. “Son of a bitch,” he growls, grabbing a wad of napkins nearby, only to knock the mug over with his elbow, spilling the rest of the coffee onto paperwork.

I know Rust said to keep it on the down-low, but this is Miller. I’m over the initial shock. Now I’m equal parts annoyed and amused by the irony. The part of my conscience that keeps chanting, “You fucking deserve it,” keeps me from getting too angry.

“Here.” I toss a roll of paper towels his way.

He grabs it with one meaty hand. “Joyrider?”

“No way. Had to be a professional hit. They found it in a storage locker in NoPo, just off Highway 5, waiting to be moved no doubt.” It’s shocking how quickly I’ve come to understand this whole operation. “They’re processing the car right now. I’d love to see who they were planning on selling it to.” Saying that is as close to admitting that I know all about the ring and what Miller does for Rust. A part of me wants to talk to Miller openly about the entire thing, to see what he thinks, to ask him if he ever wishes he were just the garage manager.

“I wonder,” he mutters, clearing his throat several times. He looks about ready to collapse, his face red and swollen, swiping at a bead of sweat running down his brow.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You can go home if you need to. I can manage for the rest of the week. I don’t want you dying on me.”

“It’s nothing. Just this damn cold that Paige gave me. It’s more annoying than anything.”

“Paige?”

“My daughter.”