Becoming Rain (Burying Water 2)

The Jeep. Hearing that word reminds me of my Jeep—the one I left sitting at my parents’ house months ago so my dad can drive it around the block every few days to keep the thing from seizing.

I wonder what it’ll feel like, driving it again.

Being only Clara again.

Saying goodbye to Luke.

Tabbs grins, winking at me. “How’s that clutch of yours doing, pretty lady?”

“Good, though I hardly ever get to drive it anymore because Luke’s too in love with his to let it sit idle. Right?” Luke hasn’t been in his car since the day he drove it home from the police forensics impound lot. When I suggested that we take his car today to keep up appearances, he immediately shook his head.

I think it’s lost its luster.

I wait for Luke to respond, because normal, confident Luke always responds. It takes a moment. “Don’t you know it.” He ropes his arm around my waist and pulls me down, onto his lap. His grip on me tightens until I can feel his heart pound against my rib cage.

He’s struggling with keeping up appearances, and it’s in sharp contrast to how he used to be. How confident. How suave, when talking to Aref about “business.” I can’t figure out if it’s because of everything, or because of me.

I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. Turning in to him, I lean forward and steal a kiss from his lips.

I doubt anyone else hears the sharp inhale that escapes him. I hold my breath and pull back just slightly, waiting for him to respond. Hoping he’ll respond.

He doesn’t. And when he turns his attention back to Miller and Tabbs, my stomach drops with disappointment. And hurt.

“Okay, lovebirds. Some of us have to work,” Tabbs jokes, heading for the door. His voice turns sober. “Any news on Rust’s case?”

Luke’s body stiffens beneath me. “No. Nothing. The police are fucking useless. A bunch of liars.”

That was for my benefit, I’m sure.

Tabbs shakes his head and disappears through the door. Miller trails behind him, his jacket slung over his shoulder, offering a gruff, “I’ll see you guys later.”

I stand from Luke’s lap before he has a chance to throw me off, and dial Warner. “48’s on the move. He says he’s taking his daughter to an appointment.”

“Got it. We just left the warehouse outside of Astoria. The gate was busted down and the storage shed emptied.”

“What do you think?”

“I think they’re taking precautions.”

Or, it’s all already on a ship and about to go out, and we’re going to miss it.

I can feel Warner’s adrenaline pulsing through the phone. Everyone’s on high alert right now, armed and ready to move in on Sinclair’s call. It’ll likely be a sloppy bust, if we even manage to catch them, given we’re working off Luke’s knowledge, a bunch of tails, and the hope that Vlad hasn’t had enough time to change everything we know. That he’s too damn arrogant to think anyone’s on to him. “Okay. Do you need me to do anything?”

“We’re covered. You should get him back to your condo, though.” Normally, I’d hate being relegated to what most cops would call “babysitting.” It doesn’t bother me now, though, because I know it’s one of the last nights I get with Luke.

“What was my number?” Luke asks.

“12.”

“Did you call in every time after we met?”

I find the courage to turn and face him. “No. There were a lot of times that I didn’t call in. A lot of times that no one knew where I was.” I take a hesitant step toward him, craving the feel of him again, after the brief one I just got.

“Do they know now?”

“Yeah. They figured it out.”

“And they don’t care?”

“This could be the last case I ever work on,” I admit, voicing my fears out loud for the first time. Sinclair hasn’t said a word to me about my “extracurricular activities” with Luke. Maybe Warner’s right and he truly doesn’t give a damn. Or maybe he’s ignoring it until he no longer needs me. Right now, all I care about is keeping Luke safe. I’ll take whatever punishment’s coming after. “Can you ask Tabbs to close up?”

I’ve been sitting on my leather couch, staring at the same page of a book I couldn’t even name for over an hour as my mind spins frantically, desperate for an update.

Vlad’s shipment is going out tonight.

Miller didn’t have a doctor’s appointment for his daughter yesterday. He didn’t even go home. He led his tails directly to a commercial storage facility in NoPo. They photographed Miller unlocking the doors, his head bobbing this way and that, obviously on guard but not perceptive enough to suspect the beat-up cargo van across the road. Several cube vans showed up over the course of an hour, backing into the storage warehouse to unload before swiftly taking off. The team waited until Miller was locking the doors before they pulled in, flashing badges and the emergency warrant they had obtained.

Apparently Miller’s face went so pale, they were afraid he had died on his feet.

But he was alive, his hands shaking so badly that he nearly broke the key in the lock. Inside they found a storage warehouse full of stolen car parts and even some cars. Hundreds of thousands of dollars that they could pin on Miller for the simple fact that he was holding the key to it all.

That’s what Sinclair told him when he pulled him into an interrogation room.