Becoming Rain (Burying Water 2)

I steal a glance Rain’s way to see her eyes widen, skittering over all the details, taking it all in. As if she’s not used to places and parties like this. Hard to believe, given what she said her father does, what she drives, who she is. The condo she’s living in would have cost her dad a million, easy. I know because that’s what the one I’m living in cost Rust and they’re about equal. An investment, he said.

People don’t invest in million-dollar condos unless they’ve got serious cash available.

Her large eyes catch me studying her. “It reminds me a lot of a place we owned when I was younger. Who did you say this guy was again?”

“His name’s Aref.” Simple and vague. I don’t have much else to go on, except that I’m looking for a tall Iranian man with a slight scar bisecting his upper lip.

She doesn’t push. I like that. Maybe it’s because of my time with Rust. Maybe it’s because there is so much I can’t talk about. In any event, too many questions generally irritate me. Sliding her arm through mine, she purrs, “Let’s see what kind of wine Aref’s serving tonight.”

I lead her to the house and into a sea of unfamiliar faces.

Chapter 14

CLARA

Who the hell are these people and how do they live like this?

I mean, I know who they are, in general. And I know exactly how they live like this.

Yet, as I stand in the backyard of this palatial home, overlooking the expansive Columbia River beyond, surrounded by landscaping and wealth the likes of which I can’t say I’ve ever seen on the job before, a wave of envy washes over me. These criminals are living in luxury that I’ll never experience. Not on a cop’s salary. Not even on an FBI agent’s salary. I’ll be the one trying to bust assholes like this, while they sip their Champagne and rest their feet on the rails of their yachts. And laugh at poor suckers like me.

Of course, I don’t have any intel on who Aref is. Yet. The team will be looking into him as we speak, so I’ll get a good rundown from Warner later. I’m assuming Aref is a criminal of some sort and in business with Rust, though.

“You like being near the water as much as you like the rain?” Luke holds out a glass of red wine for me, then nods toward the expansive dock below, where two speedboats and a yacht bigger than some homes sit tied up next to a waterfront guesthouse.

“I do.”

“So do I. We’ll sneak down there later. After I talk to Aref.”

My pessimistic side had already written Luke off for our date so when he called, my excitement was genuine, and hard to hide. He told me we were going to a party but was vague otherwise. I didn’t want to press him with questions.

The way Luke’s eyes scan over the crowd now, searching, skimming over the attractive female faces without pause, I’m beginning to think this isn’t just a casual party. I shouldn’t be surprised. A lot of shady business deals don’t happen in the back of tinted-window cars and junkyards, like in fiction. They happen out in the open like this, in casual settings like coffee shops and parties and over a nice bowl of pasta.

There’s not much I can do here except sip my wine, catalogue as many guests’ faces as I can, in case they become important later on, and hope that Luke has the good grace not to simply abandon me.

I nudge him, pulling his attention back to me easily. “Do you know a lot of the people here?”

“No.” A pause. “You said your family used to have a place like this?”

“Kind of,” I lie. “My dad decided to sell. I wish he had kept it.”

“Well, I’m going to have a place like this one day. You can come visit me.” He smiles, his eyes dipping to my mouth for a second.

“You’re sitting on millions?” I tease.

“Not yet.”

“Oh yeah?” I cock my head in a playful, seductive way. “So how are you going to earn all that?” Maybe Luke is the type to brag about his money-making schemes.

“Luke,” a deep voice sounds out beside us, interrupting us. I turn to see a man with smooth skin and jet-black wavy hair watching Luke through large, dark chocolate eyes.

“Aref.” Luke offers his hand and the man takes it, a smile stretching the scar that cuts into his top lip.

They size each other up, as if they’ve never met before.

“Welcome. You’re enjoying yourselves, I hope?” He has an indeterminate accent—English mixed with something else, and regal-sounding. I shouldn’t be surprised. An international operation like the one Rust Markov runs needs affluent ties from all over the world.

“Great place.”

Aref’s eyes flicker to mine and I respond with a smile and a nod. “I was just admiring your yacht.”

“I’m sure my wife wouldn’t mind giving you a tour.” He reaches behind him and a tiny woman with long, shiny black hair and matching inky eyes materializes, almost magically. Her boyish figure makes her look more like a twelve-year-old girl than someone’s wife, though her beautiful, exotic face has an ageless quality to it. “Elmira, would you please show Luke’s friend . . .”

“Rain,” Luke confirms.

“Would you please show Rain around the yacht?”

She smiles dutifully. Her expression is not altogether unpleasant, but it’s not exactly genuine, either.

Luke leans in to place a chaste kiss on my forehead. “I’ll come find you.” With that, he turns and follows Aref through the crowd and into the house.