Becoming Rain (Burying Water 2)

I follow her, pausing to glance back once. To find Luke’s eyes on me.

“She couldn’t decide between the Tuscan villa or a cottage in Provence, so I just bought her both,” the blond drones, taking an extra-long sip of her Champagne, perched on the edge of the couch.

“Your mom’s lucky to have such a generous daughter,” the redhead next to her says, eyeing her freshly painted blood-red lipstick in her compact.

Half an hour sitting on this couch and all I’ve heard about is how much money these people have and how much they spend, how frivolously. Maybe that’s why I’ve somehow managed to pour three glasses of Champagne down my throat, despite being mindful. In fact, I’m in need of a refill. It’s going to be a long night, and I should be more careful.

At least I’ve had no indication—no odd looks, no whispers, no anything—to suggest I should be worried about a late-night dive with an anchor tied to me. Yet.

I haven’t learned one valuable piece of information, relegated to the wives’ circle while the men congregate on the upper deck. Is this how it always is with these guys? Wives dependent on their husbands for their money, sipping on Cristal while the men make their covert deals. At least, I assume that’s what they’re doing up there. Successful criminals are successful because they’re always looking for the next opportunity. If they’d put that kind of dedication toward a legitimate life, most would still do quite well.

I want to slap each and every one of these women’s faces. Even Elmira sits with them, quiet but smiling, her attention seemingly riveted to the vapid circle of chatter.

“Excuse me.” I wave my empty glass in the air as I make my way over to the server. There are several staff onboard, graceful ghosts who appear with food and drink at the right moment before disappearing into the background once again.

I can’t go back to that pit of shallow minds, but simply storming in on Luke may not be the smoothest option. So I instead wander over to the rail and admire the coastline in twilight, my last chance before everything is shrouded in darkness. Astoria’s city lights line the water’s edge in the distance, and beyond them is the jagged border of the mountains.

A gentle rocking and cool breeze makes me pull my jacket tight to my body. The entire afternoon traveling up the Columbia River from Aref and Elmira’s palatial North Portland home has been . . . enchanting. Hours of nothing but scenic views—valleys and forestry and inlets—has made me struggle at times to remember why I’m here to begin with. And that there is a cover team following along the coastline in a car, worried about getting to me before my body is tossed overboard.

Even with my heightened senses, the exponential increase in danger, I’ll miss this when I’m back in Washington, D.C., knocking on cheap motel doors again.

“Have you ever driven along it?” Elmira sidles up to me, her gaze settling on the Astoria–Megler Bridge ahead, a four-mile-long architectural masterpiece highlighted by the purple sky. A full drink in her hand, a slight swagger in her movements. She’s drunk. I may be slightly tipsy too, but I can handle myself better than most.

“Not yet.”

“You should have Luke take you. Great views. There are plenty of beautiful pictures to take from up there.” She pauses. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No.” I give her the thirty-second cover story spiel. It comes so naturally to me that I almost believe it myself now.

“I’ve never been to Washington, D.C. I hear it’s nice.”

“It’s nothing like this.”

“Will you be staying long, then?”

“Not sure.” Depends how secretive your husband and Luke are.

She nods slowly. “I’m heading back to London in July.”

“With Aref?”

She sighs. “Depends on what kind of business he stirs up here. His family’s company is well run and he gets bored easily. He’s been very bored as of late.”

Bored. A great excuse for risking felony charges. Idiot. I should never be surprised and yet I always am.

“You’ve thrown a nice party,” I offer genuinely.

“That’s what I do. Throw parties,” she murmurs dryly, sipping from her glass.

A loud, unattractive howl sounds behind us and we both glance at the three overdone women laughing on the couch.

“They certainly like everyone to know how much money they have, don’t they?” Elmira muses, a derisive smirk touching her lips.

“I’ve noticed.”

“People who grow up with nothing and suddenly have everything don’t know how to behave around it. They end up looking like cheap reproductions and sounding like tacky fools. I wish they were forced into charm school before being handed any checks.”

Interesting thing to say about the guests at her party. “So they’re really not your friends?”

“I tolerate them. They’re certainly not like me. Or you.”

I fight the urge to laugh, and give myself a pat on the back for fooling even the born-and-bred wealthy likes of Elmira.

She glances up to the third deck, to the male-dominated party. “Aref does business with these people, so I play nice and don’t let them see me cringe at every asinine comment that comes out of their mouths.”

I smile. “I have a few relationships like that.” That basically sums up my life, listening to and laughing at what scumbags have to say while I set them up for a takedown. Luke is the first target that doesn’t make me cringe. That I actually look forward to seeing.