Becoming Rain (Burying Water #2)(115)

Warner snorts. “Actually, no, smart-ass. Have you looked at the news today?”

“No . . .?”

“Check out CNN. International news.” He goes quiet, and I know he’s waiting for me to tune in.

I open the browser on my iPad, following his instructions. “Holy shit!”

I quickly read the news article, with the picture of the wealthy, attractive man in the inset, my eyes zeroing in on the scar bisecting his lip that I’ve seen in person before. “Human trafficking?”

“It’s disgusting. Do you know how many children they found in one of those ships?”

Though there’s not a lot of information, and I always question the accuracy of anything I read produced by a reporter, according to the article, a complex investigation has been running for seven years, with evidence of human trafficking surfacing from many countries. Aref Hamidi was arrested and charged while visiting China.

“This is going to create a huge, international mess. China will give him the death penalty.”

Which is exactly what he would deserve. It almost seems too good to be true. Like perhaps it was orchestrated. Otherwise how would Aref be stupid enough to get caught?

There’s only one person I can think of capable of coordinating such a takedown.

“Makes you not so bitter about the * getting away on our case, right? I mean, it would have been a slap on the wrist compared to what’s coming his way.”

“It does,” I murmur softly, my mind spinning with absurd, improbable speculation. “I wish there was more information. Can you find anything out?”

“I’ll just wave my magic wand . . .”

I roll my eyes. “Seriously, Warner, don’t we have any pull on getting dirt?”

“ ‘We.’ You’re cute. You know as well as I do that there’s shit going on over on that side of the world that the FBI will never catch wind of.”

“Is his wife involved?”

“I don’t see her mentioned, and they would have mentioned something like that. She has ties to Iranian royalty, after all. I hope she kept some money, because I’ll bet everything gets seized.” An entire empire . . . lost, for no reason other than greed.

Thoughts of the mysterious Elmira Zamani fade to the background as someone more important to me comes to mind with Warner’s words. “Speaking of seizing assets . . .” I pause, waiting for Warner to fill in the blanks. He knows who I’m asking about. He’s just been reluctant to tell me anything about Luke.

“Everything’s been released. The kid hired good lawyers and, since we have no proof beyond hearsay that 24 was involved, we couldn’t hold his assets anymore.”

I take a deep breath. I’m not sure if I’m happy about this or not. That means Luke has a ton of money at his disposal now. All money earned through dirty dealings. And he fought the Feds to get it. What does that mean? Seven months later, where is his head at?

“Anything else . . . interesting?”

There’s a long silence. “Yes.” Warner hesitates. “Betty-Jo Billings received a check made out to cash by an anonymous donor last week. She called the police, because it was a lot of money, and she thought it was fraudulent.”

“How much money?”

“Like, if you were to sell a million-dollar condo and your Porsche 911 . . . that much money.”

My heart skips a few beats. “He . . .”

“He’s renting a small place downtown. He’s in the garage, from morning until night. Goes home, jogs with his dog. Spends a lot of time at the Japanese Gardens. At first I thought he was getting into something again, but he just goes to sit on a bench. Alone.”

“You’re still doing surveillance on him?” God, please tell me they don’t suspect him of something else. “Did Sinclair tell you to do that?”

“Nope. It’s unofficial.”

I swallow. “Then why?”

Warner sighs. “Because I know you too well.”

I smile. “Thanks, Warner.”

I stare at the picture of Aref on my iPad long after I hang up the phone, rereading the article several times, Googling Elmira’s name, looking for more news on her, finding only socialite-type posts and pictures about the beautiful wife of the heir to Hamidi Enterprises.

My gut tells me that Elmira suspected what I really was—the stunt involving Luke’s car had to be her way of outing me. The hows and whys have remained a mystery to me.

But now . . . I frown, staring at her face, remembering her ageless beauty, her cool disposition, her shrewd gaze. She knew just what to say, what to do . . .

They always say a good undercover can spot another.

I’d like to say that I’ll track her down one day and ask her who she really is, but my guess is that I will not cross paths with Elmira—or whatever her name is—ever again.

So instead, I’ll have to thank her silently. That’s fairly easy; all I have to do it is think of Luke Boone.

Epilogue

LUKE

The office walls rattle as someone—probably Tabbs—tests out a broken muffler by revving the engine in the bay.

“Fuck,” I mutter, my ears ringing. I’m going to be deaf by forty if I have to listen to that every day. I glance up at the clock with a sigh. Already five. I was planning on ducking out early today and taking Licks for a jog along my usual trail. It’s much nicer in daylight, especially right now, when the Japanese cherry blossom trees are in full bloom.