Becoming Rain (Burying Water #2)(31)

And for about three seconds, it is okay. As my heart begins racing and I lose my ability to breathe, it’s more than okay. As I feel the heat from his hard body press up against me, warming me, this kiss is all-consuming. But then reality comes crashing down and I remember that this is not okay. This is my job, and there are several agents sitting in a car right now, listening to every close-range sound coming from us. All of this is being recorded and entered into evidence for people to listen to at a later date.

As gently as I can, I push against his chest until he breaks free. I clear my throat and offer him a genuinely embarrassed smile, though not for the reasons he assumes. “I’m going to burn the meat if I don’t get in there.”

“So?” He leans in for another kiss, but this time I manage to turn away and his mouth skates across my cheek.

“Listen, Luke . . . That bad breakup I told you about?” I wasn’t planning on using this excuse yet, but I guess I don’t have a choice. I just hope it doesn’t derail everything so soon. “It was really bad. Like . . .” I frown for impact. Lord, forgive me for this lie. “. . . abusive bad. I’m just not ready for this yet.” I give his chest a gentle pat to ease the rejection, wishing for the moment that I didn’t know exactly what he looked like under this shirt. “I really like hanging out with you, though.”

He steps back, his face softening. “Of course. Okay.” He has a knowing look in his eyes. Does my little criminal have a sympathetic side when it comes to a woman being hurt? There weren’t any records of domestic violence in his family, which is usually what sparks that kind of reaction. But my gut is telling me he knows a thing or two about battered women.

I laugh, an attempt to lighten the mood. “You’re just trying to sabotage my cooking. Give yourself a fighting chance for next week when you have to feed me. Nice try.” I head for the kitchen, sensing him trailing behind me.

“Listen, I’m sorry I have to do this but I’ve got to head out. Some work stuff to deal with.”

“At the garage?” I don’t even need to fake the disappointment in my voice as I start switching out browned meatballs for raw ones. Is this about that phone call? Or is he pulling his chute in this “friendship” of ours already because I just denied him? If so . . . I’m screwed.

“Something for my uncle.”

“That’s too bad, but I understand. You can come back and eat after, if you want,” I offer, nonchalantly. If it really is work, then I can’t scare him away with guilt trips and neediness.

“I’ll call you.” He gives my elbow a light squeeze and then he’s on his way out the door.

No mention of going out tonight.

No attempt at another kiss, to my relief.

So why do I also feel a twinge of disappointment?

I lock my front door and, whispering, “Officer Bertelli, out,” I switch the listening device off. My phone rings almost immediately.

“You did great.”

I frown and glance at the clock. “You’re calling me from San Francisco, right?”

“The others were tied up with their kids. They couldn’t make it in time.”

I shake my head. I should have known that Warner wouldn’t leave. “Dammit, Warner. You should have told me. I would have put him off.”

“And risk the case? No way.”

He’s right. But . . . “Does your girlfriend understand that?”

His heavy sigh fills my ear. “She understands that my job comes first.”

I roll my eyes. “Good luck with that.”

“Whatever. Drop it.” The irritation in his voice swells. “How are you feeling after that? Are you okay?”

I know what he’s referring to. “I’m fine. Nothing some Scope won’t cure.” I chuckle, thinking about a story I once heard about a female undercover who was forced into kissing a meth head she was trying to bust, to prove herself and keep from getting shot. She downed half a bottle of mouthwash afterward, trying to rid herself of the vile taste.

There’s no vile taste in my mouth, though. In fact, if I concentrate, I can still feel my target’s lips—softer than I expected them to be—on mine, and my heart begins to race again.

“Okay, go relax. I’ll be on for tonight.”

“If there is a tonight,” I mutter.

“Don’t worry. You’ve hooked him. He just may not know it yet.”

Chapter 13

LUKE

“Come on, you can move it, right?” I ask between puffs of my cigarette. With the noise from the city streets and being on the tenth floor, I’m not worried about being overheard.

Vlad’s heavy, irritated exhale fills my ear. “Perhaps, but . . .”

Rust warned me that this would be a challenge before he gave me Vlad’s number. I insisted on it, though. Because it’s Dmitri, and because I want to try to negotiate with the bastard. I like to think I have a knack for negotiations. And because I have to come to some agreement, seeing as I promised we would.

I also want to prove that I’m not the half-wit he seems to think I am. But I really hate talking to this guy. “Dude, come on. They retail for a quarter-million here. What’s the problem?” I don’t know what the f*ck Stefan was thinking, pinching some rich guy’s custom-made Ferrari Spider on a weekend trip to Seattle. Then he shows up at his father, Nikolai’s, doorstep with it. According to Rust, who talked to Dmitri after my call with him, Nikolai lost his mind. Gave his son two black eyes for being so stupid. At least the idiot was smart enough to jam the tracking system on it.