Becoming Rain (Burying Water #2)(34)

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.

Dammit.

“Shall we?” Elmira’s voice is soft and soothing, her gaze appraising me as she floats past, her white dress reminding me of Greek mythology. For a moment, I consider dumping my glass of red wine all over it and ending this tour so I can find Luke, but I quickly dismiss the idea. Aref clearly doesn’t want an audience for whatever they’re discussing. So I follow her down, refocusing my energy for the time being. Wondering how much Elmira might know.

Maybe she’s another door into this network.

That’s all these people are to me. Doors that I need to figure out how to push open.

Chapter 15

LUKE

“I take it you like boats.” I scan the framed photos of various ships that fill an entire wall in Aref’s office.

“I do. They’re all mine. My family owns a shipping company. We have a cruise line, tankers, freight . . .”

I watch him pour a golden drink from a fancy glass bottle into two fat-bottomed glasses. “So, a lot of ships.” There must be twenty pictured. And they’re all big enough to cross the ocean, no doubt. Rust said that Aref handled the shipping. I didn’t think that meant he owned the bloody ships.

He flashes a white-toothed smile. “A lot of ships. And some planes, too. And transport trucks.” He hands me the glass. “That’s how I met your uncle. We were buying trucks through RTM. I liked him the minute I met him. He’s a smart businessman.”

“He is.” My eyes wander over all the custom woodwork and ornate carvings in this expansive office located at the back of the house—past a locked door and down a long hallway, as if designed specifically to avoid prying ears.

“What do you think?” He nods toward my glass.