Becoming Rain (Burying Water #2)(37)

She shrugs. “Organize parties. Volunteer at charities. I keep myself busy. Aref wants me to keep busy. He works a lot and I don’t know many people in Portland. Those I do know, I don’t particularly like. Mostly Aref’s business partners and their wives.”

Well, that was brutally honest. “So, what does Aref do?” This is beginning to sound like an interrogation—I’m half-expecting my phone to go off and Warner to hiss at me on the other end of the line—but I can’t help myself.

She doesn’t seem at all bothered, scanning her perfectly manicured nails. “He owns a transportation company.”

“Transportation,” I repeat.

“Ships. Lots and lots of big ships, that bring all kinds of things overseas, like clothing, packaged foods, cars . . .”

Bingo. Excitement bubbles up inside me as the pieces are clicking together. I’m a cat, cornering its mouse. “Cars?”

“There you are . . .”

Luke’s voice is like a long, thin needle jabbing into the bubble. It takes all my effort to keep my face neutral as I glance over to see him climbing the steps. His dazzling smile dulls the disappointment quickly, though.

“If you’ll excuse me, I should check on my husband. It was lovely talking to you, Rain.” Elmira sweeps past me.

“Thanks for the tour. I hope I see you again.” I truly do. Unhappy, young wife with loose lips when she’s drinking? Definite informant potential.

She pauses and looks over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing slightly at me. Just enough to create a twinge of insecurity on my part. “Yes. I’d like that.”

She’s cunning, that one. I had better be careful how I handle her.

“This place is ridiculous, huh?” Luke strolls over to the glass panel dividing us from the control room, pulling a cigarette out of his pack.

“You know, they say smoking will kill you.”

“Yeah, I think I’ve heard that.” He holds the lighter to the tip, but then pauses. “Does it bother you?”

“No, not really. I guess I’m used to it. My dad was a heavy smoker for years. He just quit a few years back, after my grandfather died of lung cancer.” I worry that it wasn’t soon enough.

And I just told my target a personal truth about me. Clara, not Rain. I make a mental note to add that to the file, to keep everything in check. But I’ve coupled it with a strategic lie about my grandfather, who’s still alive and well in Palermo, bless his soul.

“Huh . . . Mine died of lung cancer, too. So did my grandmother.” When Luke pauses on me for a long moment, then glances down at the cigarette in his hand, as if reconsidering, I know I’ve struck the chord I was aiming for. Finding a way to relate to your target is critical. “I’ve been thinking about quitting.” With a sigh, he lights up. “Maybe after things calm down.”

“Are things stressful for you right now?” I keep my voice airy, curious.

“Just work shit.”

“That big, angry guy in your office the other day?”

Luke dips his head to the side to show me his wide, genuine smile, making my stomach flip. “Who, Miller?”

“Is that the one who hates your guts?”

He laughs, taking another drag. “So, you noticed that.”

“Kind of hard not to. Why does he hate you so much?”

“Fuck, who knows. Bitter, I think. I was supposed to take over running the garage. But that’s been delayed indefinitely, so his job is safe. I thought he’d stop being such an ass.”

“Are you going to do something else instead?”

He doesn’t answer at first, just smoking his cigarette and peering out at the water through the windows. For a moment, I’m afraid I’ve gone too far.

“Nah, I’ll stay in the garage. Rust is giving it to me eventually. But my uncle’s got me doing some other stuff for him. He has a few businesses on the go.”

I love how criminals call their illicit activities “business.” Like it’s a legitimate thing that they get registered and that they pay taxes to the government for income reported. “That sounds . . . exciting?” I’d love to probe more about these “businesses,” but I have to slip in my questions strategically.

“Yeah . . . I don’t know yet. It’s still new.”

“You and your uncle seem like you’re close.”

“We are. He basically raised me. My dickhead dad skipped out on us when I was six. My mom’s always been a bit flaky and unstable, and when he left, she went offside. Depression and all that. She lost her job and we moved in with my grandparents.” He pauses, as if thinking back to his childhood. “Rust was only twenty-eight years old. The last thing he wanted to do was inherit two little kids, but he really stepped up. He paid for everything. Made sure I was signed up for soccer and baseball—all those kid things that my mom was too out of it to pay attention to and my grandparents really didn’t understand. They were old-school Russian, you know? Having clothes on your back and food on the table was all they ever focused on.” Yeah, I understand that. He butts his cigarette into a fancy ashtray stand and strolls over, my nose catching a mixture of cologne and tobacco as he slides into the seat next to me. Normally I can’t stand the smell of cigarette smoke, and yet for some reason it doesn’t bother me on Luke. “Rust paid for private school, for college, for my mechanic’s program. He used to take me to sports games. Spoiled me rotten, basically. Still does.” Luke chuckles. “All my friends were jealous. He paid more attention to me than any of their real dads did to them.” His voice has grown husky. “I owe Rust everything that I have.”