Becoming Rain (Burying Water #2)(57)

There’s a moment’s pause, and when Warner speaks again, he’s unnaturally calm. “Why do you say that? Did he tell you that?”

“Basically. He called me before I went over.”

Warner’s heavy sigh swirls into my ear. “I almost walked out of another case tonight when Bill called me.”

“Look, I’m fine. The case is fine. We’re all fine.”

“Are you sure? He didn’t . . .”

“No. I didn’t let it go too far.” I totally let it go too far. “You need to relax a bit. Go get some sleep. You sound exhausted.” The guy never stops working.

I hang up with Warner and head straight for my window, opening a section of the blinds. Just like I promised Luke I’d do. He wanted to walk me home but I made him stay, on the condition that I’d wave to him from my room so he’d know I was safe.

Sure enough, there he is, waiting. Lights on. Changed into a pair of track pants, I assume for his daily obsessive workout.

Shirtless.

My heart rate jumps. I simply stand there with my arms over my chest, admiring the view. Glad that there’s a street and two flights of stairs between me and that right now.

What? he mouths, corded arms stretched out to either side of him, a smirk curling his lips. Knowing exactly how attractive he is.

I can play this game.

It’s a dangerous game.

The adrenaline junkie in me—it’s in all undercovers—likes dangerous games.

My fingers move quickly as I unbutton my blouse and let it drop to my feet. A quick glance to the condo beside Luke—the only one that might have an awkwardly angled view into my bedroom to see what I’m doing right now—confirms that no one else is watching. Taking a deep breath, I reach one arm behind me to unclasp my bra while my other hand hits the button for the blinds. They revolve shut just as I let the lace fall.

I dare peek around the edge. And giggle. Luke’s head is bowed and pressed up against the glass. Track pants don’t hide much.

I switch off the lights and spend the next hour spying on Luke, as he attempts to get his usual crunches and push-ups in and ends up heading into the shower.

I probably shouldn’t have done that.

Chapter 27

LUKE

“Fucking Russians!” Rust slams the office door behind him as he storms in. “Where’s Miller?”

“Said he had to go on a parts run. Didn’t want to wait for the delivery guy anymore. Why? What’s up?” Rust sounds more agitated than he was when he called last night, trying to drag me out to The Cellar to talk.

Rust shakes his head. “Just got off the phone with Andrei about the Ferrari.”

Shit. So they did figure it out. “I knew that was going to come back and bite us. What’d you say?”

“The truth. That they didn’t want to do business with us so we were forced to go elsewhere.”

“And?”

“And now they’re claiming another five percent upcharge for handling fees for the next shipment. Something about needing to bribe more officials. Plus he said the orders will be light for the next round.”

“You told them to go to hell, right?”

Miller’s chair protests with a loud creak as Rust drops into it, his forehead in his hands. “Not yet. I’ve got to figure out the right way to handle them.”

“Fuck ’em! We’re taking all the risk and they’re undercutting us. We’ve already got another pipeline, remember?”

“And I’ve already told you, it’s not that easy. If I just stop doing business with them, this could get ugly, Luke.”

“What does that mean, exactly?”

Rust sighs, his hard gaze locked on the gray-tiled floor. “I’m not sure yet, to be honest. They need us if they want this organization working for them, and it’s a smooth-running operation. I just can’t figure out why they’re dicking me around so much.” He groans loudly, and then slaps the desk, which I know means he’s switching gears to something else. That’s Rust. He doesn’t get too bogged down with one problem. He keeps his focus and things move at a fast pace. That’s why he’s so successful. “So you’re going up to the Astoria warehouse this week?”

“Yeah. Rodriguez has a few chopped cars to unload.” The second part of my role—driving to the warehouse to accept an order and pay Rodriguez—makes the phone calls seem like a piece of cake. I’ve only had to do it once so far. My hands were cramped by the time I got home, from gripping the steering wheel so tight. I’ve never felt relief like I did after parking Rust’s truck and getting back into my car. Done with it.

“Okay. I’ll send you the code to the gate. Let me know what time you’re going up.”

My phone begins ringing. Aref’s name flashes across the screen. “Speak of the devil.” Aref’s obviously not using a burner phone, so it must not be about the Ferrari. “Just give me the word, Rust.”

He hesitates and then nods. “Talk to him. See exactly what he’s looking for. In person.” He holds a finger of warning up. “But don’t commit to anything.”

I nod my understanding to Rust, the receiver to my ear already. “Hey, buddy. How’s the pretentious scotch?”

“Still pretentious,” Aref’s smooth English-laced accent answers with a laugh.