Becoming Rain (Burying Water #2)(67)
I’m guessing the Markov/Boone household was a semi-normal family home to any bystander—the smell of eggs and bacon wafting from the kitchen on Saturdays, church on Sundays, a perpetual pile of muddy kids’ shoes at the doorstep every other day.
Finally, Luke sighs. “That’s just . . . kinda crazy, Rain. But you’re fine now? I mean, it seems like you’re fine, with you living in his condo and everything.”
“Yeah, we’re good. He finally realized how wrong it all was. We understand each other better now. I think he respects me.”
“What made the difference?”
“It was around the time I—” I rest my head against his chest again, fighting the shot of panic that rips through my body. I almost slipped. I was so close to admitting that it was around the time I became a cop. Jesus. I need to stop talking.
“Around the time . . .” Luke prompts.
“Around the time . . .” My mind spins, searching for a lie. “. . . that my grandfather died. My dad didn’t have a good relationship with him and he regretted it. He didn’t want the same to happen with me, so he apologized.” Man, I’m good at lying. I scare myself sometimes.
He pulls me into him, laying a kiss on my forehead. “I’m glad it all worked out.” Both of us sigh. I imagine for very different reasons.
“Why did you ask if I’ve done something illegal?” I prop my head up on my elbow to see his face.
His eyes are on the ceiling, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down with his swallow. “What would you say if I told you that I’ve done some illegal stuff? That I’m involved with some illegal stuff now. With my uncle.” Finally, his eyes shift to meet mine. I see a hint of something like fear in them.
I’d say don’t tell me, dammit! Don’t admit it. Don’t crush the tiny, stupid hope burning bright in my chest that everything is just one big misunderstanding.
This is it, though. This is what the Feds have been waiting for. This is what I have been waiting for.
I hope he can’t read my inner turmoil in my face. “I’d ask if you were hurting people.”
“No! I mean . . .” He releases a deep breath, like he’s been holding it, and then chuckles, “I’m sure there are people cursing us seven ways to Sunday, but . . . no one gets hurt.” Strands of my hair have fallen forward, covering part of my face. He tucks them back behind my ear to give me an unobstructed look at his eyes. I study them. So open, so honest, staring wide at me. Almost pleading with me to trust him.
Either he really believes that no one is getting hurt or I’m the biggest sucker undercover officer on earth. “What are you two doing?” My tongue feels leaden with the question.
“It’s not just us. There’s a whole network of people. It’s all still new to me, though. Rust just pulled me in a few weeks ago. ” Luke’s fingertip traces my bottom lip. “He wants me to run it with him one day.”
The Feds were right.
My stomach is churning and my heart feels heavy. I’ve never wanted to be wrong on a case before. “Is Aref a part of it, too?”
He nods.
“Were you guys discussing it tonight?”
He nods again. “And you.”
“What? Me?”
He chuckles. “Yeah . . . He warned me to be careful about what I say because the second you take your clothes off, I’ll start spilling my guts like a sorry sucker. I think he’s just watching his own back.”
That’s exactly what he’s doing. Both Aref and Elmira are up to something, I’m fairly certain. The question is what, exactly? Is it simply testing anyone new, protecting their empire? Is this cabin bugged as well?
I push that fear away. If it is, I need to use it to my advantage, feeding them what they want to hear. “Do you feel guilty about what you do?”
He hesitates, as if considering that. “Honestly? I’m not sure yet. I think part of me does, but then Rust throws me a pile of cash and a Porsche and I kind of forget.” He lets go of my face and focuses his gaze on the ceiling, his voice cracking with his admission. “That sounds shitty. I guess I’m greedy.”
“A lot of people would have a hard time turning that down,” I concede, as hope sparks inside me. A shred of guilt means a chance to turn away. Unless he’s lying to me about everything. Only time will tell, I guess. I plant a kiss against his neck, decidedly my favorite body part on him. It allows me to whisper, so quietly that no room bug will pick it up. “And no one’s getting hurt?”
His jaw bumps against my cheek as he shakes his head. Pushing my chin up with his hand, he locks eyes with me again. “I don’t hurt people.”
Oh, Luke. My heart begins to hurt for this guy, in some ways still such an impressionable boy. He’s going to have a rude awakening when Sinclair gets ahold of him. When he drops those evidence photos in front of him, like I expect him to, of Wayne Billings’s dead body, and the other victims. And he proves to him that while not directly . . . Luke does hurt people, by helping his uncle keep the vicious cycle alive.
His thumb drags along my bottom lip. “You don’t have to be afraid of me. I could never hurt you. I can’t stand the idea of anyone hurting you.”
I believe him.
I wonder what Luke would say if I came home with my eyes blackened and my lip split open up after a bad day at work. Would he accept it as part of my profession? Or would he give me the same ultimatum that David did: it’s either my job or him. I resented David for forcing me to make the decision, even though it was an easy one. Of course my career would come first, before any guy. That’s been my philosophy since the day I joined the police force and I’ve never questioned it.