Becoming Rain (Burying Water #2)(74)

“Hey, you wanted to leave, right?”

He reaches up to take my hand and pull me down. “No, we can stay. I know you really wanted to watch this.”

I shrug. “I’ve kind of lost track of things. I can always rent it another time. I figured we could head back to your place . . .” I let my words drift off as my hand wanders over his lap again. Yup, still rock hard.

Too bad that’s going to shrivel in about four minutes.

“It was right here, right? I’m not crazy, am I?” Wild eyes scan the parking lot as he hits the alarm button on his key fob for the tenth time. As if the car is magically going to appear.

“No, you’re not crazy, Luke. I’m sorry.” I stroke his arm soothingly. “You really should call the police now, before they get too far away. Maybe they can still find it.”

His hands push through his mane of hair, sending it into disarray as he comes to terms with the fact that his car was stolen. He pulls his phone out from his pocket, frantically dialing, his jaw set. “Yes, my car was stolen and you have a tracking system on it . . . Yup.”

“I hope whoever did this hasn’t found it yet,” I mutter, holding out no hope. Proficient thieves—and, by the sounds of it, this guy is—will find and disable one of those within minutes of pulling away from the steal site.

“They’d have to find all three,” Luke answers, a hint of his calm, confident demeanor returning.

Of course Luke would have not one, but three tracking devices on his car. I can guess who suggested that.

I wait quietly as Luke calls all three agencies. Sure enough, one has already been deactivated. But two are still intact, and the police are dispatched quickly. With those calls done, he dials someone else. “Hey, Rust? . . . You won’t f*cking believe what just happened.” And then Luke just starts laughing.

Because even he must see the irony in this.

“Do you realize how lucky you are?” the officer muses as he takes down Luke’s driver’s license, comparing it against the paperwork found in the glove compartment. “Most of these cars end up across the ocean.”

“It’s not luck,” Luke murmurs, that cocky smile back. His arm curls around my waist, pulling me against him with a relieved sigh. I fall into him because it’s three in the morning and I just really want to sleep.

“Still . . . Could have ended up driven into a wall in a high-speed chase instead of parked in a storage locker.”

“He’s right,” I say. “That would have really sucked, hey? You love this car.”

He peers down at me, a deep furrow in his brow. “Yeah, that would have.” I search his eyes for any recognition that he helps screw people over in the exact same way.

I’m sure I see it there.

“Do you have any idea who stole it?” Luke asks the officer.

“We’ll be collecting evidence on the site and car. You’ll get a call when you can come and pick it up,” the guy drones on. He obviously hates his job. I wonder if he signed up for this or if he did something stupid in a previous assignment to relegate him to police impound detail.

If I keep my own stupidity up, I might be taking over for him some day.

“Alright. Let’s grab a cab back to my place.” Luke pulls out his phone.

“Sure, but I’m going to head home. I have to get up early.”

He frowns. “For what?”

“I volunteer . . . at a soup kitchen once a week. Tomorrow’s my day.” Mental note—find a soup kitchen and start volunteering there once a week.

Nodding to himself, he admits, “Yeah, I guess it’s pretty late. I need to be at the garage in a few hours, in case Miller’s still out.” He leans in to kiss me softly. “Soon?”

I force a smile, hoping the casualness of his invitation doesn’t tip the team off that there has already been a first time. “Sure.”

Chapter 39

LUKE

“Did they tell you when they’ll be finished with the car?” Rust’s voice is groggy, like he just woke up, even though it’s after ten and he’s showered and shaved for the day and is standing in the garage’s office.

“A few days. I just ordered a replacement window. They said that’ll take a week to come in.”

He tosses the keys to his Cayenne to me. “Take mine until it’s back.”

“You sure? I can rent a car.”

He waves my concern away with a dismissive hand, his eyes roaming the white walls of the tiny space, where we’ve managed to cram two desks into enough space for one.

“Listen, if anyone asks, tell them your engine was giving you problems and you sent it to the dealer for repair.”

I frown. “Why?”

“Because some jackass stole my nephew’s car and I want to find out who! I’m going to make a few very discreet calls to see if this is a local crew or something bigger. We don’t want anyone moving in on us. It puts more heat on the area.”

“Alright. Where are you going to be today? RTM?”

“No, I need to sort out a hiccup.” I stare at him, waiting for him to elaborate. “Some deliveries that haven’t made it to the warehouse yet. Not sure what the delays are.”

It’s almost funny: in one breath he’s condemning the people who stole my car; in the next, it’s business as usual. Am I the only one who’s been feeling more than an ounce of empathy for these people who we royally f*ck over? I wonder, if Rust had been the one to walk out of a movie theater and see his car missing, whether he’d have second thoughts about what we’re involved in.