Becoming Rain (Burying Water #2)(8)

“Hot damn, Nurse Boone!” Tabbs bellows, using the stupid nickname they slapped me with one week into working here. “This for you?”

I fish the keys out of my pocket. “Why? You wanna buy it?” One turn of the key has the engine purring low and steady. Not loud enough to drown out the bell that announces Miller barreling out the door. With groans, Tabbs and Zeke head back to their respective work to avoid his wrath.

“Is this what that loan was for?” Rust slides his sunglasses off to level me with bright blue eyes that match mine.

I nod. “Picked it up for three G’s. The widow just wanted it out of her garage. Had it restored to original spec.”

“Who did the work?”

“Who do you think?” Rust knows Jesse. He used to work at the garage too.

“He’s still around?”

I level a stern glare at my uncle. “Only for these types of projects. And only through me.” Rust knows what I’m talking about without me having to say it out loud. Jesse’ll never get mixed up with the likes of Rust’s “business associates” again. I wouldn’t want him to, after what he’s been through.

Rust’s hand finds his chin, giving it a thoughtful scratch. “You keeping it?”

“Nah . . . though I could definitely use a new car.” It’d be an upgrade from the ’07 Mustang GT convertible I’m driving now. The first car I ever bought myself, that leaks when it rains. Rust’s strange like that; on the one hand, he spoils me with things no twenty-four-year-old could possibly need, like a Rolex watch and gold cufflinks. But the basic necessities, like a roof and transportation? He makes me work for those. Before he handed me keys to the swank condo that I now live in, I was sharing a shitty apartment with Jesse. I think it’s a life lesson—to make me see what it’s like to struggle like a normal person so I’ll work harder to avoid it.

“I talked to Sully already. It’s going on the block this Saturday. Should be able to make a solid return on it, given it’s an anniversary model and the mileage is low. And I’m lining up two more deals like this as we speak. May need you to front me some cash, though.”

Rust’s brows spike but he says nothing. Sully is his associate, an auctioneer who sometimes helps sell cars for RMT. I don’t know if it bothers Rust that I went behind his back, but I’ve gotten to know Sully pretty well. And, other than his bankrolling the loan for me, I wanted to do this without Rust’s involvement.

I stifle my smile as Miller ambles over.

“Miller . . .” Rust gives a single nod.

The big man jerks his chin toward the car. “I warned him to get it out of here.”

Rust’s lips twist in thought, his eyes shifting between Miller and me. Deciding something. “If Luke says it’s fine, then it is. I trust him not to do something stupid.” Slapping my shoulder, he adds, “Smart investment. These are the kinds of things I want to see.”

Finally. Rust’s praise doesn’t get thrown around often. I don’t miss the grumble of annoyance from Miller. Rust chooses to ignore it, instead turning his attention to the white Audi RS 5 turning into the lot.

“That’s an awfully new car to bring here,” he muses.

“Probably still under warranty,” I add. Why would someone bring a brand-new Audi here and not straight to their dealer? There’s one not ten miles away.

The car rolls to a stop and a pair of pink heels appears from the open door.

“Never seen her before,” Miller mutters as a young brunette climbs out. I wonder if she even knows she has a warranty. Miller takes two steps toward her, but Rust’s words stall him. “Luke, why don’t you find out what she needs.”

I smile. There’s a rule around here—Miller is the only one who talks to the new customers.

Until now.

“Gladly,” I say, heading toward her.

Chapter 4

CLARA

I swear, these oversized sunglasses were created for undercover cops.

I watch my target stride toward me, a smug grin on his face. He doesn’t have the first clue who I am. I hide the pleasure of knowing that behind a friendly smile.

Whatever they were discussing—something to do with that shiny Corvette, by the way they were hovering over it—must have been resolved, because Rust Markov heads toward his Cayenne with a light bounce in his step. I do my best not to watch him, afraid that anyone will see my disdain for the man radiating.

Just as clearly as I can see the burly shop manager’s hatred for Luke. If looks could murder, he would have stabbed Luke ten times over with the glare he’s shooting at his back right now.

And I get the impression that Luke couldn’t care less.

“Welcome.” Luke’s bright blue eyes do a quick scan of my black dress pants and low-cut sheer blouse. I fight the urge to cross my arms over my chest, knowing that he can see the lace bra beneath. It’s not something I’d normally ever wear, but three of the women he brought home were wearing something similar.

His attention quickly shifts to the Audi, his hand sliding over the roof. “Beautiful.”

“I like it.” As I suspected, he doesn’t seem to recognize me from last week’s drink-spill incident at The Cellar.

He dips his head to scan the inside. “Leather interior . . . nav system . . .”