Becoming Rain (Burying Water #2)(85)

He paws for his phone on the nightstand, making me laugh.

“I didn’t mean right this instant. It’s two a.m.”

A lazy, satisfied smile touches his lips, making him look all kinds of adorable. “I need to call him anyway. He’s probably up. And if he’s not, I’ll leave a message.” A second later, “Aref, hey . . . Vlad paid us a visit tonight . . . Somehow he found out . . . Yeah . . . Don’t know . . . Nope, pretty pissed off actually. You may hear from him.” I hear a low murmur coming from the phone but I can’t make out any of the words. “Okay . . . Listen, Rain wants to meet up with Elmira. Send her number to me so I can pass it along? . . . Cool. Later.”

His hand flops down with his groan.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nah . . . Nothing.”

“Doesn’t sound like nothing.” I can feel the thread of tension begin to course through his body again, the one that vanished with his release. So I reach down and wrap my hand around his semi-hard cock. He exhales and his stomach muscles spasm as I begin stroking slowly. But finally, with a light sigh, I feel him relaxing again. “It’s just that thing earlier, at the bar.”

“The angry Russian?”

“Yeah. Remember how I told you that Aref wanted to do more business with Rust? Well, Rust agreed to a deal and somehow Vlad found out. That’s why he was pissed.”

“Why would he be pissed about that?”

“Because he’s an *? Don’t really know. He’s still getting what he wants, so it shouldn’t f*cking matter.”

“Should you be worried? Will he stop doing business with you?” Selfish hope swells inside me.

“I’d actually be happy if we were done with him. I don’t like him. But, I doubt I’ll be that lucky. He just wants to be a dick about it, I guess.”

I open my mouth, about to ask him the million-dollar question—what is his uncle in business with Aref and Vlad for—when his phone chirps. He holds it up for me. “One sultry Iranian wife’s number, as requested.”

“Sultry, hey?” I peel myself away from him so I can save Elmira’s number into my phone. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Anything for you.” His eyes drift over my near-naked body. “How are you feeling? Can I do anything for you?”

Yeah. Walk away from these people before it’s too late.

I force the sadness down with a smile. “Lying next to you feels good. You’re like a giant heating pad.”

“Well, in that case . . .” He yanks me back to him and, taking my hand in his, he guides it back to his now full erection with a playful grin. “I swear, I’ll make it up to you.”

“Come over tonight. I’ll pick up dinner. Some lasagna or something.” I hear the smile in Luke’s voice.

“Is that your way of telling me you want me to make real lasagna tonight?” That’s a whole day’s production, if I want to make fresh noodles and everything.

And yet I know that I’ll do it if Luke asks me to.

“I’m just kidding. We can have whatever you want. There’s a great Thai place nearby.”

“Let me grab it. Say, seven?”

“Just text me when you’re on your way.”

“I’ll call. I like hearing your voice.” Texting has become too dangerous now. I can steer a live conversation, cut off words before they implicate anyone. But a message from Luke saying “Thanks for last night. You give amazing head” is pretty black-and-white in the transcripts.

My relief escapes in a sigh when I hear the line go dead. I have survived another recorded conversation without getting burned by Luke revealing what we’ve been doing. How I’ve broken my team’s trust and jeopardized my career, because of feelings I have for my target. Because this isn’t just about the case for me anymore.

I’m able to reconcile my guilt somewhat, telling myself that everything Luke has revealed to me, he’s revealed only because I’ve crossed the line with him. That rationale doesn’t come without side effects, though. Namely, the little voice in the back of my head that’s not so little anymore. That screams and yells at me. That tells me I’m an idiot. That Luke isn’t going to change, that he’s lying to me because that’s what he is—a liar and a thief. That I’ve dug myself into a hole that I need to start trying to get myself out of.

That I’m not really helping Luke by hiding all of this from my team. Maybe slapping handcuffs on his wrists and hauling him into the station, bursting his bubble about the fictional Rain, and making him admit everything that he’s admitted to me is the only way to help him.

Maybe . . .

My next call is to Warner, to set up cover. “I’m going over to 12’s place tonight, for dinner.”

“ ’kay.”

There’s a long pause of dead air, something I’m not used to with my handler. “Warner? You okay?”

Another long pause. “The Porsche was moved again three hours ago.”

“So, I was right. Vlad didn’t have it stolen.”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

I frown. Who else would want to steal Luke’s car, specifically?

“I’m assuming we’ve passed to a second fence. A two-deep fence line is what we’ve seen in the past for these big rings, so hopefully the next stop is the cargo container.”