Becoming Rain (Burying Water #2)(94)

“Not yet. He’s still hoping for a break.”

“Was there anything coming out of the investigation on 24?”

“Some grainy video from a business that we’re analyzing, and a ton of fingerprints on the SUV that are probably the registered owners’.” Warner peers at me through hard eyes. “Stay on him. Don’t let him out of your sight, and . . .” He heaves a sigh. “. . . do whatever you have to do to get him talking. Sinclair’s orders.”

Suddenly Warner’s risky in-person visit and shutting off the wire makes sense. This is off the record. I don’t back down as he looms over me. “What exactly does that mean?”

“It means keep doing what you’ve been doing.” His jaw clenches. “Like that night after you met 24 at the club . . .” He leans in farther, until he’s so close his spearmint-scented breath tickles my nostrils. “. . . when I watched 12 show up at your building and not leave until the next morning.”

Warner was spying on me? “You said you—” I bite back the accusation because I have no right, after everything I’ve done. Swallowing against the bubble of hysteria rising, all I dare ask is, “Does Sinclair know?”

A wicked smirk answers me. “Sinclair doesn’t give a shit as long as he gets what he wants and our hands stay clean in the courts. And you’ve worked hard to make sure everything on the wire keeps us looking good, haven’t you?” His eyes drift to my mouth. “You even had me fooled for a while there.”

“Warner, I . . .” I can’t seem to find the right words. There are no right words for this kind of betrayal.

“Just keep the case conversations on the wire and everything else . . . off.” His iciness melts slightly. “And promise me you won’t blow your cover.”

I swallow. “I promise.”

He looks about ready to say something else but then presses his lips firmly shut. Cracking the door open, he checks the hall, and then disappears.

Leaving me shaking with guilt.

Chapter 51

LUKE

I hang up as I pull into the lot at the garage. “Rust’s partners at RTM, offering their condolences.”

“That’s . . . nice of them?” Rain offers hesitantly.

“Yeah . . . I give them two weeks before they start talking about buying me out of Rust’s share.”

“Is RTM . . .” she pauses, “part of that business you mentioned you had with Aref and Vlad?”

“No. This is completely separate. A hundred percent legit. Just like this garage. Rust kept that other stuff away from here.”

“And it’s all yours now?”

“Yeah. Or it will be, once it goes through probate. He already signed the garage over a few weeks ago.” All kinds of thoughts have been crawling into my head these past few days. Namely, did he have an idea that this might happen? And if he did, why the hell didn’t he do more to protect himself? Why didn’t he tell me to f*ck off when I pushed him on the Aref deal?

“So, what are you going to do?” Her eyes land on the garage sign hanging above us.

“I don’t know. There’s definitely more than enough here to keep me busy and comfortable.” I take her hand. She’s been more quiet than usual since leaving the funeral home. This must be a lot for her to deal with. It’s one helluva way to meet my mom and sister.

“It’ll take months to sort out all the legal stuff, so I have time to decide if I want to step into Rust’s place or—”

“Take his place where?” Her pleading eyes rise to take me in.

“At RMT. Doing something that’s not going to put a bullet in my head. That’s all, I promise.” I’m still upright and breathing, with no sign of Vlad, so I have to think he’s not too worried about what I could possibly say. But what kind of future is this? If Rust’s death did anything, it served as a wake-up call. Maybe Vlad is right—I am an idiot, because I got myself involved in a multi-million-dollar car theft ring with the f*cking Russian mob and I didn’t see this coming.

I don’t want to live the rest of my days worrying that I may piss someone off and end up dead. What kind of life is that? A hundred Porsches don’t make it worthwhile.

“That, or you could just take the money and start over. Clean,” Rain suggests.

“Yeah.” Whatever it is, it won’t be anything to do with stealing cars. “Let’s do this.” I nod toward the garage and then slide out of the car. It’s the first time I’ve been here since Rust died.

Was murdered.

“Luke.” Tabbs is the first to walk up to me, offering a clean hand and a rare, somber expression. “If there’s anything we can do, please let us know.”

I nod, afraid my voice will give away my grief. “Is Miller inside?”

“Yup. He’s been pretty much holed up in there.”

I find Miller sitting behind his desk, staring at his lap. When he finally looks up and notices us standing there, he’s on his feet instantly, coming around the desk to offer me his hand.

“Luke, I . . .” He clears his throat. He looks even worse now than he did after his short hospital stay a few weeks ago. He may even have lost weight. His face looks gaunt. “I’m sorry about Rust. He . . .” He bows his head. “He was always good to me.”