Becoming Rain: A Novel

“I’ll make this quick,” Luke mumbles as we step out of his car and head toward the garage. He keeps flexing his hands. I know he’s nervous.

I am too.

We have a lot riding on everything going smoothly and, while we have no reason to suspect that anyone’s after Luke, given that he’s basically been cut out of the ring since Rust’s death, we can’t leave anything to chance.

Miller’s on his feet as soon as we step in, dark bags hanging under his eyes.

He’s not going to last long under Sinclair’s glare.

“Thanks for coming, Luke.” He moves quickly, collecting the sheets and a pen, and walking over to lay them all out on Luke’s desk for him. “This one’s for the repairs on one of the lifts. And this one’s . . .” He goes on, explaining each invoice, that abrasive demeanor gone, replaced with only helpfulness. Some may say it’s because he feels a strange kinship with Luke, for what happened. Others may say that he’s worried about keeping his job.

I know that it’s pure guilt.

But I keep my mouth shut, pulling my phone out to check my texts, because that’s what a twenty-something-year-old girl standing in a garage would do, while her boyfriend sits down and signs away money.

“Is that it?” I watch Luke’s face as he barely glances at Miller, like he’s having trouble making eye contact. Of all the confessions he made, giving up Miller’s name was the hardest. I saw it in his eyes; I heard it in his voice.

If he only knew what I suspected, he wouldn’t feel so guilty.

Miller nods. “Yup. But, listen . . .” He checks his watch, clearing his throat several times. “I hate to do this to you, but I need to head out a bit early tonight. I’ve got to take Paige to an appointment.” Eyes downcast, shifting on his feet.

Miller’s a terrible liar.

“I can stick around and lock up.” Luke turns to me. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Anyone could explain Luke’s reserved, overly calm temperament as the lingering effects of the shock of his uncle’s murder, but this all feels way too awkward and wrong. Sliding my phone into my pocket, I plaster on my softest smile and stroll around the desk to lean against his side.

He stiffens immediately.

“Of course.” Casually sliding my arm around his shoulder, I dig my thumb into his back in warning.

With a soft exhale, his body slackens slightly.

“Are you sure? Because I could ask Tabbs. He’s good for it.”

“Did I just hear my name?” A short, bald mechanic sticks his head in and tosses a set of keys to Miller. “Brakes are done on the Jeep.”

The Jeep. Hearing that word reminds me of my Jeep—the one I left sitting at my parents’ house months ago so my dad can drive it around the block every few days to keep the thing from seizing.

I wonder what it’ll feel like, driving it again.

Being only Clara again.

Saying goodbye to Luke.

Tabbs grins, winking at me. “How’s that clutch of yours doing, pretty lady?”

“Good, though I hardly ever get to drive it anymore because Luke’s too in love with his to let it sit idle. Right?” Luke hasn’t been in his car since the day he drove it home from the police forensics impound lot. When I suggested that we take his car today to keep up appearances, he immediately shook his head.

I think it’s lost its luster.

I wait for Luke to respond, because normal, confident Luke always responds. It takes a moment. “Don’t you know it.” He ropes his arm around my waist and pulls me down, onto his lap. His grip on me tightens until I can feel his heart pound against my rib cage.

He’s struggling with keeping up appearances, and it’s in sharp contrast to how he used to be. How confident. How suave, when talking to Aref about “business.” I can’t figure out if it’s because of everything, or because of me.

I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help myself. Turning in to him, I lean forward and steal a kiss from his lips.

I doubt anyone else hears the sharp inhale that escapes him. I hold my breath and pull back just slightly, waiting for him to respond. Hoping he’ll respond.

He doesn’t. And when he turns his attention back to Miller and Tabbs, my stomach drops with disappointment. And hurt.

“Okay, lovebirds. Some of us have to work,” Tabbs jokes, heading for the door. His voice turns sober. “Any news on Rust’s case?”

Luke’s body stiffens beneath me. “No. Nothing. The police are fucking useless. A bunch of liars.”

That was for my benefit, I’m sure.

Tabbs shakes his head and disappears through the door. Miller trails behind him, his jacket slung over his shoulder, offering a gruff, “I’ll see you guys later.”

I stand from Luke’s lap before he has a chance to throw me off, and dial Warner. “48’s on the move. He says he’s taking his daughter to an appointment.”

“Got it. We just left the warehouse outside of Astoria. The gate was busted down and the storage shed emptied.”

“What do you think?”

“I think they’re taking precautions.”

Or, it’s all already on a ship and about to go out, and we’re going to miss it.

I can feel Warner’s adrenaline pulsing through the phone. Everyone’s on high alert right now, armed and ready to move in on Sinclair’s call. It’ll likely be a sloppy bust, if we even manage to catch them, given we’re working off Luke’s knowledge, a bunch of tails, and the hope that Vlad hasn’t had enough time to change everything we know. That he’s too damn arrogant to think anyone’s on to him. “Okay. Do you need me to do anything?”

“We’re covered. You should get him back to your condo, though.” Normally, I’d hate being relegated to what most cops would call “babysitting.” It doesn’t bother me now, though, because I know it’s one of the last nights I get with Luke.

“What was my number?” Luke asks.

“12.”

“Did you call in every time after we met?”

I find the courage to turn and face him. “No. There were a lot of times that I didn’t call in. A lot of times that no one knew where I was.” I take a hesitant step toward him, craving the feel of him again, after the brief one I just got.

“Do they know now?”

“Yeah. They figured it out.”

“And they don’t care?”

“This could be the last case I ever work on,” I admit, voicing my fears out loud for the first time. Sinclair hasn’t said a word to me about my “extracurricular activities” with Luke. Maybe Warner’s right and he truly doesn’t give a damn. Or maybe he’s ignoring it until he no longer needs me. Right now, all I care about is keeping Luke safe. I’ll take whatever punishment’s coming after. “Can you ask Tabbs to close up?”

I’ve been sitting on my leather couch, staring at the same page of a book I couldn’t even name for over an hour as my mind spins frantically, desperate for an update.

Vlad’s shipment is going out tonight.

Miller didn’t have a doctor’s appointment for his daughter yesterday. He didn’t even go home. He led his tails directly to a commercial storage facility in NoPo. They photographed Miller unlocking the doors, his head bobbing this way and that, obviously on guard but not perceptive enough to suspect the beat-up cargo van across the road. Several cube vans showed up over the course of an hour, backing into the storage warehouse to unload before swiftly taking off. The team waited until Miller was locking the doors before they pulled in, flashing badges and the emergency warrant they had obtained.

Apparently Miller’s face went so pale, they were afraid he had died on his feet.

But he was alive, his hands shaking so badly that he nearly broke the key in the lock. Inside they found a storage warehouse full of stolen car parts and even some cars. Hundreds of thousands of dollars that they could pin on Miller for the simple fact that he was holding the key to it all.

That’s what Sinclair told him when he pulled him into an interrogation room.

It took only two hours and plenty of sobbing before Miller was ready to sign his life away in blood and tell us everything we wanted to know.

We guessed right.

Some months back, Vlad met Miller outside one of their shady money exchange spots, and Vlad began commenting on how reliable Rust’s “team” was. Miller thought it was odd—how civil Vlad was acting. His questions and suggestions were casual enough, asking if Miller worked with any of the guys. Maybe some of the guys at the garage were helping to chop? Did Rust ever pass on orders to Miller to handle through the fences?

Miller wasn’t involved in that side of things, and he told him as much.

About a week after that, Vlad showed up at Miller’s house one night. He stood in front of the family pictures that Miller’s wife, Marie, had hung all over the living room wall, studying each one of his daughters at length while sipping from the cup of tea Marie had so graciously handed to him. Telling Miller that he had a beautiful family. That he must be worried, having three teenage girls in this world. That it must be hard, managing with Lauren’s cerebral palsy.

That if Miller were to get more involved in “that side of things” with Rust’s business, he’d make it worth his while.

Miller had never talked to Vlad about his family or his daughter’s issues. He’d never invited him to come to his home. Vlad’s tactic here was unmistakable: a veiled threat. Miller didn’t trust this guy; he never understood why Rust got involved with him, seeing as he was so successful in his legitimate businesses. But Lauren had been in more pain lately; she needed more therapy, more injections.

Miller needed more money.

So he agreed.

It wasn’t hard to convince Rust, who had suggested several times that he should get more involved. But Miller had always drawn a line. It was one thing to stop and grab a bag of money every once in a while. Calling guys and telling them which car they needed to hire someone to steal, though . . . Miller only needed to give Lauren’s name for Rust to understand why he was now asking. Rust didn’t suspect a thing. He trusted Miller completely.

It was easy enough at first, Miller said. Just a phone call to a guy named Leon on an untraceable phone whenever Rust swung by and wordlessly handed him a one-page printout with a list of cars, which Miller would shred immediately after making the call. A week or two later, he’d meet Leon and a few guys out at Rust’s backwoods warehouse to exchange the cars for the money. Miller described how scared shitless he was every single time, expecting to end up with a bullet in his head.

Then it became a phone call to Leon when Vlad called to pass on an order. Miller didn’t understand why both guys were feeding orders to him—but he didn’t know how everything worked anyway. He figured the cars were going to the same place, the same pot of money was being divided, and he needed to keep his mouth shut about it.

Not long after, Rust had him working with another fence by the name of Kyle. Which meant Miller was sending orders to Kyle for both Rust and Vlad.

Then Vlad showed up at his house—again—with a bonus envelope of cash in exchange for bringing him along to the next meet with the fences.

Miller did, introducing him to both Kyle and Leon.

Vlad had a conversation with them that Miller didn’t hear, and then he saw Vlad hand them envelopes. No doubt with cash in them. The envelope of cash Vlad handed him for “cooperating” and the way Vlad ducked down to avoid the cameras on the way in kept Miller quiet.

Two weeks later, Vlad told Miller that he needed to find out who the other high-level fences were. Vlad knew there were others, because his father was sending Rust orders and the orders weren’t being passed through Miller. Miller had guessed as much anyway. He’d seen cars that he didn’t order at Rust’s storage.

So Miller asked Rust if he could do more.

But Rust said no. Someone else was handling those guys.

It wasn’t hard for Miller to figure out who that someone else was. Rust’s useless nephew, Luke, who would no doubt be owning the garage soon enough and firing Miller. Miller, who had to work his ass off just to fill a drug prescription for his kid, while Luke had just been handed a fucking Porsche.

Vlad was livid when he heard Luke was now involved.

The orders kept coming in for Miller to manage, only the ones from Rust were growing smaller while the ones directly from Vlad increased. At first Miller figured that Rust was passing his share on to Luke.

Miller began meeting Leon, Kyle, and a new guy who simple went by Smith—one of Vlad’s additions—at a new location: the commercial warehouse just off Highway 5 in North Portland where we caught Miller.

At that point, it was pretty obvious to Miller that Vlad was using what Rust built to run his own ring. Still, Miller said nothing because now he was an accomplice to Vlad. If Rust found out, his steady, legitimate job as manager at the garage would be gone.

That’s when the anxiety began to take its toll on him.

The day Vlad called him and asked if he had ever heard Rust talking about a guy named Aref Hamidi, Miller didn’t think much of mentioning what he overheard at the office—Rust asking Luke to set up a meeting at Corleone’s. That seemed to really piss off Vlad.

A week later, Vlad sent Miller an order for a ton of vehicles. All late models, all black, all SUVs.

All needed within the week, in shipping containers at an Astoria shipyard.

A few days after that, Rust ended up with a bullet in his head.

Miller doesn’t have the context we have. He hasn’t figured out that that last order was for Aref. That the deal Luke says was made with Aref that night in Corleone’s didn’t stick. That when Vlad found out about what Rust was doing, he must have gone straight to Aref and demanded the business. That the lead time Rust insisted on obviously wasn’t ideal for Aref, but instead of telling Rust that, he simply smiled and nodded and agreed.

Which tells us that Aref knew what Vlad had in store for Rust.

Miller doesn’t know all that, but Rust dying scared him enough. What I witnessed the day of Rust’s funeral was Miller telling Vlad that he wanted out.

And Vlad telling Miller that Rust had wanted “out” too.

It’s all great information, and exactly what we expected to get from him. But it’s not enough. So Miller has agreed to wear a wire to his meet with Vlad tonight, in exchange for immunity and Witness Protection for him and his family.

By sunrise, we’ll have that Russian asshole.

It’s hard to be excited when I can’t seem to dislodge this painful knot in my throat. Because by sunrise, I’ll be saying goodbye to Luke.

“Licks needs a run.”

I look up to see Luke wearing his track pants. Luke needs to run, is more like it. He’s as much on edge as I am. I’m sure he’s heard enough of my conversations with Warner over the past twenty-four hours—from the confines of his room—to figure out that something’s happening tonight.

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” I offer as gently as I can, glancing over at the clock. One forty-five a.m.

“I run every single day. If anyone’s watching us, they’ll notice,” he counters in a flat voice.

He’s right. Except that he hasn’t gone running in the past two days. Plus, it’s in the middle of the night and therefore not the safest time to go out. Still, his hands are visibly shaking. He’s as much on edge as I am.

“Okay. Just let me get changed and we’ll go together.”

When I leave my room, he already has both dogs on their harnesses. I walk toward him, feeling the weight of the hidden gun strapped to my ankle beneath my pants. “You’re not going to try something stupid, are you? Like run away from me?”

“No.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“I’ve never lied to you.” Clear blue eyes stare hard at me. I can’t read anything besides pain and accusation in them. So acute, though, that I’m forced to look away.

“You’ve hardly eaten in days.” I gaze at the full plate of pasta he dropped on the counter, the one I brought to his room hours ago.

“You ready?” He ignores my concern. “I wouldn’t want to be out of your sight and have you send me to jail on a technicality. Especially after I’ve given you everything.”

He doesn’t trust me. He’ll never trust me again. I can’t blame him.

But it hurts, all the same.

Water splashes against my pants as we jog through the puddles of the dimly lit path, lined with corners and shadows that are testing my anxiety limits. I’ve jogged with Luke several times before and it’s now clear he always slowed down for my benefit. The punishing pace has my lungs burning and my heart pounding, until I have to call out, “Slow down!”

He does, finally, leaving me hunched over and struggling to catch my breath.

“You can hate me all you want, but don’t try to kill my dog.” I pick up a wet and wheezing Stanley, my eyes scanning the shadows. I don’t like standing out here. Even in the darkness, I still feel someone could pluck us off like birds sitting on a wire.

“But I thought you loved this.” A bitter chuckle escapes him and he throws his arms out, palms up, to accept the cold drizzle as it seeps into his clothes. “Or was that part of the lie too?”

“Say what you want to say, Luke. Get if off your chest. I can handle it.”

Luke’s breaths are just as ragged. He keeps his legs moving by walking in small circles, his head hung, his hands now on his hips. For what feels like forever, I just stand there, watching him.

Waiting for the accusations and insults to begin. I expect him to call me a two-faced, conniving bitch, a slut, a terrible lay. A dirty cop.

Anything to try and heal his pride.

“I’m getting exactly what I deserve.” His eyes are focused on the trees, on the path, on the ground. On anything but on me. “I can’t get those pictures out of my head. Every time I close my eyes, I see a red Ford pickup truck and fuzzy dice. And a car seat. I pulled that car seat out of that truck, Rain. And I just tossed it aside like trash, and now I can’t stop thinking about the kid who sat in it.”

The rain and the darkness mask a lot, but they don’t hide the sheen in Luke’s eyes. “How could Rust have been involved with that! How could I have let myself get involved in that?”

“You’re helping stop it, now that you know it’s happening,” I offer. “You’re helping to stop people who hurt others from doing it again.”

After a pause, “Miller didn’t hurt anyone,” he argues, his chuckle bitter. “No more than I did. He’s got a family to feed, a kid in a wheelchair, and now, because I ratted him out, they’re going to lose everything. He should be the one with this deal, not me.”

So that’s what’s weighing on Luke’s guilt, on top of everything else.

I sigh. “We were putting surveillance on Miller anyway. He isn’t going to lose everything.” I step in close, because I’m about to say things I’m not allowed to, that can’t be overheard. Even without a soul out here, I’m still paranoid. “Vlad wanted to take over Rust’s operation and cut him out of it, and Miller helped him do it. He’s not innocent.”

“No.” Luke shakes his head furiously. “You guys are fucking crazy with your theories. Miller was loyal to Rust. He’s one of the only guys that Rust trusted. He wouldn’t stab him in the back like that.”

“We caught him with the stolen cars and brought him in. He admitted to it all last night.”

Luke looks like I slapped him across the face. I reach out, letting my fingers graze his forearm, layered in raindrops and gooseflesh from the cold. “He fed Vlad information and introduced him to Rust’s high-level fences. Vlad worked his way in, paying the guys off to keep quiet while they filled orders for him.”

“But . . . why?” A heavy, disbelieving frown pulls at Luke’s brow. “Rust was always so good to him.”

“Because Vlad threatened him and his family.”

Shock fills Luke’s face as he processes my words. Maybe the shock is why he hasn’t pulled away from my touch yet.

“And Aref made a deal for those SUVs with Vlad. The same deal he made with you guys, only I’m guessing it was for a faster delivery date. That’s why he didn’t care when you told him you were out. He never intended on going through with it.” I pause, offering the last bit more gently. “I’m pretty sure he knew that Vlad was going to kill Rust.”

Another slap to Luke’s face.

Maybe Aref does have a redeeming quality, in that he tried to protect Luke from a bullet to his head through Elmira’s warnings. Or maybe it was Elmira operating on her own, the entire time. I still haven’t figured her out. Now, with both of them overseas, I probably never will.

“I can’t trust anyone, can I?” All pretenses of a confident man are long gone from his voice. He sounds completely lost, hollow.

“Yes you can. You can trust your friend Jesse, and Alex, and Sheriff Gabe. They care about what happens to you.” I hesitate before I add, “And though I know you don’t believe it . . . I care, too.”

Silence hangs between us. Finally he admits, “I don’t hate you. But you broke my fucking heart, Rain. Clara.” He wipes the rain off his face with an upward stroke, pushing his fingers through his hair. “I don’t even know what to call you. You’re not even real.”

“I am real,” I argue, my grip on his arm tightening. “You got a lot more of the real me than you ever should have. For what it’s worth, I can’t tell you how many times I wished that Sinclair was wrong, that you weren’t involved. Then, when I figured out that you were, I wanted things to be different. I tried to make them different.”

I get a glimpse of the Luke I knew before when he leans forward, pressing his forehead against mine. “But they never will be different now, will they?”

His tears burn against my cheeks, so cold from the rain. I’m sure he can feel mine too. I swallow, wanting so badly for him to lean forward more, so I can taste the ones that have rolled over his lips.

“How am I going to live with myself after all this?”

“You’ll figure it out. You’re a decent person. You just needed a good, harsh rain to remind you of it.”

I feel his breath skate across my lips. “I knew that was a metaphor.”

I smile at the weak joke, daring to brush my lips against his.

My phone starts vibrating in my pocket. I want nothing more than to ignore it for just a few minutes, but I know that’s a bad idea.

“Yeah?”

“Where are you?” Warner’s more abrupt than usual.

“Just out for a run with Luke and the dogs. Why?”

“72 wasn’t at the exchange with Miller. Our guys tailed some other guy driving his car from his house to the meet spot.”

“Where is he, then? At home?”

Silence. “We don’t know.”

My heart begins racing, pumping adrenaline into my body. My eyes are scanning the shadows with renewed fear. “Call you in five.” I pull my Glock out of my ankle holster. “Let’s go. Now.”

Luke must sense that something’s wrong because he doesn’t ask questions, swooping down to grab both dogs under an arm. He sticks close to my side as we jog back, our pace even faster than the one Luke set before.

Only when my back is pressed against the inside of my front door, with the deadbolts in place, the security cameras on us, and a team of cops watching the entries from outside, do I allow myself to breathe again.

“What’s going on?” Luke asks, his chest swelling with each ragged breath.

I’m past the point of caring what I’m supposed to tell him. So I tell him exactly what Warner told me.

“Do you really think . . .” His wary eyes shift to my gun.

I throw the safety back on and slide it into my holster. “Honestly? No, I don’t. I think he just changed up the way things work, now that Rust is out of the picture. But I wasn’t risking anything happening to you.”

A flash of pain touches Luke’s eyes with the reminder, but I see him working to push it aside. “So what does this mean now?”

I heave a sigh, the words bitter in my mouth. “That Vlad might get away.” I pull my phone out to touch base with Warner.

I knew this was all too easy.