Becoming Rain
Page 113
“ ‘We.’ You’re cute. You know as well as I do that there’s shit going on over on that side of the world that the FBI will never catch wind of.”
“Is his wife involved?”
“I don’t see her mentioned, and they would have mentioned something like that. She has ties to Iranian royalty, after all. I hope she kept some money, because I’ll bet everything gets seized.” An entire empire . . . lost, for no reason other than greed.
Thoughts of the mysterious Elmira Zamani fade to the background as someone more important to me comes to mind with Warner’s words. “Speaking of seizing assets . . .” I pause, waiting for Warner to fill in the blanks. He knows who I’m asking about. He’s just been reluctant to tell me anything about Luke.
“Everything’s been released. The kid hired good lawyers and, since we have no proof beyond hearsay that 24 was involved, we couldn’t hold his assets anymore.”
I take a deep breath. I’m not sure if I’m happy about this or not. That means Luke has a ton of money at his disposal now. All money earned through dirty dealings. And he fought the Feds to get it. What does that mean? Seven months later, where is his head at?
“Anything else . . . interesting?”
There’s a long silence. “Yes.” Warner hesitates. “Betty-Jo Billings received a check made out to cash by an anonymous donor last week. She called the police, because it was a lot of money, and she thought it was fraudulent.”
“How much money?”
“Like, if you were to sell a million-dollar condo and your Porsche 911 . . . that much money.”
My heart skips a few beats. “He . . .”
“He’s renting a small place downtown. He’s in the garage, from morning until night. Goes home, jogs with his dog. Spends a lot of time at the Japanese Gardens. At first I thought he was getting into something again, but he just goes to sit on a bench. Alone.”
“You’re still doing surveillance on him?” God, please tell me they don’t suspect him of something else. “Did Sinclair tell you to do that?”
“Nope. It’s unofficial.”
I swallow. “Then why?”
Warner sighs. “Because I know you too well.”
I smile. “Thanks, Warner.”
I stare at the picture of Aref on my iPad long after I hang up the phone, rereading the article several times, Googling Elmira’s name, looking for more news on her, finding only socialite-type posts and pictures about the beautiful wife of the heir to Hamidi Enterprises.
My gut tells me that Elmira suspected what I really was—the stunt involving Luke’s car had to be her way of outing me. The hows and whys have remained a mystery to me.
But now . . . I frown, staring at her face, remembering her ageless beauty, her cool disposition, her shrewd gaze. She knew just what to say, what to do . . .
They always say a good undercover can spot another.
I’d like to say that I’ll track her down one day and ask her who she really is, but my guess is that I will not cross paths with Elmira—or whatever her name is—ever again.
So instead, I’ll have to thank her silently. That’s fairly easy; all I have to do it is think of Luke Boone.
Epilogue
LUKE
The office walls rattle as someone—probably Tabbs—tests out a broken muffler by revving the engine in the bay.
“Fuck,” I mutter, my ears ringing. I’m going to be deaf by forty if I have to listen to that every day. I glance up at the clock with a sigh. Already five. I was planning on ducking out early today and taking Licks for a jog along my usual trail. It’s much nicer in daylight, especially right now, when the Japanese cherry blossom trees are in full bloom.
But the day has turned to dusk while I’ve been slaving away. The garage is a lot of work for one guy to run—especially when that one guy never saw himself spending six days a week in a tiny office, listening to broken mufflers and smelling engine oil. But I think I’ve got the place running smoother than Miller ever did.
It’s for the best that he “disappeared” with his wife and daughters. I could never have kept him working here, but I would have felt guilty firing him because of his family. And because, out of all of us, he’s the only one who had a truly redeeming reason for being involved in that world. A world that feels increasingly farther away.
I pick up the newspaper to read the ad I ran for a part-time office manager. It’s been four days and, though I’ve had a lot of applicants, none of them are what I’m looking for. I guess I’m picky. I even tried to get Jesse to come and work for me. He laughed in my face.
A sudden and loud roar of pain has me running toward the bays, hoping to all hell that my employer insurance premiums are paid up.
“Son of a bitch. He bit me!” Tabbs roars. “Get that ugly mutt out of here!”
I round the corner in time to see a little dog square off against Tabbs like a bull, his giant ears turning back and forth like satellites.
My heart stops. If Stanley’s here . . .
“I swear, he never bites.” Rain stands in the bay door, her short black leather jacket zipped up to her chin to ward off the early evening chill.
Her hair’s a few inches shorter than the last time I saw her, a year ago, but otherwise she looks exactly the same.
Beautiful.
And smiling broadly.
I don’t waste a second. I take quick steps toward her and pull her into my arms. She comes willingly, her hands finding their way around my waist. She smells like roses, just like I remember. “What are you doing here?”
“Is his wife involved?”
“I don’t see her mentioned, and they would have mentioned something like that. She has ties to Iranian royalty, after all. I hope she kept some money, because I’ll bet everything gets seized.” An entire empire . . . lost, for no reason other than greed.
Thoughts of the mysterious Elmira Zamani fade to the background as someone more important to me comes to mind with Warner’s words. “Speaking of seizing assets . . .” I pause, waiting for Warner to fill in the blanks. He knows who I’m asking about. He’s just been reluctant to tell me anything about Luke.
“Everything’s been released. The kid hired good lawyers and, since we have no proof beyond hearsay that 24 was involved, we couldn’t hold his assets anymore.”
I take a deep breath. I’m not sure if I’m happy about this or not. That means Luke has a ton of money at his disposal now. All money earned through dirty dealings. And he fought the Feds to get it. What does that mean? Seven months later, where is his head at?
“Anything else . . . interesting?”
There’s a long silence. “Yes.” Warner hesitates. “Betty-Jo Billings received a check made out to cash by an anonymous donor last week. She called the police, because it was a lot of money, and she thought it was fraudulent.”
“How much money?”
“Like, if you were to sell a million-dollar condo and your Porsche 911 . . . that much money.”
My heart skips a few beats. “He . . .”
“He’s renting a small place downtown. He’s in the garage, from morning until night. Goes home, jogs with his dog. Spends a lot of time at the Japanese Gardens. At first I thought he was getting into something again, but he just goes to sit on a bench. Alone.”
“You’re still doing surveillance on him?” God, please tell me they don’t suspect him of something else. “Did Sinclair tell you to do that?”
“Nope. It’s unofficial.”
I swallow. “Then why?”
Warner sighs. “Because I know you too well.”
I smile. “Thanks, Warner.”
I stare at the picture of Aref on my iPad long after I hang up the phone, rereading the article several times, Googling Elmira’s name, looking for more news on her, finding only socialite-type posts and pictures about the beautiful wife of the heir to Hamidi Enterprises.
My gut tells me that Elmira suspected what I really was—the stunt involving Luke’s car had to be her way of outing me. The hows and whys have remained a mystery to me.
But now . . . I frown, staring at her face, remembering her ageless beauty, her cool disposition, her shrewd gaze. She knew just what to say, what to do . . .
They always say a good undercover can spot another.
I’d like to say that I’ll track her down one day and ask her who she really is, but my guess is that I will not cross paths with Elmira—or whatever her name is—ever again.
So instead, I’ll have to thank her silently. That’s fairly easy; all I have to do it is think of Luke Boone.
Epilogue
LUKE
The office walls rattle as someone—probably Tabbs—tests out a broken muffler by revving the engine in the bay.
“Fuck,” I mutter, my ears ringing. I’m going to be deaf by forty if I have to listen to that every day. I glance up at the clock with a sigh. Already five. I was planning on ducking out early today and taking Licks for a jog along my usual trail. It’s much nicer in daylight, especially right now, when the Japanese cherry blossom trees are in full bloom.
But the day has turned to dusk while I’ve been slaving away. The garage is a lot of work for one guy to run—especially when that one guy never saw himself spending six days a week in a tiny office, listening to broken mufflers and smelling engine oil. But I think I’ve got the place running smoother than Miller ever did.
It’s for the best that he “disappeared” with his wife and daughters. I could never have kept him working here, but I would have felt guilty firing him because of his family. And because, out of all of us, he’s the only one who had a truly redeeming reason for being involved in that world. A world that feels increasingly farther away.
I pick up the newspaper to read the ad I ran for a part-time office manager. It’s been four days and, though I’ve had a lot of applicants, none of them are what I’m looking for. I guess I’m picky. I even tried to get Jesse to come and work for me. He laughed in my face.
A sudden and loud roar of pain has me running toward the bays, hoping to all hell that my employer insurance premiums are paid up.
“Son of a bitch. He bit me!” Tabbs roars. “Get that ugly mutt out of here!”
I round the corner in time to see a little dog square off against Tabbs like a bull, his giant ears turning back and forth like satellites.
My heart stops. If Stanley’s here . . .
“I swear, he never bites.” Rain stands in the bay door, her short black leather jacket zipped up to her chin to ward off the early evening chill.
Her hair’s a few inches shorter than the last time I saw her, a year ago, but otherwise she looks exactly the same.
Beautiful.
And smiling broadly.
I don’t waste a second. I take quick steps toward her and pull her into my arms. She comes willingly, her hands finding their way around my waist. She smells like roses, just like I remember. “What are you doing here?”
