“You have a beautiful home.” I follow Elmira down the path, lit by flaming torches that dance under the slightest breeze.
She smiles. “Thank you. It’s my favorite out of all of them, I think.”
She says it casually, but I roll my eyes nonetheless. Maybe it’s her prim Londoner accent that makes her sound so snooty. We sweep around a small pocket of guests and reach the dock. She glances down at my shoes. “You should remove those. I’ve broken plenty of heels over the years.”
Over the years? I’m still wondering if she’s even considered a legal adult. Regardless, I listen and slip my shoes off to save myself the embarrassment of hobbling home.
Elmira leads me down, down . . . down . . . past the speedboats, along an impossibly long dock that branches off, and toward the rope and a sign that reads, “Thank you for not boarding.”
“I didn’t think you could dock a boat like this privately,” I murmur, taking in Elmira’s name scrolled across the side.
“Enough money buys anything.” I follow her as she ducks under the rope. “This is Aref’s pride and joy. He bought it for me for my eighteenth birthday.”
“Nice birthday gift,” I offer, silently thinking back to my eighteenth birthday and the six-pack of woolen socks and case of Budweiser that my boyfriend at the time bought me. I didn’t like beer then, either.
“Aref can be a very generous man.” Something about the way she says that sounds off. Before I can ponder too much, she leads me through a narrow door and into an interior painted with money, in the form of shiny chrome and crystals and lacquered mahogany walls. The metallic ceiling reflects, and the sleek lighting illuminates, cocooning us in luxury.
It’s easy to forget why I’m here as I trail Elmira down marble winding staircases and narrow hallways, weaving in and out of small but lavish cabins, through three floors of sleek living spaces and open decks of white leather banquettes and wet bars.
“Do you spend a lot of time on here?” I ask as we end the tour on the top floor, a deck next to the captain’s command room. Elmira punches a code into a panel and the ceiling begins sliding open, revealing the yacht’s sunroof, now blanketed by an expanse of stars over the Columbia River.
“We usually spend our winters in the Cayman Islands. It’s quite comfortable on here, even though it’s a boat.”
“That sounds nice.” And unfortunate, given that I’d consider squatting if they happened to store this boat in a marina over the winter.
“We also sail along the Pacific seaboard every summer. It’s my favorite thing to do.” Elmira disappears behind a small bar to produce a bottle of Champagne and another glass. She delivers one to me without asking, even though I’m still nursing the full glass of wine in my hand. Normally I’d just dump a little at a time while no one was looking, but a place like this must be laced with surveillance video. Getting caught doing that would raise questions I don’t want asked. “Have you ever been on a cruise?”
I don’t even pretend. “No.”
“Well, we are here for a few more months. Perhaps we can host you and Luke one day soon.”
I’m sure it’s an empty offer, but I say, “I would love that.” If I can get enough dirt on Luke to convince a judge that this is worthwhile, maybe I’ll be around until then. But that’s a long time to string him along, hiding behind the guise of a physically abused woman still learning to trust men again.
“How long have you two been dating?”
I open my mouth to object to the term but catch myself. “Not long.”
“He’s very handsome. And young, too, right?” she says casually, sipping on her drink, curiosity dancing within her eyes, along with other thoughts that I can’t get a handle on.
“Yes, he is.” It’s all superficial conversation but I need to keep it going, regardless. “What about you and Aref?”
“I met Aref when I was sixteen. He was twenty-nine. Our parents arranged our marriage a year later.” When she sees my expression, a soft laugh escapes her lips that makes her suddenly sound much older. “He’s handsome, and extremely wealthy, so I didn’t object. That’s the only element of my culture I accepted, though. Otherwise I’ve fully embraced the Western way of thinking, much to my parents’ dismay.” She holds up her glass of Champagne, now almost empty, to prove a point, and fills it up again. A tiny body like hers can’t possibly handle that much alcohol, that fast.
“And Aref? Has he embraced the Western way of thinking?”
She shrugs noncommittally. “Mostly.”
Mostly. As in Elmira’s not 100 percent entirely satisfied, perhaps? It’s crazy, the things that people will admit to complete strangers when they’re unhappy. And drunk. Elmira’s shoulders are slouching just enough to tell me she’s probably tipsy by now. Plus, she sounds lonely. Lonely people are all too willing to answer questions.
I’d love to come right out and ask her what she means, but if I bide my time, I’ll get it out of her. “What do you do when you’re not on this yacht?”
She shrugs. “Organize parties. Volunteer at charities. I keep myself busy. Aref wants me to keep busy. He works a lot and I don’t know many people in Portland. Those I do know, I don’t particularly like. Mostly Aref’s business partners and their wives.”
Well, that was brutally honest. “So, what does Aref do?” This is beginning to sound like an interrogation—I’m half-expecting my phone to go off and Warner to hiss at me on the other end of the line—but I can’t help myself.
She doesn’t seem at all bothered, scanning her perfectly manicured nails. “He owns a transportation company.”
“Transportation,” I repeat.
“Ships. Lots and lots of big ships, that bring all kinds of things overseas, like clothing, packaged foods, cars . . .”
Bingo. Excitement bubbles up inside me as the pieces are clicking together. I’m a cat, cornering its mouse. “Cars?”
“There you are . . .”
Luke’s voice is like a long, thin needle jabbing into the bubble. It takes all my effort to keep my face neutral as I glance over to see him climbing the steps. His dazzling smile dulls the disappointment quickly, though.
“If you’ll excuse me, I should check on my husband. It was lovely talking to you, Rain.” Elmira sweeps past me.
“Thanks for the tour. I hope I see you again.” I truly do. Unhappy, young wife with loose lips when she’s drinking? Definite informant potential.
She pauses and looks over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing slightly at me. Just enough to create a twinge of insecurity on my part. “Yes. I’d like that.”
She’s cunning, that one. I had better be careful how I handle her.
“This place is ridiculous, huh?” Luke strolls over to the glass panel dividing us from the control room, pulling a cigarette out of his pack.
“You know, they say smoking will kill you.”
“Yeah, I think I’ve heard that.” He holds the lighter to the tip, but then pauses. “Does it bother you?”
“No, not really. I guess I’m used to it. My dad was a heavy smoker for years. He just quit a few years back, after my grandfather died of lung cancer.” I worry that it wasn’t soon enough.
And I just told my target a personal truth about me. Clara, not Rain. I make a mental note to add that to the file, to keep everything in check. But I’ve coupled it with a strategic lie about my grandfather, who’s still alive and well in Palermo, bless his soul.
“Huh . . . Mine died of lung cancer, too. So did my grandmother.” When Luke pauses on me for a long moment, then glances down at the cigarette in his hand, as if reconsidering, I know I’ve struck the chord I was aiming for. Finding a way to relate to your target is critical. “I’ve been thinking about quitting.” With a sigh, he lights up. “Maybe after things calm down.”
“Are things stressful for you right now?” I keep my voice airy, curious.
“Just work shit.”
“That big, angry guy in your office the other day?”
Luke dips his head to the side to show me his wide, genuine smile, making my stomach flip. “Who, Miller?”
“Is that the one who hates your guts?”
He laughs, taking another drag. “So, you noticed that.”
“Kind of hard not to. Why does he hate you so much?”
“Fuck, who knows. Bitter, I think. I was supposed to take over running the garage. But that’s been delayed indefinitely, so his job is safe. I thought he’d stop being such an ass.”
“Are you going to do something else instead?”
He doesn’t answer at first, just smoking his cigarette and peering out at the water through the windows. For a moment, I’m afraid I’ve gone too far.
“Nah, I’ll stay in the garage. Rust is giving it to me eventually. But my uncle’s got me doing some other stuff for him. He has a few businesses on the go.”
I love how criminals call their illicit activities “business.” Like it’s a legitimate thing that they get registered and that they pay taxes to the government for income reported. “That sounds . . . exciting?” I’d love to probe more about these “businesses,” but I have to slip in my questions strategically.
“Yeah . . . I don’t know yet. It’s still new.”
“You and your uncle seem like you’re close.”
“We are. He basically raised me. My dickhead dad skipped out on us when I was six. My mom’s always been a bit flaky and unstable, and when he left, she went offside. Depression and all that. She lost her job and we moved in with my grandparents.” He pauses, as if thinking back to his childhood. “Rust was only twenty-eight years old. The last thing he wanted to do was inherit two little kids, but he really stepped up. He paid for everything. Made sure I was signed up for soccer and baseball—all those kid things that my mom was too out of it to pay attention to and my grandparents really didn’t understand. They were old-school Russian, you know? Having clothes on your back and food on the table was all they ever focused on.” Yeah, I understand that. He butts his cigarette into a fancy ashtray stand and strolls over, my nose catching a mixture of cologne and tobacco as he slides into the seat next to me. Normally I can’t stand the smell of cigarette smoke, and yet for some reason it doesn’t bother me on Luke. “Rust paid for private school, for college, for my mechanic’s program. He used to take me to sports games. Spoiled me rotten, basically. Still does.” Luke chuckles. “All my friends were jealous. He paid more attention to me than any of their real dads did to them.” His voice has grown husky. “I owe Rust everything that I have.”
Enough to not give him up if you’re looking at jail time? The soft look in Luke’s eyes as he talks about his uncle makes me question whether Sinclair’s right with this plan. Would our primary target break if a figurative gun were put to his head?
I’m not so sure.
“You seem to be doing well for yourself,” I agree. “I mean, your condo, your car . . .” I don’t mean to let my eyes rake over him so overtly as I add, “ . . . you.”
He smirks, his thigh nudging up against mine as he stretches his legs out. No concern for my personal space. And I don’t mind at all. Maybe that Champagne put me over the edge. Holding up the glass of golden liquid that he brought onboard, he says, “This is a twenty-thousand-dollar glass of scotch. My second, tonight.”
I know my eyebrows are jumping halfway up my forehead but I can’t help myself. More than a third of my annual salary about to go down his throat. I hate rich people. “So, what does a twenty-thousand-dollar glass of scotch taste like?”
He offers it to me and I take it, our fingers grazing, the simple touch causing ripples through my body that I wish I didn’t feel. I should say no to hard liquor, but when am I ever going to get a chance like this again? “How am I supposed to drink this?”
Shifting even closer to me, until every part of my right side from my shoulder down to my knees is pressed against that hard body of his, he ropes an arm around my shoulders. “First, you let it coat the glass. Like this.” Covering my hand with his, I watch the liquid swirl around the glass, his fingers filling the spaces between mine. “Then you inhale.” He holds the glass up to my nose.
“Smells . . . smoky?”
With his free hand, he tucks a strand of my hair back behind my ear in a slow, almost cautious movement, before lifting the glass to my mouth. “Just a tiny sip. Just enough to taste it.” His eyes drop to my mouth as I follow instruction.
And struggle not to grimace from the potent flavor.
He grins, not offended in the slightest. “Not a fan?”
“Here.” I push it forward until it’s fully within his grasp and my hand is free. Because I’m enjoying the feel of him too much. “You drink your twenty-thousand-dollar-a-shot manly scotch and I’ll stick with this girly Champagne.” I mocked it earlier, but it’s actually quite good.
He chuckles, falling back into the couch, his eyes roaming over the interior of the yacht. Another sip. Maybe two glasses of that will loosen his tongue enough for me to pry answers from him. “I think I need to start hanging out with Aref more. I could get used to this.”
So could I, under different circumstances. “He seems nice. How do you know him?”
“I just met him tonight, actually. But I already like him.” A flash of doubt crosses his face.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, just . . .” He frowns, pausing as if to decide something. “I work for my uncle and, as much as I love him, he leaves me in the dark a lot of the time. It can get frustrating.”
His gaze wanders off over the water, seemingly deep in thought. I nudge his leg with mine. “You know, I’ve been told I’m a great listener.”
“I can believe it.” His hand falls to my back and rests there, the heat from it searing my bare flesh above my dress line. And then he heaves a sigh. “It’s nothing. Just . . . Aref wants to play a bigger role in Rust’s business and I’m trying to figure out why Rust hasn’t agreed. He’d be way better to deal with than the assholes we work with right now.”
“Assholes?”
“Yeah.” He tips his head back and finishes his drink. “Russian assholes.”
“Those crazy Russians,” I tease, earning Luke’s chuckle and a gentle squeeze of my shoulder.
“Hey, bite your tongue, woman. I’m half-Russian. My mom’s side.”
Come on, Luke . . . give me more. “Well, I’m sure your uncle must have his reasons.” I pause. “What kind of business is it?”
“Cars. We sell cars, all over the world.”
“Oh yeah? What kind?”
“All kinds. My uncle co-owns RTM International.”
Right . . . the legitimate business. The one I highly doubt Luke is talking about right now. But maybe he is, that little hopeful voice in the back of my mind purrs. Maybe this is all just a terrible misunderstanding. After all, why would a man like Aref, who has so much to lose, get involved with a car theft ring?
Tipping back the rest of his drink, Luke slips his hand into mine and pulls me up with him. “Come on. We should go join the party.”
I let him lead me down the path lit by flickering torches and toward the hordes of privileged guests, secretly enjoying the warmth of his hand within mine.
Telling myself this is all good for the case.
Aref meets us at the bottom of the steps up to their two-tier deck. “So Elmira tells me that you enjoyed the tour of our yacht?”
“I did. And your wife is lovely. Thank her again for me.”
“Have Luke buy you one for your birthday,” Aref jokes, winking.
“Don’t be teaching her any bad habits,” Luke answers with a laugh, just as easily.
“About that issue . . .” Aref’s dark eyes level Luke’s. “It’s all good.”
“Yeah? Great. Thanks, man.” He reaches out to shake the tall man’s hand.
“You give me a call tomorrow so we can sort out the details. And talk to your uncle for me, okay?”
“I will,” Luke promises somberly. “I’m actually heading out to do that right now.” I can see the admiration he has for Aref in his eyes. That’s a little concerning. Being too trusting, too open with these kinds of people never works out. Guys like Aref get where they are by being as ruthless as they are generous. Whatever Luke may be involved in, I already know that I don’t want to find him lying in a gutter.
Someone taps Aref on the shoulder, and with one last salute toward Luke, he gets pulled into another conversation.
“That worked out well . . .” Luke murmurs, his hand settling on the small of my back. “Let’s get out of here.”
Luke’s Porsche coasts into my condo entrance with me silently wishing the Feds had gotten me one of these instead of my Audi.
“Thanks for tonight. It was . . . educational, seeing how the disgustingly rich live.”
He laughs, revving the engine, his gaze skating over my legs again. I’ve caught him doing it several times tonight. I need to keep him interested for another date, so I shift in my seat, casually letting my dress slide up just enough, given he seems to respond well to my body. He squeezes his eyes shut in response and begins whispering, “Glass . . . glass . . . glass,” under his breath.
“What?”
Heaving a sigh, he reaches over and pulls my hand to his mouth, muttering, “Nothing,” as he kisses the backs of my fingers. A gesture I have always written off as completely cheesy and yet somehow sends tingles straight to my thighs. I think Luke is seriously into me, a realization that may be making me excited for the wrong reasons. “I’ll give you a call this week. Maybe we can go out again.”
“I’d really like that.” Letting go of my hand, he leans back in his seat. I take that as my signal to leave, so I do. I can feel his eyes on my back all the way to the condo doors, before he peels out of the driveway.
And I silently accept that I don’t want the night with him to end.
