“You’re not getting another word out of me until I see my lawyer. Now, can you please ask Rain to come in here?”
A second knock on the window and Special Agent Briggs throws his index finger in the air, as if to signal “one minute.” “I’ll see if she wants to see you. I know she’s getting ready to move on to her next case. Another decent-looking guy who’s going to fall for her.”
This guy knows how to aim his punches for impact.
He stands and then, leaning in so close to me that I can smell the coffee on his breath, he whispers, “There isn’t a law that can protect you if you touch so much as a hair on Clara’s body. Now, or fifty years from now. Do you understand?” Smoothing his shirt as he straightens, I watch him stalk out of the room, his back rigid.
His lethal warning completely unnecessary.
Another uncomfortable length of time stretches out in front of me as I now stare at that glass, unable to keep my fingers from drumming against the smooth table surface. Wondering if she’ll show up. Wondering how different Officer Clara will be from Rain, the girl I fell for.
Finally, I get my wish.
Rain walks through the door, hugging a small stack of folders, a look that I’ve seen flicker across her face before now permanently etched. I didn’t recognize if for what it was, then. Now I do.
Guilt.
Good.
“Your lawyer’s on his way,” she says in a strained voice, taking a seat across from me. “You don’t have to say anything, and you shouldn’t. But please listen.” I notice her throat bobbing with a hard swallow. “Four months ago, Assistant Director Sinclair approached me. The FBI were trying to build a case against your uncle after an informant avoiding drug charges identified him as the leader in an international car theft ring involving the Russian mob. I was tasked to get close to you, so I could gather evidence that could lead to a conviction of the key players.”
She sounds the same and yet so completely different. So much older, smarter. “We believe that this theft ring is responsible for several violent carjacks in the Portland and Seattle area.”
“No,” I interrupt, unable to control myself as my anger boils. “Rust wouldn’t be involved in anything that hurts people.” He wouldn’t lie to me.
She doesn’t argue or counter what I’m saying. “Cases like this one.” She opens a folder with a picture of a blue Buick on one side and the badly beaten face of a man on the other. “And this one.” Another folder. Another car, another picture, this time a beaten woman.
My head’s shaking. They’re not pinning this on Rust. No way. He’s not even here to defend himself and he’d never . . .
“And this one.” The folder opens to a cherry-red Ford F-250 truck with fuzzy dice hanging from the rearview mirror. Next to it is the picture of a male.
Very obviously dead.
A wave of nausea hits me. I remember that truck. That truck was in the warehouse.
“I believe you,” she says slowly. “I believe you that Rust wouldn’t knowingly be involved. But what if he wasn’t knowingly involved? What if someone had been slowly working his way into his organization. Someone who wanted to take over. Who may have wanted to take over the network and cut him out. Who may not have been so smart or vigilant about the kinds of thieves and wheelmen they hired. Who wanted cars to sell, and fast.
“If we can get the right information, we can stop this from happening again. You’re not betraying Rust anymore, Luke.” She makes a move to reach forward but then freezes, pulling her hand back. “If you tell us everything you know, I’ll make sure you walk away from this. Safe.” She leans in, her eyes pleading with me, looking so honest. They’ve lied to me before, though. Many, many times. “Don’t ruin the rest of your life protecting criminals. I know you aren’t one. You’ve done the right thing before, Luke. Do the right thing again here. Don’t let more innocent people get hurt.”
Alex. She’s using Alex against me. Did she know all along, when I drove up that driveway, who she was about to meet? Or did she just figure it out, because it’s her job to figure things like that out? Did she use the whole abusive ex-boyfriend angle because she somehow knew that it was a soft spot for me?
Jesse passed on Alex’s condolences, telling me that she didn’t come because she was afraid of someone from that circle recognizing her. She’d rather remain missing in their eyes. The poor woman still lives with a cloud of fear over her. And now these assholes are about to drag her into this mess—and Jesse, and Jesse’s dad—just to get at me. I know that’s why Sinclair says he’s launching an investigation. He doesn’t give a shit about her.
Fuck, Jesse will never talk to me again if that happens, if I bring this disaster to his doorstep. To his father’s doorstep. If they figured out how the sheriff abused his power . . .
The door bursts open and an old guy in wire-rimmed glasses storms in. “Get away from my client, now. All room recording stops immediately.”
Rain moves to stand.
I should hate her. Maybe I will once the shock wears off. “Was any of it real?” I ask, my voice as hollow as my chest.
She only stares down at me, blinking away the tears that form in her light blue eyes.
Is that even real?
Not that it matters anymore.
“They don’t have enough to make this fucking stick,” Fred, my lanky and brash lawyer, who drops more f-bombs than I’ve ever heard before, promises. “Any judge would throw this case out the second it entered his courtroom. Now, what he may say about the investigative techniques used on you . . .” he mutters with a wicked gleam in his eye. One that says he wants to stand in front of a judge and publicly flay Rain. The excitement disappears just as quickly. “But I have to warn you, I get the feeling that they’re working on a few other angles into this case. If they bring someone in and that person gives names up—which always happens—you could be facing some serious time.” Fred’s obviously past the point of wondering whether Rust and I were ever involved in a car theft operation. He hasn’t even bothered to ask. “They’re offering you a pretty good deal right now. Voluntary cooperation in exchange for confidentiality and immunity against all charges connected with this case. They don’t want you, son.”
Son. Rust used to call me that all the time. I have to remind myself for the thousandth time that he’s dead. That I can’t call him to help me get out of this mess. That, in a way, he got me into this mess.
Fuck . . . Flashes of those pictures hit me again, and anger boils inside.
Of that car seat that these very hands in front of me yanked out of the truck.
“But what if I don’t know enough?” I counter.
He busies his hands with a stack of papers. “They seem to think you do.”
How much did Rain tell them?
“They also seem to think that someone did this to Rust because they wanted him out of the way.” The more I think about it, the more it makes sense.
Fred gives a half-shrug, half-nod. “There’s a lot of money involved here. I’ve heard of a lot worse happening for a lot less. Listen, you give me the word and you’ll be walking out of here. I just can’t say how long before you’re back. You need to decide if you want to risk that.” He pauses. “You’re a twenty-four-year-old guy who may or may not have gotten mixed up in the wrong stuff. If you did, you’ve still got a long life ahead. You can start over and lead a clean life. This deal they’re offering guarantees that you can do that.”
A clean life. I had never focused on it, but the life I’ve been living up until now has been dirty. It’s come from dirty money that I’ve accepted greedily. But Rust’s dead and none of it looks very appealing anymore. Jesse’s words that day fill my head. Maybe this is my wake-up call. I’m definitely scared shitless.
“What exactly does this voluntary cooperation involve?”
“Is that everything?” Briggs rubs at his eyes as he scribbles down his final notes. I feel like I haven’t seen the outside of these walls for weeks, though it’s been more like twenty hours. Still, a painfully long time to be sitting in this suffocating room, on a hard plastic chair, having him and Rain—I can’t think of her as anything else—squeeze every last bit of information out of me. Things I remember Rust saying, things I remember seeing. Anything and everything, damning and seemingly inconsequential. From the secret warehouse in the woods to the port security guard who’s paid to look the other way.
I ratted out my own garage manager, who has three kids—one in a wheelchair. I named Aref as both the shipper and a new business partner.
I knew a lot more than I thought I did.
The only thing I don’t know is the one thing they need most: the exact date, time, and location of the coming shipment for Vlad. Rust kept that close to his chest. Part of me wonders if it’s because of the exact situation I’m in right now.
“I think so.” The glass of water they gave me isn’t helping soothe my throat anymore, which is raw from talking. I can’t keep my eyes from flickering to Rain, who looks as tired as I feel. She meets my gaze for a moment before shifting away to focus on the floor.
We haven’t said two words to each other.
“Okay. Let Officer Bertelli know if you remember anything else.”
Officer Bertelli.
“And it’ll be added to this document, formally, right?” Fred insists.
“Yes,” Briggs confirms. “You’ve done the right thing today, Luke. So thank you.” He actually sounds sincere. He glances over at Rain, his jaw tightening, like he’s not happy about what he’s about to say. “She’ll take custody of you now.”
When Fred told me that part of this deal is that I’ll be released into “my girlfriend’s” custody, to keep up pretenses of the loving couple for the next few days, just until they can track down and bust the shipment for Vlad—which they believe is still happening—I refused.
But I apparently don’t have a choice.
“Your phone is being monitored, the condo is under full surveillance. If you disappear for so much as a second, this deal is dead and you’ll never get a chance at another one.” Dark, sharp eyes bore into me.
“Come on, Luke.” Rain stands, her eyes tired and pleading. “Let’s go home.”
