“He’s two and a half. His name is Mason,” Rain says, pointing out the little boy who dumps stones from the ground onto the slide, watching them fall and scatter. His mother stands nearby, rocking a stroller for the sleeping baby inside while talking quietly with another mom. “She just got a job at a twenty-four-hour supermarket deli counter, working midnights. Her mom looks after the kids while she’s there.”
So she probably got as much sleep as I did last night, which was next to none. Neither did Rain. I know because I kept hearing my door creak open. When she stuck her head into my bedroom this morning and told me to get showered and dressed, I figured it was to take the dogs for a walk. I didn’t bother asking her where we were going. I’m not ready to talk to her. God knows what may spill out of my mouth, and there’s no way I’m letting her know how much she hurt me.
If I had known this was the destination—watching that murdered guy’s little boy play in a park and hear about how his wife is struggling, her face drawn, her eyes tired, her smiles sad—I might have refused.
“She’s going to have it rough for a while. You can’t raise two kids on minimum wage, not without a lot of help. But who knows, maybe she’ll meet someone new one day down the road.”
“Why are you doing this to me?” finally bursts out of my mouth, my sore throat from yesterday’s marathon confessional making my voice hoarse.
Rain—she’ll always be Rain to me; I don’t know that I’ll ever call her anything else—stares at the little boy. “A few months ago, I sat outside this woman’s window, her entire world crumbling around her, and watched her rock him to sleep. I wanted to punish everyone involved in the ring that killed her husband. They were scum. Every last one of them. And . . .” she hesitates briefly “. . . this was going to be my big break. I was going to win this case, impress Sinclair, and go Fed. It would open up so many exciting doors for me—all the resources at my disposal, the cases I’d be working on . . .” She studies her nails, usually polished, but bitten down to the quick in the last twenty-four hours. “I was eager and willing, and when Sinclair said jump, it wasn’t too hard to get me doing all kinds of things that I never thought I’d do. That I’m not proud of doing.”
I grit my teeth against the jab to my ego. Is she trying to make me feel better by admitting to this? “Was it really that bad?”
“No, it wasn’t. That’s the thing,” she whispers, and I feel her eyes burning into the side of my face. “It was too easy because I wanted to.”
I meet her eyes—so sincere, so deceptive—for just a moment before turning away again.
“I think I’m a pretty good cop and person, but I did things that I’m ashamed of. At first it was because of my ego and my career, and then . . .” She ducks her head, blushing. “. . . it was because of you. The entire time, I knew it was wrong, but I kept doing it. I couldn’t stop myself. I didn’t want to.” She turns to focus on the little boy again. “You’re a good person, too, Luke. I believe that.”
Even though I don’t trust her, her words temporarily soothe the guilt burning my insides.
A baby cries out and the woman reaches down to fuss over her other son, adjusting his soother and blanket. “Do you think they’ll get an arrest for her husband out of this?”
“The truck is long gone, so not likely, unless someone confesses. Which they tend not to do,” Rain says matter-of-factly. “But maybe we can uncover the stolen SUVs involved in the latest hijackings and get some arrests out of that.”
“Aref’s not going to go through with that shipment if Vlad is busted,” I counter.
Rain doesn’t answer. While I’ve spilled my guts about all that I know, I have no idea exactly what else they’ve gathered, or how far they’ve reached into Rust’s organization.
Looking at the remnants of Wayne Billings’s family across from me, I find myself hoping they have enough to bring it down.
Ringing sounds from Rain’s purse and I recognize it as my phone. “It’s Miller,” she says, pulling it out of her purse to read the screen. “Act normal and don’t try talking through code because I’ll know right away.” With that warning—reminding me that she isn’t Rain, she’s a cop—she hands it over to me.
“Hey, Miller, what’s up?” Can he hear it in my voice? Does he know I’ve given him up?
Miller’s usual gruff voice fills my ear. “I have some more checks I need you to sign. Can you make it in this afternoon?”
I look at my watch and then at Rain. It’s noon and we’re a good drive away. “Yeah, give me a few hours.”
“What does he need?” she asks right way.
“I need to sign some checks.” I sigh. “What’s going to happen to him? It seems unfair that I get off and he doesn’t. He’s got three kids. One of them’s in a wheelchair. Isn’t there something you can do to help him?”
I see Rain’s throat bob with a swallow, her eyes leaving mine. “Miller’s going to help himself. Trust me.”
