Becoming Rain: A Novel

“Her brother. Good one,” I admit, watching the tall guy fold into the chair across from me. “I’m not talking to you without my lawyer here.”

“I wouldn’t suggest it.” He slides the paper bag forward. “Come on, you should eat. You’ve been here a while.”

Even the smell of the sandwich is turning my stomach right now. One bite and I’d no doubt puke all over this table. Then again, maybe then they’d leave me the fuck alone.

“Would you prefer Clara to cook for you?” he says very carefully, making a point of shifting and straightening all the pictures lying on the table. His dark, emotionless gaze lifts to meet mine. “Oh, I’m sorry. Rain. She really fooled you, didn’t she?”

Clara.

I can’t keep my eyes from flickering toward the one-way mirror, or prevent the roughness in my voice. “She sure did.”

I’ve only ever felt that level of cold shock one other time in my life—a week ago, when two police officers showed up at my door to tell me that Rust was dead.

I had marked that day off as the worst day of my entire life.

But then that douchebag introduced Rain as she stepped into this holding room.

Rain knows everything that I know.

Everything.

I trusted her.

And now I’m completely fucked.

And Rust called it. He said she made him nervous. He saw it right away. Me? I saw nothing but pretty blue eyes. A gorgeous smile. A charming personality. A girl I couldn’t get enough of. I’m a fucking idiot. What was Rust ever thinking, bringing me into this?

“She’s good. That’s why we picked her. I’ll bet you’ve been sitting here for the past hour, replaying the last few weeks in your head. All the conversations you had, asking yourself how you fell for it.”

Replaying the last few weeks? Try every last second of every day since the moment she stepped out of her car at the garage. All the qualities I admired in her—how she listened to me, how she never got angry when I had to take off, how she was so happy to see me, so willing to go anywhere with me . . .

The night on the yacht.

The day in the garden.

Was that all part of her cover? Are cops even allowed to do that?

“I’d be pissed if someone did that to me. Especially given how close she got to you.” He draws a finger over his chest. “Just so the necklace around her neck could record everything.”

“Fuck . . .” It slips out of my mouth before I can help myself. The necklace that she wore all the time.

Except . . . I frown. Except she didn’t wear it all the time.

“What is it?” Special Agent Warner Briggs leans in.

I struggle to smooth my expression. She didn’t wear it every time. I remember the day at the garden. She wasn’t wearing it then. I noticed it missing. There were other times too, nights in bed, in the shower, when I stared down at her bare neck, wondering what the diamond raindrops would look like on her, wondering if it was too soon to give the gift to her.

But what does that mean?

Everything you’ve ever told me about Rust, the car stuff, everything, stays between you and me. That’s what she said.

You’ll make it through, I promise.

Holy shit. She knew they were bringing me in. She was warning me. My heart begins racing with confusion, with hope, with pain.

But why?