Becoming Rain: A Novel

Luke kicks off his shoes and unsnaps Licks’ leash, who bolts straight for Stanley, their tails wagging frantically. “Where am I sleeping?” The same vacantness in his voice that I’ve listened to for hours in the interrogation room still exists. He hasn’t said a word to me since he demanded to see me. The car ride home was painfully silent.

“In the spare room, next to mine.”

He begins heading toward it, duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

“I need you to leave your phones with me. I’ll let you know if someone’s calling.”

I’m expecting some form of resistance, but he simply slides his hand into his pocket and tosses both phones onto a side table before continuing on.

“Just so you know, they’ve installed several cameras in here, as well as at the front door. They’re being monitored at all times. We also have twenty-four-hour surveillance around the building.” He’s been nothing but cooperative—much more so than most people when their backs are against the wall. Most would have said “fuck you” and strolled out that door. “There aren’t any in your bedroom, though.” Or mine. “And I’m not wearing a wire anymore.”

His feet slow for just a second, enough that I think he may stop, may turn, may say something to me. I’d take anything right now. Yelling, accusing, swearing. He can call me a bitch; I don’t care.

But then he disappears behind a closed door.

I toss my keys onto the counter and answer my ringing phone.

“We have twenty-four-hour detail on 48, 60, and 72. 36 has already left the country.”

Miller, Andrei, Vlad, and Aref. Ugh . . . Too many targets. The code names are getting confusing.

And Aref is gone. “Fuck . . . he’s going to get off, isn’t he?”

“Yeah. He probably will. We won’t even be able to seize his ship. He’ll just say that he has no knowledge of what ended up on there and the customs papers will all be falsified anyway.”

It’s not fair. “Otherwise?”

“We’re in good shape. A crew is getting organized to check out 24’s warehouse. We’ve got the name of two fences now, thanks to 12.” Warner’s excited. I could almost see the adrenaline pumping through his veins with each new piece of information that came from Luke’s mouth. “Plus I’m guessing we’ll get two more, if we bring in the registered owners of the storage spots that held the stolen Porsche. Rix is gaining headway at the low level. Those guys are getting sloppy in their rush to get this done. I’m going to bring in that port guard and set him up as an informant, and when we finally pull 48 in here, he’s going to help us cripple their entire operation.”

“Good.”

There’s a pause. “You could have said no to Sinclair. For the record, I don’t think this is a good idea. We should have put 12 in a safe house for the next few days.”

“And risk that shipment not happening because someone suspects he’s turned?” Sinclair and the team went through a lot of effort to cover Luke’s time being questioned. Of anyone, Luke would have the motive to want Vlad punished. “No. He won’t hurt me.”

“Are you sure? ’Cause you sure as hell hurt him.”

I take a deep, calming breath. Amidst all the emotions assaulting me over the last couple of days, the sense of relief is the most overwhelming. Relief that the lie is over, that Luke knows what I am. I didn’t realize just how much that guilt was weighing on my conscience until today.

“Bill had a floor safe added to your bedroom to hold your gun, along with the deadbolt. 12 doesn’t have a lock on his door, and we bolted his furniture down, in case he tries to barricade himself in.”

“You guys really think of everything, don’t you? And his name is Luke, not 12.” He’s no longer my target.

Sinclair’s sigh fills my ear. “Just keep an eye on that kid. He’s been through a lot this past week. I wouldn’t want him doing something stupid.”

For a long time after I hang up the phone, I stare at his closed door. Fearful of Warner’s warning. Wondering if there’s truth to it.

Until I can’t help myself anymore. Beckoning the dogs, I walk over to the spare room. My knock earns no answer, so I crack the door open. “Luke?”

No answer.

He’s lying on his back, eyes closed. He’s been up for nearly thirty-six hours and under extreme stress, so I’m not at all surprised he fell hard and fast asleep. I feel the urge to crawl into bed and wrap my arms around his body, rest my head on his chest, and somehow find a way to make him understand how I could do this to him. How I know he’s a good person who was led astray by people who loved him, by his own, entirely human desires.

Make him realize that, while he probably feels like he’s drowning in a torrential downpour of bad choices and consequences, this is all for the best.

That he will survive this.

I want him to know that I did everything I could to save him from the worst of it. In a way, I think I did. Maybe one day he’ll see it. Right now, all he feels is guilt and anger and hurt.

Stanley and Licks push past me and run straight to him, as if they can sense the sadness in the air. I’ll bet they can. Licks is on the bed with one leap, but my poor little mutt can only paw at the edge and whimper. With hesitation, I tiptoe closer, until I can lift him up. “Shh . . . Let him sleep,” I scold softly, pushing at Stanley’s backside until he stretches out along Luke’s side.

It isn’t until I’m closing the door behind me that I see Luke’s arm shift to wrap around the affectionate dog’s body, pulling him close.