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.
Chapter 61
LUKE
“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.”