Becoming Rain Read Online Free

knowing how much we all need the release from what we see in our day-to-day.
    Sipping on my wine, I start flipping through the pages of candid shots. Luke Boone is a decidedly handsome target by anyone’s standards, with wavy caramel-brown hair that he styles in a sexy mop and clothing that’s tailored to a well-honed body, courtesy of daily jogs with his dog and workouts in his building’s gym.
    Son of Oksana Boone, single mother to him and his younger sister, Ana Boone. Biological father’s whereabouts unknown.
    Nephew of Rust Markov, who has raised him like a son, footing his tuition for a bachelor’s degree in business, followed by two years in a mechanics program. The nephew of a man pegged as the leader behind one of the West Coast’s biggest car theft rings by a confidential informant avoiding heroin-dealing charges. The nephew who seems glued to his uncle’s side, who is now stepping into a managerial role at one of Rust’s legitimate businesses—a car repair garage—and who lives in a million-dollar condo that his uncle gifted to him, either out of the goodness of his heart or to protect his assets.
    The nephew who the Feds believe is being groomed to step into a leadership role in the car theft operation.
    â€œBe thankful. He could have been your target.” Warner taps a shot of Rust Markov leaving his office one afternoon. A man I can’t wait to see stripped of his Versace suits and sleeping in a bunk bed behind bars for a very long time.
    â€œWouldn’t be the worst I’ve had.” At forty-five years old, Rust’s fit and by no means bad looking. Likes younger women, from what I know. “May have been easier.”
    â€œNo, it wouldn’t. 24’s smart. You need the dumb nephew. Kid’s too new. Get him comfortable, get him drunk . . . He’ll slip and, when he does, we’ve got him.”
    â€œI just don’t know what the best way in is with this guy. I don’t think it’s the bar scene.”
    Heaving himself off my couch, Warner strolls over to the kitchen to drop his empty on the counter. “We have a few more weeks before the warrant’s up. Sleep on it. We’ll regroup in the morning.”
    â€œ ’kay. Night,” I call out as the condo door shuts. As tired as I am, I know that the stress of looming failure—of being sent back to D.C. to bust pimps and drug addicts—is going to keep me up. I’m half-tempted to drink wine until I pass out, but I’ll only feel worse tomorrow. Not that I have anywhere that I need to be.
    So I start flipping through the case files, beginning to end, like I’ve done over a hundred times. Luke Boone’s schedule is pretty basic: he’s either at the garage, at a club with his uncle, working out, or “entertaining” one female or another. There have been no reports of him disappearing into warehouses or storefronts at erratic hours of the night. The team’s never lost track of him in the few hours per day that they’re on him. Unlike his Uncle Rust, who continuously slides through their surveillance detail like a bar of wet soap.
    Frankly, there’s no solid evidence that Luke Boone has any involvement with this ring. Only speculation. Enough to get a sixty-day warrant from the judge. I need to spend time with him to get a better read. Surveillance tapes and reports give me only background. They help me to speculate about what he might respond best to.
    So far, all of our speculations have been wrong.
    Closing the file, I pack everything back up into the hidden safe and pull out my personal phone, checking it for any messages. My parents are aware that I’ll be away for an indefinite amount of time on a case. That’s all they know, though, and that’s all I can tell them. As far as my mother is concerned, I’m only ever sitting at a desk, working behind-the-scenes detail. If she knew what I was actually