“Actually, I was in the mood to cook this morning, so . . .” I hold open my purse and he peers in. And groans. “Damn, is that what I think it is?”

“Can you take off for an hour?”

He pulls his wallet and keys from his desk in answer.

“Actually, why don’t you let me drive. I can’t surprise you if you’re driving.” And, if for some reason someone comes to check up on 12’s whereabouts, they’ll see his uncle’s Cayenne that he borrowed and assume he hasn’t gone anywhere.

“I’ve never actually been here,” Luke says as we step through the entranceway of the Japanese Garden, one of Portland’s highlights and a place I’ve visited at least once a week since I began this case, both for the serenity and the chance to experiment with my camera. Enough that the lady charging admission at the front waves at me.

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” I smile back at him. “I’d love to see it in the fall, when the leaves begin to change.”

“Then we’ll come here in the fall and you can see it all.” There’s a pause. “Right?”

“Right.” I smother any doubt in that one word with a broad smile and then focus on the oddly shaped trees and exotic pagodas ahead. Inside, sadness is quickly building. I have no idea where this case will be by then, if this thing with the Porsche is going to pan out. Luke may very well be behind bars by the fall.

He could hate my guts.

“What’s wrong?”

He’s frowning at me, and I realize that I’m not hiding my feelings very well after all.

“Nothing. Come on.” I grab his hand and lead him down my favorite path. Acres of beautifully cultivated land are divided into five themed gardens. Stone pathways weave throughout, climbing hills, edged with exotically shaped bushes and rich green moss, connecting bridges over ponds and streams. Each plant, each tree, each man-made structure was placed with such intent, creating an enchanting serenity that I’ve come to love.

“How easy is it to get lost in here?” he murmurs as we wind along the path, through a denser section. We haven’t crossed paths with a single person yet, which is kind of nice.

“Not easy enough. See that waterfall over here?” I point out the gentle cascade, and then hold my camera up to show him a shot I took of it when I was fooling around here a few weeks ago. It was a rare sunny day, the rays hitting the rocks in such a way that the water sprays sparkle.

“This is amazing, Rain.” He takes the camera from me and begins flipping through the images, a serious frown drawing his brow together. “Why haven’t you ever shown me any of these?”

“I don’t really know what I’m doing yet.”

“Sure looks like you do,” he murmurs, and my ego swells.

“Besides, I didn’t think you’d be into that sort of thing.”

“I’m into anything you’re into.” A smile curls over his lips. “Have any pictures of me?”

“Not yet,” I lie. That memory card is hidden away, for just me.

“Hmm . . . we’ll have to change that.” He hands my camera back to me with an arrogant smirk. “So, where are the picnic tables? Because I’m starving.”

I burst out with laughter. “That’s the thing . . .” I loop my arm through his and pull him off the main path, to head up a set of perfectly staggered stone steps. “We’re technically not allowed to eat in here, so we’ll have to do it where it’s not so obvious.”

“Are you suggesting we break the garden’s law?” His eyes widen with mock seriousness.

“Because you have a problem with that, right?”

“That’s right, I do. You’re leading me astray with your wicked ways.”

“I’ve been known to do that.” I chuckle. “Relax. It’s a Wednesday and they’re calling for heavy rain this afternoon, so no one’s going to bother us.” I know because I tend to come here on those days and stand on the Moon Bridge, letting the drops soak through my hair, my clothes, and my skin as I capture the downpour using the waterproof casing that I bought.

He smiles. “Don’t worry about me. I think my conscience can handle breaking the garden’s law.”

I hesitate. “Your conscience is already handling quite a bit, though, isn’t it?” We haven’t so much as hinted at Luke’s work with his uncle since the night on the yacht. Either Elmira was right and pillow talk does loosen these guys’ lips substantially or he regrets ever telling me.

By the look on his face, I’m afraid it may be the latter, and I need to be careful. To be honest, I’m not sure I want to know. It will only add to the guilt. I brought him here because it’s private enough to enjoy our time together but public enough that it can’t get out of hand again, like it did at the movies.

“It’s getting a little bit harder lately, but nothing I can’t deal with,” he finally admits.

“Do you plan on doing it forever?”

“I dunno . . .” He kicks a loose stone off the path and follows it as it skitters away. “I’ve just always figured I’d spend my life working for and with Rust. I don’t know what else I’d do.”

“Well, you could just work in the garage, right? And you like fixing and reselling those cars with Jesse.”

His jaw tightens. “It bothers you, doesn’t it?”