by Eden Winters
Ty sat at the kitchen table, books open, scrawling in a notebook. Who would have thought Lucky’s life would include such a picture of domestic bliss?
A bag from a CVS drugstore sat on the counter. Oh shit. CVS bags meant one thing these days—and not Lucky visiting a local pharmacy for work purposes. Charlotte often joked about merely walking past her ex-husband in the hallway and getting pregnant with Todd and Ty, but after four months of trying with Bo’s sperm, nothing.
Four months wasn’t a long time. Rett said it took two years for one of her sisters to conceive. Two years. Damn. Long time. Sooner or later they’d have to share their plans with the rest of the family. He voted for later.
Much later. As in, when the kid turned old enough to vote.
If and when Charlotte managed to get pregnant. Four months was nothing to be depressed about. Yet Lucky shared her pain when she swore each month, proclaiming, “Damn it! It didn’t take!” Was she afraid he’d change his mind if things didn’t progress quickly? Or maybe it was the embarrassment of delivering cups of Bo’s cum to her bedroom door, knowing what happened next.
Calendars, thermometers, eating right, all figured into her “get Charlotte pregnant plan”. There was really no hurry, but if she got pregnant today, Lucky would be thirty-nine years old when the baby came. He’d attend his child’s high school graduation pushing sixty.
Some of the parents dropping kids off when Lucky drove up with his nephew Ty every weekday morning appeared too young to have kids in high school. How would he look in his mid-forties, depositing his kid at kindergarten? Would the other children believe Lucky was the child’s grandfather?
Then again, he’d grown up in an area where eighty percent of his former classmates married before age twenty and were parents before twenty-two. Most of those young parents hadn’t yet learned the life lessons necessary to take care of themselves, let alone a child. Bo and Lucky had experience, good jobs, a decent house — providing no one looked too closely at the work he’d yet to complete on repairs — and plenty of people waiting to welcome the child into their lives.
Lucky’s mother might be shocked at how he and Bo went about becoming parents, and although he spoke to his father on occasion, they hadn’t quite repaired their bond to the point Lucky spoke freely. Walter and his wife, Loretta Johnson and her son, and the crazy cat lady Mrs. Griggs all looked forward to a little Harrison-Schollenberger.
Or should Lucky change his name back to Lucklighter before time to make out a birth certificate?
He dropped a kiss on his sister’s offered cheek. “Hey.” She turned and gave him a one-armed hug while stirring the pot with the other hand. “How was your day?”
“Oh, same old, same old.” Since giving up her life in Spokane to move to Atlanta, she’d not left the house much, except to go with Lucky to the firing range, pick her son up from school, or visit her other son at Clemson University. She needed to get out more.
Besides trips to the local CVS.
But not with Lucky’s latest trainee. Come to think of it, he didn’t know too many people worthy of dating his sister. Maybe he should take applications.
If and when Charlotte showed any interest in dating.
“Supper sure smells good. What ya cooking?”
Charlotte gave him a smile over her shoulder, never faltering in stirring the pot. “Soup and cornbread. I found a really good tomato-based vegetable soup recipe online. I figured I’d take some out for Bo, and add ground beef for the rest of us.”
Great idea, allowing them to all sit down together, eat the same thing, giving Bo something vegetarian, while everyone else got to eat meat. Charlotte hadn’t yet tried to introduce bacon into the household, but the way she and Bo connected, she likely wouldn’t get the same raised eyebrow treatment Lucky received whenever he suggested pork.
Now wasn’t the time to talk about such matters as having a brother’s partner’s baby. There had to be a Southern joke in there somewhere. “Hey, kiddo.” Lucky approached his nephew cautiously. Not too long ago he’d have gotten a sarcastic cut down.
Ty didn’t look up from his homework, merely lifted a hand in greeting. He’d definitely mellowed since he and his mother moved in. He’d started making friends at his new school, began showing progress in the boxing ring with Uncle Lucky, and he took Moose on afternoon runs. He’d also finally made the soccer team when a forward relocated to another district.
And had begun dating, of all people, Lucky’s work nemesis’s daughter. Thank God the girl took after her mother in temperament and looks, instead of asshole Keith.
Yes, Ty had lost his “I hate Uncle Lucky” attitude. So far, Bo had managed not to say, “I told you so,” but his expressive face said the words often enough with a mere smirk.
The fact remained, Ty liked Bo better than Lucky. Not that Lucky blamed the guy; he’d have liked Bo better too.
Bo strolled into the kitchen a moment later. Damn, but the man looked good in a suit. Especially after running his fingers through his hair all day, showing a bit of five o’clock shadow, tie hanging loosely around his neck, as though Lucky had yanked him in by the neckwear for a kiss.
Next time they played wild sex games, Bo needed to keep his suit on.
Briefly.
A shiver went through Lucky at the memory of last night. Bo definitely had a way of making him look forward to birthdays.
Why the hell not put thought into action? His house, his family, his man, though he’d keep his PDAs family-friendly—somewhat. He crossed the room in three long strides and made fantasy reality, slipping his hand around Bo’s tie and bringing him in until their mouths met.
Charlotte paused mid-stir. “Aww… Ain’t that sweet?”
Then again, Lucky might need more practice with public displays of affection before he got used to his sister commenting on his love life, even though she knew full well what he and Bo got up to behind closed doors.
She often received the end result in a paper cup a few minutes later.
Bo nodded toward the bag on the counter. “Time to try again?” he whispered to her, although he didn’t need to be stealthy. Ty excelled at tuning out adults.
“Oh, no. That’s just some vitamins and such.” Charlotte waved a dismissive hand. “You boys get the table ready. Ty, put your books away and let’s eat.”
In short order they gathered around the table, Bo ladling up soup while Lucky slathered his cornbread with butter.
Real butter. From the Lucklighter farm. Damn. He’d missed homemade butter nearly as much as he’d missed his family in the years when they hadn’t spoken.
Not thinking of that now. Over and done, though Lucky’s heart still twinged at the thought.
“How was your day?” Lucky asked his partner.
Bo let out a sigh. “I was in meetings most of the afternoon. Sometimes I miss being out in the field. Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate the opportunity Walter’s giving me, but after handling some pretty interesting cases, sitting in meetings is dull, dull, dull.”
Interesting cases? Almost dying a few times, settling matters with his fists a few more, dancing from strings while a drug lord used him as a puppet? In contrast, dull might be a good thing.
“What did you get up to today?” Bo asked.
“Just hanging out with a bunch of newbies.” Lucky did his best not to grumble. Those “interesting” cases tended to spoil one for the mundane routine of training a bunch of rookies who didn’t know their asses from a hole in the ground.
“Have you seen or talked to Loretta today?” Bo took a sip from his spoon and smiled. “Charlotte, you keep cooking like this, and the chief cook and bottle washer job is yours.”
Charlotte beamed. “It’s just soup.”
“It’s really good soup,” Bo replied, chasing down a slice of carrot with his spoon.
Lucky scratched his chin. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen Rett all day, not even at lunchtime. “No, I haven’t seen Loretta. Why? Should I have?” Stran
ge she’d not been around. Maybe assignments kept her out of the office today.
“She mentioned needing your help on a case.”
Needed Lucky’s help? If it got him away from the rookies for even a heartbeat, he’d take whatever. “Any idea what kind of case?” Last time she’d requested his help he’d wound up at a strip club for his birthday, watching Bo strip.
Bo stripping as a birthday tradition? Oh, yeah.
“No, she just said she wanted to talk to you.” Bo made a face. “Somehow, now that she thinks I’ve climbed up the food chain, she doesn’t talk to me as openly as she used to, except about work and such.”
“She talks to you. Without me?” She hadn’t talked about Lucky, had she? Somehow the idea of Rett and Bo discussing him didn’t sit well. If those two combined forces, he’d never know what hit him.
Bo gave a sheepish shrug, palms up. “Sometimes.”
“Did y’all talk about me?” Please, no.
“Now why does everything have to be about you? Besides, I just said she asked about you.” The pink tinge of Bo’s cheeks confirmed Lucky’s suspicions of talk being about more than work-related. Fuck. “Anyway, you might want to look her up soon.”
The rest of the meal passed peaceably, with stories of Ty’s day, soccer practice, classes, and the co-worker’s daughter Lucky secretly hoped his nephew would outgrow.
No such luck. Although asshole Keith still growled occasionally, for the sake of his daughter, he curbed his open hostility. Then again, they had teamed up in a fashion for Lucky’s last case. The guy liked Bo, and backed him for Walter’s replacement, so he wasn’t the total moron Lucky used to believe him to be.
Still an asshole, though.
For the rest of the evening, the question loomed: What did Loretta want?
Chapter Five
The scent of coffee caught Lucky’s attention before he’d even entered his cube. A giant of a woman sprawled in his chair—one of two people who managed not to be thrown by the Hell Bitch—red fingernails wrapped around a Starbucks cup while another cup sat on Lucky’s desk, flanked by several empty and semi-empty cups.
She wore the distinctive dark blue polo shirt emblazoned with the SNB logo, the short sleeves straining over her inked biceps, and dark blue pants, with sturdy boots on the barge-sized feet she’d parked on the desk.
No one would ever accuse Loretta Johnson of being petite, not at over six feet and as solidly built as a Mack truck. She wore her hair in braids today, dozens of tiny plaits hugging her scalp, and not a bit of makeup. With her healthy, glowing skin, she didn’t need enhancement to be a beautiful woman.
The clean-scented fragrance she wore might make a nice birthday gift for Charlotte. He’d have to ask for particulars later.
He took a sip of coffee from the cup she’d left on the desk and glowered, if for no other reason than to keep up appearances. He’d let his guard down around her too many times for her to believe the heartless asshole routine he easily sold to others at the SNB.
“How’s it going?” She leaned back farther in the chair than Lucky dared try.
Lucky glanced right and left to ensure privacy before answering. No one here but Rett, Bo, and Walter needed to know his business. “I’ve died and gone to Hell in the form of some really hopeless rookies, my nephew didn’t say a word to me on the way to school, and my sister still isn’t pregnant by my partner. Which makes it pretty much same shit, different day.”
“You know,” she drawled in the Texas accent she only pulled out occasionally, “for anyone else that’d be too damned much information. What does it say about our relationship that the details of your life don’t shock me in the least?”
Lucky released another snort. “That you’ve been hanging out with my sister.”
“Yeah, there is that.” The woman who’d persisted past growls and sarcasm to become his friend toasted Lucky with her cup. Thank goodness she’d transferred some of her attention to Charlotte and eased back on mother-henning Lucky all the time.
They drank in silence for a moment. For her not to come straight to the point must mean something gawdawful. He’d wait, enjoying the few seconds of not knowing whatever the hell had her stalking his cube before he’d finished at least two cups of coffee.
Sooner or later she’d have to get out of his chair and get to work, but she didn’t seem inclined to start the conversation. Her shoulders were hunched, and the tell-tale agitation wrinkle hadn’t formed between her brows. Must not be too bad.
Lucky’s patience only went so far. “Out with it. Bo said you wanted to talk to me about something.” Please, Lord, let it not be about her former boyfriend, that useless waste of skin, Philip, currently trying to get out of a prison sentence.
Lucky had been the reason for his arrest.
Slowly, she lowered her feet off the desk and sat the chair down, which put her more or less nose-to-nose with his five-feet-six-inch height, and glanced right and left. In a husky murmur, she said, “I know it’s not our case, and might be nothing, really, but I have reason to believe there’s something shady going on in my neighborhood.”
He let out a snort. “You live in Atlanta. There’s something shady going on in pretty much every neighborhood.”
“Not like this.” Now came the tension to her shoulders and the steely glint to her eyes.
Okay. She’d gotten his attention.
“What kind of shady?”
Her dark-eyed gaze bored into his a long moment before she replied, “I’m not sure, but my gut tells me it’s bad.”
Like Lucky, Rett had pretty good instincts—except when it came to men. “What do you suspect?”
“Drugs, of course.” She paused, blowing out a slow breath. “But maybe some human trafficking too.”
Human trafficking? Fuck. He tamped down his outrage a split second before he’d have crushed his coffee cup in a fit of rage and tried to think like Walter coached him. “What proof you got?” Please let it not be kids. Or women. Oh, hell, not anybody.
She shrugged her broad shoulders. “There’s a market near my apartment that Granny likes to walk to. One morning I went with her. We passed a rundown apartment building, with lots of gang-bangers hanging out, and not one of ‘em looked older than mid-twenties.”
Nothing criminal about hanging out, but if they plotted gang activities—then they’d become the SNB’s problem. “Hardly evidence of anything.”
“I’m getting there. An old school bus, beaten to hell and back, pulled up and let about two dozen people out, mostly women, barely older than girls, actually. They had haunted eyes, didn’t appear well kept, and they went straight up the steps into the building. The bus didn’t leave until they were out of sight.”
Suspicious enough, but in a bad neighborhood, the bus driver could’ve been looking out for coworkers. However, prickles ran up the back of Lucky’s neck. Not many people would be found guilty of kindness instead of illegal acts. “What else?”
“The bus driver and the guy riding shotgun were armed.”
Lucky snorted. “This is Georgia. Everyone has guns.” He owned two himself.
Charlotte owned six.
“Not the people going into the building. Besides, when they came past me, they never even bothered to look at me, Gran, and Rone, not even when he said hello. And they, well, some smelled like chemicals. Not meth, but, you know, the scent that gets into your clothes and won’t leave when we tour a drug manufacturer.”
“Circumstantial evidence. Not enough proof to launch an investigation.” Though the ghostly scent of cherry cough syrup invaded his brain. Had taken days to get the smell out of his nose last time.
“Which is why I came to you and not Walter or Bo. I figured you’d be curious enough to check things out, and cautious enough not to get caught. And if we don’t find anything, we don’t have paperwork to file.”
True enough. “What do you suggest?”
“Can you take a few hours off and come with me? I’m betting the bus pi
cks ‘em up, takes ‘em to work, and brings ‘em back. They don’t appear to have much freedom. I never see them outside on weekends or going to mass on Saturday or Sunday.”
“Weekends? How long have you been stalking them?” Yes, she needed a hobby to keep herself occupied while recovering from a bad boyfriend, but he’d recommend running or something. Maybe boxing for stress relief. Hell, spending two hours a day in the gym lifting weights shouldn’t leave her with much time on her hands.
She probably imagined Philip’s face on the heavy bag. A mental image appeared unbidden, of Johnson in workout gear, punching the bag through the wall on the other side of the gym.
Johnson stared down at her coffee cup. “Three weeks.”
She hadn’t been watching someone for three weeks without a bit more information than saw them while passing by. “Out with it. All of it. You weren’t simply out at the butt crack of dawn walking with your dear old granny and your kid.”
To her credit, she managed to meet Lucky’s eyes for her confession. “No. I was heading for the gym before work the first time. After that I made a point to walk by every now and then. Granny was with me around ten a.m. on a Saturday. Whenever I’m alone the wanna-be gangsters hoot and whistle like a bunch of assholes, but the women never say anything. I’ve followed the bus. They make several stops along the way, letting out two or three passengers at a time.”
Prickles tap-danced up Lucky’s spine. “When is this?”
“About ten at night.”
Ten at night? Damn. Maybe Charlotte could convince her to go to a club or something. She really needed to get out. “Did you see where they went?”
“No. Some catch the MARTA bus.”
“The city bus comes by your house. Why not simply get on closer to where they live?” He knew the answer: to keep anyone from figuring things out.
“I’ve cruised the area for likely businesses. At that time of night, most are closed. I thought maybe they worked cleaning buildings or such.”
“Who owns the bus?”
“A cleaning service.”
“There you go.” He wished. Johnson’s concerns wouldn’t be that easily put to rest.
