Decision (Diversion Book 8)

by Eden Winters

  Lucky shifted his gaze from the doctor’s face to his hand and back again.

  Johnson stepped in with a wide smile. “Good afternoon, doctor. I hope we’re not inconveniencing you. We’re here to perform a routine inspection.”

  “Sure.” He held Johnson’s hand a bit longer than absolutely necessary.

  Did all the men they came into contact with have to be blue-eyed blonds a few inches shorter than her six feet? This man, however, wasn’t wet-behind-the-ears like her ex-boyfriend, with the odd strand of silver in his hair, and the beginnings of crow’s feet around his eyes.

  Johnson didn’t flirt, though, shifting into professional mode. Good for her. In the past, she’d gravitated toward the type like a moth to a bug zapper. “Mind if we have a look around?

  “Certainly.” He turned to the receptionist. “Cheryl, postpone my next appointment by about”—he looked from Lucky to Johnson— “about twenty minutes?”

  Lucky nodded. Twenty minutes should be enough. For an initial visit.

  Dr. Keel swept out a hand toward the door he’d come through. “What is it you’d like to see?”

  Lucky eased around Johnson, making himself clearly the man in charge. Guess that made her the muscle. “Do you have any drugs on the premises? Even samples?”

  Again with the easy smile. “No. I’ve never kept medicines here. I send all my patients to the pharmacy.”

  And yet a suspicious shipment arrived at his office in the dark of night. And what doctor didn’t distribute samples to patients? Though controls were tight on samples, there was no law against it—yet—providing the practice maintained the proper licensing.

  Then again, he could be lying.

  The doctor could have let an underling show them around, but he did the honors himself. “I’ve been here about five years, and this is the first time the SNB has paid me a visit.” He sounded pleased, not appalled. Must be a damned good actor.

  They inspected exam rooms, Salters taking notes on a tablet computer. Damn. Should be Bo. Nothing concerning in the cabinets, storerooms, or closets.

  At last Lucky conceded defeat. Of course the doctor wouldn’t leave evidence lying out in the open. “We’ve taken enough of your time. If we can take a quick look at your records, we’ll let you get back to work.” Bo would be so proud.

  “Certainly. Cheryl will provide anything you need.” The doctor escorted them back to the reception area and the young brunette.

  They searched through prescribing records, information easily found in the national prescription drug monitoring website, but found nothing new or out of place. Clean. Too clean.

  Right before they left, Lucky asked, “Do any other doctors work from this office?”

  “Dr. Crenshaw, sometimes, when Dr. Keel is away.”

  “When was the last time he worked?”

  The receptionist checked her computer. “Two weeks ago, when Dr. Keel went on vacation.”

  “Does he have a key to the building? Security codes for the alarms?”

  “Of course.”

  Nothing on the Internet indicated another doctor sharing space with Keel. “What’s Dr. Crenshaw’s first name?”

  “Harold.”

  Harold. Harold Crenshaw. Salters tapped against the tablet screen.

  “Thank you,” Johnson said, elbowing Lucky.

  Mentally, he’d already started researching Harold Crenshaw.

  Chapter Fifteen

  With Ty lying on the floor typing on his cellphone, Charlotte in the kitchen on hers, and Bo sitting in the chair on his iPad, no one in the house paid much attention to Lucky, except for the cat he’d removed from his keyboard a couple of times. He sat on the couch, computer competing with Cat Lucky for his lap. He’d finally found old plans for the warehouse, which predated modern alarm systems and other security measures.

  Took too damned long. Was he losing his touch?

  The guards kept to the loading area during the day. Any guard worth his gun would make rounds at night. Easy enough to avoid using a two-person team.

  Searching the fictitious cleaning company still didn’t yield any results. He couldn’t quote Yolanda or give Walter a last name, but what she’d told Cruz gave him probable cause. Yeah, Lucky could now likely get a search warrant, but the reluctance to issue one before implied insider knowledge.

  And interference.

  On the outside chance he got caught by someone other than felons, he’d fall back on the probable cause defense. But that’d mean dragging a pregnant woman deeper into this whole mess.

  He’d make sure to not get caught.

  ***

  Lucky hated lying to Bo about as much as he hated the consequences if Bo found out he lied. To his credit, he managed to keep a straight face over the dinner table when he said, “After dinner me and Rett are sparring down at the gym.”

  Bo continued chewing some kind of meat substitute, the name sounding way too much like “Satan” for Lucky’s tastes.

  “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  Uh-oh. Lucky feigned innocence. Bo knew him too well. “Like what?”

  Bo let out an exasperated-sounding sigh. “Like you hauling the latest crop of recruits to the gym like you did me to teach them a lesson.”

  Oh! “Not yet. I figured I’d better make sure my skills weren’t rusty first.”

  “Well, if I can’t talk you out of torturing rookies, tell Rett I said hello.”

  What? No more questions? Slipping out to go snooping couldn’t be this easy.

  Ty didn’t ask to go, probably still pissed at Lucky for taking his pills. Sooner or later Lucky needed to have a long talk with the boy’s mother.

  He voted for later.

  Unlike the previous nights, this time, instead of recon, Lucky planned a little breaking and entering. Hey, he wasn’t totally lying. Picking locks, gaining entry, and getting away without notice were effective methods of keeping his skills sharp.

  All the way to the SNB offices he glanced over his shoulder, but no one followed. Rett sat in her Jeep when he got there, door open, loading a gun, with two more on the seat beside her. Like him, she was dressed all in black, a stocking cap bulging out at the back of her head, covering her braids.

  “Are you ready?” Lucky climbed from the Camaro, bringing his own arsenal with him, complete with taser. If the SNB wanted to provide technology, no point in passing up a freebie.

  “As I’ll ever be.” She stood, shoving guns into holsters at her shoulder, the small of her back, and her leg.

  Wolf whistle at her tonight motherfuckers. You’ll be dead before you hit the ground.

  Together they trotted across the parking lot to the Malibu Lucky had claimed for the evening. He’d done a lot of charming to keep Bo from finding out. Out of habit he climbed into the passenger seat, letting Johnson drive. “I’m not betting on much of a security system. The place is trying to stay on the down low and probably rely on the armed guards.”

  Semi-darkness couldn’t hide Johnson’s grin. “My money’s on us.”

  “Oh, by the way. Bo thinks we’re sparring tonight, so if you see him tomorrow—”

  “I’ll be sure to tell him I kicked your ass. That’s your excuse for getting out of the house this week?”

  “It worked, didn’t it?” Though guilt niggled at him for lying to Bo. If Bo knew, he’d try to talk Lucky out of this. When Walter said, “Do what you do,” he probably meant surveillance only. If he hadn’t wanted Lucky to break in, he should’ve been more specific.

  Lucky went over the warehouse layout in his head en route. “I believe our best bet will be the offices at the front of the building. No fence, no guards, one simple camera, easily taken out. No sign of a security system.” Not that security systems slowed Lucky down much.

  “You get us in. I got your back.” Johnson kept her eyes on the road.

  “I’ll get us in.” They parked a few blocks from the warehouse, in a neighborhood they stood a good chance of the vehicle not
being stripped when they got back, and crept down shadowed streets, guns at the ready. Music blared from overhead, coming from a tall building overlooking their target. The neighborhood had definitely seen better days.

  Research showed mostly empty buildings, a few in various states of renovation into apartments, a few in need of destruction, but low possibility of witnesses. A homeless man lay curled in the shelter of a doorway, snoring loud enough to scare off any curious varmints.

  Shadows and broken streetlights gave plenty of cover, though enough light remained not to need flashlights yet.

  He strolled by the building, hands shoved into his pockets. Nothing to see here, folks. Move along. A quick perusal showed two guards in the guardhouse watching TV. Two more would show up at ten, and the first two would leave at eleven. Time enough to get in and get out.

  He waited for another bout of canned laughter from the TV to hurl a rock at the lone camera. Applause covered the crashing of breaking glass.

  Lucky motioned to Johnson and skittered sideways to the recessed doorway, gun in hand and covering her till she got to the door.

  A vise grip clutched him around the chest, a cloth-filled hand coming across his nose and mouth.

  Caught! Fuck! Lucky grabbed the arm around his chest, ready to flip his assailant. “Shh… It’s me.”

  Bo? Lucky’s hammering heart stuttered and kicked back into high gear. Oh, shit. He was so screwed. Not as screwed as if he’d been caught by a guard, but screwed nonetheless. But hey! How had he let someone sneak up on him?

  He was getting way too old for this shit. He slumped. So much for his evening’s plans. At least it took a professional like Bo to catch him off-guard.

  “I’m going to let you go. You’re not going to run, you’re going to tell me why the hell you’re here.” Bo’s no-nonsense tone sent skitters of unease up Lucky’s spine. No familiarity there, all business. The way Bo might talk to a true felon.

  Lucky blew out a breath and nodded. Bo released him and Lucky whirled.

  Like himself and Johnson, Bo wore dark clothes, making him barely visible.

  Johnson trotted back down the stairs. “Lucky, what—” She came to a halt a few steps away.

  “Now, what are you up to?” Bo cut his gaze to Johnson and back to Lucky. “Really up to.”

  Johnson sighed. “We have reason to believe this place might be used to house illegal drugs. Someone down at city hall doesn’t want us here, and wouldn’t give us a search warrant.”

  “You do realize that breaking and entering is a crime, don’t you?” Bo folded his arms across his chest.

  Now wasn’t the time to invoke Walter’s Do what you do. “We have probable cause.”

  “Do you?” Though darkness hid Bo’s expression, Lucky easily imagined a lifted eyebrow.

  “Yeah. Someone who works here gave us the heads up.” Not the whole truth, and Lucky wouldn’t bring up the whole human trafficking thing yet, but when this place went down, he’d change lives—some for the better, some for worse.

  Bo stayed silent for way too long. Finally, he nodded. “How much time before shift change for the guards?”

  “An hour.”

  Bo waved a hand toward the door. “Lead on.”

  “Do what?” What the fuck? Bo wasn’t going to stop them?

  “You don’t think I’m letting the two of you go in there alone while I stand out here with my thumb up my ass, do you?”

  Lucky didn’t have time to argue. Holding his flashlight in his teeth, he checked the lock on the front door. Older than dirt. Ten seconds later he opened the door, taking point. Bo followed him in. Johnson brought up the rear.

  There wasn’t time to get Bo up to speed. They’d have to treat him as weakest link on this mission. The reek of chemicals and cherry flavoring smacked him like a hand to the face the moment he stepped inside the building. Oh, yeah. Drugs definitely stored here.

  The first office, a reception area at one time, appeared fallen on hard times, with papers strewn across the floor and an overturned file cabinet against one wall.

  Spray painted graffiti covered the walls. The building must’ve been empty for a while before the current operation began. None of the offices showed signs of recent use, layers of dust coating all flat surfaces. The closer they came to the warehouse portion of the building, the stronger the smell.

  Lucky shone his light along the walls and doorways.

  No wires, no indication of alarms. At the end of the hallway he paused, motioning Johnson to take the other side of the door.

  They flattened themselves against the wall, pointing their guns. Bo hid in a doorway a few yards down.

  Lucky turned the doorknob, counted to three, and flung the door open. Nothing. He darted through the opening, crisscrossing with Johnson.

  Still nothing. Keeping his beam pointed downward to avoid notice by the guards outside, Lucky slipped farther into the room.

  Bo tapped his shoulder and he turned, coming face to face with a handful of bottles, the type used by pharmacies for pills.

  He nodded, straining his ears for footsteps, tracking Johnson’s progress across the floor. Easing farther inside, he swept his beam right and left. Unlike the offices, the warehouse appeared fairly clean, though not nearly clean enough to house pill bottles intended for pharmaceuticals.

  A shiny door beckoned, its newness out of place in the shabby building. Pulleys held the door in place, wires leading to a far too simple security system. Eight seconds to bypass the alarm, another ten to slide the door open, and…

  Fuck.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Stainless steel, as far as the eye could see. Grinders, hoppers, dryers, pill presses. Drums of raw materials. Lucky waited until Bo and Johnson came in and shut the door. No windows meant the free use of flashlights in here.

  But not for fucking long. No dust masks or ventilators in sight. Not only were “the bosses” likely storing poison in this room, the workers risked exposure. He slipped on a pair of gloves and pulled out a sample bag and swab. He swabbed residue off the equipment and stored his findings in the bag.

  Johnson held up her own bag of empty capsules.

  Lucky used the camera he’d taken from surveillance to snap pictures of the equipment. Nothing appeared new or state of the art, and the need for lots of hands grew apparent the more he observed.

  He crossed the cramped space to the far wall, stacked floor to ceiling with boxes. Opening one at random, he extracted a bottle of pills. Unlabeled. Another container held more pills, these more familiar.

  He held one up to the light. Fuck. Squirming wrigglies twisted to life in his stomach. These looked like the same damned pills Ty brought home. If he’d known they came from here he’d have smacked them from Ty’s hand immediately. He’d have to take the kid to a doctor, make sure he’d not been poisoned by this shit.

  He tamped down his anger. Time enough to open a can of whoop-ass when he found the people responsible.

  He extracted bottles from a few more boxes, arranging the cartons so those he tampered with were on the bottom.

  They’d gathered enough evidence to warrant a raid. Time to go.

  But wait? Where was Bo?

  Bo stood in the far corner, bending over a desk, cell phone flashlight beam shining at something. He returned to Lucky. “Got everything?”

  “Enough to get a warrant with no trouble, as long as we don’t let on where we got this stuff.” Could Bo make creative use of the truth to the higher ups? So not Bo’s thing. Walter bringing a known felon on board made more and more sense by the day. Sometimes lines had to be crossed for the greater good. Lucky never saw the line as solid, more as… broken in places.

  Kinda like the interstate express lane.

  “Leave that to me.” Bo spoke casually, not like a man bending laws to the breaking point.

  Mr. By-The-Book Bo losing a few scruples? Only right, given how much time he’d spent with Lucky.

  Lucky turned off his flashlight, cracked
open the door, and peered out into the warehouse. All quiet. He motioned to the others. One by one they slipped from the room.

  Footsteps sounded across the vast warehouse. Fuck! He grabbed Bo and yanked him back against the wall. Where the hell was Johnson? Had she heard the approaching footsteps? Those steps were too slow and irregular to be hers, besides, her tennis shoes wouldn’t make so much noise.

  A flashlight beam cut the darkness, and a voice called in broken English. “Stop. Who’s there?” At least, that’s what the words sounded like to Lucky’s ears.

  He held still, keeping his breaths shallow. Keep going. Nothing here to see. With any luck the guy would think he’d heard a rat or something and leave the way he’d come.

  The footsteps came closer to Lucky’s hiding place. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He coiled, ready to spring. Bo’s hand on his wrist held him back.

  Clang! “Ooof!” The flashlight hit the floor, spinning, beam creating a maddening kaleidoscope against boxes and drums, coming to rest on Johnson, holding a fire extinguisher and staring down at the floor.

  She shrugged. “I think I broke him. They don’t make guards like they used to.”

  Nope. Small and scrawny. Possibly shorter than Lucky.

  Bo crouched, fingers under the man’s chin. “Just out cold. Maybe concussed. He’s going to have one hell of a headache when he wakes up.”

  “What the ever-loving hell are we supposed to do with him?” Leaving him there and getting the hell out got Lucky’s vote.

  Bo scooped the man up in his arms like he weighed nothing. “We’ll say we were driving by and found him in the road. If he’s up to something illegal, he’s not going to say otherwise.”

  With Lucky checking the path ahead, they managed to get outside and back to the car without running into anyone else. Only nine thirty, so one guard who wouldn’t leave his post unattended until the other guards arrived, giving them a thirty-minute head start until anyone missed the one Johnson brained.

  But they’d miss the bus if they left now.

  Literally.