by Eden Winters
Lucky waited thirty seconds after Bo entered to saunter in himself. Bo stood at the counter talking to a receptionist—a receptionist smiling with way too much enthusiasm.
Yeah, Bo had a way of putting even strangers’ libidos on high alert.
“He’s taken,” Lucky growled under his breath.
“Can I help you, sir?” a second receptionist asked Lucky. Thank God it wasn’t Cheryl from before, so maybe she wouldn’t recognize him.
Lucky waved a dismissive hand. “I’m here to pick somebody up.”
Without another word the woman turned away. Lucky took a chair close enough to hear Bo’s conversation and buried his nose in a gardening magazine, the lesser of the evils spread out on a low table, though he’d have to hold the pages farther away to actually read.
He fucking hated doctor’s offices, recalling too many piss-in-a-cup drug testing visits during his probation with the SNB. The place stank of disinfectant and something floral and overpowering he’d not noticed on his last visit. He sneezed.
“I need to speak with the doctor,” Bo said. “A friend referred me.” He dropped the name of one of the kids on Lucky’s list.
Not many doctors in this town even talked to someone without an appointment, but the receptionist stood. “I’ll see if he’s available.” She disappeared through a door at the back of the reception area.
Bo took a seat, never glancing Lucky’s way.
Six more people sat around the waiting room, two teenagers who appeared to be together, a woman with a young girl, and a man with a boy close enough in looks to be his son.
A side door opened and a uniformed nurse stepped out. “Livingston, Perkins.” The teens stood and crossed the room. Both were young and fit, dressed in fashionable jeans and T-shirts. “Right this way,” the nurse said, holding the door while they strode past.
Bo glanced up, meeting Lucky’s eyes. Lucky gave a slight nod. His possible suspects list contained a Kyle Livingston and Raiford Perkins, both basketball players at Ty’s school.
They returned five minutes later, wide grins on their faces, and paper bags in their hands. Five minutes? Not nearly enough time for an examination, let alone two.
They left, and three more people entered the door. Thriving business the doctor had here, and a whole hell of a lot more patients than Dr. Keel had the day Lucky brought Salters and Johnson.
The nurse from before made another appearance. “Mr. Swartzentruber?”
Ah, so Bo used the alias he’d created during his undercover ops training with O’Donoghue. Bo followed the woman from the room.
Lucky stepped up to the counter again. “Can I use your bathroom?”
The young woman smiled. “Sure. Through that door, turn right, and second door on the left.”
“Thanks.” Lucky scurried through the door. He spotted two nurses, one in a room taking an elderly man’s blood pressure, another at a counter, tapping away at a computer. Several room doors stood open, with a few closed.
For a consultation, most likely the doctor met with Bo in an office. Bypassing the bathroom, Lucky scooted down the hallway to the office. A curtain hung next to the door.
Lucky swept back the thin fabric, revealing a small storage closet.
“Can I help you, sir?” a frosty voice asked.
Fuck. Busted. Lucky turned to face the stern-looking woman with her arms folded across her chest. Simple answers worked best. “I was looking for the bathroom.”
The nurse’s suspicion melted. “Oh, it’s that way. I’ll take you.” She waited for Lucky to catch up. “Don’t worry, sir. Patients get lost all the time back here.”
He’d bet, especially as the storage closet held bottles of counterfeit pills. Pills that hadn’t been there on his last visit. Did Dr. Keel know what his colleague got up to in his absence?
Lucky took his time in the bathroom, texting Walter, “We have probable cause.”
Chapter Eighteen
Lucky met Bo at the designated rendezvous point and climbed into the Lexus. His butt squeaked over the leather seat, and the scent of leather reminded him of Bo’s chaps. Leather gave Lucky woodies. “What’d you find out?”
“I told him my son might not make the football team this year, due to bad grades, and that if he didn’t pull his grades up, he’d never get into a good college. I said a friend told me he might be able to help, then spent the next five minutes stroking his ego.” Muscles tensed in Bo’s jaw.
“Does he want to see the son?”
“No. I recorded the whole conversation, but mostly he asked me questions, and finally diagnosed Junior with attention deficit hyperactivity disorder.”
“What kind of questions?” Not that the questions mattered when the doctors didn’t even bother to examine the actual patient.
“Mostly ones where he fed me the information, like did my son have difficulty paying attention and following instructions, completing tasks, and was he awkward in social settings. I told him yes.”
“Let me guess, he wrote you a prescription.”
“Worse.” Bo reached into the console and extracted a pill bottle. No label, dosing instructions, or patient’s name, all legally required. “He said they were five milligram Adderall, but who knows until the lab report comes back.”
Lucky let out a low whistle. “He just gave these to you? The two guys who left before you went back likely got the same deal. How much did he charge you?”
“Four dollars a pill, two hundred for the office visit.” Bo stopped at a red light and faced Lucky. “In cash.”
Lucky’s work phone rang, Walter Smith’s name appearing on the screen. “Tell me some good news, boss man,” he said by way of answering.
“We’ve obtained the warrant. Be in my office bright and early tomorrow.”
***
After a sleepless night, Lucky and Bo sat in Walter’s office, their evidence on the desk. Johnson strolled past an empty chair to lean against the bookcase. The bottle he’d gotten from Ty sat a few inches away.
Walter leaned back in his chair, several printed pages in his hand. “The samples you found in the warehouse matched the ones you brought in, Lucky.” He peered over the documents, brows drawing close together. “You still haven’t told me where you acquired them.”
“Student. Local high school.” True enough. “He’s cooperating with the investigation.” If Walter pushed, Lucky would have to give up his nephew. May Walter see the bigger picture and not grasp for details.
“From what you tell me, also from undisclosed sources, the perpetrators of this crime may be guilty of human trafficking.” Walter slammed his hand down on the desk, dislodging a stack of papers. “While I’d love nothing more than for the SNB to bring them to justice, this is now a federal matter. FDA, DEA, Homeland Security, and Immigration and Customs Enforcement. Plus, I believe I’ve mentioned speaking with anti-trafficking and victim’s advocacy groups.”
Yeah, yeah. Story of Lucky’s life. Go in, risk his neck, rack up evidence, only to have someone else take the credit.
As long as it freed those poor souls. God, he couldn’t even imagine the life they led, no freedom, being forced to work for no pay, the threat of arrest and prison hanging over their heads.
“What will happen to the workers?” Bo crossed his ankle over his bouncing knee.
“They’ll be evaluated on a case by case basis. If they’re here against their wills, they’re victims of human trafficking, not criminals. Though the case is now out of our jurisdiction, I’ll do all I can to ensure their well-being.” Walter would too.
As would Bo.
And Lucky, though he might not tell anybody.
“When will the sting happen?” This from a tired-looking Johnson.
“As soon as all players are in place. The warehouse raid is scheduled for three o’clock this afternoon, the pharmacy at midnight. In the meantime, I’m investigating who blocked the warrant request,” Walter said, forearms resting on the surface of his desk. Working with Bo
might be having an effect: roughly one-third of the wooden desktop peeked through the ever-present pile of papers and files on the boss’s desk.
“I want to be there.” Why Lucky spoke he had no idea.
“Me too.” Bo’s steady gaze met Lucky’s.
Walter nodded. “Bo, although there will be bilingual speakers available, I’m sure your presence will be appreciated.” He swiveled his head toward Johnson. “Loretta, from what you’ve told me, there are quite a few women involved who might feel more comfortable with a female agent.” Lastly, he focused on Lucky. “And you’ll be there because there’s no way to stop you.”
“Damned skippy.”
***
Johnson knocked and opened the office door two hours later, tablet computer in hand. Ah, another agent swayed to the dark side of tiny computers. Take Lucky’s tried-and-true laptop over his dead body. He and Bo hadn’t been allowed to leave Walter’s domain. Too much planning to do. “The information we took from the warehouse shows most of the inventory went to street dealers or small-practice doctors.”
Made sense. Any doctors in a large practice would either have to conspire with other doctors or make damned sure to cover their tracks.
“I followed some of the women,” Johnson said on a yawn. “They went several places, but didn’t stay long enough to do much cleaning.”
“What places?” Walter leaned back in his chair, resting his hands on his belly.
Johnson shot a quick glance Lucky’s way. “Two clinics, three nursing homes, and a school.”
“Which school?” The sinking feeling in Lucky’s chest said he already knew.
“Clifton High.”
Lucky shot to his feet. “Sonofabitch!”
Bo placed a restraining hand on Lucky’s arm. Oh, yeah. Not the place. “Sorry, boss,” Lucky muttered, returning to his chair.
“Under the circumstances, I completely agree. We must act quickly.” Walter studied Lucky with an intensity likely to send drug lords scrambling out of the way. “If there is a conspiracy, we have to strike before there’s time to tip anyone off. I take it you found what you expected at the doctor’s office.”
“We did. I emailed a preliminary report.”
Walter nodded. “We’re gathering a team and meeting in the conference room at one p.m. There’s been a change of plans, based on the new intelligence. The raid on the warehouse is set for ten p.m., with the pharmacy at midnight.”
Worked for Lucky.
***
They had a warrant. Funny how the DEA got a yes when Lucky got a no. But they’d also brought backup.
One hell of a lot of backup. Lucky, Bo, and Johnson sat in the conference room, schematic of the warehouse projected on the wall. “Abandoned offices here and here.” Lucky circled the areas with a laser pointer that looked way too much like one of Cat Lucky’s favorite toys. In his brain the black and white feline launched himself at the wall in pursuit of the elusive red dot.
Operatives from several organizations commonly known by three letters surrounded the table, many taking notes.
“Product is stored here.” Again with the pointer.
Next, he advanced to the photos and floor plans he’d gotten of the pharmacy. “The mixing operation is here, and packaging here.” Lucky indicated the areas.
Bo took over. “There’s normally a maximum of four guards at any time, a total of eight, in overlapping shifts, and eight men work two shifts guarding the workers at the apartments. One warehouse guard is currently in I.C.E custody, leaving seven more.” He didn’t elaborate on what sent the man to Mercy General with a concussion, resulting in immigration control stepping in.
Johnson did a damned good job of hiding a smirk.
“According to our source, most of the laborers are Spanish speakers, either coerced with promises of legitimate jobs in the US or taken against their will. They work at night for little more than a roof over their heads and too few meals.” Bo paused. Did anyone else notice the twitch in his jaw muscles, or how he clenched and unclenched his fists? “Some are said to be underage. Those who don’t cooperate are punished or taken away and never returned. Which instills fear in the others and keeps them in line.”
Killed, more than likely, or thrown into an even worse situation.
Lucky wanted to open a can of whoop ass on somebody for treating mere kids as disposable tools.
Bo continued, “They’ll likely be scared as hell, threatened with prison if they go to the authorities. Many are undernourished, and at least one is a pregnant female, likely in last trimester. Don’t expect to find many with green cards. Whatever you do, keep them as calm as possible. These individuals are witnesses with valuable testimony.”
Although Walter sat at the front of the room, next to Bo, he stayed silent, letting his protégé handle the meeting. None of the federal guys stepped in to try and claim the case. Would wonders never cease? Even Jameson O’Donoghue sat quietly at the back of the room. The bullshit his guys pulled not too long ago meant he’d better keep his head down. “We’ll need at least three other bilingual speakers on our team, besides myself.”
“We can provide two.” Was the bald guy with FDA or ICE? Or Homeland Security?
“We’ve got Lt. Rodriguez,” the representative from Atlanta PD said.
Bo nodded. “Good. Now, we’ve got agents tracking where the products go after leaving the warehouse. We’ve already identified several possible customers. We’ve also got agents undercover at a school where the drugs surfaced.”
Maybe they’d be able to keep Lucky’s nephew out of the line of fire. Road Rage Robinson wouldn’t have been his first choice to go undercover, but at least she passed for a high school kid. Salters had more experience, and more years, posing as a substitute health teacher.
“Atlanta PD has officers positioned at the apartment complex. While we’re conducting our raid on the warehouse, they’ll sweep the building.” Bo scanned the room, intense brown eyes focusing on each person for a fraction of a moment before moving on. “Many of the people we’ll encounter are victims. Bear that in mind when conducting yourself today. Raids are never pretty. Let’s minimize trauma for innocent parties when we can.”
Murmuring swept through the room, along with a few nods.
“We’ll set up a perimeter here”—Bo took the pointer and indicated spots on the maps. “Roads will be closed here and here. No one comes in, no one goes out.
“Once everyone is in position, Agents Harrison and Johnson will approach the gates and ensure the guards don’t call in a warning.
“First wave. You’re looking for these men.” Bo clicked a remote and four mug shots appeared on the wall screen. “They’re the ones running the operation. Their primary residences are under surveillance, but during normal working hours they’re usually at the facility.
“We don’t yet know who’s supplying this outfit, or who’s in control. The four men running daily operations don’t appear to be in charge. Someone else is calling the shots.”
Lucky wanted to get his hands on the mastermind—and squeeze. Hard. Like, until life left their body.
“We strike after 2200 hours, as soon as the bus empties at the building. We’ve identified the man at the drugstore as the owner’s grandson, Bryson Gentry, a pharmacy school dropout with just enough knowledge to make him dangerous. Agents will coincide the raids with taking him into custody. The first wave will consist of myself, Agent Harrison, and Agent Johnson. SNB is providing surveillance. The second wave will enter the building here.” He indicated the abandoned offices on the map. “Jameson is your point man.
“Atlanta PD will take up position on the loading docks, and outside the apartment building, to round up anyone left behind. Catch anyone who tries to escape. Any questions?”
Like hell would anyone get away on Lucky’s watch.
Tonight couldn’t come fast enough.
Chapter Nineteen
Lucky strolled up the sidewalk with Johnson, hand in his pocket wrap
ped around his gun’s grip. They faked a conversation, though the words didn’t register in Lucky’s brain. He saved all his brain cells for watching the area.
The van across the road held SNB surveillance, and he’d seen three squad cars patrolling. Pretty obvious police presence in this part of town. Show time!
Lucky’s heart hammered in his chest. When they approached the guard shack, Johnson screeched and went down, clutching her ankle. Lucky dropped to his knees beside her, and shouted, probably a little too loudly, “Are you okay?”
The two guards stepped from the guard shack. “Private property—”
Lucky showed enough of his .38 to get their attention. “Not anymore.”
Johnson smiled, pulling her gun. One guy froze, hands over his head.
The other ran. Johnson nodded toward the runner. “I just twisted my ankle, remember?”
Fuck. They had to maintain the ruse for a few more minutes. Lucky took off. Damn the runner, damn Lucky’s fucked up ankle. Damn, damn, damn.
The guy shot a look back over his shoulder. Big mistake. Lucky jumped.
Down they both went. A fist came toward Lucky’s face, he dodged. He slammed his head against his assailants. Crack! Ow! That’d leave a mark.
They squirmed and twisted on hard asphalt. A knee connected with Lucky’s gut. “Oof!” Lectures from Walter kept Lucky from fighting dirty. Pounding footsteps headed his way. Dear Lord, please let it not be another guard.
He rolled, putting the guy on top. The man suddenly flew backwards, and Lucky stared into the faces of two uniformed cops. One cuffed the guard, while the other offered Lucky a hand and yanked him to his feet.
Johnson kept the guard she’d taken into custody in her crosshairs. She appeared entirely too smug. Yeah, yeah, Lucky would have cuffed his guy without help in a few more seconds.
Ignoring her gloating, he entered the guardhouse and flipped off all switches labeled “camera” or “alarm”.
