Decision (Diversion Book 8)

by Eden Winters

  “Harrison?” A voice Lucky knew.

  “Salters? I told you to get the hell out! Where are you?”

  “Near the entrance. Follow the sound of my voice.”

  Damn it! Lucky’d gotten turned around and went the wrong damned way. Fuck it all to hell! Hey, when had things gotten brighter? And hotter?

  Lucky glanced up and wished he hadn’t. Fingers of flame licked at the ceiling, the building going up like kindling. Fear surged through him. He thought he’d known fear, but nothing like this. Please, Lord, don’t let him burn to death. No, no, no, no, no!

  A picture of Bo filled his mind, sitting in a rocking chair, feeding a tiny baby from a bottle. Bo’s son. No, their son. Bo would kick his ass if he gave up.

  He couldn’t cover his face; he’d already used his T-shirt for a bandage. Then again, leaving a blood trail now was the least of his worries. He wrapped the bloody shirt over his mouth and nose, lifting the edge to holler, “Keep talking!”

  “Over here!”

  Lucky course corrected a little to the left. Behind him something went Whoosh! He braced, but no explosion or wall of flame.

  Keeping as low as he could, he crawled on his hands and knees.

  “Sounds like you’re close. Keep coming.”

  Static came through Lucky’s earpiece, but he couldn’t make out words.

  “That’s it. Just a little more,” Salters coaxed.

  The smoke thinned. Lucky left wood for linoleum. A door slammed shut behind him. “There. I didn’t want to feed the fire with you in it.”

  Lucky nearly collapsed. Salters grabbed his arms and yanked Lucky up.

  Lucky screamed.

  Salters threw opened the front door, to sirens and the crackle of radios.

  Two men in firefighting gear came forward, one grabbing Lucky to keep him upright, the other slamming an oxygen mask over his face.

  “He’s injured,” Salters said. “Left hand.”

  More firefighters carried out three limp men, one in a sooty suit. Were they dead? Caught in their own damned trap.

  He scanned the area for Bo, Walter, O’Donoghue. The world went dark around the edges. He pulled the mask away. “I told you to get the fuck out,” he tried to yell at Salters.

  Did he really hear, “’Charlotte would have my ass if I’d left you behind” before he passed out?

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Beeping, whirring. Voices. Lucky hurt. His lungs felt raw, each breath agony.

  Darkness.

  Voices again. “There’s no reason for him to leave the bureau.” Walter?

  “Would he still want to stay, under the circumstances?” O’Donoghue.

  Circumstances? What circumstances?

  “I have it on good authority that he’s tougher than a pine knot.” Huh, the familiar phrase sounded funny coming from Walter.

  More quiet.

  Crying. “Oh, God, Rich. I’m so sorry.” Charlotte?

  Lips on his forehead. “You get better soon. Come home to me.” Bo.

  Lucky tried to smile and reassure him, but he was too damned tired.

  ***

  Lucky snapped his eyes open. What time was it? The sun was high. Was he late to work? He tried to turn and check the clock.

  Holy fuck! Lucky stared at his bandaged hand. What the…?

  Essence of hospital. Bed rails. What had he done to himself this time? He blinked to clear his vision and checked his hand again.

  Oh, shit. The bandages didn’t look right. Flowers sat on a table to his left. On his right?

  Bo lay back in a chair, mouth open, snoring, in a rumpled suit. That couldn’t be comfortable. Lucky’s hand hurt, but not unbearably so. He’d had worse.

  Glowering at the bandage didn’t change its shape. A small object glinted in the sunshine from the flower-laden table.

  His not-quite wedding band.

  Fuuuuuuuuuccccck.

  Bo snorted, gasped, and jerked upright. Confusion melted into a hesitant smile. “Lucky, you’re awake!” He shifted in the chair to take Lucky’s uninjured hand, avoiding the IV needle taped to the back.

  “What happened?” Lucky remembered a meeting gone wrong. What else? Think, Lucky, think!

  Flames. Salters not making it out. Shit. “How’s Salters?”

  “He’s fine. They treated him for smoke inhalation and sent him home.”

  “The perps?”

  “In custody. The one who gloated about killing you really can’t keep his mouth shut. Can you believe a damned judge got caught up in this?”

  The fucking judge. Yeah, Lucky could. The case could wait a few minutes. First things first. “C’mere.”

  Bo brought his dear face close enough for Lucky to run his lips over. He yanked back. “Ow!”

  “You’ve got a busted lip.” Bo skimmed a finger gently down the side of Lucky’s face. “About a zillion bruises, and nurses picked splinters out of you.”

  No more ignoring the elephant in the room. Lucky held up his hand. As if on cue, it gave a sharp throb. Daaaaammmmn!

  Bo let out a long sigh. “They tried to save your hand, but you lost your little and ring fingers. I’m so sorry.”

  Well, fuck. Bo speaking and removing all doubt killed Lucky’s hopes about being wrong.

  Then again, dying in a raging inferno, or dying at all, versus a couple of fingers? No contest.

  “I’m told with physical therapy you’ll be able to use the rest of your hand. You’ll just have to… adapt.” Bo squeezed Lucky’s good hand tightly.

  The missing fingers throbbed, then again, that might be the drugs talking. “Bo, I…”

  “We can always get your ring sized for your middle finger, or—”

  “Bo!” Lucky pulled his hand away to place two fingers on Bo’s mouth. “It’s okay. Hell, I’ve bent over and kissed my ass goodbye more times than I can count. You think this little scratch is gonna stop me?”

  A wrinkle formed between Bo’s eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

  “Hand me my ring.”

  Bo retrieved the ring and propped against the side of the bed. “What do you intend to do?”

  Lucky placed the ring on his right hand, though the band made a tight fit. He flexed his fist. “That’s a better place for it. That’s the hand I jack off with, so the ring…”

  Bo cut him off with a kiss.

  Bits and pieces of conversation floated back to him. “What odds did the office betting pool give for me not coming back?”

  “Ten to one, in favor of you coming back.”

  Lucky snorted. “Let me guess. Keith is the holdout.”

  “Nope. The rookie everyone calls Road Rage Robinson. Said if she loses she doesn’t lose much, but if she wins it’s a pretty big payout.”

  Lucky couldn’t argue the logic, but the woman would lose the bet. “I’m coming back.”

  “I know you are.”

  Pain sliced through his hand and he grimaced.

  Bo pressed the nurse call button. “Can Mr. Harrison get something for pain?” He held Lucky’s hand while the nurse inserted a syringe into Lucky’s IV tube. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

  ***

  Lucky’s hand still throbbed from time to time, but focusing on his case helped. It also helped him tune out the constant litanies of “Need anything?”, “Can I get you anything”, and “You should be resting”, from Bo, Charlotte, Ty, and anyone brave enough to visit.

  He’d rest when he was dead.

  And not a moment before.

  He’d taped poster paper to the living room wall, listing names and locations, then stepped back to examine his handiwork. Sure, DEA likely repeated the same steps, but he’d go fucking crazy if he didn’t stay busy.

  The teacher gave drugs to kids to get better grades and offered a little too much help with testing, providing answers in some cases—but only to her own students. In exchange the kids got into better colleges. Which helped the school’s, and her own, reputation.

  Or maybe
she’d started off intending only to help, while making a profit. Folks with initially good intentions went to jail all the time, if those intentions drove them to illegal acts.

  Coach gave soccer players drugs to help them stay on the team so they’d have a better chance at playoffs.

  A winning team meant more prestige for coach, not to mention the drug profits, and possible athletic scholarships for the players.

  How did that tie into the teacher’s operation?

  The nursing home losing patients?

  The pharmacist wasn’t talking, and Doctor Take-a-Pill must’ve found out about the raid and ran.

  The judge. The coach. The doctor. What tied them together besides greed?

  He’d missed something. Turning his attention back to his notes, he started over. Damn blurry eyes! Oh, well. Charlotte was talking on her phone in the kitchen, probably to their mother, and he’d intimidate her to silence if need be. He pulled the glasses out of his computer bag.

  There, better when he could see.

  Well, hell. His diagrams looked like football plays.

  Football plays.

  Sports. Hadn’t Johnson seen Judge Spence at a high school ball game?

  Lucky parked on the couch, running through the magistrate’s file. No kids, grandkids, nephews or nieces on the team. Maybe he’d gone to the school and maintained his loyalty. Nope. Private school.

  He checked the coaches bank records. Small cash deposits, too small to draw much attention, less than $10,000 each time. Lucky’d assumed the money came from the drug trade, but he’d done the math. The school kids weren’t that lucrative.

  Kickback money from parents to help kids get scholarships?

  Possibly.

  Hmm… This entry happened on the fourteenth. Ty had an away game on the twelfth. And here. Another deposit a few weeks earlier. He called up the team schedule, then the schedules for the school’s other sports teams.

  Each deposit happened within a few days of games, when they happened.

  Oh, shit! The deposits coincided with games Ty’s school won.

  This wasn’t about making money off drugs, or helping kids get ahead.

  The coach bet on the games. He made enough money to risk prison on high school sports? Really?

  Yeah, idiots walked the earth.

  Being a winning coach also must help with future job prospects. Hell, the Clemson football coach made 8.25 million for one year. How much could a soccer coach make?

  By the time Lucky finished checking financial records, he had his pattern, leading him to parents, the doctor, the pharmacist, the magistrate… No telling how many others.

  He’d always gone undercover for drug cases, didn’t get involved much with other crimes, but right now, he needed to track down a bookie.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  No? Walter said no? Bo said, “Oh hell no!”

  What Lucky could do he would, via the internet. Private citizens could research shit on-line, right?

  And damn, it was easy to find what he needed. Betting on high school sports was legal through offshore sportsbooks? What the ever-loving fuck?

  The fucking clusterfuck at Clifton High couldn’t possibly be sanctioned by any damned body. And him out on medical leave meant he’d better keep his ass on this couch. Bad enough getting around Walter, getting around someone while sharing a house might be damned near impossible.

  They hadn’t taken his laptop from him.

  Yet.

  The front door opened. “Hey, Lucky…”

  Lucky shut his laptop at the speed of light. “Bo! You’re home early.” Fuck, that sounded like a complaint when Lucky normally bitched about Bo coming home late.

  “It’s seven.”

  That late? Wow. Lucky’d gotten involved in his work. “The drugs. It’s the drugs.” Lucky held up his injured hand.

  Bo approached the couch, arms folded over his chest, and eyebrow rising. “What are you doing that you don’t want me to know about?”

  “Nothing.” Lucky slid his laptop under the couch.

  “Lucky!”

  Fuck. Lucky sighed, retrieved his laptop and passed it over.

  Bo sank down beside him on the couch, softening the blow with a caress to the thigh. He opened the laptop, stared a few moments, and let out a low whistle. “First, you were told to rest and you’re on medical leave. You’re not supposed to work.”

  This might be one of the dumbest things Lucky ever did, but he asked, “What’s second?”

  “This is some damned good work.” He closed the laptop. “I’ll get Loretta right on this.”

  “Johnson? You’re giving this to Johnson?”

  Bo said the one thing sure to get Lucky’s acceptance. “Would you rather I gave this to someone else?”

  “Damn, you play dirty.”

  “When it comes to you playing it safe, yes.” Bo turned to face Lucky. “I’ll be honest. Your last trip to the hospital got me thinking.”

  Uh-oh. “And?”

  Bo patted Lucky’s thigh. “Seeing you in that bed…”

  All those times Lucky worried about Bo, now Bo returned the favor.

  “I realized I could lose you. I thought with you going to training you’d be safer, but, Lucky, I can’t go through that again, or something worse. You always go charging in, like the night you and Loretta went to that warehouse without backup.”

  “In my defense, Walter told me to.”

  “And I’ll be talking to him next. Not as your partner, but as the future department head. You need to start taking things easier. Not take so many chances.”

  Taking chances was a part of Lucky. “You’re trying to change me?”

  “No!” Bo brushed a kiss over Lucky’s forehead. “I love you just the way you are, but you’ve got to start listening to people trying to take care of you. Like your doctor.”

  “Like you?”

  “Yeah. We have a family now. Look—” Bo crossed his legs, resting his ankle on his knee. “—you’ve done so damned much for the department, for me, but now it’s time to trust others, let them take part of the load.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing. Jimmy Salters is ready, and Loretta is more than capable.”

  Something in Bo’s words still hinted at a “but”. “You want me to quit?”

  “No. You trained them well in undercover ops. Trust them to follow your lead. Your expertise is what’s in your head.” Bo gestured toward the laptop. “Look what you’ve turned up.”

  Lucky stared down at his injured hand. The injury didn’t slow him down much, though sometimes he swore he still felt his missing fingers. Fatherhood might. Having his sister here, his nephew, Bo, yeah they all changed his life in little ways, in good ways.

  Now his life would change again. He closed his eyes. “Give Johnson the information.”

  Bo glanced back toward Lucky’s poster-wall. “You know, you’re really good at this. I’ll remember that in the future.” He took Lucky by the good hand, the one now wearing a wish-it-was-a-wedding-band. “You can’t do it all.”

  “I’m not letting those assholes get away.”

  “And they won’t. Our international contacts can work on the official betting channels, while Loretta looks closer to home. Either way, the case isn’t ours anymore. It hasn’t been for a while. DEA is closing in on whoever’s behind this.”

  Yes, the case needed more resources than those at Lucky’s disposal.

  “Now, how about you explain this wall to me?”

  ***

  Lucky might not be there to witness the takedown, but his armchair research rounded up more suspects: a nursing home employee buying cheap substitutes for patients while selling their medications on the black market.

  The school board had Clifton High under investigation. Good thing the school year ended soon, though Ty might never forgive Lucky if he couldn’t play soccer next year.

  Looking into Judge Spence’s acquaintances turned up nothing, and the warehouse owner
, a foreign holding company, had no knowledge of what went on in the building they’d planned to tear down.

  So many hands in this cookie jar. All about to get slapped.

  Like the pharmacist, using Grandma’s facility.

  But… was he really doing so without her knowledge? Ah, hell, Bo couldn’t fault him for making a drugstore run to fill his prescription, right? Even though there were much closer pharmacies. He could always say he intended to support the small businessman—or woman.

  He lumbered into the facility a half-hour later, plopped his paper script on the counter, and gave his full name, phone number, birthday, underwear size. The last might be exaggeration, but did they really need to know so much about him?

  Given the rate of drug diversion in the company, probably so. He drummed his fingers on the countertop.

  “We’ll have this ready in a few minutes,” a smiling pharmacy tech told him.

  Instead of sitting in one of the four chairs making up their waiting area, he ambled around the room. SNB already investigated this pharmacy, the books, inspections, and found nothing.

  He counted four cameras keeping a watchful eye.

  Cameras.

  He took his bag of goodies and hightailed it back to his house. Although they’d taken the video footage from the pharmacy for evidence, with nothing tying the owner to the crime, how closely did anyone look?

  He logged into the work system, and had eyestrain by the time he found the glitch. Right there. The same thing he’d seen with the videos from Walter’s attack last year. A jump. This video also included a time stamp. Throughout the day, random minutes were missing from the display.

  At night, when Lucky knew the grandson carried out his illegal pill operation, the cameras that were meant to protect the facility were turned off.

  At exactly five o’clock.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Someone at the pharmacy during working hours turned off the cameras. And what was with the missing time chunks?

  What happened during those few missing minutes?

  Lucky drove back to the pharmacy and parked in a crowded parking lot across the street. In addition to a steady stream of shoppers, the mail carrier came and left, FedEx, UPS, and a few panel trucks.