by Eden Winters
Thank God for small favors. Even her love taps hurt.
“It’s over and done with, I love you, and don’t let it happen again.” She patted Lucky’s hand on the table. “And I really am sorry about your car. I know you loved it.”
Lucky snorted. “I love that it was paid for.”
Charlotte gave a bitter laugh. “Keep telling yourself that, bro. But remember, I know you.” She paused and added, “I think part of my reaction was from knowing you could have been in that car. God, Lucky, when is this going to end? When will you catch whoever’s playing you?”
Fuck, he really did worry her. “Soon. Would you feel more comfortable moving back into the house?”
“I’m not really out of the house now. Besides, I’ve got Moose, five guns, an alarm system, and a brother who will hunt down and kill anyone who dares mess with me.” Charlotte pursed her lips. “If I let them live that long.” She rose, rinsed her dishes, and put them in the dishwasher.
“Until we catch the asshole responsible, I’d feel better if you slept in the house.”
His sister fixed him with a glare hot enough to melt lead. “Didn’t you hear me? We have a security system, we’re armed to the teeth, and nobody, and I mean nobody, is going to make me afraid in my own home, got it?”
Yes, he understood, but he’d still feel safer with her close by. Better to pick his battles, and keep his mouth shut for now.
At least she’d kinda sorta forgiven him. Better not to push. He’d simply keep his eye on her.
And panic in private.
CHAPTER 15
Someone knew Lucky’s movements. Who to come after to hurt him most. Landry knew some about Lucky, but he’d been out of the bureau before Charlotte moved in, hadn’t he? Long before she got pregnant.
Still, agents, even piss-poor ones like Landry, learned from pros how to gather intel.
While he had reason to hate Lucky, he’d remained hidden for months. Why risk months of freedom to return to Atlanta? What did he have to gain?
Then again, the whole diabetes drug thing remained a mess, but Owen Landry didn’t seem capable of plotting to that level. Nor of gaining the undying loyalty of two fuckwads: one in prison, the other now dead.
Atlanta PD hadn’t gotten any prints from the motel room or murder weapon. Of course, a former agent would’ve known better than to leave physical evidence. The gun wasn’t registered and had been bought from a pawnshop in New Orleans.
Where Cruz said Landry had been reported.
Yet, someone planted the gun in the motel room.
Lucky’d missed something somewhere. One man died because of it, and no telling what might have happened to Charlotte without a weapon handy. Hell, the Chastain case tossed a bunch of pharma execs into prison too, who also had a stake in making Lucky pay.
Lord, let nothing happen to Lucky’s family. Or the Smiths. Or even Mrs. Griggs.
Lucky called up his past cases and reviewed, not just the official reports, but his own private notes. Any number of folks he’d sent to prison might want him dead, and they could certainly hire a hit man while behind bars. Ones who hadn’t yet gone to trial and were free on bond might be the place to start looking.
But… what if it wasn’t one of his own cases he should look at?
He called up other cases, starting slightly before Owen Landry arrived at the SNB and began cozying up to Bo. Overall, the SNB had a pretty high closure rate.
Up until Landry arrived. Bo and Lucky’s absence during the Corruption case corresponded with a dip in closed cases for the whole Diversion Prevention and Control department. A dip that didn’t improve much once they returned. However, Bo’s case count started after he’d become a full agent. Then Johnson graduated to agent-hood.
Keith mostly stayed in IT, but he also worked a few surveillance cases. While his percentage was nowhere near as high as Lucky’s, 75% wasn’t too bad, when stacked against the others.
Since Walter went to the hospital, and Bo began training to take his place as boss, all the other agents’ closure rates dropped.
Overall, the combined rating showed nothing wrong, but mostly because Bo, Lucky, Johnson, and Keith—to an extent—carried the load. Before Art’s retirement, he’d rarely left a case unclosed, though often, like Lucky, another agency took over after the assignment went federal.
Lucky didn’t often work with agents from other departments. He saw them in the building, but not being a social animal, he avoided them, they avoided him. Happiness all around. Besides, he usually had his hands full with the rookies.
How long before someone else, not inside the bureau, saw the drop?
Was someone inside the bureau behind the drop? Lucky’d bet good money on a yes.
Could Landry, a newbie himself at the time, have affected closure rates? Maybe not alone, but add in Philip Eustace, O’Donoghue’s assistant, who had access to critical information, and IT Rookie Rogers, and maybe…
Why? Most were small busts, not worth kickbacks. The cases appeared unrelated. Random.
Missing evidence. Changed testimony. In several cases the witnesses fled Atlanta. Case after case, either not closed, or dismissed in court for lack of evidence, missing evidence. Mishandled reports.
Unplugging his laptop from the docking station, he trudged to the bosses’ office and lightly tapped on the door.
“Come in,” came Walter’s booming response.
Lucky opened the door and crept in. No Bo, just Walter. Books lined the shelves, and off to the corner Bo had set up an old desk as his own. Woulda been nice to see Bo there.
When Walter retired, he’d take the scent of Old Spice with him.
Walter beamed, the skin around his eyes crinkling more than usual. The cup on his desk appeared to hold black coffee, a big change from all the frou-frou drinks he used to inhale, more whipped cream than coffee. “Why, Lucky. So nice to see you. Come in, sit down.”
Not that Lucky needed an invitation to park in his chair. He sprawled, wriggling in to get comfortable. Sparring with Jimmy hadn’t been his best idea. Bo wouldn’t even feel sorry for him, though he had run Lucky a warm bath with Epsom salts the night before. “I want to talk to you about something.”
“You know you can talk to me about anything.” Walter folded his hands on his desk—a desk bearing less papers and file folders than normal. Bo’s influence struck again. “How is Charlotte? Is she still upset over her near abduction?”
“She says she’s fine. I tried to get her to go stay on the farm with Mom and Dad until this thing blows over, but she’s a… a…” Lucky struggled for the right word.
“Lucklighter?” Walter supplied with unnecessary smugness.
Yeah. “Lucklighter” worked. She made herself clear on a few points: no taking Ty from school, no running from problems, and she had no intention of leaving her doctors this close to her due date. He suspected Jimmy figured in there somewhere, but he’d gotten good at denial over the years.
“Although she held her own, I worry what such upset might do to her and the baby. Lucille and I have a big house. She’s welcome to stay with us.”
If Lucky had his way she’d move in this afternoon. She’d shoot him for daring to mention the invitation. “Don’t worry. We have the new security system. If she hits a panic button, it alerts the security company, me, and Bo.”
“And Moose?”
“He’s recovering. Eating up the attention. He has to wear a cone to keep him away from his stitches, but he’s doing fine.” For a dog normally found doing a rug impression on the living room floor, he’d definitely earned his kibble the day he’d gone all attack dog to protect Charlotte.
Lucky had witnessed firsthand the damage Great Pyrenees could do, but normally with foxes or coyotes. Not people.
“I’m sorry about your car. Are you sure you’re all right?” Walter peered over the top of his bifocals. “You’re moving a bit stiffly this morning.”
Lucky waved a dismissive hand, trying not to grimace. “That’s from the gy
m. I was nowhere near the car when it exploded.” Though he would have been if he’d not stayed to watch Jimmy spar with someone else before the two of them left together.
Walter assessed him a few moments, then nodded. “I’ve requested a copy of all reports, since the incident involved one of my agents. We can provide a car from the impound lot, if you need one.”
The chicken-shit green Malibu? No thanks. “Bo’s taking me to Avis to get a rental.”
“Good. However, keep in mind that we can provide a car. Now, you asked to see me?”
Oh, yeah. Now for Lucky to make his point without sounding accusing. Saying the right words: so not his strong suit. “This morning I reviewed the department’s case closure rates.”
“I understand you’re the highest in the department.” Walter’s pride in his team never wavered.
“Yes, but I’m training rookies now, and working less cases. Bo also had high rankings, but he’s off the street too, training with you. Johnson assists me. When you back out our rates, and average among the other agents…” Lucky turned his laptop around to show Walter the screen.
Walter’s mood darkened. Lucky hated adding more grief to the man’s world. Not most human’s, just this one.
“Are you sure of those numbers?”
“Check them yourself.”
While Walter preferred hard copy records, he did have a laptop on his desk. Lucky wouldn’t have been surprised to see him blow off dust before tapping on keys. And tapping some more. And still some more, eyes widening. “I can see that I’ve been neglectful. I hadn’t realized. Reports showed only the overall case closure rates, not individual.” He turned back to Lucky. “I suppose you have your suspicions about the difference.”
Lucky nodded. Bo should be here, with his better way of explaining things. “Missing evidence, uncooperative witnesses. Reports lacking critical information. Cases thrown out of court on a technicality.”
“I see. Have you spoken to any of the agents in question?”
Lucky didn’t answer.
Walter heaved out a sigh. “No, of course not. I understand. Based on past interactions, they might go on the defensive. How have I not noticed this trend?” He shook his head.
“This started not too long after O’Donoghue arrived with Eustace and Landry. More training should’ve meant higher rates, not lower. Then there was Rogers.”
Walter rubbed his temples with forefinger and thumb. “Lucky, we’ve been over this. I believe O’Donoghue has exonerated himself of your suspicions.”
Not really. “But the other three?”
“You suspect they interfered?”
“You know for a fact they interfered with the Chastain case.” Lucky threw up a hand. “Yeah, I know they’ve been gone a few months. But if they were behind the drop in case closure rates, why didn’t the numbers improve once they left?”
Walter considered him, head cocked to the side, lips pursed. “Why, indeed?”
Lucky would’ve felt better about the whole situation if Walter scowled and merely told him, “You’re a suspicious asshole.”
No such luck.
“Lower ratings help explain why my superiors believe we need a director with more experience,” Walter said, though more to himself than Lucky.
“Has anyone mentioned that again?” Who did Lucky need to beat to a pulp? Or better yet, send Jimmy with direct orders.
Walter sighed again. “Yes. And I’ve been asked for my retirement date on three separate occasions this week alone.”
The fuckers. “Did you tell them you’d leave when you were good and damned ready?”
“I told them I would leave once my replacement is ready for me to step back.”
“Same thing.”
Walter winked. “As you might say, ‘yeah, buddy.’”
“Has O’Donoghue said anything? Given any indication he knows? Shown up with packing boxes?”
“Not with words, but every time he enters this office, I expect him to measure for drapes.”
Not happening. The job belonged to Bo, and Bo alone.
But how to convince the SNB?
Two hours later, Walter sent Lucky a text. “It is done. O’Donoghue has officially been named new director. Not only do they feel the SNB needs more experience, they believe your relationship may cloud Bo’s judgement.”
Well, fuck.
Bo stopped by Lucky’s cube. “You ready?”
“Ready? For what?”
Bo crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes. “Alejandro’s checkup, and I’m taking you to get a rental car.”
“Oh.” Lucky had been so upset over work he’d totally forgotten his existence outside of this place.
Bo drove, while Lucky tried to figure out what to say. They stopped at a red light and Bo turned to face Lucky. “I know something’s on your mind. You’ve got the ‘planting potatoes’ groove between your brows, and you’re grinding your teeth.”
“How’d you know that? You were watching the road.”
“Lucky, how long have we known each other? Trust me, I know.”
Yeah, he did. “You talk to Walter lately?”
The light turned green. Bo shifted his focus back to the road and accelerated. His Adam’s apple bobbed with a hard swallow. “Yes, he told me the SNB brass gave the director job to O’Donoghue. What you found with the case closure rates was given as one reason. My relationship with you another. They also brought up my age, and history.”
Self-righteous dickwads. “You’ve done your time. They can’t bring that up again.”
“And yet, they did. Look, Lucky, I don’t really care. I told you that. We’ll be fine, I’ll be fine.” He forced out the fakest laugh Lucky’d ever heard. “Maybe this means I’ll have more time with my family. Lord knows I’ve been keeping some late hours at work lately.”
No, he wouldn’t. With Bo’s undercover skills, he’d be back out on the streets, or possibly gone for months. Being gone and risking themselves hadn’t figured into Bo and Lucky’s plans when they decided to start a family.
“O’Donoghue will surround himself with butt kissers and run the place into the ground.” Victor’s outfit wanted Lucky, but he’d be no better off with them. Besides, they were international. Lucky might never see his family.
He’d get to drive damned fine cars, though.
Bo had a pharmacy degree, but also reasons not to work as a pharmacist. They were good at their jobs, if folks would leave them alone to take care of business.
“Then maybe they’ll change their mind. Lucky, right now I’ve got better things to worry about. Like you, our son, and the little boy or girl we’ll soon bring home from the hospital.”
“Has Charlotte mentioned anything more about childbirth classes?” They’d been attending sessions regularly for a while, but nothing lately.
“She said we’ve already tried all the local ones, and doesn’t think we’ll learn anything else useful.” Bo gave Lucky a rueful half-smile. “Besides, and I quote, ‘Babies been finding their own way out since the dawn of time. I doubt this one’ll get lost.’”
Sounded like Char.
Then again, maybe she didn’t want to parade her grouchy-assed brother and fucked-up family situation around the law-abiding, man-and-woman couples of Atlanta. No, not fair. She wouldn’t think like that. No, she’d stand toe-to-toe with anyone who tried to judge.
Lucky hated feeling helpless. About his and Bo’s job, Walter being shoved out of the SNB, his Camaro, the stalker…
Bo managed to negotiate with the community security gate, and parked the SUV behind Charlotte’s car. “I’ll go get the little guy. Looks like you’re busy thinking.”
Before Lucky could stop him, he ran into the house—and emerged a few moments later with a wrapped bundle that he proceeded to buckle into a car seat.
Lucky eyed the blankets, knit hat, puffy coat, and mittens. “Are you sure there’s a kid under there?”
“I don’t want him to be cold.”
Bo shutting the car door paused the conversation while he rounded the vehicle and climbed behind the steering wheel. “We can’t be too safe.” Oh, dear God. He was fast becoming one of those parents.
Lucky climbed into the back to occupy Andro on the way to the pediatrician’s office, and as a way to avoid thinking too much.
Andro told Lucky all about his day, how much he loved his stuffed bear—who he’d managed to extricate from the blankets—and world politics. Or rather, he might have been saying those things, for all Lucky knew. It sounded more like, “Ba, ba, ba!”
Lucky wiped drool from his son’s chin with a wet wipe. He was on his fourth wipe when they reached the doctor’s office.
Bo carried the baby inside and settled on a chair, while Lucky signed them in.
“Have a seat. The doctor will be with you in a moment.” The receptionist smiled. She always smiled. Unlike the two women sitting in a corner, who stopped talking to stare, though the kids sliding beads over wires in the corner paid them no mind.
Better get used to seeing same-sex couples, ladies. You’re in Atlanta, not some little po-dunk town with one red light.
A nurse opened the door to the examining rooms. “Alejandro Schollenberger?”
Lucky remained in the waiting room with blankets, a coat and hat, the stuffed bear, diaper bag, and mittens, while Bo took their son back. Add “pack mule” to Lucky’s job description. The exam rooms weren’t big enough for two parents, a doctor, a nurse, and the world’s most adorable kid.
Bo came back grinning. Andro made grabby hands until Lucky took him. “Yeah, you want your papa, don’t you?” Andro grabbed his bear off Lucky’s lap. So much for being favorite parent, if only for a moment.
Bo shifted Andro right and left while stuffing him back in his winter gear. “The doctor says at this rate, we won’t have to worry about heart surgery down the road. Even though he was a preemie, he’s caught up to where he needs to be at nine months.”
