by Eden Winters
He didn’t mind cops so much when they delivered relief drivers.
He’d love to see Bo and Andro tonight. Instead, he’d be traveling non-stop to Atlanta, where he’d park the rig and check into a motel. With any luck he’d actually make it into the room before passing out.
The sun had set the next time Lucky heard a siren. Okay, they must have gotten close to Atlanta. He stayed in back and let his replacement handle the transaction. This time, the officer checked license and registration, and let the truck go within five minutes. Lucky next woke in the parking lot of his motel. The driver parked the truck, gave Lucky a mock salute, then traded places with him in the sleeper cab. “Let me know when you’re sure we’re not being watched, so I can slip out.” He handed Lucky a key card. “Number fourteen.”
Lucky nodded and dragged out of the truck, with his laptop case and the duffel he’d packed. Pink tinged the edges of the sky. He didn’t see anyone, but he’d check out the motel room and then make a circuit of the parking lot. He let himself inside of the room.
Saturday morning. He should be snuggled up with Bo right now, sleeping in as much as Andro allowed. He’d love to lie down and close his eyes, but this close to the end of his assignment, he’d likely stay awake all night and fall asleep five minutes before the clock woke him.
The closed drapes made his room dark as pitch. He dropped his bags to the floor.
A dark blur pinned him against a wall.
“What the fuck?” Lucky pulled back his fist.
“You’re late.”
The lips pressed against Lucky’s changed the punch into an embrace. He’d know that aggressive kiss anywhere.
Lucky found his arms full of man. He batted a hand against the wall, finally locating and lifting the light switch. “Bo. How… how did you…”
Bo nodded to a door in the wall. “I rented the adjoining room. Everyone is in position, and Walter is keeping O’Donoghue busy. I’m here for”—Bo grinned— “moral support.”
“Hold that thought.” Lucky removed his crucifix, opened the adjoining door, and tossed the pendant onto the bed in Bo’s room. No telling who listened in. The next hour or so belonged to him and his man.
Bo circled Lucky and let out a low whistle, scrutinizing him with one raised brow. “You don’t hardly look like you. You look good, but… Maybe we should consider a cosmetologist for our department.”
Viv and Lucky had become, well, not exactly friends, but she’d knocked off pulling his hair on purpose, and he’d stopped hiding her curling iron. If God wanted him to have wavy hair, he’d have been born with a head full of curls.
Come to think of it, he’d seen pictures. He’d been born bald as a cue ball.
Bo kissed him, long and hard. “I could get used to the whiskers.” He tugged lightly on Lucky’s chin hair. “Wow. That’s so real.” The scar tingled from Bo’s gentle stroke. “I do love a bad boy. We don’t have to worry about messing up your disguise, do we?”
“Not really. All’s left is to hand over the truck, then I no longer have to match the driver’s license.” The wallet he’d given Cruz, containing his Simon Harrison license, now resided in the truck.
Lucky’d been gone a few days, however many miles, and a whole lot of fretting. He wanted his man. He shut Bo up with a kiss. In the back of his mind he imagined how the facial hair might feel on Bo’s balls.
Bo hadn’t worn a suit, dressed casually in jeans and a loose button-down shirt. Loose enough for Lucky to slip his hands under and touch smooth skin. He rolled the shirt up Bo’s chest, and ran his tongue up taut abs, tasting clean skin and Bo.
Bo slipped the shirt over his head without unbuttoning while Lucky sank to his knees, yanking at Bo’s belt buckle. Those jeans needed off. Now.
He fumbled the belt and jeans open, grasped Bo’s waistband, and yanked downward, lowering jeans, belt and boxers in one motion. Oh, wait. No boxers. Bo wore nothing under those jeans but what the good Lord gave him.
Lucky approved.
He pushed his face into Bo’s groin and breathed deep, so many memories coming back with the familiar scent.
One lick, two licks. Lucky rubbed his moustache and chin hair over Bo’s balls, fulfilling his fantasy and earning a drawn-out moan. He opened wide and took Bo’s cock into his mouth. Bo moaned again, working his fingers into Lucky’s hair. For the novelty, Lucky pulled back and brushed wispy, fake facial hair over Bo’s erection and moved lower, taking Bo’s balls into his mouth.
Bo said on panted breaths, “If you. Don’t want. Things to end now. Stop!” He tightened his hold on Lucky’s head and pulled him off. “Oh, damn, that was close.”
Lucky shoved Bo backwards onto the bed and followed him down.
It had been too long since they’d had sex with no worries about noise levels.
In a flurry of movement, they yanked off their clothes, kicking shoes to the floor and tossing shirts and jeans in the general direction of a chair.
“What?” Bo stopped, staring at the padding Lucky wore. “When you go in character, you don’t go halfway, do you?”
“Nope. Gotta match my fake license, don’t I?”
“Well, take it off!”
A little shifting and some untying and the garment came free. Lucky had worked up a sweat under that thing. Finally naked, he rolled on top of Bo, pressing their straining erections together and devouring Bo’s mouth.
He stopped. “Ummm… I just got here…”
“I swept the room before you arrived. Trust me, we don’t have an audience.”
Lucky grinned. “Even if we did, we’d show them how it’s done.”
“Damned skippy.”
Lucky shoved against Bo. Oh, God, the man felt good. He hadn’t been kidding when he’d said he’d been close. Felt like a stiff breeze might get him off.
Lucky latched his mouth onto Bo’s neck, running a hand between their bodies to grip their cocks and hold them together.
“Where’re my jeans?” Bo poked his head up from the onslaught.
Lucky anchored him while Bo stretched, reaching for the chair. He snagged his jeans and dug into the pocket.
“Hand sanitizer?”
“Lube. Only container I could find. Don’t worry. I washed it.”
What Bo squeezed onto his hand certainly smelled like what came out of the bottle they kept by the bed. He slicked Lucky’s cock and lined him up.
“Wait! We need to…”
“You’re twenty minutes late. I put the time… umm… to… good use.”
Oh. Oh! “You brought your toy, didn’t you?”
“Yup.” Pink crept up Bo’s face.
Damn. Lucky missed the act, but what a visual. The mere image of Bo working himself open nearly sent Lucky over the edge. “Have I told you lately that I love the way your mind works?”
Bo grinned, revealing both The Dimple and Cousin of the Dimple in his other cheek. “I thought you might.”
Lucky sank in. So good. So fucking right.
Bo lifted his legs, squeezing Lucky’s thighs. “I’ve missed you. Missed this.”
“I’ve only been gone a few days.” Still, nice to hear he’d been missed.
“Feels like forever. Especially when we can make as much noise as we want.”
They moved in tandem, with the easy rhythm of two long-term lovers. Bo dug his fingers into Lucky’s back.
Mouth to mouth, clutching, grasping, moaning, Bo’s muscles flexing and shifting. He broke the kiss, tipping his head back and giving Lucky his throat. Lucky ran his tongue over Bo’s Adam’s apple, licking, nibbling, nuzzling Bo’s ear.
Bo reared up, clamping his teeth gently on Lucky’s shoulder. Felt good. So good. Bo’s arms and legs around him. Lucky reached between them, working Bo’s cock in time with each thrust.
Lucky joined their mouths, Bo’s whimpers caressing his tongue.
Faster they moved together, the occasional rap of something somewhere might be a headboard, or even someone in another room wanting the
m to shut the fuck up.
Who the hell cared? Nothing mattered in that moment but Bo. Bo, who’d come here to meet him for a few moments to call their own, in the midst of the chaos around them.
He’d take it.
The hint of Bo’s cologne filled his senses, combined with soap, shampoo, and the familiar scent of pure Bo.
Bo broke the kiss. “Lucky!” his muscles tensed, his passage squeezing Lucky’s cock.
Lucky picked up the pace, both with his hand and his hips, reaching, reaching…
Bo jerked. “Ahhh…” He clasped Lucky’s shoulders, his eyes unfocused and his mouth open.
“I’m right there with you.” Lucky bucked, once more, twice more… And buried his face in the crook of Bo’s neck, smothering his groan against Bo’s skin. Electricity shot through him, setting his nerves on fire, concentrating in his groin.
He shot, filling Bo’s body and clinging to his anchor.
Oh, damn. Nothing in this world came close to making love to Bo.
Lucky came back to himself, lifting his weight on his arms to keep from crushing Bo, and sagged over to the side, winded and content. He turned his head at the same moment Bo did, and their lips met. “I love you,” they said as one.
Bo ran a finger over Lucky’s cheek, a gentle smile playing on his lips. “This scar looks so real. We really need to look into someone who can create disguises like this for us.” He continued to stroke Lucky’s face.
Lucky blinked gritty eyes. “I’m tired.” He’d thought excitement might keep him awake, but Bo served up the best sleeping tonic known to mankind.
Bo planted gentle kisses on Lucky’s eyelids. “I know. Sleep. I have to get to work, but I’ll be back later. I’ll bring you food.”
“I’d rather have you,” Lucky said on a yawn.
Bo kissed him. “You have me.”
“How are the kids and Charlotte?”
“Andro is still teething and cranky, bun in the oven is playing basketball with Charlotte’s bladder. Doctor said all is fine. Ty is fretting over his mother, and Charlotte is hiding out from anyone who wants to pamper her. Walter still has agents in place watching the house. I need to warn you, though. I think Robinson has an eye on the house two streets over.”
Ah, hell. Robinson? For a neighbor? But wait! Lucky would no longer be the scariest person in the community. “How’re things at work?”
“Ready to go to Hell in a handbasket, as soon as you get there.”
Lucky fell asleep before he could ask anything else.
He bolted upright. “Damn it! I forgot to tell my relief driver he could get out of the truck!”
CHAPTER 21
Bo woke Lucky up with two wrapped egg and cheese biscuits, and hash browns.
And coffee, God love him. Lucky could get used to this. He stretched and sat up in bed, arranging the covers around his waist and setting the fast-food bag on his lap. “How much time I got?” he asked between bites.
“An hour.” Bo sat in a chair by the bed. The scent wafting from his to-go mug had to be his favorite decaf green tea. “Charlotte wanted to send you a plate, but she’s been on a sandwich kick lately, peanut butter and jelly and bologna and cheese.”
Lucky swallowed a bite of biscuit. “I wouldn’t have minded bologna and cheese. Or peanut butter and jelly.”
Bo winced. “All on the same sandwich? I think she stuck in Doritos too. Said she liked the crunch.”
Umm… Lucklighters were born with cast iron stomachs, but some things even Lucky wouldn’t eat.
“Can I have you for dessert?” Lucky did his best to waggle his brows. Too early. Or late. Or… whatever. The curtains were drawn, but Lucky sensed sunlight outside the door. He sat up and shoved a bite of the second biscuit into his mouth. Oh, good. Still warm. “How is everybody?”
“Good. She went kicking and screaming, but Charlotte, the kids, and the pets are at the Smiths’ right now. Rett’s son is there too. You know how Rone loves our nephews. I think Ty built him a tent fort in the den.”
Our nephews, not your.
The Smiths probably ate up having young ’uns around, since they seemed to love kids but never had any of their own due to Mrs. Smith’s heart condition. “Where do you have to be?”
Bo grinned. “I’m with you.”
“Really?” Because of their positions within the bureau, Lucky hadn’t thought they’d ever get to work closely with each other again.
“Really. Things might go to shit today. You need backup.”
Speaking of. “Cruz?”
“Touched base an hour ago. Hey, did you know he was engaged?”
“Yeah. Who do you think did this?” Lucky gestured with his hand to his changed appearance.
Bo let out a low whistle. “Too bad she’s not here to do a touchup.” He passed a critical gaze over Lucky’s hair, then rumpled the waves with his fingers. “Yeah, gel and bedhead don’t really mix.”
“Hey!”
Bo stepped back, hands up. “Just saying. It’s a bit flat on one side.”
“Then I’ll wear a hat.”
“A hat sounds good. Anyway, finish eating and get ready.”
“Where are you going?”
“The truck outside is being watched, so Loretta is going to create a distraction so I can get in unnoticed. I staged a fight early this morning to get your relief driver out of there. I’ll be back in the sleeper.”
“The sleeper?” Lucky’s mind hit the gutter, rolled and came up swinging. “Ever had sex in a sleeper cab in a Quality Inn parking lot?”
Bo rolled his eyes. “More roleplaying?”
“What’s the use of having filthy ideas if you don’t intend to use them?”
Bo bent and gave him a kiss. “Hold that thought, and meet me in the truck.”
“Spoilsport.”
Lucky watched Bo’s ass flex away into the adjoining room. That ass. Tires squealed outside, and horns blared. Rett’s distraction?
He finished his meal and showered, trying to minimize the damage to Viv’s work. Not that he’d need a disguise today, but he half expected her to jump out of the woodwork, brandishing a curling iron. “How dare you destroy my creation!”
Yes, the SNB undercover ops needed a Vivienne of their own, and maybe Jimmy’s brother too, for fighting skills. Bo survived the Corruption case by using his fists.
Lucky gathered up all he intended to take with him, retrieved his crucifix, stalked out of the room like he owned the place, and crossed the parking lot to his truck.
“You back there?” he asked, as he slid beneath the steering wheel.
“Yup,” Bo replied. “We gotta hurry this up. Whoever owns this truck needs to do some airing out. I mean…”
Smelled fine enough for Lucky to have passed out like a light and slept a few hours while Cruz’s man drove. Ten AM, Saturday morning, and he kept to I-85, checking his mirrors often for flashing lights. At a rest area, he pulled over. He and Bo got out, one of Cruz’s men got in.
Johnson pulled up in a car Lucky’d never seen before. He sat up front with Johnson, while Bo climbed into the back.
“Here.” Johnson handed him a canister of wet wipes and a ball cap.
Flipping the mirror down, Lucky got to work re-Lucky-fying himself. “What’s the latest?” he asked her while scrubbing the fake scar with a wet wipe.
“Walter has called you and Bo into the office for an emergency meeting at two, along with O’Donoghue. When the truck gets stopped, we’re keeping our eyes on O’Donoghue.”
“Oh, and Keith’s got so many cameras set up we had to borrow from Atlanta PD,” Bo added. “We’re watching every move. O’Donoghue can’t scratch his nuts without us knowing.”
And… the perverse part of Lucky’s mind considered scratching his nuts for the hell of it, as a message to Keith, who’d have to see the gesture. Walter and others also bearing witness to such a display scrapped the idea before it fully took root.
Bo leaned up as far as the seatbelt allowed,
resting his elbows on the two front seats and eyeing Johnson. “How’d things go with Southwestern, Rett?”
“Oh! Man, the old team, the ones who ain’t quit yet, do not like Garrison and Diaz at all. They’ve given me so much dirt. The house of cards falls today.” No hiding the glee in her voice.
“Good. Everything set?”
“Yes. Jimmy and I will be backup, while you attend your meeting. Keith is already there, set up on another floor. All you have to do is make the man sweat.”
Lucky’s phone rang. Who the hell would be calling him at this hour? “Harrison.”
“Ah, mi amigo. I have a gift for you. Come to…” Cruz gave Lucky an address. Lucky repeated the directions while Bo punched it into his phone’s GPS.
Then he recognized the address.
They met at Chastain Pharmaceuticals, greeted out front by the man who’d done some of the driving for Lucky while bringing the truck from Mexico. So eerie being there. A funeral wreath hung on the front door. No security guard behind the desk.
What would become of the place with the owner now gone?
Chastain, whose only crime was owning a company that created a drug to make so many diabetics’ lives easier. A game-changer, that he wouldn’t hand over to some corporate giant to turn into a cash cow. The research lived on. Maybe one day, the product might still hit drugstore shelves.
They rode the elevator on their way to the familiar conference room where they’d met Chastain and his executives before, giving the business a clean bill of health.
They stepped into the conference room.
Cruz sat on one side of the conference table, fresh and clean-shaven. Vivienne and another woman filled chairs beside him.
“How the hell did you get here so fast?”
Cruz grinned. “We have a private plane. Sure you don’t want to join us?”
Of course, they had a plane. International task forces confiscated planes, yachts, and mansions, not chicken-shit green Malibus and rusted-out mobile homes.
Johnson settled into a chair across from mystery woman, while Lucky plopped down in front of Cruz. Bo sat between Lucky and Johnson, opposite Vivienne.
