by Eden Winters
What exactly had O’Donoghue said? How was Lucky supposed to remember something from months ago? Hell, he’d slept since then. “Nothing much. He apologized for not believing me when I complained about you.”
No mistaking Landry’s wince. He shook his head and gave a hoarse laugh. “That’s Jameson all right. Playing both ends against the middle until the end.”
Lucky agreed, but didn’t say so.
Landry’s grip on the .38 didn’t waver. So far, he’d only talked. If his goal was to kill Lucky, he’d have done so by now. He had to know others were watching, unless he’d managed to take all the cameras down. Had he lost his mind completely?
Voice low, Landry said, “I don’t know how deep Jameson’s plans went, but I know taking over from Walter Smith was a key part. Pissed him off getting passed over for Schollenberger.”
Oh, yeah. One of the happier moments in Lucky’s life: watching O’Donoghue not get what he wanted. For a time. “He stamped his feet and shoved Bo back to being an agent working out of a cube.” Or he would if nobody stopped him.
No love lost between Landry and his former boss, based on Landry’s scowl. “He would. You see, as I’d said on the video, he’d promised Gregory Rogers the position of head of Surveillance.”
“That’s Keith’s job. He might be an asshole, but he’s got a decent record. Unless he got promoted or something, you’d have no reason to replace him.” Not that Lucky would shed tears about Keith moving out of the department, but Rogers would have been worse: an asshole and incompetent.
Landry cocked his head to the side but said nothing.
The light bulb came on for Lucky. “Oh.” Really? They’d go far enough to murder Keith? He recalled Johnson and Salters’ report on other offices. Heart attacks. Getting run over by cars. Folks in the Southwestern and Southeastern bureaus weren’t above taking extreme measures as a career move.
Stakes in this game must be higher than Lucky ever imagined.
Inch by inch, he crept toward the door. If he could just make it to the stairs. The doors might lock others out, but they’d still open from this side, right? Good ole safety regulations.
“Yes. Oh, and Philip was going to step into Jameson’s role. As trainer.” Which meant only one person had to die to make the delusion reality, because they’d chosen to shove Lucky out the door. Lucky didn’t like Keith, but wouldn’t wish him dead.
“Who interfered with cases, got charges dropped, lost evidence?”
Landry took a few deep breaths. “We followed orders. If we didn’t, Jameson had enough dirt on each of us by that point to bury us all. There’s reasons he brought us with him when he came to the SNB.”
Lucky hadn’t trusted none of them. More people should have listened. “He’s been planning this for a while, hasn’t he?”
Landry nodded. “You’re not the only one who got a second chance to clean up their record. Greg, Philip, and I all had strikes against us.” Wiped clean so Lucky’s checks turned up nothing.
Just like Lucky’s. Only, O’Donoghue held Lucky’s past over his head. “He planned to build his own little money-making business here.”
Again, Landry nodded.
They’d nearly succeeded in getting rid of Lucky. Walter too. “What about Loretta Johnson?”
“She’d stay, but we’d watch her. Part of the deal we made with Philip was for her to keep her job, but if she didn’t shift loyalties, she’d be gone.”
If she knew, Johnson would plot murder and cuss a blue streak. Loyal to a fault.
So many people tried to convince Lucky not to doubt O’Donoghue. Then again, he couldn’t trust a word out of Landry’s mouth either. Oh, shit. Landry claimed Bo was O’Donoghue’s plan B. If anything went wrong, they’d shove him under the bus to take the blame. With enough of them backing O’Donoghue’s word, and the doubts cast on Bo’s loyalties from the Corruption case…
Sonofabitch.
“You can stop right there.” Landry waved the gun, motioning Lucky away from the door.
Fuck. So close. Lucky huffed out a breath and returned to his original position. Only a few more steps and he’d have been home free. “If things hadda gone according to plan, you’d have a cushy office job.” Lucky needed to be watching for O’Donoghue. He hadn’t left yet, had he? Then again, if Landry really did lock down the doors so no one could get in, by now cops and agents should be aware of issues and have eyes on all exits.
“It came with a price. Jameson never let me forget for a moment that he put me there.” Landry dragged fingers through his already messy hair. “He’d talked to Forsyth’s CEO, arranged to get Chastain’s licenses yanked. If I delivered the drug, I’d get an executive position, giving O’Donoghue leverage for my continued cooperation.” Which brought Forsyth Pharmaceuticals back into the case. Landry lifted his face and blinked hard a few times.
Tears?
Lucky wouldn’t comment. Not right now. Maybe he could use Landry’s distress to his advantage. “So, he was in this with you.” Please, please, please let Keith be catching this all on camera, though it’d be too late to do Lucky any good if Landry shot him.
“In a way. You’d be surprised how effective a word in the right ear can be when somebody trusts you.” Landry shifted his gaze past Lucky. “If anything happens to me, you’ll have all the evidence you need against Jameson and so many others.”
“What are you talking about?” Did Lucky detect a hint that he might not have to kiss his ass goodbye today?
“You’ll see. It’s why I can’t kill you. Let’s just say at the moment I hate you less than I hate Jameson. You’re sonofabitch enough to make them pay. They screwed me over and tossed me to the wolves.”
Someone saw Lucky’s sonofabitch qualities as an advantage? Would wonders never cease? At least Lucky breathed a little easier, even with a gun in his face, O’Donoghue somewhere loose in the building, and no backup.
“Owen? What the hell are you doing here?” came a familiar, but unwelcome, voice.
Shit.
CHAPTER 23
So, Landy’s arrival surprised O’Donoghue as much as Lucky. Again, how the fuck had Landry gotten into the building without anyone knowing?
Maybe Lucky wasn’t the only one with shiny new techy toys.
“Jameson.” Landry acknowledged his former boss with a slight nod, still aiming his weapon towards Lucky’s head. “’Bout time you joined the party.”
Jameson Fucking O’Donoghue. “I knew it.” Lucky should shoot them. Shoot them both. But he needed to keep them talking, and hope surveillance caught a confession.
Then there was the issue of one gun lying on the other side of the table, and possibly getting shot while reaching for his ankle holster.
“Shut the fuck up!” O’Donoghue barked, holding up a wand Lucky recognized as belonging to the bureau, based on the distinctive asset tag affixed to the side.
He held his breath as the major pain in his ass approached. Please let O’Donoghue still have the defective equipment Keith gave him.
Slowly, O’Donoghue swept the wand up and down Lucky’s body, and made his way around the conference room. “The place is clean.” He stared at the wand, then at Lucky. “Good.” His superior smirk got on Lucky’s last nerve. “You’re so paranoid. But how is it you put it? ‘Even a blind squirrel finds an acorn every now and then.’” Lucky’s current worst enemy sauntered past the head of the table.
Leaving Lucky nearest the door. Could he hope to sprint…
O’Donoghue shifted his attention to Landry. “Do you honestly think you’re the only one who wants this piece of filth gone? My sights weren’t set as high as yours—yet—but I have friends who pay nicely for the strings I can pull within the SNB.” O’Donoghue jerked his head toward Lucky. “I’ve spent years building a solid career. It took this asshole ten minutes to derail my plans.” He shrugged. “Go ahead, Owen, shoot him. It’ll be the best show I’ve seen all year.”
Lucky usually liked being right, insisted h
e was never wrong.
How he wished he’d been wrong about O’Donoghue. “Killing me won’t be worth the grief you’ll get.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” O’Donoghue’s shark smile roiled Lucky’s insides. “You see, while your coworkers put up with your sorry ass for Schollenberger’s sake, and the sake of Walter and their jobs, they have no love for you. Except maybe Loretta Johnson, and it’s no secret what she did to the father of her child. Or the most recent boyfriend who’s rotting behind bars without so much as a visit. Her loyalties change with the wind.”
Lucky didn’t need her in the room to hear her, “The hell you say!” loud and clear in his head.
He wouldn’t mention Philip Eustace’s parents dictating the no visitation policy. Let these two sorry sons of bitches keep talking. So much evidence.
Bo had to be nearby. Andro, Charlotte, and Ty were supposed to be at the Smiths’, who expected the family for Sunday dinner tomorrow. Then, there was the baby, the unknown little person due into his life soon.
Lots to live for. If O’Donoghue wanted him dead, he’d have to work for it.
Landry took out most of the cameras. Was it to throw O’Donoghue off if he conducted a sweep, like he had of the conference room? But Landry couldn’t know about O’Donoghue’s faulty RF detector.
Still, there had to be a reason he picked this room for the showdown. Maybe he had his own ways of hiding signals. For the sake of his sanity, Lucky clung to the belief that the camera and mic in this room still worked.
If Landry truly wanted to clear his name, with any luck he’d tease a confession out of his former boss. Lucky still wore a personal mic, even if his earpiece now lay somewhere in his cube. Landry hadn’t searched him, and hadn’t mentioned the earpiece. Maybe he hadn’t seen it. He certainly hadn’t looked for a mic.
Then again, if Lucky came to work for a meeting, why wear a mic?
He eased back, one half-step at a time, putting enough distance between them so he could flip one of the heavy mahogany pieces that made up the massive conference room table. Or duck beneath.
While Lucky retreated, O’Donoghue advanced on his former employee. Landry took a step towards his old boss. Maybe, like a magnet, the DEA man’s ass called to Landry’s nose.
Brown-nosing weasel.
Keeping himself facing forward, Lucky checked his peripherals and took another half-step towards the door. He stopped when two sets of eyes fixed on him.
“You know it won’t just be Bo, Walter, and Johnson coming after your asses, right? You know I have powerful friends, don’t you?” Why keep former drug lords in his life if he didn’t intend to use them?
“What’s he talking about?” Landry asked.
O’Donoghue shrugged. “He’s got ties to an international task force, a bunch of petty criminals like himself. They’ll be no more problem than he is.”
Victor? Nestor? Petty? Oh, hell no. Did O’Donoghue hear himself? He’d met Victor, and not too long ago. Surely the man didn’t really believe the bullshit pouring out of his mouth.
Between these two men, Chastain’s blood stained their hands, whether they did the deed themselves or not. An innocent man, who’d created a new therapy that would’ve helped millions, killed because he had the audacity to say no. Now the people who needed it most wouldn’t see his breakthrough therapy anytime soon—if ever.
“Hey, Landry. You do know that this douchebag killed a man and framed you, right?” If Landry hadn’t pulled the trigger himself. Though, in his paranoid state of mind, Chastain wouldn’t have opened the door for just anyone.
He would if the guy held out an SNB badge, and said Lucky sent him. O’Donoghue knew his way around a camera system too, and spent enough time undercover to create a convincing story.
“As you Southerners are so fond of saying, ‘He needed killing.’ Besides, it sent you the intended message.” O’Donoghue smirked, way too relaxed for the circumstances. Teacher mode, New York cop mode, even “eating crow” mode—this man had many facets. This might be the closest to his true self he’d ever shown at the SNB offices. An evil, greedy, grasping schemer.
Someone blew up Lucky’s car. Arranged Charlotte’s kidnapping.
Man, talk about something sticking in his craw.
As they’d talked, Landry slowly lowered the gun, aiming at Lucky’s middle now instead of his head. A bullet to the torso might not end in death, but it would hurt like hell. Lucky sidled behind a chair, back high enough to reach his collar bones. Not much protection, but he’d take what he could get.
It’d be stupid to shoot him here.
Leather jacket, tactical vest. How much would they protect him?
Lucky bet he wanted to live one hell of a lot more than they wanted him to roll over and die. If he continued slipping backwards, soon he might be far enough away to stand a chance of survival.
“I’m going to shoot him,” Landry said.
“Go ahead,” O’Donoghue replied in bored tones. “I totally agree. We can clean the place in twenty minutes.” He held up gloved hands. “They won’t find my prints, and any other DNA evidence can be boiled down to our having been here in the past for legitimate reasons, and a less-than-efficient cleaning service. After all, many agents and others were with me for a meeting not too long ago in this very room.”
At least Landry and O’Donoghue were too occupied sucking each other’s dicks to pay much attention to Lucky. One more step towards the door; he inched his makeshift shield along with him.
But wait. Landry hadn’t worn gloves. O’Donoghue had. And Landry hadn’t officially been in these offices for a long time.
Lucky’s cellphone rang in his pocket. Landry brought the gun up to Lucky’s face again. “Don’t move, you bastard.”
Lucky held up his hands, palms out. “Wasn’t gonna.” Well, not much. His head spun. Landry said this was about getting even with O’Donoghue. Then again, his words weren’t worth much. Lower the gun again. Lower the gun.
Lucky’s phone stopped ringing and started up again.
Who could be calling? Bo? Walter?
The blood drained from his head, leaving him dizzy. He grasped the back of the chair for support. Charlotte? What if Charlotte called, needing a ride to the hospital? No, she had another two weeks to go, and she’d have said something earlier if she’d gone into labor. When Charlotte wasn’t happy, no one in the immediate vicinity got to be happy either. She’d also been through this twice, she would know when the kid made up its mind to be born. Wouldn’t she?
But Lucky hadn’t been home in a few days. Would Charlotte have told Bo?
The kid. His son or daughter.
The ringing stopped.
And immediately started again. “Maybe I should get that,” he said.
“I’ll blow your brains out, motherfucker.” Landry’s double-handed grip on the gun didn’t hide the slight tremor in his fingers.
Not as confident as he made out. Nice to know. He’d said he didn’t intend to kill Lucky, wanted Lucky’s help bringing down O’Donoghue. What if O’Donoghue forced his hand?
O’Donoghue leaned back against the window with his arms folded across his chest. He spared a bored glance for Landry, whose focus hadn’t left Lucky.
Nearly faster than the eye could follow, O’Donoghue snatched the gun from Landry’s hand and fired.
Lucky froze for one second. A sledgehammer whammed into his chest. He screamed, grabbing his chest and falling to the floor. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Oh, God, that hurt! Breathe in, breathe out. Ow!
Chair stuffing covered the carpet.
“What the hell did you do that for?” Landry shrieked.
Hold still. Play dead. Don’t let them know you’re still breathing. Lucky’s only chance. But damn, hard to stay still when he wanted to writhe and moan.
That would definitely leave a mark. Wait a minute. Didn’t Elsa give him… Keeping one hand pressed against his chest, he fished one of Elsa’s capsules out of his pocket and squee
zed, rubbing his hand around the hole in his jacket. Fake blood ooze through his fingers.
“You muthafucker!”
Lucky used Landry’s yelling to mask any sounds and slithered under the table between two rolling chairs.
As discreetly as possible, he probed the aching part of his chest. No punctured lung. No bullet beyond the armor, but damn it! Sonofabitch shot a hole through his leather jacket. Bo gave him that jacket. Hurt like a mule kick, but the vest did its job.
Lucky eased over enough to see the action from under the table. Ha! His Sig lay on the floor. Must’ve gotten knocked off when he fell. Not close enough to grab, but out of convenient reach of O’Donoghue and Landry.
“I didn’t. You did.” O’Donoghue held the gun in gloved hands. Smug bastard. No wonder he’d used Landry’s gun and not Lucky’s. “Just like you killed Chastain.” He grinned. “Because you’ll take the blame for that too. And kidnapping that crazy bastard’s sister, and destroying his car. You see, your hatred of Lucky Lucklighter drove you insane with the need for revenge. It’s well-known, and you can’t deny it.”
Lucky Lucklighter. There was a name Lucky hadn’t heard in years.
“You… you bastard! Why did you have to frame me?”
“Because, you little maggot,” O’Donoghue snarled. “you wouldn’t go away, and neither would he. This way I can get rid of two of my problems at the same time. He’s like those ugly-assed palmetto bugs. Step on one and they just scuttle off the moment you move your foot.”
A palmetto bug? The nerve!
“What? Why? I did everything you told me to.” Landry’s voice took on the high pitch of a doomed man. Pounding sounded somewhere in the building. Could someone from the gym have wandered down here? God, he hoped not.
“Because you tried to blackmail me, you little shit.” O’Donoghue barked out a bitter laugh. He poured pure hatred into his ugly sneer. “A better job than you deserved still couldn’t shut you up.”
“Blackmail you how? I earned that job. Or, I would have if I’d gotten the drug. But that’s all I’m guilty of.”
