by Eden Winters
“You knew too much, but didn’t have the common sense to keep your mouth shut to the others. Anyway, who’s going to believe you? I’m an SNB director.” O’Donoghue’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen, then back up at Landry. “What the hell did you do?”
“What? What do you think I did?”
“That truck was supposed to sail right on through here and be close to North Carolina by now. It’s been impounded. Do you realize the trouble you just made for me?” For the first time, O’Donoghue looked shaken, flicking his glance out the window and back. “These men don’t play. If I can’t deliver safe passage for their cargo, I’m dead, and so are others.”
“What are you talking about, Jameson?” The confusion on Landry’s face said he wasn’t lying. He wasn’t a good enough actor to pull that off.
O’Donoghue stepped forward, Landry stepped back. Lucky eased his hand down and unclipped his ankle holster. “You know, if I shot you now, I’d be a hero. You shot an agent, and an innocent business owner.”
“I did not! I never intended…”
O’Donoghue stopped in his tracks. “Didn’t intend what?”
Landry yanked a chair from under the table, shoving the upholstered battering ram into O’Donoghue.
“Ahh!” O’Donoghue fell backwards, landing on his ass. A shot sounded, bullet digging into wood above Lucky’s head. Oh shit. Time to move!
Lucky crab-crawled toward the head of the table. God, any movement hurt.
O’Donoghue’s elbow connected with Landry’s nose. Blood spurted. Landry grabbed him, locking them together in a fight for the gun.
A hard shove from O’Donoghue slammed Landry’s back against the wall. The .38 clattered to the floor. They both dropped and scrambled for the gun.
Landry brought his forehead down against O’Donoghue’s. Crack! That had to hurt!
Not enough to stop O’Donoghue.
They rolled, kicking and clawing, two pairs of hands fighting for the gun. Landry grabbed the barrel and screamed, yanking back his burned hand.
Lucky had to get the gun. Landry got there first, clutching the handle in a vise grip, fighting O’Donoghue’s attempts to wrest control. The gun fired wildly. A window shattered.
Landry brought his knee up, barely missing O’Donoghue’s junk.
Ignoring the fire shooting through his chest, Lucky lunged and grabbed his Sig. With the two men locked together, he couldn’t get a clear shot. Which one would he shoot?
Hands still wrapped around Landry’s, O’Donoghue turned the gun, an evil grin on his face. A shot rang out.
Landry fell. He lay on his back again, staring at nothing. A red dot trickled blood from his forehead. Oh shit! The mutherfucker shot him! Lucky’s heart pounded. Right… there. Landry was alive one moment, the next?
He lay in a puddle of gore.
O’Donoghue shot his former employee. And Lucky. No remorse. Cold. Calculating.
“Stop. Don’t move.” Bo burst into the room, gun drawn.
Hallelujah! The iron bands around Lucky’s chest loosened.
“Thank God, you’re here,” O’Donoghue exclaimed. “Landry shot Lucky. I had…I had to…”
“You had to cover your ass. Yeah, we know. The camera in this room still works. So does Lucky’s microphone. You got sloppy, you arrogant son of a bitch.” Bo stared the man down, gun aimed and jaw clenched.
Lucky’s earlier backup stepped up beside him. “We’ve got him,” one said.
For a moment Bo didn’t move, nostrils flaring, and pure rage in his eyes.
Did he actually think the bastard killed Lucky? “Bo?”
Bo jumped, then peered beneath the table. “Oh, my God. Lucky? Are you okay? We lost you on the camera feed, and I thought… I thought…” His brown eyes had never looked more beautiful, even filled with tears as they were now.
Lucky winced, but nodded. “Still breathing.”
The “oh shit” expression on O’Donoghue’s face? Priceless.
Bo gave Lucky a quick once-over, brow furrowed, and returned his attention to the matter at hand. “Get his weapon, and search him.”
One of the officers took a step toward O’Donoghue. “Sir, put the gun on the table and back away. Keep your hands visible.”
Yeah, dickhead thought he could get away with shooting Lucky and Landry. The chink of metal around O’Donoghue’s wrists when the officer snapped the cuffs on made the sweetest sound. As did O’Donoghue’s grunts and groans during a none-to-gentle search.
Lucky tuned out the yada, yada of the officer informing O’Donoghue of his rights, as he slowly crawled out from under the table, and took the hand Bo offered. Bo pulled…
“Oh, God!” Lucky let go, clutching his chest. Fire shot through him.
Bo dropped down beside him. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry. I saw the shot…”
Lucky rapped on his chest. “Vivienne’s gift, remember? I’m not shot, but feels like a mutherfucking mule kicked me.” He owed Vivienne and Elsa dinner for the save. Without them, he’d have never seen Bo again.
“What about all the blood?”
“Trust me. It’s not mine. It’s fake.” Lucky glanced down. One helluva convincing fake.
This time, Bo put an arm around Lucky’s shoulders, easing him to his feet. Lucky rose on shaky legs. He didn’t step away immediately. Right now, he needed Bo’s touch. Collapsing against his man, holding him, seemed the best idea in the world.
With great effort he pulled back. Not the time. Not the place.
Keith barged into the conference room, followed by Cruz and Walter. Lucky spotted a few more uniforms in the hallway.
Walter cleared his throat. Lucky had never seen the man so visibly angry. He clenched both fists, face a dangerous shade of red. “Jameson O’Donoghue. I’ve seen good agents go bad in my time, but never have I seen anyone so thoroughly disgrace the organization and all we stand for.”
O’Donoghue’s father and brother died in the line of duty. Even at his worst Lucky hadn’t done so much to disappoint his family.
Lucky’s phone vibrated. He finally yanked it out of his pocket. Six missed calls. Fourteen texts. Some from Johnson or Bo asking for status, one from Ty: “Mama’s in labor.”
CHAPTER 24
One more minute in this conference room and Lucky would scream and run. Under the watchful eye of some SNB brass, he sat in the mangled chair that helped save his life, and gave his statement, again. He eyed the door while fending off paramedics with some well-aimed evil eye. “Look, can I do this later?” No more messages came in on his cell phone, and the texts he sent Ty went unanswered. He bounced his leg. How long did they plan to keep him?
“Someplace you gotta be?” one of the SNB legal staff asked, sipping on a cup of coffee that had to have gone cold ten minutes ago.
The hovering paramedics gave up and wandered off. What did it say about Lucky that he could self-diagnose based on past work-related injuries? The bruising over his sternum told its own story. Bruised but nothing broken. Dr. Lucky prescribed no intense hugging, and Bo topping for a few days.
His aches paled in comparison with what Charlotte went through, if her and their mother’s horror stories of labor and delivery proved even halfway true.
“My sister’s having a baby. I need to get to the hospital.” There was no doubt at all of O’Donoghue’s guilt. A recorded confession even. What did they need with Lucky? He drummed his fingers on the tabletop.
A cutting glare from the interviewer made him stop.
Momentarily.
“If Charlotte Lucklighter is in labor, I suggest you let her brother go,” Walter drawled. “Remember, you asked for her resume after reading the attempted kidnapping report. Can you imagine her reaction if she knew you kept her brother away when she needed him?"
The man held his hands up in mock horror. “Oh, then, by all means, go. We got what we need. If we have more questions, we’ll call later.” He gave Lucky a tired smile. “We know w
here you live.”
“You and everybody else, buddy.” The reason Lucky shelled out a lot of money for a state-of-the-art monitored security system. Would Moose object to sharing his humans with a couple of trained attack dogs?
Cat Lucky sure would.
Of course, in this case “we” also knew where he worked. Probably what he had for breakfast and the last time he’d had sex.
The interviewer didn’t mention knowing there was more to his sister having a baby than met the eye. Feeling Bo’s imaginary elbow in his side, he said, “Thanks, man.”
As though his thoughts cast a summons, Bo charged into the conference room. He immediately sought out Lucky, running an appraising gaze up and down his body. Seeing for himself that Lucky was okay, he turned his mind to business, chatting with the Atlanta PD officers milling about the room.
Lucky stood still. Watching. Bo. Here. Now.
Then who the hell was with Charlotte? Surely, they’d found Rett.
At last Walter gave Bo a tired smile and swatted him on the arm. “Go. We can handle this.”
Bo gave him a grateful smile, nodded to Lucky, and turned on his heel.
Lucky waited a full ten seconds before taking a deep breath and heaving himself out of the chair. Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow. “Bo, I don’t know if you’ve heard or not, but Charlotte’s in labor.”
“What?” Bo fished his phone out of his pocket, face losing color with each passing second. “We gotta go! Rett took me to get my truck, and one of Cruz’s guys brought your car.”
Lucky would rather ride with Bo, but yeah, they’d need both vehicles at home. “By the way, Bo. How the hell did you bypass the locked doors?”
“Ummm… Let’s just say I tested the integrity of the system and found a weakness. Now, c’mon. Let’s go.”
“Good luck,” Keith said, raising his coffee cup in toast.
Of course, the fuckwad knew.
Lucky checked his phone again. Another message from Ty. “Ma says get ur ass to hospital.”
Bo’s SUV sailed right through, but every traffic light in Atlanta caught Lucky’s rental car. After dark—when the hell had that happened? —on a Saturday meant everybody and their brother loaded into cars and headed somewhere.
Must be a concert or a ballgame or something letting out.
At long last he made it to the hospital, pulling his vehicle next to Bo’s empty one. Well, yeah. Bo likely arrived ten minutes ago and got tired of waiting.
Lucky raced across the parking lot. No time! No time! He dodged a family, jumped something—who knew what—and sprinted for the hospital’s front door. Bad ankle be damned, and clutching his chest sorta made his injuries hurt less.
“Sir, sir?” a lady called from the front desk.
He ignored her. She was sitting down and halfway across the room. He could beat her to the elevator.
All four elevators showed stopped on upper floors. Stairs? His ankle said, “Oh, hell no!”
A small group of people stepped back at his approach. He didn’t smell that bad, did he? Oh, the bullet hole in his jacket and fake blood. He might have to use those in the future, maybe to open up a checkout line while shopping this coming Christmas. The hand he jabbed again and again at the elevator buttons was shy a couple of fingers.
Yeah, so he looked like a horror movie extra.
Well, if they weren’t that interested in the elevator, he’d grab the next one. No one stepped on with him. He punched the button five times before the doors closed.
One floor, two floors. C’mon, c’mon. Finally, the doors opened. He remembered this floor. He’d been here often enough with Andro.
He charged down the corridors. If anyone spoke to him, he didn’t hear, not with places to go and babies to see.
No sign of Bo, Rett, or Charlotte. Oh, of course, no Charlotte. She’d be in a room somewhere, doing all the work. Who’d made the trip back there with her? Bo? Rett?
At last he shoved his way through the double doors leading to the glassed enclosure separating oohing and aahing family members from recent additions.
A small crowd gathered around one end of the room. He spotted a familiar dark head. “Bo?”
Bo spun, confusion turning to a grin. “Lucky!” He wrapped his arms around Lucky. Everyone else stepped back, leaving an opening for Lucky and Bo to slip into.
“Look!” Bo exclaimed, turning Lucky and leading him forward with a firm hand on his back. In the front bassinet lay a sleeping form wrapped in pink, with tiny little fingers, a shock of dark hair standing up like a troll doll’s, and a tiny, tiny nose.
Pink. A little girl. His little girl.
Oh, God. She looked like Bo. “Is… is…” Words wouldn’t come from Lucky’s dry mouth. She was… beautiful.
Bo grinned. “That’s her. Our daughter.”
“Our… our…” Daughter. A little girl. Hairbows and ribbons. Dolls and stuffed bears. Or trucks. Whatever baby girl wanted; baby girl would get.
Sitting on the front porch with a shotgun to keep boys away when she got older.
She was… she was…
The most beautiful baby girl to ever live. Her brother claimed the most beautiful baby boy honors.
A heavy hand landed on his shoulder. “Oh, my God! She’s gorgeous!”
He turned to face Rett, grinning so hard his face ached. “Rett…” His eyes went wide. “Rett?” He turned to Bo. “Bo? Who the hell is with Charlotte?”
“That’d be me.” All three spun to face the newcomer.
Jimmy.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Jimmy gave an “I know something you don’t” smile. “Charlotte couldn’t reach you three, so she called me. I’ve got three sisters, three nephews, and two nieces. Not my first rodeo.” He smiled at the glass. “Isn’t she amazing? Looks just like Charlotte, don’t you think?”
Were they looking at the same kid? Little Bo lay in the bassinet.
Time enough to deal with Jimmy later. At least when Lucky hadn’t been there for his sister, she hadn’t been alone. Jimmy had his uses after all. Andro was a big brother. Lucky was a father.
Again.
“What’s her name?” Jimmy asked.
Lucky and Bo exchanged a glance, and Bo pulled a slip of paper from his wallet. Together they reviewed the list. Somehow, the names they’d thought so perfect while scribbling them didn’t seem so perfect now.
In the bassinet, the baby began to cry, waving her fists and wailing. Lucky pressed his nose to the plexiglass. “Is she okay?” Somebody needed to come get his daughter before he fought his way to her.
What a set of lungs! A Lucklighter kid, all right.
A nurse came up to the glass and lifted the baby. She calmed instantly, though her lower lip still trembled. “So, she likes attention like her father,” Bo quipped.
Lucky scowled. “If you know so much about her, what’s her name?” He felt a tug on his sleeve, and looked down to see Rett’s son. He wasn’t hiding behind his mother, and stared at Lucky full on.
Lucky squatted down to be on the kid’s level. “What’s up, little man?” Any second now, he’d run back behind his mother. He never came near Lucky, and rarely spoke.
Lucky nearly toppled backward when the kid said in a clear, determined voice, “Her name is Jenny.”
What?
“What did you say?” Bo asked, kneeling.
Rone turned from Lucky to Bo. “Her name is Jenny.”
A wrinkle formed between Bo’s brows, and he mouthed the name: Jenny Schollenberger. His lips turned up into a smile. “What about a middle name?”
“It’s Lynn!” Rone insisted.
“Jenny Lynn Schollenberger.” Bo turned to Lucky. “What do you think?”
Rett stood off to the side, hand over her mouth and failing miserably at hiding a laugh. What the hell? Was she making fun of Lucky being all doting father?
One eye on Rett, who’d nearly doubled over with laughter now, Lucky replied. “Well, something simple
works. I’d hate for her to be in high school before she can spell her full name, and we’re already giving her a mouthful with Schollenberger.”
“Jenny Lynn Schollenberger.” Bo rose and grinned at the baby through the glass. “Hi, Jenny. Welcome to the world.”
Tears streaming from her eyes, Rett laughed so hard that she gasped for breath and slid down the wall.
As they were leaving to visit with Charlotte, Lucky hissed at Rett, “What the hell are you laughing at?”
Rett giggled, forcing out words while trying to catch her breath. “Charlotte… showed him… the nursery. He saw something… writing… on the… on the crib. He thought it was… her name.” She slapped Lucky on the back, nearly knocking him down, and wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. “Jenny Lind is the brand of her crib.”
At least being named after furniture beat being named after a NASCAR track.
One day he’d tell little Jenny Lynn how she got her name.
Or make Rone tell her.
CHAPTER 25
Sunday, Bo spent a good deal of the morning at the SNB offices, while Lucky and Ty cleaned the house, bought groceries, and in general got their home ready for a new arrival.
Lucky’s chest and arm still hurt, but like hell would he let a few injuries slow him down.
Much.
All while chasing Andro across the floor, and dealing with two more teeth coming in. Moose insisted on the attention he didn’t get while kenneled at the vet—and possibly missing Charlotte—while Cat Lucky lay on the back of the couch, in the same position, for a solid six hours, only leaving his perch for the whir of the can opener.
Lucky called Charlotte—again. “Sure I can’t bring you some breakfast or something? Scrambled eggs and black beans?”
“Scrambled eggs and… eww. No. Just… No.” Mumbling in the background, and Charlotte giggled. So, not there alone. Probably Jimmy.
Still, she giggled. How long since she’d been truly happy? He couldn’t begrudge her that. Bo would kill him if he tried.
“I’m sorry, Lucky. I really tried to hold off until your birthday, but once this little girl made her mind up to be born… Whoot! I was only in labor about four hours. Anyhoo, they’re letting us out of here around three. I’ll text when I’m ready for you to come get us.”
