Chapter Twenty-Four
Lucky used every tool at his disposal, but couldn’t seem to find the three missing men. What happened to the trackers on their cars? “Anything?” he asked Keith over the phone.
“Rogers’ car was found in at a Walmart in Valdosta, but nothing else.”
“Keep looking.” Slamming the phone down didn’t offer the same satisfaction it usually did.
How could three dumbasses evade the professionals? Not even a single credit card receipt. Then again, they’d been trained by the same people who’d trained Lucky. Maybe they’d paid attention.
He scrubbed his hand though his hair and hefted his coffee cup. One lone drop rolled out onto his tongue. Damn it!
Oh well, going to the break room gave him an excuse to stroll past the closed conference room door, as slowly as possible without a full stop. What the hell could Victor and Bo possibly be talking about?
All Lucky’s deepest, darkest secrets.
Acid pooled in Lucky’s stomach. He’d never been a saint, never pretended to be, and he’d always been open and honest with anything Bo wanted to know about his life.
Still, some of the things in Lucky’s past didn’t bear repeating. Heat flared up his neck to his face and ears. The things he’d done. The times he’d bragged about stealing a truckload of drugs right out from under the nose of some pharma company.
Or how he’d taken some of those drugs himself, on occasion.
The expensive clothes and jewelry he’d worn as a drug lord’s plaything. Back then he’d been proud of himself, thought he’d risen above his redneck upbringing.
Yet his redneck upbringing saved his life time and again.
What was Victor telling Bo? Once they’d spoken, would Bo ever want anything to do with Lucky again? Lucky sure wouldn’t.
Though he’d been honest with Bo about his life, he hadn’t divulged every little detail. And Victor knew a lot of little details.
What if… What if…
What if Bo decided Lucky wasn’t worth the effort? After all, before they’d met, Bo had a reasonably settled life, no ex-cons, no getting shot at.
Oh, right. Awful father. Four years in the Marines. Facing his own less-than-perfect past.
Only, Bo was perfect. Perfect in every way that mattered.
Perfect for Lucky.
Bo wasn’t jealous of Lucky’s time with Victor, was he? He certainly had nothing to worry about. Victor had been a road Lucky needed to travel to get to the here and now.
“You’re gonna wear the damned carpet out if you don’t quit pacing.” Johnson stopped Lucky mid-stride with a hand to his chest. “Will you trust the man for a minute?”
Lucky gestured to the closed conference room door. “He’s in there with my… with my…”
Johnson rolled her eyes. “How about the senior agent in charge of an international drug investigation, taking a statement from another agent who’s also worked on the case?”
Lucky jerked his head toward Johnson and back to watch the door. “You think that’s all they’re doing?”
“Yes. I’ve already given my statement.”
Lucky glared. “What?”
Johnson sighed, took a few steps down the hall, and parked on the corner of Bo’s desk—there wasn’t enough room on Lucky’s.
“Walter called a meeting to let us know about Mr. Mangiardi’s involvement in the case. When we couldn’t find you and Bo, we were about to send out a search party. Mangiardi said he already had a guy in place.”
“Would’ve been nice if someone had filled me in.”
“Hello! We tried! We couldn’t find you, remember?”
Lucky dug his phone out of his pocket. Oh, still silent. Ten missed calls.
Damn. Well, Lucky never understood the point in admitting to being wrong and saw no need to change what worked.
“Hear anything from Phillip?”
“Not one damned thing. Just wait. I’ll rip him a new asshole the moment…”
Lucky’s attention shot from Johnson’s torture recital to the slowly opening door.
***
Bo stepped out of the conference room, his face giving no hint of what he might be feeling.
Lucky’s heart dropped when Bo murmured, “He wants to see you now.”
Oh.
Shit.
Mouth dry as dust, Lucky passed Bo in the doorway, the boulder in his throat keeping words at bay. At the last moment, Bo met his eyes and flashed a hint of a smile, enough for Lucky to catch a glimpse of The Dimple.
Hallelujah! Whatever he’d face in the conference room, he wouldn’t be alone, even if Bo stood at his side only in spirit.
He took a deep breath, forced a smile for Bo, then donned a neutral face.
The conference room appeared the same as the last time he’d been in there, and he glanced at the windows where he and Bo had held each other on more than one occasion.
Whooshing out a breath, he turned to face his past.
Victor sat at one side of the table, a woman with a laptop next to him.
“Agent Harrison, please, have a seat.” Victor waved a hand to a place across from him, with a big fucking microphone on the table in front of the chair.
Pulse jackhammering, Lucky sat. He hadn’t expected someone else to be there, just him and Victor.
Victor, the man who’d gotten him involved in crime. Well, no. Lucky’d been well on his way to a lawless existence long before he’d stolen Victor’s car and ended up working for a drug lord who’d made him a deal he couldn’t refuse. Not if he wanted to live.
The still-gorgeous sonofabitch exuded the same amount of power as when he’d run an empire.
The moment Lucky dropped down in the chair, Victor began, all business, and acting as though he and Lucky had never met. “State your name and the date, please.”
“Umm… I’ve got a few names. Want them all?”
Victor’s lips twitched upward. “Your current one suffices.” He turned to the woman. “Strike that exchange from the official transcript.”
Lucky spent the next twenty minutes answering questions.
At long last the assistant quietly packed her things and left. “I’ll bring back some coffee if you’d like.”
“Thank you,” Victor said. “You know how I like mine.”
“Black, with stevia if there’s any in the breakroom.” Lucky wasn’t about to turn down a cup of coffee, and Victor ordering coffee might mean the conversation wasn’t over.
Victor folded his hands on the table, gazing at Lucky with blank face.
The woman returned a moment later. She showed emotion for the first time since Lucky entered the room, giving him an encouraging nod along with a full cup. He took a sip and sighed.
Stevia. Most likely decaf. Bo must still be here, hovering and pacing, like Lucky had.
Being alone with Victor caused the hairs on the back of Lucky’s neck to prickle. What would the man say? Cuss Lucky out for testifying against him all those years ago?
The hint of no-doubt expensive cologne tickled Lucky’s nose, and this close, he made out the tiny lines around Victor’s eyes.
He fought back images of them naked in bed in a tangle of limbs, or Lucky bent over a desk.
Ancient history.
Victor’s professional mask fell into a warm smile Lucky bet few people got to see. He had. He’d held the man when he’d been sad, seen the vulnerability under Victor’s iron-clad armor. Had done his best to nurse Victor through a bout of the flu until Victor ran him out of the room and rang for the housekeeper.
In low, sultry tones, Victor said, “It’s good to see you, Lucky.”
Should Lucky say the same? How did he actually feel about seeing his old lover?
Victor chuckled. “I know, I know. You never expected to lay eyes on me again.” He spread his hands. “And yet here I am.”
“Here you are.” Lucky managed to get words out with a too-thick tongue. Go, him!
Long, elegant fingers with buffed nails lifted the cup for Victor to sip his coffee. He nodded toward Lucky. “Go on, drink up. As much as you used to love coffee, I doubt you’ve lost the taste.”
Stress wound Lucky tight. “What do you want? Out with it.”
“You never were the type for social niceties, were you?” Victor grinned. “How comforting that some things never change.”
There had to be a point to this. Lucky gritted his teeth. This man had threatened to kill him, taught him much of what he knew about sex, had spoiled him, taken him places Lucky never knew existed, and had been the reason for Lucky’s downfall.
He’d wondered from time to time what he might say if he got the chance, recalled the years of torment and regret. “I carried around a load of guilt, thinking you’d killed yourself because I’d testified against you.” There, he’d spoken his ugliest secret, but unlike what all those TV shrinks said, confession didn’t make him feel any better.
Victor’s eyes went wide, then he carefully schooled his features back to neutral. “I didn’t know. I wish I could’ve told you the plans I’d put into motion for you, plans that nearly fell through.” He paused, staring at Lucky without saying a word.
Lucky couldn’t meet his gaze anymore and studied his coffee cup instead.
So low he strained to hear, the man who’d cut his heart out by faking suicide said, “I’m sorry. I had no idea you’d blame yourself. If I had…”
Against his better judgement, Lucky glanced up.
Victor shook his head. “No, there was no way to let you know what I’d planned. If I could, I would have. I did my best to make sure you didn’t serve long on your sentence.”
It might be rude, but Lucky had to know. “How long were you in prison?”
Victor’s eyebrows reached for his hairline. He showed so much more emotion than he used to with most people. Could it be that he let his guard down with Lucky, reverting to old habits given their familiarity? “Technically, I’m still in prison.” He drummed the fingers of one manicured hand on the tabletop. “I received a life sentence, if you recall. After twenty years of acting as a consultant to various countries in their wars on drugs, I might get to retire, if I continue to play nice.”
Try as he might, Lucky couldn’t fight a snicker. “You? Play nice?”
Victor’s smirk woke a storm of emotions in Lucky’s heart. Gratitude he hadn’t killed the man, the irony of someone from his past who might not want to kill him, but not anything he’d expected to feel. No conflict, no lingering feelings.
A stranger sat before him.
“Do you remember the night we met?” Victor asked.
Lucky snorted. “How could I forget? You threatened to kill me.”
A half-smile tugged up the corners of Victor’s mouth. “I did, didn’t I?” The smile fell. “I’d watched you for weeks, how you carefully plotted and carried out your plans like a seasoned car thief. I was so impressed that I allowed you to take my car simply to see an artist at work. You showed so much promise. I wanted to be the one who helped you become who you could be.”
“What? An ex-con?” Lucky tried to summon anger but couldn’t blame his choices on Victor. Even if Victor had let him walk away that night, he’d have found plenty of trouble on his own.
“No, Lucky, someone who put their whole heart into whatever they did.” He swept a hand toward the walls. “Look at what you’ve done. You’ve not only served out your time, you’ve risen to the top of your game, come farther than even you knew you could, didn’t you?”
Heat rose around Lucky’s collar. He was tired, hungry, and needed to see Bo. “Would you get on with whatever you have to say?”
“Ah, impatient, are you?” Victor cut his gaze toward the door. “I suppose you don’t want to keep your partner waiting.”
“What the hell business is it of yours?” Lucky snapped.
Victor held up a hand. “I merely wanted to say that you’ve done well for yourself. Mr. Schollenberger is a lucky man.”
“I’m the lucky one,” Lucky blurted without thought.
“Indeed. As you bore guilt for me, I’ve spent a good number of years deep in regret over you.”
Lucky choked on his mouthful of coffee, barely avoiding a spew. “What?”
Victor even managed to make a sigh sound elegant. “I didn’t give you a choice when I offered you a job, and it’s occurred to me that you might have stayed with me for so many years out of fear for your life, nothing more.”
No. After the first few months, he’d worried about Victor tiring of him, not of being killed. “I stayed because I wanted to.”
“I realize that now. Which is why I’m here, speaking to you.”
Oh, God. Surely, he wasn’t about to suggest…
Crinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes when Victor gave Lucky a fond smile, one Lucky remembered from years ago, only with less crinkles. “I cared for you a great deal. I’m not sure if I ever told you that.”
“No, you didn’t. In the end, you tried to take me with you to Rio.” A passport in another name, with Lucky’s picture, the evidence that had made him realize he’d been conned into testifying against Victor.
Nestor’s account of Victor’s plans for making a home in Mexico, with Lucky.
“Yes, I did. I couldn’t leave you behind to face up to things I’d forced you into.”
“I wouldn’t have left my family behind.”
“I know. I also know you believed I’d been the one to send your brother drugs.” Victor captured Lucky’s attention with a serious gaze. “I’d never have hurt you or your family. As I said, I cared for you, you were so much more than my protégé. You were also one of the few people who never wanted anything from me but me.”
“Where are you going with this?”
“I merely want to say I’m sorry for what I led you into, how proud I am of the man you’ve become and the life you’ve built for yourself. Walter Smith is a much better mentor than I could ever hope to be.” He leaned back in his chair. “I’d still like you to join me in a professional capacity.”
Lucky didn’t waste a moment before answering, “My life is here.”
“I know that. Just like mine is where I am. I used to regret keeping you with me when I really should have let you go, but you weren’t some silly dreamer who wanted hearts and flowers and happily ever after. And you weren’t after my money. What you needed I couldn’t give you.”
What the hell was Lucky supposed to say? “Victor, I…”
“Shh… No need to say anything. We were meant to be in each other’s lives for only a little while. I learned much from you, and I’d like to think you learned from me, and that our time together wasn’t all bad.”
Lucky recalled a house in Florida, Victor opening the windows to let in the fragrance of orange blossoms because Lucky liked the smell. Of paying for his brothers’ education, helping out Lucky’s parents financially, and buying Charlotte a house so she could escape an abusive ex-husband.
Most recently, paying for his father’s liver transplant.
“No, it wasn’t all bad,” Lucky admitted.
“All the same, guilt ate at me that I couldn’t give you the love you deserved.”
Nestor. The way Victor lit up when Nestor visited, how he’d valued a portrait of his mother, more for the artist than the subject. The evidence Lucky had found after overnight trips that Victor hadn’t spent the time alone. “Your heart belonged to someone else.”
Victor’s smile turned bittersweet. “As it still does. As yours does to the lovely man I met a short while ago.”
No question there. “Yes.”
“I’m glad you found happiness. You deserve it. After you turned down Nestor’s job offer, I swore I’d leave you alone. Watch over you, yes, but not interfere with your life. I hadn’t expected for us to come face to face again.” Victor smoothed a finger over the rim of his coffee cup. “We’d been investigating Forsyth for several months when Walter Smith called, said you were being followed.”
Walter? “Walter called you?” Why didn’t he say so?
“I’d told him to call me if ever you were in danger.” Victor closed his eyes for a moment. “At this point I’d like to apologize for what my worthless nephew did to you and your partner. Unfortunately, he had to be given enough rope to hang himself, which he did. Well, not literally.” He opened his eyes and flinched. “Sorry. Poor choice of words. No offense.”
“None taken.” May Stephan rot in hell for forcing addiction on Bo.
“Anyway, when you connected the dots between your own case and Forsyth, I sent Cruz to investigate. You made things difficult for the perpetrators of this crime.”
“How so?”
Victor chuckled. “Surely you know of your bastard reputation with most of the agents.”
Oh. That. “Yeah, I do.”
Victor dropped the friendly persona and became the calculating businessman Lucky remembered from their first meeting. “They believed you would have found something on Chastain during your audit to aid their case in shutting down operations.”
“Instead I filed a report showing nothing wrong.” Even doing his best Lucky hadn’t uncovered one single violation.
“Correct. They fabricated something, but you were too damned stubborn to let things die. They’d been keeping an eye on you for weeks, hoping to find something, anything to work with. You deprived them.”
“Why attack Walter?”
Victor blinked, head cocked to the side. “Why? Because he believed you, of course, and intended to launch an official investigation once he’d accumulated enough corroborating evidence.”
“Like what was in the file.”
“Yes.”
“So, they shut him up and took the file.” Fuckers. They all needed a good ass-whooping.
“Correct.”
“What about me? O’Donoghue’s guys followed me for weeks. Then a guy followed me in a BMW.”
Victor nodded and scowled. “Yes. Although the video showed you only read the first page of the documents, they couldn’t be certain of what you knew and who you might share information with. My man intercepted the driver of the BMW, the hard way.”
He paused to take a sip of coffee. “In order for Forsyth to assume control of Chastain, they needed you to stop your investigation. Mr. Smith contacted me before he’d been hospitalized, did you know that? We’ve been watching this situation for weeks, waiting to get all the evidence we needed.”
Lucky nearly choked on a mouthful of coffee. “He what?”
“The moment your findings were overridden, he called me to consult on what I might know. As it turns out, I knew a lot.”
Same old Victor, doling out info on an as-needed basis, using knowledge as power. Lucky hated the not knowing what he needed to back then, like Victor planning to take Lucky with him to avoid arrest, and he hated it now. They’d been lovers, but Victor never viewed Lucky as an equal, more like someone to be coddled and cared for.
Lucky took care of himself. “Don’t you think you should’ve told me?”
“No. I needed you to continue being as you normally are. Trust me, we wouldn’t have let anything happen to you or yours.” Victor let out a sigh. “I’m truly sorry I couldn’t have stopped the attack on Walter Smith.”
“What about O’Donoghue?”
“O’Donoghue?” Victor clucked his tongue. “Ah, Lucky, you’ve let personal feelings close your eyes. Jameson O’Donoghue has nothing to do with this case, except for maybe letting his personal feelings close his eyes as well.”
“Then who?”
“The president of Forsyth Pharmaceuticals, in collaboration with one of O’Donoghue’s minions, as you call them. The former is in custody, but I’m afraid Owen Landry, Phillip Eustace, and Gregory Rogers are at large. Owen Landry attempted to hire someone to kill you, which brings us to where we are now.”
The little shit. “Where are we now?”
“You and your partner will take a few days off, under 24-hour protection, as will Mr. Smith. Once the suspects are apprehended, you’ll return to work.”
“What? You expect me to…”
Victor’s face hardened to a well-remembered glare. “I expect you to follow orders.” His tone softened. “Nestor and I hold you in high esteem. If you ever need us, you call. Until now I’ve dealt with Walter, but as he will soon retire, I’ll deal directly with you.”
Lucky’s throat closed. Deal directly with Victor? And by extension, Nestor? Dangerous men, both. Seeing them as good guys might take a few more years of therapy. “Why?”
Victor’s eyebrows shot upward. “Why? Because you’re a good man, whether you wish to admit it or not. I value good men. I’ll be sure to leave contact information. If you ever change your mind about joining us, the offer holds.”
Well, this certainly hadn’t gone the way Lucky expected, but like hell would he lounge around the house while the assholes who’d tried to kill him walked free. “Thanks. I think.”
“Nestor sends his regards.”
Lucky nodded to Victor’s left hand. “That’s not the ring you used to wear.”
Victor grinned, more openly than Lucky had ever seen before. “Yes. It took us both years to see what was in front of us all the time.” He held up his hand, running a thumb over the wedding band in question. “Now go. Your partner is probably beside himself with worry.”
When Lucky opened the door to leave, a question he’d always longed to ask started making demands. “That night, when you caught me trying to steal your car.”
“Yes.”
“Would you have actually killed me if I didn’t agree to work for you?”
“What do you think?”
Lucky peered back over his shoulder and threw Victor’s long-ago words back at him, “That you’d sooner destroy fine art than a talented thief?”
Victor barked out a laugh. “Maybe I should kill you because you know me so well.”
Tight bands uncoiled from around Lucky’s chest. “See you around, Victor, maybe.” He closed the door, both on the conference room and his past.