Chapter Eight
“You better get back soon. That shit O’Donoghue’s being an asshole.” Even with Walter lying in bed unresponsive Lucky couldn’t tell him the jerk took over the office.
The office? No, Walter’s office.
Lucky sat in the chair at Walter’s bedside. The old man’s skin now held a healthier, if pale, color, and they’d removed the horrid mask from over his face. He still had tubes running under his nose and into his nostrils. The place reeked of antiseptic. Lucky’d wound up spending way too much time in hospitals lately.
“My nephews are running me ragged. Was I that hard to understand at sixteen? Jeez!” He stared at the man lying immobile on the bed. “Moose sends you a tail wag and expects you to come over and give him a belly rub.” Babbling didn’t keep Lucky’s brain from churning.
Walter might not wake up—or wake up a lot less than Lucky remembered. What would happen to him? Walter and his wife had no kids. Who’d take care of the house? Mrs. Smith didn’t drive. Who’d take her to the grocery store, especially since delivery hadn’t come to their neck of the woods yet?
Ty was sixteen. Wanted to drive. Giving the kid something to do on weekends might take his mind off his problems, make him feel needed. He could cut grass. Lucky’d pay him, or work with him. Maybe they’d finally reach an understanding. It would do him good to take on some responsibility, earn some money. And Mrs. Smith wouldn’t be alone.
Or he could get Todd off the couch during the day. Ride to work with Bo and leave the Camaro.
Lucky could…
Lucky stopped cold. Had he really been planning for the worst? No. The game couldn’t be over for Walter. If anyone could beat whatever the hell happened to him, Mt. Walter could.
Only, what had happened to him to begin with? All tests came out negative, except for the ones Walter had already mentioned would be out of normal range.
What if… What if…
What if Walter’s attack wasn’t from natural causes?
***
Washed up, wrung out, and hung out to dry. That’s how Lucky felt. Squeezed of all emotion after a weekend spent more or less at the hospital. He’d woken up to a lot of Mondays in his life, and they’d all sucked.
He stepped off the elevator onto the floor housing the Southeastern Narcotics Bureau’s Department of Diversion Prevention and Control. Lisa jumped out from behind the reception desk the moment he passed by.
“Lu… I mean, Mr. Harrison?” She gave him a fleeting smile.
“Yes?” While he’d been known to socialize with the receptionist, her husband, and her kid, she usually kept a formal distance at work.
Lisa came close, keeping her voice low. “Any word on Mr. Smith?”
“They didn’t tell me much.” Not that the doctors admitted not knowing anything, even though Mrs. Smith kept up the charade of Lucky being her son. Doctors were supposed to be experts, right? “Too early to tell,” they said, and “we can’t be certain of permanent damage.” Worthless, the lot of them.
“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. The department sent flowers.” She wrung her hands, keeping her eyes downcast.
Ah, hell. He’d been too caught up in his own pity party to realize she suffered too. She’d probably started working here fresh out of college, had known Walter for years. More than likely he’d been like a father to her too.
“You okay?” He’d never gotten good at the comforting people thing, but he wasn’t a total jerk. Bo wouldn’t let him be.
She sniffled. No! Not tears! He jerked his head right and left, searching for someone, anyone. Where was Bo? Could they tag up?
Lisa buried her face on Lucky’s shoulder. Sobs wracked her body.
Well, damn. If she was his sister, he would want someone to comfort her. He wrapped his arms around the tiny blonde. She wept harder. If she didn’t stop soon, he’d join her.
Her hair smelled fruity and she wore soft perfume. Bo wore cologne.
So did Walter.
Suddenly he didn’t mind the trembling body. “What are we going to do, if he… if he…” Lisa wailed.
“Shh… He won’t,” Lucky assured her, though his heart twisted at the possibility. He stroked her head, her hair soft against his fingertips.
“Well, well, well, what have we here? You decide to finally try women? I’m not sure Lisa’s husband’s gonna like sharing.”
The venom in the voice ran Lucky’s blood cold. He turned his head, but Lisa clung too tightly for him to let go. “What is your problem?”
Keith, the man who’d gotten on Lucky’s bad side the day he’d shown up at the bureau. He’d been out of the office long enough for Lucky to hope he’d never come back.
Yet, he had.
“What’s wrong?” Keith chided. “Your boyfriend get tired of your worthless ass and leave you?”
Lisa struggled. Lucky let her go, put himself between her and Keith, and gave his best back-the-fuck-off scowl. “Let me tell you one thing, you sonofabitch—”
Lisa stepped out from behind Lucky, glaring at Keith. “Walter Smith had a heart attack, you ass!”
For a moment, Keith’s eyes went wide, then took on a predatory gleam. “Oh. So that’s it. With Walter gone, no one’s left to defend you. Start packing now, ‘cause your days here are numbered.”
How dare this motherfucker talk about Walter! Heat bubbled up inside, and Lucky’s vision blackened around the edges. All he saw clearly was the smirking face of his enemy.
He swung…
Arms wrapped around him from behind, like bands of steel. “Let me go. I’m gonna kick his useless ass!”
Safe again, Keith sneered, “You and whose army?”
Lucky lunged but the arms held tight.
Bo growled into his ear, “What is this about?”
Lisa snarled, “Keith talked smack about Walter.”
Bo spoke over Lucky’s shoulder. “Is that true?”
Keith laughed. “This ex-con piece of shit wouldn’t even be working here if Smith hadn’t pulled some strings.”
Bo stiffened and ice dripped from his words. “You do realize that Walter Smith is in the hospital fighting for his life, right?”
Keith flinched, but wasn’t smart enough to shut up. “Schollenberger, I’ve nothing but respect for the man, but he must’ve stood too close to a crack dealer the day he brought that pile of filth onboard permanently.” He nodded toward Lucky.
Boss had also legally changed Lucky’s name and made his criminal record disappear. No one was supposed to mention who Lucky used to be. Keith threatened to undo all Walter’s hard work to give Lucky a second chance.
Bo replied calmly. Years spent with the man allowed Lucky to hear the underlying threat. “Don’t try to drag me into your petty pissing contest, Keith. The only pile of filth I see is you. If you say one more thing about Walter—”
“Yeah, Keith.” Lisa glared at Keith. “As soon as Walter gets back…”
“He’s not coming back!” Keith screeched. “He’s gone.”
“I tried being reasonable.” Bo released his hold.
Lucky lunged. Fist met jaw with a satisfying crunch.
Keith reeled. The gathering crowd jumped back and let him fall. He writhed on the floor, clutching his face.
Applause drowned out his protests.
“What the fucking hell is going on here?” Jameson O’Donoghue thundered down the hall, trailed by his pet assistant, Phillip. The crowd parted to let him through.
“He hit me!” Keith struggled to regain his feet and failed, either for show or for sympathy. He gave Lucky a smug grin.
“I’d be happy to do it again, asswipe,” Lucky growled.
“Anybody doing any hitting around here, it will be me.” O’Donoghue stood with his hands on his hips, face scrunched into a scowl.
Lucky wore it better. He clenched his jaw.
Instead of addressing Lucky, O’Donoghue spoke to a rookie standing close by. “Did you see what happened?”
“Yessir. Keith was being a dick about Mr. Smith’s heart attack,” the woman replied. Maybe Lucky wouldn’t be so hard on her the next time they met.
“And Harrison hit him?”
The woman never flinched, even under the cringe-inducing force of O’Donoghue’s red-faced sneer and nearly palpable rage. “Yessir. I… Um… I think he speaks for us all, sir.”
What? Lucky whipped his head around, taking in the folks around him, including some he barely knew.
“Is that so?” O’Donoghue’s face turned a scary shade of red.
The witness flinched but stood her ground. “Yessir.”
If O’Donoghue didn’t stop scowling, his face might freeze like that and match a certain sulky teenager. “I’ll take care of Harrison later.”
Lucky bristled.
“Now, while I have you all together”—O’Donoghue clapped his hands— “I’d like to say that I’m not at liberty to discuss details, but many of you know that Walter Smith is indisposed. While I’m filling in for him, there’s going to be a few changes around here.”
What the fuck? Low murmurs agreed with Lucky.
“Although I’m from a different organization, the SNB brass felt I’m most qualified to assume Mr. Smith’s responsibilities at this time.” He turned in a circle, raking a calculating gaze over the assembled. “If anyone has any kind of problem”—he skewered Keith with a dagger-sharp gaze that he then turned on Lucky— “you bring that problem to me. Understood?”
A chorus of half-hearted “Yes”, “yessir,” and “yeah” filled the open space around the reception desk.
“Now, get back to work.” He crooked his finger at Lucky. “Harrison, come with me.”
Bo dropped a hand on Lucky’s shoulder and gave a reassuring smile. “I’ll wait for you in our cube.”
Lisa darted forward, wrapping her arms around Lucky. “I’m so, so sorry. I never meant to get you in trouble.”
“You didn’t. That punch was a long time in coming.” Years of sneering, of making fun of Lucky’s past, of making Lisa do his work. Yeah, he’d paid Keith what was owed.
Bo put an arm around Lisa and nodded at Lucky, his own personal language for “I got your back.”
Lucky returned the nod and followed O’Donoghue down the hall. No one offered to help Keith off the floor.
On the sidelines, Landry stood, customary sneer firmly in place. “You are so done here,” he mouthed.
Motherfucker stalked off before Lucky managed a comeback.
“I’m waiting!” O’Donoghue hollered.
O’Donoghue? Or Landry? The lesser of two bastards. Lucky chose O’Donoghue.
For now.
The consultant on loan from the DEA didn’t belong in Walter’s office. The place looked like a borrowed space, with no pictures or other personal effects. Cold. Clinical. Like O’Donoghue himself.
What happened to Walter’s things? Why move them at all when Walter would be back?
“Sit.” O’Donoghue waved a hand toward a chair, but not Lucky’s favorite, rounded the desk, and collapsed into a much nicer chair—nicer even than the one the boss used to sit in. Maybe when this jerkface went out to lunch one day, Lucky ought to swap the cushy chair with the Hell Bitch.
Jerkface. Ha! He’d been watching too many teen shows lately.
Lucky sat stiffly. If the man suspended or even fired him for hitting Keith, he’d have no regrets. Keith could press charges, but with the witnesses on Lucky’s side… Besides, the SNB preferred to deal with their own internal squabbles and not involve outside forces.
“First off,” O’Donoghue began, “I want to say how sorry I am about Walter Smith. I know you were close.”
Imagining Bo’s goading about manners, Lucky replied, “Thank you.” That should make Bo happy, right?
“You really shouldn’t go around hitting people, unless it’s in a boxing ring.” O’Donoghue reclined in his chair. Oh, yeah. He’d be on the floor by now if he tried that move with the chair from Hell. Too bad Lucky wasn’t on better terms with the surveillance department. He’d pay good money to see this arrogant bastard windmilling his arms and going splat.
Lucky remained quiet. Keith should’ve known better than to speak ill of the boss.
“Because I know how distraught you are, I’m giving you a pass on the assault back there.” O’Donoghue sat up and plucked a pen off the desk. Twirling the pen, he studied Lucky. “What? No answer? Normally, there’s no shutting you up.”
More than likely Lucky’s eyes were rimmed in red. He never should have broken down in front of the likes of Keith. “I don’t have anything else to say.” He tried to picture Walter in the chair, his kindly eyes, his deep voice, but O’Donoghue chased away the memories.
“I’ll keep you in here a few minutes, let those who think I’m consoling you get their fill, and giving those who think I’m ripping you a new asshole time to gloat.” He leaned over the desk, fixing his gaze to Lucky’s. “Make no mistake, I’m giving you a pass this time, but that’s all you’re getting from me. I’ve been watching you, know how close to the line you like to operate, but I will not, I repeat, will not allow your lack of discipline to reflect on the rest of this department. Do I make myself clear?”
Lucky swallowed the Walter-sized lump in his throat. “Yessir.”
“Good. Now go. I’m sure Johnson, Schollenberger, and that little receptionist are beside themselves with worry.”
Little receptionist? “Lisa,” Lucky growled.
“What?”
“Lisa. Her name isn’t ‘receptionist’, it’s Lisa.” She was married, had a kid, and volunteered at the animal shelter where Lucky found Moose, things Lucky wouldn’t have known or cared about before meeting Bo.
“Adding to your little band of followers, are you?” O’Donoghue narrowed his eyes.
“I have no idea what you’re even talking about,” Lucky recovered enough to toss back. “But the woman has a name. Lisa. She’s broken up about the boss. At least pretend to have some sympathy.”
Lucky stood and fled out the door before O’Donoghue could get the last word in.
***
Lucky sat at Walter’s bedside, holding the man’s age-spotted hand. “Boss, you gotta come back. O’Donoghue’s strutting around like he owns the place, Lisa keeps asking about you then breaking down in tears.” He’d joined her on more than one occasion and might start again real soon. Heavy weight settled in his chest.
“I miss you, old man.” Nothing answered but the beeps, whirs, and swooshes of the machinery hooked up to his mentor. “Ya know, I don’t think I ever told you thanks for giving me a chance all those years ago when you busted me out of prison and made me work for you.” Oh, how Lucky had cursed, rebelled against the man who’d held his freedom in one massive palm.
How different life would have turned out if Walter hadn’t entered the picture. Lucky would have done eight more years in prison for his role in Victor Mangiardi’s drug empire, probably come out a whole lot more jaded.
He wouldn’t have met Bo. Wouldn’t have been there when Bo needed him.
He rubbed his finger lightly over the back of Walter’s free hand—the one not stuck with an IV needle.
At what point in the relationship had he started to trust? Certainly not in the beginning, when the guards had taken him to the waiting room, telling him he had a visitor.
No one had visited him in prison but Charlotte. All of a sudden, a grizzly bear of a man appeared on the other side of the glass, making promises to get Lucky out.
He could’ve offered anything and Lucky would’ve accepted. Small men like him didn’t last well behind bars, without constantly fighting and building a tough reputation. While he’d held his own, every new guy brought in wanted to take the cocky bantam rooster down a notch, or thought Lucky’s size meant he could be easily owned.
They’d learned better real fast.
Still, the lack of freedom, the need to run from himself, had made him antsy. He’d figured he’d take the offer to work off his remaining eight years as a consultant in some cushy office, then get the hell out.
He’d never expected his attitude to change so much.
Making off with trucks full of pharmaceuticals to resell on the black market had kept him in Rolexes and sports cars, fancy restaurants and clubs. He’d enjoyed every minute of being spoiled by his drug lord lover.
Then he’d strolled into a filthy inner-city apartment and witnessed a man battling back hysterics while trying to calm three pitifully dressed kids.
His girlfriend lay on the floor, not even thirty years old, blue tinges to her skin. “Mama? Mama!” the toddler had cried, pulling on the dead woman’s jeans as she stared at nothing.
Three kids, who’d never get their mother’s kisses, stories before bedtime, comfort for a skinned knee.
Her life gone, her family’s changed forever. For what?
He might not have sold her the drugs, but he’d spent years of his life taking medicines meant to ease suffering from folks who needed them and putting them into the hands of abusers, like the young mother.
Whatever had become of the kids? What if they’d been Todd and Ty?
Walter took a chance on him, gave him the opportunity to make up for past misdeeds and do a little good in the world.
Keith claimed Lucky wouldn’t have a job without Walter, and likely O’Donoghue thought the same.
“I’ll show them,” Lucky muttered. “I’ll show them all.”
In the back of his mind, Walter replied, “I know you will.”
***
Lucky glanced over at Bo’s desk. Empty. Johnson ambled down the hall, a coffee cup in each hand.
“Is it just me,” she said, “or is O’Donoghue separating me, you, and Bo deliberately?” She handed Lucky a cup.
Yes, Lucky had noticed how much time Bo spent outside the office, and though he didn’t keep as close tabs on Johnson, she didn’t come around as readily as she used to. “It’s not just you.”
The blame fell squarely on O’Donoghue’s shoulders. Cases that would normally have gone to Lucky were now divided among other agents.
He spent his time trolling the Internet for offers of cheap drugs from Canada or some such rookie work. They paid him good money to work below his paygrade. He hadn’t been assigned to any of the training duties he’d been promoted to.
All because of…
Lucky took a deep breath and exhaled hard. “Let me ask you something. Is there anything about Chastain Pharmaceuticals that struck you as wrong?”
Johnson shook her head. “No. We went down the checklist and added a few stricter requirements. Besides, you’ve done similar audits for years. You knew what you were doing.”
Did he? If he missed something as big as an illegal shipment, no matter how small, he’d fucked up, big time. Not that he’d say so out loud.
“You’re not questioning yourself, are you? Because Bo and I have complete faith in you.”
“If we didn’t screw up, then what went wrong?” He’d staked his reputation, and possibly his career, on searching out any potential trouble spots.
“I don’t know. I wish I did.” Johnson blew into her cup.
The asshole who thought he was in charge could’ve made up the whole thing. He certainly had the opportunity. “I don’t trust O’Donoghue. He’s surrounding himself with his lackeys.” Oh. Johnson’s poor excuse for a boyfriend was the man’s number one flunky. Lucky winced. “Sorry.”
Johnson waved a dismissive hand. “Just because I happen to be dating one of those lackies doesn’t make anything you said less true.”
“Does Phillip… Um… say anything when you’re, you know…” At best she might deck him for asking a personal question, at worse she might tell him way too much information.
She pursed her lips worthy of a bite into a lemon. “No, damn it. And that’s the thing. Lately he refuses to talk work on personal time, and that really bugs me. He’s never been tight lipped before. He’s making me suspicious.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s not the type to do his own thinking. When he does talk he sounds like he’s parroting someone else’s words.” She shifted her gaze left and right and whispered, “He’s hanging out a lot with Owen Landry too. That guy’s a weasel if ever I met one.”
Really? She, Bo, and Landry had trained together, gone on assignments. “What was he like when you first met him?”
“Same as now. A butt kisser. He comes on to anything with two legs too. Not that it gets him anywhere.” Nobody did smug like Johnson. “Kept trying to come between me and Phillip, and I know he tried to get between you and Bo.”
“I thought so. Bo told me I was imagining things.”
“Bo likes to keep the peace. That man of yours can more than handle himself, even if his methods are different from yours and mine.”
True. “He tried with you?”
She patted her hair, worn natural and poufy. “He’s trying to build a power base. For that you need followers. He might impress Phillip, but not me.”
Lucky shook his head. “What do you see in Phillip anyway?” She could do so much better than O’Donoghue’s pet DEA rookie. Anyone who paid attention to Owen Landry wasn’t too bright.
A flush crept up her cheeks. “Let’s just say it’s not due to his stunning intellect and leave it at that.”
Asshole must be doing something really right for a take charge woman like Johnson to keep him around. And no, Lucky didn’t need visuals.
“How’s things with Ty and Todd?” She paused to sip her coffee.
So, she didn’t want to talk about Phillip. Maybe the relationship wasn’t as solid as she liked. “They’re fine. Ty still doesn’t speak much to me, but I’ve managed to get him and Todd off the couch occasionally to go help out at the Smiths’. He’s starting to make friends at school, I think.”
“Give him time. How about you and Bo? Things going good on the home front? Need me to take the guys and give the two of you some more time alone?” She waggled her brows.
Before Lucky could answer, Lisa appeared by the cube. “There you are! I’m sorry, Loretta, but Mr. O’Donoghue would like to see you in hi… in Walter’s office.”
Johnson rolled her eyes. “Duty calls.” She saluted Lucky with her cup and followed Lisa down the hall.
***
Lucky hadn’t set foot in Walter’s office nearly as much before O’Donoghue’s arrival. He pushed his way through the door and plunked down in… No, not his usual chair. And that wasn’t Walter’s usual desk. O’Donoghue ordered all new furniture?
Why had the keepers of the SNB’s notoriously tight purse strings allowed the expense? When had anyone had the time to bring in new furniture? He’d only left this office a sort time ago.
He wiped the surprise off his face. “You wanted to see me?”
O’Donoghue fixed Lucky with a beady-eyed gaze. “I’ll get right to the point. It’s come to my attention that you and Agent Schollenberger are in a relationship outside of work.”
Lucky swallowed hard. What the ever-loving hell? “What I do on my own time is none of your business.”
“It is if you’re in violation of the bureau’s anti-fraternization policy.”
Lucky braced for a fight. How had this jerk found out? Oh. The photos. The van. What business did he have meddling in Bo and Lucky’s personal lives? “Walter Smith knew all about it. Said we’d done nothing wrong. Technically, Bo and I were seeing each other before Simon Harrison even existed.”
“I’m afraid he may have overstepped. An ethics committee is reviewing your case.”
What? “Now see here…” Lucky leapt to his feet. “Who gave you the right to sneak around taking pictures—”
O’Donoghue cut Lucky off with a raised hand. “If and when they decide you’re noncompliant, one of you will have to leave.”
Lucky’s blood froze in his veins. At one time he’d happily have gone skipping out the door, but only on his own terms. “Leave the department?” Sure, he’d been in Diversion Prevention and Control since his arrival at the SNB, but there were other areas he could transfer to.
“No, leave the bureau.”
Walter had mentioned a married couple working here, and Phillip and Johnson were involved, though technically they worked for separate organizations, Phillip for DEA and Johnson for SNB. They still could create the kind of conflict of interest the policy supposedly prevented. “What about…”
“That will be all, Mr. Harrison.”
Lucky staggered out into the hallway. Johnson strode by. He grabbed her by both arms. “You met with O’Donoghue earlier, didn’t you?” He narrowed his eyes.
“You know I did.”
“Did you tell him about me and Bo?”
“No! But it’s not like a great big secret.”
Especially not if someone took pictures of him and Bo after their last counseling appointments.
Still, he’d been summoned to Walter’s office right after Johnson. Coincidence? To Lucky’s knowledge, coincidences usually had some thought behind them.
Had Johnson really spilled Lucky’s business to the wannabe boss? Had he misplaced his trust in her? One way to find out. He tossed out the first lie he could think of. “Did Bo tell you he’s been thinking of putting in for a transfer to the Virginia office?” He spun on his heels and fled, lest he trust her too much again.
***
The next conversation with O’Donoghue included, “If Schollenberger wants a transfer…”
Fuck. Johnson hadn’t even waited five minutes before she’d run to O’Donoghue with Lucky’s lie, had she?
***
“I’m telling you, she went straight to the sonofabitch and told him what I said!” Lucky lay on his side of the bed. Arguments weren’t conducive to cuddling. Why wouldn’t Bo believe him?
Bo remained silent for a moment before answering, “Are you saying you want me to transfer?”
“What? Oh, hell no. It’s all I could think of at the moment. I could have said anything and she’d have gone running to Fuckwad O’Donoghue.”
Bo kept his voice annoyingly calm. “She’s your friend, Lucky. My friend. She’s also not an O’Donoghue fan. Are you sure someone else didn’t walk by and hear you?”
“No one did. It was just me and her. Not an hour later O’Donoghue wanted to talk and fed me my own lie.”
Bo lay on his side, propped up on one arm. “So, what are you going to do about it?”