by Eden Winters
“I’m sure something can be arranged.” Cruz already imparted some of that knowledge, and Lucky paid particular attention to the details. Except for the part about the baby’s father, her story hadn’t changed, and he couldn’t blame her for her reluctance to tell a stranger what happened. Now came Lucky’s turn to report the situation that occurred once Bo departed the warehouse. “After the two of you left, one kid jumped out of the window. He’s… he died.”
“What the hell? We were on the second floor.”
“He got away, ran up the stairs.” Lucky winced and took a deep breath, willing the horrid image from his mind. One moment the kid lived and breathed. The next…
One single second. Life and death. How many times since then had he wished for a do-over?
Bo shook his head, appearing older than his years. How Lucky wanted to hold him, offer comfort. But Bo was in Boss mode, stepping into his role as the future manager of the SNB.
“I don’t know why he ran. They explained to him that he wasn’t in trouble.” Lucky sank back into his chair and closed his eyes. He’d had some hellacious days. Today must count as two. “I was too slow to catch him. One more second…”
“You can’t blame yourself, any more than you can blame yourself for these kids being in this situation to begin with.” Bo patted Lucky’s thigh, lingering over the last pat.
Ouch. Direct hit. Lucky opened one eye. “I can blame myself. I was part of the problem.” A long time ago, but still. Had there been any kids like that guy and Yolanda who’d had their lives turned upside down by his and Victor’s operation?
There must have been. Like the child in Mexico who’d lost his father in a cartel shootout. Or Alejandro, who’d turned against his own brother to help Lucky.
Alejandro, Johnson, Bo, Walter, Charlotte, Ty. People who cared about Lucky.
He cared about them too, though he’d never told Alejandro.
“Was.” Bo kissed Lucky’s nose. “Now you’re part of the solution.”
Nice of him to say, but kind words didn’t take the ache from Lucky’s heart. Like it or not, he’d done his share of damage to people’s lives.
If given a choice between a drug trafficker and Lady Justice, the lady made a whole lot better employer. Even if she did take the form of a mountain of a man named Walter Smith.
“What’s going to happen to the girl?” Lucky tossed his head in the general direction of the rooms.
“Don’t know. She doesn’t have local family, or family in Mexico either. I’ll go to bat for her with the SNB.” Bo turned his intelligent brown eyes on Lucky. “She’s your informant, isn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“She only speaks Spanish. How’d you communicate?”
Oh shit. He knew he shouldn’t have lied by omission. Whenever he tried, the lie came back to bite him in the ass. “Got time for a long story?”
Bo checked his cell phone. “Why don’t you give me the condensed version.”
Well, fuck. Confession time. He filled Bo in on Johnson’s suspicions, about Cruz’s involvement and bribing Charlotte not to tell Bo. The last part came the hardest.
“Lucky. Now more than ever you have to trust me. I should’ve been with you when you first approached her. Initiated contact.” He didn’t sound annoyed or accusing, merely resigned.
Which didn’t necessarily signify forgiveness, and might mean groveling later. “You’re busy learning your new job. While I don’t like pulling the big dogs into one of our cases, the outfit Cruz works for has a much farther reach than ours.” He wouldn’t mention Walter telling him to leave Bo out of things. Without a doubt Walter had his reasons.
“It’s not involving Cruz I’m talking about.” Bo rubbed his temples with the thumb and little finger of one hand. “Damn it, Lucky. You can’t keep things like this from me.”
He knew that, really Lucky did.
Bo looked up. “But I know it’s not your style to tell me every little thing, especially now when you think I’m in a position to stop you. You’ll forever push the limits. That’s who you are. One of the reasons I love you. Just make me one promise.”
“What?” Let it be an easy promise to keep.
“That you’ll at least let me know what you’re up to. What you do reflects on the department. Your instincts are good. Walter trusts them, but I can’t go through life worried about you, that you’ve crossed some kind of line you can’t come back from. What if I’d let you and Johnson do recon alone that night and you never came back? I’d never know what happened to you. I can’t live like that.” Bo took Lucky’s face between his hands. “If our places were reversed, you’d want the same from me.” One moment they stared into each other’s eyes, the next moment Bo closed the distance, mouth on Lucky’s, tongue against tongue speaking louder than words of Bo’s love.
Lucky took the kiss, his heart swelling with his love for this man.
A quiet “A-hem” broke them apart.
“Mr. Schollenberger?”
A young nurse stood at the waiting room entrance in hospital scrubs, with fiery red hair and green eyes. “Hi. I’ll be taking care of Yolanda. I was told you wanted to see me.”
Lucky took his cue to retreat and let them talk. After a moment Bo said, “Go on home. I’ll be there in a few.”
Before he’d gone more than a few steps, Lucky turned and focused on his partner, seeing him, truly seeing him, with different eyes.
Bo radiated authority, tempered with caring, genuine concern. He could be home in bed, but here he was, staying up most of the night for a woman he didn’t know.
Because she needed him.
As Lucky did. What would his life be like without the man? What would he have done after the SNB if Bo hadn’t talked him into staying?
He’d be one hell of a miserable bastard.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Cases? Okay. Getting scum off the streets? Awesome. Writing up reports?
Sucked stump water.
Especially with half his desk taken up with old coffee cups and the rest filled by a pair of huge feet attached to his work partner—who hadn’t broken anyone else during the raid.
That he knew of.
And fuck if he gave a damn about Johnson’s raised eyebrow when he put on glasses. Sooner or later he’d have to suck it up and go to an actual eye doctor.
Damn, was Lucky ever tired. Yeah, tired made his eyes blurry, not age. Dream on.
One late night raid, and three days of follow up. Ten arrests so far, twenty-four people from various countries in protective custody, and one would-be pharmacist likely begging Grandma for bail money.
Plus, one pregnant woman in the hospital.
Not his problem. SNB dusted their hands of the matter and turned over the cleanup to other three-letter agencies. Normally, doing legwork for someone else to take over a case pissed him off. This time?
Good riddance.
Now to show his trainees the raid footage and get back to work. Like figuring out how the poison got from point warehouse to point high school.
And why someone turned a blind fucking eye and blocked a warrant.
The women Johnson witnessed going to the school either lied or didn’t know anything. They said they were given packages to drop off at each facility. The school package went into an empty locker.
As much as he hated to, he’d have to turn up the heat on his own nephew, and possibly his pimply-faced, eighteen-year-old grocery checker informant—who still awaited his ride in a police car.
Road Rage and Salters hadn’t turned up anything yet.
But at least he’d gotten the magistrate’s name.
Here he sat at six p.m. on a Friday afternoon, most of the department having left to start their weekends. He wasn’t waiting for Bo to go home. No, not really.
“Johnson?” Lucky shoved her booted feet off his desk. Why was she still here?
“What?” She growled and righted herself.
“I need you to check out a magistrate for me
, Judge Spence.” Lucky added, “You can break him if you want.”
She shifted her scowl to an exaggerated grin, laced her fingers, and cracked her knuckles. “Really? Count me in.”
Lucky handed her all the intel he had on the guy who’d blocked their search warrant. Johnson dragged herself up and pushed Bo’s chair back under the opposite desk. “Oh. I meant to tell you, I went to the hospital to sit in on an interview with our witness. Seems she’s been asking one hell of a lot of questions about Bo.”
Really? Someone please tell him she wasn’t developing a crush. Handsome guy comes to her rescue and ensures she gets the best care. Not to mention the hours spent at her bedside. Oh, yeah. A nineteen-year-old might definitely get wrong ideas. “Bo? Like what?”
“Oddly enough, she wanted to know if he was religious. He’s Catholic, right?”
Religion? What a weird question to ask, especially of someone the girl saw as a possible love interest. “His mother was. I don’t think he’s been to church or anything in years.” Though Bo mentioned something about Christmas mass. “What else did she want to know?”
“If he had kids, what kind of guy he was, that sort of thing. What his wife was like.” Johnson spoke off-handedly, but the gleam in her eyes showed her true interest. She cared about Lucky, she cared about Bo. Could she be implying that Bo’s helpful nature could be misinterpreted as “available”?
“Wife?”
Johnson shrugged. “He does wear a wedding band.”
Oh, right. Lucky ran his thumb over his own matching ring. “What did you tell her?”
“The truth. That the little woman is a foul-mouth, coffee- swilling asshole of a cocky bantam rooster.” She flashed him a grin.
“You didn’t.”
“No, I didn’t. I said he had a partner and left well enough alone.”
If she asked about religion, she might be a good Catholic girl who’d think less of Bo for being gay. Better she didn’t find out. He was all she had right now. “After the shit she’s been through, and how Bo’s been there for her, she’s probably crushing on him.”
Johnson shrugged. “Wouldn’t blame her. You’ve met him, right?” She bounced one eyebrow up and down. How the hell did she do that?
Great. The last thing they needed was a pregnant witness idolizing Bo.
Johnson stood and stretched. “I gotta get home and spend time with my boy. Monday, I got me a magistrate to harass. Fun times. Lunch at the Varsity?”
The Varsity. Burger, fries, sweet tea. Bo likely would be in meetings all day. “Sure. Noon?”
“You got it.” She gave Lucky’s shoulder a friendly swat—that nearly sent him crashing to the floor.
Johnson’s footsteps had barely faded down the hall when Bo charged into the cube. “Yolanda’s in labor. She’s asked for me. I might be late getting home.” He brushed a kiss across Lucky’s mouth, nearly missing, and ran down the hall. “Hold that elevator!”
Oh fuck. Eight months pregnant.
Early. The kid needed to stay put for another month. No telling what problems the baby faced without Mama getting proper care and being exposed to chemicals and malnutrition.
When Bo and Lucky welcomed their child into the world one day, he or she would have lots of family and friends crowded into the waiting room, pacing, sharing their hopes and dreams for the new addition, retelling stories of other births.
That poor girl, all alone in the world. Lucky pulled his cellphone from his pocket and texted Charlotte. “I’m gonna be late getting home.”
Someone needed to be there for the girl besides Bo.
And someone should be there for Bo.
***
Lucky stopped by Walmart on his way to the hospital. First babies took a while, right? What did a kid need? From what Bo said, Yolanda had nothing in the way of baby things. Was she having a boy or girl? Pink or blue?
He stuck with yellow and mint green. Receiving blankets, sleepers, booties, a soft gray elephant. The diaper bag and bottles could come later. If the mom needed them.
“Aww,” a salesgirl cooed. “Is this your first child? Are you having a boy or girl?”
“Not mine, don’t know.” Why did sales people always have to get chatty?”
“Your nephew or niece?” The woman scanned the items one at a time and arranged them into a bag.
“A friend.”
Lucky’s curt reply achieved the hoped-for effect. The woman continued her job in silence. Lucky handed over his credit card, parting with the money he’d ear-marked for repairing the back-yard privacy fence. The fence could wait. Babies tended not to.
The local Italian place closed at eight. Lucky checked his phone. Ten minutes. He called his order in from the Walmart parking lot, and stopped by to grab Bo a bite to eat. For some reason, his own stomach’s twisting killed his appetite.
Fuck. After eight on a Friday night wasn’t the best time to cross Atlanta, with so many people out and about.
He pulled into the hospital parking lot at nine p.m. and checked his phone. No messages from Bo.
Bags in hand, and wafting the scent of eggplant parmesan behind him, Lucky entered the imposing twelve-story building and headed for the hospital maternity ward. He’d been to Mercy General so many times over the years, he never needed directions.
Hell, he could give directions.
No Bo. Where was Bo? He texted. “At hospital. Brought some stuff.”
Bo stepped into the waiting room a few minutes later, minus his jacket and tie. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt and unbuttoned the top two buttons. Fucking gorgeous. “What are you doing here?”
“I bought some stuff for the kid.” Lucky held up the bags.
“You what?”
Lucky’s heart sank. Bo wasn’t happy to see him? Had something gone wrong? “You know, blankets, sleepers, that sort of thing.” The kind of things Charlotte got from baby showers when her kids were born. “I also brought you some supper.”
“I’d say that’s sweet of you, but you’d tell me not to start that rumor.” Bo smiled and squeezed Lucky’s hand, drawing close enough to whisper, “Thank you.” Tightness around his eyes, and stooped shoulders told of his mental state.
Please let nothing have gone wrong. “How’s she doing?”
“Fine. Scared.”
“I’ll bet.”
“She’s still in early labor right now. The doctors tried to slow her contractions. The longer the baby stays in her womb, the better.” Bo rubbed his eyes. “Babies keep their own schedules.”
“Is the kid going to be okay?”
“Too early to say. Technically the doctor can’t tell me anything, but Yolanda signed a form saying she wanted them to give me the information, wanted me in the room with her when she delivers.”
What the fuck? In the delivery room?
“Speaking of, I promised her I’d come right back.” Bo swiped his lips across Lucky’s. “Go home. Get some rest. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Bo grabbed the bags. “Thank you again.”
Lucky waited three hours before giving up and going home. This could go so, so wrong. He had to be ready in case Bo needed him.
Bo didn’t come home all night.
Shortly after Lucky got to work, he received a text from Bo. “It’s a boy. He’s a fighter.”
A boy.
Lucky didn’t pray often. He prayed for Yolanda’s baby boy, and Yolanda.
A moment later, Bo texted, “She doesn’t want to keep him.”
Fuck. Poor little guy, coming into the world with no one eagerly awaiting his arrival, only to wind up in the system. Would some happy couple take him home, love him, spend the rest of his life making up for his crappy beginnings?
While he hated the circumstances, he understood. Barely more than a kid herself, Yolanda had no support system, no way to care for herself and her baby, and the kid served as a constant reminder of how she’d been used.
She wanted to go back to Mexico. Needed help to get on her fee
t, someone to look out for her, make sure she got a chance for a happy life.
A smiling face filled his mind, bringing with it the memory of salsa and enchiladas. Graciela now lived in the house Lucky had once been kidnapped and taken to. The one the Mangiardis kicked her and her children out of. A wonderful woman.
A man like Nestor wouldn’t praise her otherwise.
But Lucky had no way of contacting the woman who’d cooked meals for him, not without a little investigative work.
Would making a request for a poor soul in need of a new life mean Lucky owed someone a favor? Lord, he hoped not. He searched his phone for a number he’d always think twice about calling.
***
Cruz sat across the table from Lucky at a guilty pleasure restaurant Bo wouldn’t approve of. Seemed Cruz liked greasy burgers and fries too. For a moment guilt niggled at Lucky for bringing Cruz here when he and Johnson had made a lunch date for Monday, but once she learned the circumstances, she’d approve of him sharing “their” eating place.
The lanky agent took a healthy bite of burger, washing the morsel down with a mouthful of milkshake. Unlike Lucky, comfort food didn’t seem to be taking up permanent residence around the man’s middle. He moaned and swallowed. “Damn, this is good, but I know you didn’t invite me here for the joy of my company.” Cruz flashed an impossibly brilliant smile.
Three young women passed their table, glancing back over their shoulders and giggling. Cruz followed them with his eyes.
Yeah, yeah, so he could get anyone he wanted, big fucking deal.
Lucky could say the same, because the only one he wanted even now slept off a long night in their shared bed.
God, but Lucky hated asking this smartass for anything. For Yolanda, and for Bo, he’d swallow his pride. “Remember the pregnant woman you talked to when we investigated that apartment building?”