by Eden Winters
“Yolanda, I believe her name was,” Cruz stopped shoveling French fries into his mouth long enough to say.
“Yeah. She doesn’t want her baby, but wants to go back to Mexico. She won’t talk to the social workers helping the victims, and she’s scared as hell the bad men, as she calls them, will be back for her.”
Cruz sped up his chewing and forced a swallow. At least he didn’t talk with his mouth full. “It’s a legitimate concern. She makes them money. They consider her property. The others too.”
Damn, how Lucky hated asking Cruz for favors. “You’ve got some pull. Or rather, you know people who do. Can you find a safe place for her? She doesn’t want to go back to Mexico City, where she’s from.”
“No. Returning to her hometown wouldn’t be a good idea.”
“She’s going to need counseling too. A place to live. A job.” A life. Cruz owed the girl nothing. Hell, Lucky didn’t either. Surrounding himself with good people softened his heart.
He’d want someone to help Charlotte, after all.
Cruz shoved down a few more fries. “Let me make some calls.”
“Then you’ll help?”
Lucky’s heart plunged to his stomach when Cruz shook his head. “No. I don’t have those kinds of resources. However, remember what Nestor told you when he helped you before?”
“He said a lot of things.” Many Lucky didn’t want to recall.
“He said he’d help you because you asked for someone other than yourself.” Cruz’s lips turned up into a smile. Not the seductive, flirty smile he used as a tool to get his way, or piss Lucky off, but a bittersweet one. “Don’t go ruining his reputation by letting people know he has a soft heart.”
“Never.” Lucky didn’t want his sonofabitch reputation tarnished either. “I thought, maybe Graciela…”
“I’ll let you know what I find out.” Cruz tossed a few bucks on the table for a tip and strolled out of the restaurant without looking back.
Now, if only he lived up to his promises.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lucky spent a lonely weekend after parting with Cruz. Charlotte and Ty left Saturday morning to visit their folks in North Carolina, and he found himself sitting on the couch, watching back episodes of South Bend Springs, his favorite soap opera addiction, one he’d never dare tell his sister and nephew about.
Moose lay on the couch, as much of him as possible in Lucky’s lap. Every once in a while, the Great Pyrenees made the air unbreathable.
“Damn, boy. We need to change your dog food,” Lucky groused after the third time. Cat Lucky lay behind Lucky’s head, purring like a freight train, while Lila, soap goddess extraordinaire, threw an impressive right hook at her latest baby daddy.
Baby daddy.
In the hospital lay a little boy with no father. Lucky texted Bo, “Where are you?”
Five minutes later, Bo replied, “With Walter. I’ll be home around six.”
Six. Giving Lucky four hours.
He nudged a disgruntled dog off his lap, and earned a low growl from Cat Lucky for letting the reclining sofa up, though the cat stayed put. Moose resumed his place on the couch without his human pillow. “Your concern is overwhelming,” Lucky grumbled.
Oh well. Them giving him pleading eyes and begging him not to leave might end his resolve. He snatched his keys off the table by the front door and paced out to his Camaro. A yellow film of pollen coated the car’s hood, top, and windshield. Ah, springtime in Georgia.
He backed out of the driveway, won a non-verbal argument with the cranky community gate, and drove toward Mercy General by way of Starbucks. Stepping out of character called for coffee.
He’d finished his cup of decaf by the time he found a spot in the hospital’s parking lot.
Visiting hours meant no one stopped him, questioned him, or even gave him a second glance. He took the elevator to the maternity floor and followed a grinning gray-haired man and woman to the nursery.
Glass windows separated clear bassinets from the visitor area, occupied ones crowded close to the front for better viewing. Pink and blue armbands marked babies as male and female. The older couple stopped and cooed, hugging each other as they stared through the glass. Here and there other people admired newborns, a young woman in a bathrobe and slippers among them. A man stood beside her, arm around her waist, leaning his head against hers.
A happy family. No matter how hard he looked, he couldn’t find the child he sought. There! A shock of dark hair stood in all directions. He stopped in front of a sleeping baby wearing a blue armband.
Wow. Chubby. Healthy. Not nearly in as bad of shape as Lucky feared. While he stood there, a young couple approached. “There he is!” the man exclaimed, stepping up beside Lucky. The woman squeezed between them to get a better look at the yellow-wrapped bundle.
“Isn’t he adorable?” she gushed. “Hello, nephew! I’m your Auntie Anna!” The woman turned to Lucky. “Which one is yours?”
He spotted a nameplate on the front of the bassinet. Mora. What was Yolanda’s last name? Not Mora, apparently. “I haven’t found him yet.” He rushed away before the couple asked questions he couldn’t answer. Was the child so sickly he’d not been put into the nursery with all the other babies?
Lucky strolled toward the back of the room, staring through a layer of protective glass. Two incubators sat side by side, the first one empty. A curtain partially obscured the view.
The second held a tiny infant, so much smaller than the other babies on display. A blue armband declared him a boy. He wasn’t wrapped like the others. Instead he wore a diaper and tiny knit hat, white sensor dots on his chest, warming under lights. A tuft of dark hair peeked out from under the hat.
Tiny fingers curled into fists. While Lucky watched, the baby’s lower lip quivered in a sucking motion. Head to the side, the dusky-skinned bundle slept. So quiet. So peaceful.
So alone.
From this angle, Lucky couldn’t read the nameplate. Instinct said he’d found the right kid.
A door opened and a nurse swept through, followed by a dark-haired man in a hospital gown and mask. He sat in a rocking chair while the nurse freed the little one from his incubator.
Wires still attached, the woman placed the child in the man’s arms. Eyes crinkling at the corners showed the man’s smile.
She handed him a bottle. The man cradled the child in his arms, offering the bottle. Sleepy dark eyes blinked open, and the baby latched on to the nipple. The man fed the child, pushing the chair back and forth with his legs.
Who was this man? A hospital volunteer, maybe? This kid belonged to Yolanda, right?
Lucky watched for a while, heart clenching at the image. Would he one day hold his own child, rocking and holding a bottle?
At least the little boy wasn’t alone—for now.
He should leave. He’d accomplished what he set out to do: ensure the baby was okay. Somehow, he couldn’t make himself move.
Folks milled around him, coming and going, admiring this baby or that. Ever so gently the man removed the bottle from the child’s mouth. Again his lower lip quivered as though he still sucked, though he’d quite obviously fallen back asleep.
“Eat, sleep, and grow. That’s what babies do,” his mother once said while rocking Todd.
The man took a cloth from the nurse, placed it over his shoulder, and raised the baby. He gave a few pats, his eyes crinkling at the corners again.
The nurse held out her arms.
The man kissed the child’s forehead, slowly surrendering his precious bundle.
He stood and followed the nurse with his eyes as she returned the child to the incubator, placing his hand on the plexiglass in a silent goodbye.
For a single moment he looked up, long enough for Lucky to get a good look at the man’s eyes.
Holy shit!
Bo?
Chapter Twenty-Four
Several times on the way home Lucky picked up his phone, planning to call Bo and ask why he�
�d been feeding Yolanda’s baby. Keeping secrets? After scolding Lucky for doing the same? Did he think Lucky would object?
He placed his phone back on the car seat beside him. When Bo wanted to talk, he would.
Oh, but he’d looked so good with the baby in his arms, holding the child so naturally. He’d make an excellent father.
Lucky imagined him holding their child. The vision of a baby Bo changed into the tiny boy from the nursery.
***
“How’s Walter?” Lucky asked when they’d settled into bed for the night. With Charlotte and Ty gone, Moose and Cat Lucky condescended to join Bo and Lucky in their room, furry little traitors.
Moose snored from the floor rug at the foot of the bed, and Cat Lucky sat on the windowsill, staring out at the night.
“He’s fine. I’m so tired.” Bo yawned, sending the hint to end the conversation.
No confessions tonight, then. “Are you okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“How’s Yolanda and her son?”
“Fine, as far as I know.”
Why wouldn’t Bo admit to seeing them earlier? What was he hiding?
No one came close to Bo in integrity. He never remained closed-lipped without a reason. Though the words perched on the tip of Lucky’s tongue, and doubt squirmed in his innards, he had to trust Bo. Be there for him.
Show unconditional support without words.
“You’re not too tired, are you?” Lucky laced innuendo into the words. His eyelids drooped too, but he needed some reassurance.
“What do you have in mind?”
Lucky rolled onto his side, facing Bo and propping his head on his arm. “You.” He descended, seeking out Bo’s lips with his own.
Bo met him open-mouthed, tongue sliding against Lucky’s. He moaned deep in his throat. The taste of him, the feel of him, all sleek muscles and a light dusting of hair. Familiar, yet new at the same time.
Bo rolled them, Lucky on top, silently saying what he wanted.
What Bo wanted, he got.
Deepening the kiss, Lucky ran his hands up and down Bo’s arms, fighting the temptation to grasp Bo’s wrists.
Lucky’s kink, not Bo’s. Instead, he rose up, breaking the kiss and staring down at the perfection of his man, freckles, slightly crooked nose, and all.
He ran his hands over Bo’s chest, tweaking the nipples on his way down. Lower and lower Lucky traveled, licking each nipple, peppering kisses over Bo’s chest and lower still, across his belly and to his fully erect cock.
Lucky licked away the drop of fluid beaded at the tip and ran his flattened tongue from base to glans. Oh, the sweet taste of Bo in his mouth, the unique blend of fragrances making up Bo’s unique scent.
He’d never tire of this. Not in a thousand years, not in a million.
Taking Bo into his mouth, he sucked, gently rolling Bo’s balls with his fingers. He carefully avoided stroking behind them, to keep him from coming too soon. They were both tired, exhausted even, but lately more and more things took up their time, leaving them little togetherness.
He’d enjoy every moment.
Bo twisted his fingers in the strands of Lucky’s hair. “Oh, yeah. That’s it. Suck me. You’re so good at that.”
Lucky pulled off, ignoring Bo’s frustrated whimper, and took first one ball, then the other, into his mouth. Bo’s whimper changed to a moan, and Lucky smiled around his mouthful.
He rose from the bed and retrieved lube from the bedside table. Perching on the edge of the mattress, he ran his fingers lightly down one hairy thigh, lingering close to Bo’s groin. Bo bucked up, pushing toward Lucky’s hand. Nope. Not rushing. Lucky backed away.
“Tease!” Bo huffed. He spread his legs, anticipating Lucky’s next move. They knew each other so well.
Lucky slicked his fingers, warming the lube before reaching between Bo’s legs. He swirled his fingertip around Bo’s hole, teasing the puckered flesh.
Bo gasped, thrusting back against the sensation.
Lucky deepened his exploration, inserting his fingertip part way through the tight ring of muscle. Oh, heaven. Tight, hot, practically pulling Lucky’s finger farther into Bo.
In and out he worked his finger, applying more lube and adding a second to the first, twisting, stretching Bo open, grazing against the magical spot deep inside.
Bo cried out.
Lucky held still, Bo’s panted breaths the only sounds he heard.
Lucky withdrew, only to press back in.
His painfully hard cock begged, “Get down to business!” But no, he’d take care of his man. Caressing Bo’s torso with one hand, Lucky finger fucked him with the other until Bo’s groans and writhing surpassed his ability to resist.
He removed his fingers, applied a layer of slick to his cock, and climbed onto the bed. Bo lifted his legs, securing his ankles over Lucky’s shoulders.
Lucky rubbed the tip of his erection over Bo’s entrance, shivers of anticipation chasing up his spine. At last he sank in. “Oh, fuck, oh, fuck.” He closed his eyes, fighting the ecstasy. Not yet. Not yet. Please, not yet.
Bo held perfectly still, helping Lucky regain control. Close call there. Lucky took a few calming breaths and pushed into slick, tight heat, Bo’s passage welcoming him in. Turning his head, he planted a kiss on Bo’s calf, secured Bo’s thighs in his hands, and plunged inside.
Oh yes, oh yes, oh hell yes!
Head thrown back, eyes closed, he paused to savor the moment. Then he moved, snapping his hips in Bo’s favorite rhythm.
“Yes!” Bo hissed, rocking back into Lucky’s thrusts. Groans, moans, squeaking bed springs—Lucky’s favorite song.
He grunted, thrusting in and out, dampness breaking out on his forehead. Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn.
So fucking good.
Bowing up and grasping the back of Lucky’s head, Bo pulled him in for a frantic kiss, nearly brutal in its power.
Fuuuuuuck! Pressure began, too fast to slow down. “I’m gonna cum,” Lucky warned.
Bo flopped back on the bed, frantically tugging at his dick. “Do it.”
Once more, twice more. Lucky shoved himself inside, holding position as every muscle seized. He hovered on the brink, barely aware of Bo’s gasps coming faster and faster.
Bo squeezed around him, sending Lucky tumbling over the edge.
“Ahhhh…” Bo jerked, every muscle taut, joining Lucky in release.
Holding his weight on trembling arms, Lucky stared down into the face of his lover, his friend, his partner.
His life.
He sucked in air, heart racing. Damn, he hated pulling out, but his arms couldn’t take much more. Lucky flopped down beside Bo onto his back. They lay together, breaths ragged.
Lucky swiveled his head enough to meet Bo’s mouth, a gentle brush of lips, nothing more.
They gazed into each other’s eyes, neither saying anything. Sometimes, words weren’t needed.
At last Bo broke the silence. “I love you.”
All the reassurance Lucky needed. “I love you too.”
***
Lucky didn’t ask his plans for the day when Bo disappeared bright and early Sunday morning. Should he worry about Bo getting too attached? Sooner or later, Yolanda planned to put her child up for adoption. Seeing the boy disappear into the foster system might rip Bo’s heart out.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Two cups of coffee barely put a dent in Lucky’s pissy-assed mood; growling at rookies hadn’t helped much either. Mondays sucked. Plain and simple.
“Agent Harrison. I’d like to ask you a few questions about the warehouse raid when you have time.” At least Salters’ tense body language said he realized the closeness of Lucky’s breaking point.
“Later,” Lucky barked, stalking down the hall to the cube he somewhat shared with Bo.
Johnson sat in Bo’s chair, unbothered by Lucky’s glower. “I got some damned good information from an unusual source this weekend,” she said.
; She’d better have some good reason to show up this early in his cube on a Monday morning. “What?” He had no patience for guessing games, especially with a partner keeping secrets. Bo hadn’t come home until the afternoon yesterday, and never explained where he’d been, other than, “It was work-related.”
“Well, you’ve been having some concerns about your nephew’s school, right?”
“You know I have.”
Her lips curled up into a sinister smirk. “I haven’t spent much time with Rone lately, so I took him to a high school softball game.”
Shy Tyrone Johnson at a game? Did he emerge from behind his mother long enough to see the action? “What’d he think?” Lucky wasn’t asshole, or stupid enough, to interrupt a proud mama talking about her kid.
“Guess who I saw at the game?
As long as Owen Landry wasn’t munching a hotdog on the front row, what the hell did Lucky care?
With a grin of scary proportions, she flourished her phone. “Look and see.”
A middle-aged man filled the screen, sandwiched on either side by others wearing the distinctive blue and white of Ty’s school colors. Somewhat fleshy, hands lifted, mouth open, no doubt cheering his team on or hurling insults about some boneheaded move.
“Who is he?”
“Remember the magistrate you wanted me to check up on? Who denied the search warrant?”
The “dum-da-dum”, signaling a tense moment on Lucky’s favorite soap opera drummed in his head.
A thin connection, but a connection nonetheless. Judge Spence stood in the way of Lucky’s takedown of a drug manufacturer supplying counterfeit drugs to high schoolers.
Only to be overridden by a judge persuaded by Walter and the DEA.
***
“Charlotte? Don’t worry about Ty this afternoon, I’ll pick him up.” Lucky reared back in the Hell Bitch chair in his cubicle as far as he dared while talking on his cell.
“Are you sure? You’ll have to get off work for that, won’t you?”