Benediction: Diversion Book 9

by Eden Winters

  The way he gripped Lucky’s cock, moaning out his pleasure… Lucky let out a cry. Then stopped himself. Mustn’t wake the kid.

  Burying the fingers of one hand in Lucky’s hair, Bo continued to stroke himself with the other, at a leisurely pace. No hurry. All the time in the world. But Lucky had to move—needed to move.

  “Ohhh…” he ground out, his own eyes losing focus. Bo squeezed around him. Tight. Hot. Oh, damn. Lucky didn’t consciously pick up the pace, but somehow, they were rocking against each other, grabbing, kissing, plundering.

  “I’m gonna cum,” Bo gasped. Muscles seizing, he bowed up.

  Lucky shoved harder, helping Bo ride the pleasure. Bo collapsed and Lucky withdrew, rising up on his knees. One hand on his cock, the other behind his balls, he stroked furiously. Almost there… Almost…

  He jerked, body spasming. Oh, hell yeah. Head thrown back, he rode the wave, his cum shooting out over Bo’s skin. Oh, that was…

  Lucky collapsed on his side by Bo, harsh breaths keeping time with Bo’s. He placed a hand on Bo’s chest, feeling the thumpa, thumpa of Bo’s racing heart.

  Their breathing slowed. Bo wrapped an arm around Lucky, pulling him close. No words were needed. Lucky laid his head on Bo’s chest. He wouldn’t think of the day now. Wouldn’t think of anything.

  Just feel.

  He closed his eyes and sucked up the comfort Bo offered. “You did a mighty fine job of distracting me.” Or was Bo distracting himself, as well? He hadn’t mentioned Southwestern butting into the SNB’s business. Lucky wanted to talk about it. Ask if Bo was all right. Either Walter hadn’t told him, or Bo chose not to talk about it.

  Which stung a little, what with his “You can tell me anything” speeches.

  “Always have. Always will.” Bo pressed a kiss to Lucky’s temple. “You’ve been quiet. Want to talk about it?”

  Lucky gave a hard swallow. “No.”

  “You know I’ll listen to anything you have to say.”

  “I know.” Knowing made the world better. “Is there anything you want to talk about?” Lucky held his breath, waiting.

  Bo’s soft words barely reached Lucky’s ears. “Nothing you don’t already know.”

  “O’Donoghue?”

  Bo rolled onto his side to face Lucky. “I didn’t want to say anything because of the rough day you had, but yeah, Walter told me my promotion is on the line.”

  “How do you feel about that?” Lucky hated sounding like his counselor.

  “Pissed off, but more for Walter’s sake than my own. They’re trying to discredit him.”

  Yeah, they were. “So, what are we going to do about it?”

  Bo probably had some kind of by-the-book answer. Instead he said. “What we always do. Kick ass, take names, and hope the good guys win.”

  Lucky flexed the hand he’d injured in the line of duty. Being the good guy had cost him two fingers.

  What else might he have to sacrifice?

  He pulled Bo closer.

  CHAPTER 7

  Lucky settled behind his desk, adding the latest cup of Starbucks to the new collection he’d restarted after finally cleaning his desk. Chastain’s death still weighed on his mind. Was Landry responsible?

  Could someone else be behind the murder besides Landry? Did Chastain have other enemies? Possibly. The pharma execs who’d tried to take his business. Personal enemies? Jilted lover?

  While his instincts screamed Owen Landry’s name, he couldn’t let his personal biases blind him to something he’d missed. Maybe there were other reasons someone might want Chastain dead. Even strait-laced, successful businessmen got caught up in drugs, gambling, or scandals.

  Nothing Lucky found in his searches indicated anything but a loving son, considerate boss, a man who donated both money and time to charities. Not so much as a traffic ticket. By all accounts, a good person. Almost like the squeaky-clean record Lucky got when Richmond Lucklighter ceased to exist, replaced by Simon Harrison.

  Almost, but not quite. Even cleaned up, with a new name, Lucky’s rough edges showed through. Not so with Chastain.

  Then some scum took him out for reasons unknown.

  A shadow fell over his desk. Lucky glanced up, expecting to find Johnson returning to the vacant half of the cube she’d claimed whether Lucky agreed or not. Kind of the way she’d become his friend: by not taking no for an answer.

  “Hey.” Bo filled the entrance to the cube. “You doing okay?”

  “I might ask you the same thing.” Damn, it was good to see him. “You might get busted for playing favorites, coming down here to check on me.” Lucky appreciated the gesture, but like hell would he give O’Donoghue any ammunition for taking away Bo’s job.

  Bo forced a half-smile and put a finger to his lips. “Shh… Don’t tell anybody, but you are my favorite.”

  Lucky leaned back in his chair. “I bet you say that to all the boys.”

  “Now that you mention it…”

  Using Bo’s tie for a handle, Lucky sat upright and pulled him closer. “You don’t want me to open a can of whoop-ass on those boys, do you?”

  “Why would I want anyone else when I have a cocky bantam rooster of my very own?” Bo kissed the tip of Lucky’s nose. “Or a T-Rex, depending on how irritating he’s being.”

  “But you like irritating.”

  “True, and you like changing the subject so you don’t have to answer my question.”

  “What question?”

  “Are you doing okay?”

  Oh, that question. “I will be. I can’t help but think Landry’s behind Chastain’s murder.”

  “You really think so?” Bo leaned back against the desk he’d semi moved out of. “He pissed off a lot of people, even if it wasn’t justified. He had every right to protect his company.”

  “Landry was never caught, and he doesn’t strike me as the type to let grudges go.” Oh shit. “You were friends with him, when he first arrived.”

  Bo folded his arms over his chest. “I’m friendly to everyone.” After a moment he sighed. “Yes, I thought we were friends there for a while, or rather, I was friends with the man I thought he was. Not a man who’d manipulate, steal, and attempt murder to get where he wanted to be.” He dropped his hands down by his sides, clenching and unclenching his fists.

  Maybe Lucky shouldn’t have brought the subject up, but the jealousy when he thought of Landry pursuing Bo left a bitter taste on his tongue. “What if he, or anyone else with an axe to grind, comes after you, Charlotte, Ty or the kids?” He’d once taken pride in pissing people off. Then, he’d only himself to worry about.

  “He’d be crazy to mess with you.”

  “If he’s not crazy, I don’t know who is.”

  “Lucky, you have a lot of people in your corner. Me, Walter, Charlotte, Loretta, and so many more.” He didn’t need to mention Victor and Nestor. “Cruz has been tracking him. Have you called him?”

  “No.”

  “Call him, Lucky.” Bo dropped his voice. “When you have doubts or worries, always come to me. I’m here for you. Always. Now, I have to get back to my meeting, but please, give Cruz a call, okay?” He glanced right and left. No one. Cupping Lucky’s cheek in one warm hand, he gave Lucky a kiss that fell somewhere between, “Oh, hello, sailor!” and toe-curling. “I love you.”

  Bo sauntered off, turned, and came back, wrapping his arms around Lucky and squeezing tight. How did he know exactly what Lucky needed? Or was the hug what Bo needed? “You never told me if you’re okay.”

  Bo’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “As you said, ‘I will be.’ It’s not over till it’s over.”

  Oh, the feels! Too many feels! Lucky grabbed Bo’s ass. Feels? Overwhelming. Innuendo? A great diversion from Lucky’s worries. Maybe Bo’s too.

  “Ah, there’s the cocky bantam rooster I know and love. I’ll try to be home at a reasonable hour tonight.” This time when Bo left, he didn’t come back.

  Lucky loved Bo so damned much. He took Bo’s
suggestion and texted Cruz, “Call me.”

  His phone rang a few seconds later. Cruz didn’t wait for Lucky to answer. “Mi Amigo! To what do I owe the pleasure? In jail? Need bail money? Or did you just miss me?”

  Ha! Like he and Cruz were actually friends. They weren’t, were they? They were just—something. “They’d never take me alive, my parents took out bail insurance on all their kids when we were born, and if I missed you, then I need to spend more time on the firing range. Now, any word on Owen Landry?”

  The humor left Cruz’s voice. “Nothing. We tracked him to Texas. There was a possible sighting in New Orleans. The trail went cold.”

  Slippery little bastard. “I think he came back to Atlanta.”

  “Chastain’s murder?”

  “Yeah.” Lucky called it. Cruz already knew.

  “Request permission from Walter to share the official report. I’d like to see.”

  Lucky snorted. “What you asking me for? I know y’all have a way of getting what you want.” Amazing Victor’s outfit hadn’t gotten copies of the reports before they’d even been completed.

  Cruz barked a laugh. “This just saves a little time. I have to do things by the book occasionally, right?”

  “Why? I’ve gotten by for years keeping the book firmly closed.” Bo no longer quoted textbooks either. Oh, yeah. Everyone needed a calling in life. Lucky’s was being a bad influence. “Okay, I shared information. What you got?”

  The laugh faded. “I have been ordered to keep you apprised of any new developments, and protect you at all costs.”

  Ah, he opened the door. Now to step through. “If it’s Owen Landry, and he’s killed once out of revenge, he’s not looking for the big bucks anymore. He wants to get even with anyone who cost him his dream.” Yeah, they’d both been in the business long enough to not need a psychology degree to figure out a criminal mind.

  “Then you have a favor to ask.” Trust Cruz to figure out the next step in the dance.

  “I’m worried about my family.” Once upon a time Lucky wouldn’t have cared much if someone blew his ass away. Might’ve even thanked ’em. Now? Now he had Bo, Andro, Charlotte, Todd, Ty, and many more. If Landry really wanted to hurt Lucky, he’d strike any one of them.

  Worse than death for Lucky.

  “You will not see me, but I’ll be watching,” Cruz promised. “Call me if you need more than that.”

  “Oh, and one more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “The Southwestern Narcotics Bureau is questioning Bo’s ability to fill Walter’s shoes.”

  “Who are they suggesting instead?”

  “Landry’s former boss, Jameson O’Donoghue.” Bo might not like Lucky involving Nestor and Victor’s outfit, but what use was having powerful friends if he didn’t intend to use them?

  Lucky parked his ass in IT to review files on Chastain’s computer, and anything on the man’s phone.

  Also, annoying Keith by getting underfoot.

  While he held the phone, a new text came in: “I’m coming for you.”

  Holy fuck. He checked again. The words hadn’t changed.

  Bo, he needed Bo. Lucky dashed out of IT.

  Keith hollered, “Hey! Bring that phone back. It’s evidence.”

  Lucky knocked on Walter’s door, but didn’t wait for an answer to storm into the boss’s office.

  Bo froze mid-motion of looking over Walter’s shoulder, eyes wide. “What is it? I know something’s wrong.” He dropped his tablet computer into Walter’s hand and rounded the desk, stopping short of taking Lucky into his arms.

  Lucky needed the hug. He handed over the phone. “Look what I found on Chastain’s phone.”

  Bo stared at the screen, a wrinkle forming between his brows. He’d schooled his expression into something more neutral when he looked up and took the phone to Walter.

  Walter held it close to his nose, adjusting his bifocals for a better look. “Based on the time stamp this appeared while you were handling the phone in IT?”

  “Yes. I was only in the department about thirty minutes.” His skin crawled. Someone knew he was in there. Had their eye on him.

  Bo rested a hand on Lucky’s shoulder, the closest to a hug he’d likely risk in the boss’s office. “Who else knew you were there?”

  Who had he seen? “Keith. A couple of his techs. I think Robinson saw me go in there. I spoke to Lisa when I went by.” Robinson probably didn’t care, as long as Lucky didn’t tell her to be nice to someone. Lisa spoke to everyone.

  Lucky trusted them both, to an extent. “Is O’Donoghue here today?”

  “He’s out of the office, on assignment for DEA. Why do you ask?” Bo replied.

  Why, indeed. “Have you ever considered he might still have ties to Landry?”

  Walter handed the phone back, rubbing his chin and staring out the window without answering. Was that a yes?

  Bo snatched up his tablet and the phone. He tapped a bit, tapped some more, and sighed. “I can’t trace the number.”

  “So, whoever it is has surveillance on us?” Please say no, it’s all in my head. Keep saying it until I believe.

  “It could be a coincidence,” Walter offered. “The message might not be meant for you. Chastain could have been the target.”

  “Chastain has been reported as dead. If someone wanted him, they probably wouldn’t miss the article about his death when they searched his name.” Lucky paced to the bookcase and back. Hell, walking halfway through Atlanta wouldn’t be enough to calm his nerves.

  “They broke into his house and left no evidence. Now they’re sending messages on the victim’s phone.” Bo turned from Lucky to Walter. “They disabled Chastain’s security cameras, might know Lucky’s whereabouts. I agree that this might be someone who knows about surveillance. Has knowledge of the Chastain case.”

  “Like Owen Landry.” Lucky should’ve killed the asshole when he’d had the chance. Then again, O’Donoghue possessed the same skills.

  Walter’s desk phone rang. “Walter Smith.”

  Lucky strained his ears but couldn’t make out the words on the other end of the phone call, only Walter’s, “Are you sure?” and “Oh, I see.” After several moments of conversation that didn’t give Lucky any details, he hung up.

  “That was a courtesy call from Atlanta PD. They found the murder weapon in a hotel room on the outskirts of Atlanta.”

  How convenient.

  For a man who’d been poised to earn a sweet living as a pharma executive, if Landry was the murderer, he’d fallen hard. Even Lucky wouldn’t have rented a room in this run-down motel in the middle of a high crime neighborhood.

  Searching the parking lot didn’t turn up what he looked for. “Let me guess. No cameras.”

  Bo shook his head. His suit and tie stood out in this world of jeans, T-shirts, and barely adequate jackets. “No, and no one had a complete description of the man who’d rented the room. A man, somewhere between thirty and sixty, with blond hair or maybe gray, and eyes either blue or brown.” He shook his head slowly, staring at the ground.

  Lucky finished scoping out the parking lot and, side by side with Bo, approached the room. A uniformed officer stepped aside at the flash of Lucky and Bo’s badges.

  A maid pushed a cart on the sidewalk a few doors down. Lucky approached, plastering on his best harmless good ole boy smile. “Pardon me, ma’am, but have you cleaned this room yet?”

  “No, sir. The guest kept a do not disturb sign on the door. I haven’t cleaned in”—she lifted a clipboard from her cart and studied the first page—“five days.”

  Bo peered over her shoulder. “That matches the rental records.”

  The woman rushed off, casting furtive glances at the officer by the door. No doubt she’d seen plenty of cops while working here.

  “Thanks, ma’am,” Lucky shouted at her retreating back and followed Bo into the room. Dingy carpet, sagging curtains, threadbare covers. Clean, but worn. Kinda like Lucky. Nothing in the closet.
No suitcase or any personal effects in the bedroom. Clean coffee pot. Four wrapped coffee cups. Four packs of powdered creamer. Four packs of sugar. “He didn’t stay here.”

  “What makes you say that?” Bo asked.

  “Look at the bed. It hasn’t been slept in. The maid said she hasn’t been in here. I don’t care how neat a person is”—he gave Bo a meaningful glance— “there’d be something on the floor. Some kind of dirt, hair. Nothing in the trashcans.”

  “He could’ve made up the room himself.” Bo’s casual manner suggested he wasn’t challenging Lucky’s opinion, he wanted Lucky’s thought processes.

  Lucky pulled back the tacky orange and green bedspread. “Look at those sheets. Not a single wrinkle. He supposedly stayed five days, and didn’t sleep in the bed.” He stepped into the bathroom. Travel-size toothpaste, shampoo, and comb. None appeared used. No rumpled towels. No trash in the trash can there either. Nope, Landry hadn’t been here, but why rent this room and leave a gun? He might as well have left a calling card.

  “What made anyone look in here?”

  “Anonymous tip.” Bo’s scowl said he didn’t believe the reasoning any more than Lucky did. Anonymous tip, his ass.

  Anyone with enough knowledge to thwart Chastain’s cameras and spy on the SNB would know how to clean up after themselves. This room was a definite setup. Same went for the tip. Who would do such a thing? Someone who wanted Lucky to believe Landry guilty.

  He crossed the room and stared out the door.

  “Sir?” A young woman approached from the office. “Are you Simon Harrison?”

  “I am.” Today.

  “Someone called and left a message for you. He said you’d know what it meant.” She handed him a slip of paper bearing the motel’s logo.

  Lucky unfolded the scrap of paper. “One day you’re going to have to get this gate fixed. You do want your family safe, don’t you?”

  Oh shit. Charlotte.

  CHAPTER 8

  Lucky squealed tires. Home. Home. He had to get home. Thank God Mrs. Smith had Andro for the day.