by Eden Winters
We?
Well hell. Lucky and Landry finally agreed on something: they both thought O’Donoghue lower than a snake’s belly.
Onscreen, Landry continued, between drags on his cigarette. “The only gun I own doesn’t match the one used to kill Chastain. Watch Jameson. You’ll find out all you need to know. And, Lucky? Tell Bo I’m sorry. I really liked him, you know, but not in the way you think. Even coming on to him was Jameson’s idea. You were the target. Always were. You stood in his way. I’m not sure what lengths he would have gone to, but he wanted you gone. He wanted to keep Bo around. Between your past and Bo’s, if anything went wrong with whatever plans the asshole made, he’d have Bo to throw under the bus, and point out the connection between him and a former drug trafficker.
“He promised Greg control of surveillance, and Philip would take over training. I don’t think anyone else in the Atlanta office was in his pocket, but you never know. We drugged Walter’s coffee cup. Jameson said it’d knock him out, make him doubt his health and agree to retirement. He may be an asshole, but he knows his shit. If Walter nearly died, that’s what Jameson intended—a lethal dose.” Landry sucked on his cigarette again, releasing a cloud of blueish smoke. “I’m sorry about that too.” He shook his head, a self-deprecating smile playing on his lips. “Seems I’m regretting a lot of choices I’ve made these days. The biggest regret? Trusting Jameson O’Donoghue, and believing one damned word coming out of his mouth.
“You’ll find a list of names attached to my email. Check them out. And Lucky, do me a favor? Take Jameson O’Donoghue down. I don’t know how this’ll play out.” He gave a mirthless chuckle. “I won’t be around long. When you find my dead body, you’ll know who to look for. One bullet to the head, no struggle. Who else could walk into a man’s house and simply kill him, except for a man with a badge?”
The video ended. Lucky played it again three times.
He checked the names and let out a low whistle. Yeah, the corruption went deep if all these folks were involved. Could he trust the lying snake of a man who’d nearly killed Walter?
Icy fingers trailed down his back and wound up in Lucky’s gut. Landry was now, by his own admission, in Atlanta.
Lucky rose and headed toward the boss’s office with his laptop.
He nearly ran into Jameson O’Donoghue. “What you got there, Lucky?” He held out a hand, eyes full of contempt and suspicion in equal measure.
Loretta Johnson hip-checked O’Donoghue out of the way and plucked the laptop from Lucky’s hand. “I was just coming to get this. Keith says the upgrade will take about an hour.”
O’Donoghue narrowed his eyes.
Johnson waved her coffee cup in his direction and placed the cup and her ginormous handbag on the desk, showing her intent to stay. All the while clinging to the laptop. Talk about multi-tasking. “Lucky, I’m so sorry about your car. Are you okay? What happened?” Like she didn’t know, having sat with Charlotte until Lucky got home and helping him with his reports.
Johnson sure knew how to give a performance for an unwanted audience’s sake. “You need something, O’Donoghue?” Since when had the woman ever sounded so… sweet?
O’Donoghue glanced from one to the other, spun on his heel, and slithered off.
Being near the man left Lucky with the sudden desperate need for a shower. “Thanks for acting as buzzard repellent.”
“Anytime. You’d do the same for me.” Johnson handed back his laptop. “So, what is this about? You watching back episodes of South Bend Springs at work?”
“What? How did you…”
Johnson gave a smile fit to scare sharks out of the water. “Your sister talks. Anyhoo, what were you trying to hide from him?”
“Something you, Bo, and Walter need to see, but not here. First, do you still have contacts at Southwestern?
The backyard barbeque at the Smith’s on Saturday night wasn’t all business, though Charlotte left right after, taking Ty, Rone, and Andro home with her. Walter assigned Robinson to watch the house.
Mrs. Smith busied herself elsewhere, while Lucky, Bo, Rett, and Walter gathered in front of Walter’s ginormous television.
Bo worked his magic, projecting from Lucky’s laptop screen onto Walter’s TV.
“Well, sonofabitch,” Johnson exclaimed the moment Landry’s face filled the screen.
No one said a word as the video played. At the end, Walter asked, “When did you get this?”
“This morning.” Had it really been just that morning?
“Play it again, please.” Walter gripped the arms of his chair, gaze riveted to the screen.
After the third round, Johnson twisted around from her place on the carpet to face Walter. “When I got to work, O’Donoghue was in the doorway to the cube. I got the distinct impression he was about to take Lucky’s laptop. I told him Keith needed it and acted like Lucky had been on his way to IT.”
“Landry was his right hand at one time,” Lucky threw in. “If he was suspicious about my laptop, reckon he also suspected his former minion might try to contact me?”
“Fast thinking about the laptop, Loretta, but this doesn’t prove anything. In fact, as evidence, it’s rather flimsy. Landry’s offenses are well known. To make a case, or discover if, indeed, Jameson is involved in a conspiracy, we need proof.” At least the boss no longer jumped to O’Donoghue’s defense. “We also have to consider that this is Landry’s way of moving suspicion from himself to someone else.”
“If it is, he went through a lot of trouble to back up his story.” Lucky handed Walter a stack of printed reports—the results of his and Johnson’s workday. Walter read.
Bo rose from the couch and stood behind Walter’s chair, peering over his shoulder. He let out a whistle. “That’s a lot of names.”
As Landry said, there’d been a turnover in key positions within the various narcotics bureaus over the past year. Several with direct connections to O’Donoghue.
Lucky still hadn’t pinpointed Landry’s role in the personnel changes yet.
“And a lot of power,” Walter added. He stayed quiet for so long Lucky’s nerves began to fray. “Lucky, do you remember how I used to scold you for not trusting Jameson?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry. Your gut instincts have seldom been wrong. I should have listened. While this could be Owen Landry’s way of drawing attention away from his own crimes, what does he have to gain from giving you this information?”
What, indeed?
Lucky would rather sit through a root canal without anesthesia than ask Jimmy or anyone else for help, but they needed answers, and they needed them fast.
He sat at the head of the large dining room table the family seldom used, on a Sunday, when he should be lounging around the house or playing with his son. Johnson and Bo sat on one side, Jimmy and Keith on the other. Moose, now coneless, made the rounds from human to human, hoping for tidbits.
Lucky shared the video with Keith and Jimmy.
They sat in stunned silence afterward.
“Jimmy, do you recognize any of these names?” Bo handed over a copy of the list from Landry.
Jimmy’s eyes moved side to side as he read. “I recognize these two. They’re from the Virginia office. One’s a new director, the other is a department manager. They rose up pretty quick through the ranks.”
Johnson took the paper from Jimmy’s hand. “These three are from Southwestern. This pathetic excuse for an agent just got a promotion.”
Seemed like a lot of promotions in a short amount of time. “What happened to whoever he replaced?”
“He died in a hit and run.” Johnson grimaced. “Nice guy too. Left behind a wife and four kids.”
Jimmy spoke up. “The woman this guy replaced”—he jabbed at the paper with his forefinger— “had a heart attack about a year ago.”
“Walter nearly died, with O’Donoghue lined up to take his place. The new director at Southwestern worked with O’Donoghue at DEA, and the ma
nager knew him from NYPD. Y’all see a pattern?” Cronyism at its finest. Lucky hadn’t dug up this much dirt in a single day since living on the farm.
“But why? And to what end?” Jimmy asked.
“Honey, I’m home!” Cruz strode into the dining room, flipped a chair around backwards, and sat, arms folded over the back. He grinned. “Sorry I’m late.”
Trust Cruz to make a big entrance. He also laid his accent on thick.
“Keith, Jimmy, this is Cruz. I could tell you his last name but then I’d have to shoot you.” Actually, had Lucky ever known his last name? Chances were, he’d been through more fake names in his career than Lucky.
“Mucho gusto,” Cruz said, with the smile he probably practiced in the mirror.
Lucky ignored him—for now. “What do all three offices have in common?”
Jimmy raised his hand, looked around sheepishly, and lowered it back to his lap. “A major drug pipeline comes through Texas from Mexico, straight across the South and up through Virginia on its way to DC and New York, two major drug markets.”
The guy was so much smarter than he looked, and quoted textbooks. Yup, so like Bo’s early days. “Cruz, here, is an agent for an international drug task force, who also poses as a cartel leader in Mexico.”
Jimmy’s eyes widened, and he glanced back and forth between Lucky and Cruz. Keith cast sidelong glances Cruz’s way, but he’d been in the Atlanta office during Bo and Lucky’s Corruption case, and likely knew all the details.
Cruz’s smile grew wider. “What can I say? I’m a busy man.”
Lucky paused to allow Cruz to watch Landry’s video and for Bo to bring him up to speed, beyond what Lucky told him on the phone.
Once Cruz turned off the video, Lucky continued, “Based on what Landry said, not that I put much stock in what comes out of his mouth, and the job shakeups at Southeastern Narcotics Bureau, my guess is that money is changing hands to arrange safe passage of drug shipments.” Lord knew Victor Mangiardi had greased plenty of palms back in his day to ensure shipments traveled from point A to point B undetected.
Cruz snapped into all-business mode. “I’ve already got agents on it, trying to arrange a meeting with the director in Texas. Two other cartels are rumored to have made deals for safe passage of drugs across the border and through their territory. If we come to an arrangement, we watch what happens.”
“I’ve set up surveillance,” Keith said, “O’Donoghue can’t take a shit without us knowing.”
Lucky did not need the visual. “I’m sure he has RF detectors. Camera finders.”
Keith grinned. “He asked for some equipment a few weeks ago, checked it out, and knows it works. I snuck into his office and replaced everything yesterday. I even changed the asset tags in case he recorded the numbers. Any microphones I plant will come across as wi-fi, and the camera detector hasn’t worked in five years.”
“Then why keep it?” Bo asked.
Keith shrugged, though far too smugly to be apologetic. “For times like this. Of course, when you become boss, you can always splurge on some new equipment.”
Bo had to become the boss first.
Though she appeared focused on the task, Lucky caught a whole lot of side-eye between Johnson and Cruz. Oh, hell no. Yes, he’d gotten the “she’s a grown woman and can take care of herself” speech lately, but Cruz was not the kind a man you wanted around a friend on the rebound. He was so good at undercover work Lucky wasn’t sure Cruz even knew when he was lying.
He was a Mangiardi. What could Lucky expect?
Then again, Johnson might only be admiring the view. And Cruz probably flirted with his own hand before jacking off.
Lucky cleared his throat to get Johnson’s attention. “Rett, get in touch with your old friends at Southwestern. Just be friendly, but see what gossip you can get about the new management. Jimmy, you do the same at the Virginia office. Bo, I hate to ask this but…”
Bo let out a dramatic sigh. “I know. I gotta kiss up to O’Donoghue. Again.” He puckered, then made a face, which brought a few chuckles from around the table.
“Keith, can you install surveillance in O’Donoghue’s office? He knows better than to say too much on the phone, but arrogant people think they’re above the law and might slip up. I want to know if he’s contacting Landry. I sent you the email address from the video, and the number I got the text from.”
“Working on it,” Keith said. He looked up from his laptop.
Really? Keith, obeying Lucky without a fight? Sweet!
“What will you be doing?” Keith asked, a touch of challenge in his tone. An overbearing asshole to the end.
Cruz smirked. Lucky shuddered. He wasn’t going to like this. “Actually, I have an assignment for Mr. Harrison, and if I don’t tell you, I don’t have to kill you.”
“I know I asked you to call him to see if he knew of Landry’s whereabouts, but are you sure bringing Cruz into this is a good idea?” Bo stood in the bathroom door, hair wet and tousled and a towel wrapped loosely around his waist. “I know you don’t completely trust him.”
“I don’t, but Mexican drug lords aren’t easy to come by these days.” He’d also helped Bo and Lucky in the past. Several times.
Lucky sat on the bed, naked. Things might get busy in the coming days. Best enjoy their together time while it lasted.
“Do you honestly believe there’s a conspiracy? I mean, the drug corridor has existed for years. Sometimes the cops stop the right trucks, other times?” Bo scowled and cocked his head to the side.
Lucky leaned back against the headboard, stretching out his legs and giving his cock room to grow. Semi-naked Bo had that effect on a man. “Think about the millions of dollars in profit each one of those trucks represent. I’m thinking it would be well worth it to somebody to ensure the trucks made it through. O’Donoghue set up Landry for a job that would’ve made him rich. Why didn’t he want it for himself?” A question Lucky asked himself often.
Bo flicked his gaze up and down Lucky’s body. “Because he had a better offer?”
“Yes, and before they were busted, Forsyth Pharmaceuticals was probably in on the deal too. Cheap raw materials from Mexico, maybe?” The towel around Bo’s waist needed to fall off.
Bo came around to Lucky’s side of the bed, plucked the readers off his nose, and placed them on the nightstand. “On your stomach.”
“Oh, I love when you get all forceful.” Lucky rolled over. “Are you trying to distract me again? Not that I’m complaining or anything.”
“You’ve got the trench between your eyes. Relax.”
The towel fell to the floor. Lucky fought the urge to turn around and get a look at naked Bo.
Bo smacked his ass. “What did I tell you?”
The smack shot electric currents to Lucky’s cock. A new kink. “To assume the position? If I obey, will you fuck me?” Normally, Lucky argued when told what to do, but forceful Bo made his dick hard.
The smile came through in Bo’s voice. “Maybe.” He ran his hands down the middle of Lucky’s back, one after the other in quick succession.
Oh, sheer heaven.
Bo worked his fingers into the muscles of Lucky’s back. Lucky let out a long groan. Bo gave one hell of a massage. The comforting weight of him settled on Lucky’s upper thighs, his cock brushing Lucky’s ass. “Now that’s interesting. Why don’t we talk about the first thing that comes up?”
Bo lightly slapped Lucky’s ass again. “At least make an attempt to behave.”
“Oh, whip me, baby. Why behave? Where’s the fun in that?”
Bo leaned in, putting his mouth to Lucky’s ear. Warm breath caressed Lucky’s shoulder. “Why don’t you give it a try, and see how much fun we can have?”
Sex or massage? Hell, ten years ago there’d have been no question. Now? Now, he’d like both.
Bo popped the top on a bottle. A horrible sqqqrrrrtt noise sounded somewhere above Lucky, followed by the slap and rub of Bo’s palms as he warned the oil
in his hands. Then he brought those slick hands down on Lucky’s back and rubbed.
Oh, but Lucky had another muscle Bo could stroke.
Bo finished Lucky’s back and worked fingers into Lucky’s glutes. He rose, taking some pressure off Lucky’s stiffening dick.
“Whaaaaah!” came a wail from the cracked-open door.
Bo stopped. Lucky peered over his shoulder. Maybe if they were quiet…
“Whaaaah!”
Together they let out a long sigh. Bo patted Lucky’s shoulder. “You stay put. I’ll get him.”
CHAPTER 18
Lucky hated Mondays. With a passion. He swilled lukewarm coffee and rubbed his bleary eyes. Some mornings there wasn’t enough coffee in the world to get him going.
He removed the breakfast Charlotte sent with him from his computer bag, and dropped the package onto the desk. It clonked. A biscuit. Okay, time to buy some frozen biscuits on the way home. Still hopeful, he opened the tinfoil and lifted the top of the biscuit. Bologna, cheese, and grape jelly.
Oh joy. Maybe later. Much later.
The desk next to his held a combination of Bo’s and Johnson’s belongings, as the O’Donoghue power grab shuffled Bo back to the cube. When faced with the prospect of space on another floor or sharing with the rookies, Johnson went back to Newbieville.
Or rather, she now shared a cube with Salters. Lucky felt a twang. Jealousy? Fear of them teaming up against him? Or was he still brooding over Rett not mentioning Charlotte’s dating?
Most men he’d heard lately, especially at the gym, dated for the sex, and didn’t want more. They’d run like hell from a woman pregnant by her brother’s partner.
Yet Salters hadn’t run. Accepted Charlotte carrying a baby for Lucky and Bo.
Lucky better stop his bitching. His sister could do a whole lot worse. Besides, Walter liked the guy, and despite his reservations, Lucky’s gut feelings didn’t ping with alarm.