Benediction: Diversion Book 9

by Eden Winters

  They found seats near the back. Nothing happening yet. Still a few more minutes until start time, though the judge had already taken position at the front.

  One by one, defendants stood before the judge to hear the charges against them and enter their plea. About two hours in, the bailiff called Jameson Paul O’Donoghue.

  No court-appointed attorney for him. The lawyer with O’Donoghue wore a suit worth more than Lucky made in a month.

  Murder. Murder for hire. Obstruction of justice. Attempted murder. Extortion. On and on. Hell, and Lucky thought he’d been bad with trafficking.

  He held his breath, waiting for the plea.

  “Not guilty, Your Honor.”

  Fuckity-fuck-fuck-fuck. The case would go to trial. Cost taxpayer’s money. In the end, O’Donoghue only borrowed time.

  The judge might as well have been a choir of angels when he said, “Bail denied.”

  So, no chance for the rat to run.

  Lucky’d seen what he came for. “I’m heading out. What about y’all?”

  “I’ve got another two cases first,” Bo said.

  “There’s a coffee shop down the road, text when you’re ready.” Coffee, and the knowledge O’Donoghue wouldn’t go anywhere, somewhat made up for Monday.

  Lucky exited the courtroom and lingered near the door.

  Soon O’Donoghue emerged with his high-powered attorney, escorted by two officers from Atlanta PD. Prison orange suited the asshole.

  Lucky wove his way through the somewhat thinner crowd. He’d never admit to Bo how much being in a courtroom unnerved him. Memories came back: him standing before a judge with his court-appointed attorney, looking around and finding no one in his corner since Charlotte wasn’t there yet.

  She’d sat in the courtroom every day of his trial.

  He’d ordered her away. She’d probably have visited him every weekend in prison, putting her own life on hold, dragging her sons with her, selling her house to be closer.

  No kind of life for them. He’d hurt her. She’d wanted to be there. Deserved to be there, if she really wanted to be.

  He’d made one hell of a lot of mistakes in his life. Yet Charlotte stood by him. Walter. Bo.

  A crowd of people milled around him, waiting to cross the street. The light turned green. He’d made his way halfway across the crosswalk when he heard the shot.

  Followed by screaming.

  Lucky turned, hauling ass as best he could with a bum ankle, hurt arm, and hurt everything else. He pushed lookie-loos out of the way. Please let it not be Bo or Walter. He couldn’t get closer. No! No! No!

  “Get the hell out of my way!” Lucky shouldered his way through the crowd. If he had maneuvering room, he’d show his badge. “Let me pass!”

  “Lucky!”

  He glanced up and let out a breath of relief. Bo and Walter stood at the top of the stairs, trapped by people who didn’t have sense enough to get out of the way.

  There’d been a shot, damn it! Didn’t these assholes have any sense of self-preservation?

  It took some maneuvering to get to the one open spot. A woman stepped back to avoid getting blood on her high-heeled shoe.

  He knew what he’d see before he got there.

  Jameson O’Donoghue lay on the courthouse steps.

  With one single gunshot wound in his forehead.

  CHAPTER 27

  What a day. O’Donoghue dead. Not much of a birthday present. Hell, Lucky would rather see the bastard stand trial, pay for his sins. Maybe give them more evidence on others involved in this clusterfuck.

  Not now. Good thing the case wasn’t Lucky’s. Still his concern, just not his problem. Hallelujah.

  If only he could do like Bo and leave work at work. His family, except for Bo, had no idea the shitstorm he’d been through today. He needed to paste on a smile and play nice. He couldn’t let the family down.

  For some reason, his family insisted on acknowledging his birthday.

  The same drill year after year left a man wise. No one said a word to him at work, which meant hidden cars and a houseful of people when he got home.

  Good thing half of them would be packing, some with more than one gun. Couldn’t get safer than a houseful of agents.

  If they ever decided to bring in Jimmy’s brother for mixed martial arts training, Lucky would swallow his pride and be the first in line.

  He approached the community gate. Would the device clipped to his visor work its magic today? Oh, hell! A birthday surprise. The gate slid open with fewer than ten cuss words. Fuck. He spoke too soon. The gate opened enough to admit a bicycle, then closed. He rolled down the window and pressed the button.

  Again, the gate slid open two feet—and stopped. What the ever-loving hell? They paid the homeowner’s association. Surely whoever took the money could fix the damned thing.

  A car pulled up behind him and blew the horn. Lucky gave them a middle finger salute. The gate opened, and the car flew past him, driver laying down on the horn. Assholes.

  Maybe his birthday wouldn’t be so bad. After Lucky’s day, he needed cake, ice cream, and no-guilt junk food. Plus, family and friends, though he might not let them know.

  He pulled into the driveway. No cars. Nothing unusual. His nearest and dearest liked to think they were sneaky. Hard for Lucky to miss his own birthday.

  He took his time getting to the front door, giving his guests time to sweat, and checked the mail. Bill, bill, bill. Hadn’t Bo put all their bills on autopay? His mother’s handwriting graced the front of a card-shaped envelope. Kinda hurt, the reminder of all the years he’d done without a card, or a kind word, or even any word at all.

  Water under the bridge.

  He slowly approached and opened the door. The alarm had been set to “away” mode, and through the sliding glass doors he spotted Moose, asleep on the porch. He set the alarm to “stay”, though with Landry and O’Donoghue no longer a threat, he could relax some.

  Some, but not totally.

  He checked the kitchen, the backyard, the dining room, the bedrooms, stopping short of Charlotte’s apartment. No car in the driveway. Maybe she’d gone somewhere.

  No Bo, but lately, Bo worked a lot of late nights.

  On his third circuit of the house, he found a note. “Lucky, Rett and I went shopping. Don’t wait up. We’re taking the kids out for pizza.”

  They always tortured him with too much attention on his birthday. His heart ached a little. As much as he’d learned to hate birthdays back when his folks didn’t speak to him, he’d gotten used to having family and friends around again. Now, not even Bo, and he’d love to see Andro’s chubby cheeks stretched into a grin, and to hold baby Jenny.

  Tires in the driveway made him perk up, and he dashed to the front windows. Bo! Lucky plopped down onto the couch, scooped Cat Lucky off the back, and laid the feline in his lap. Nope, not watching for someone to come home. Not at all.

  Bo came in and disabled the alarm before the beeping turned to a blare.

  “Hey, Bo. You’re home early.” Were folks going to jump out of the woodwork now?

  “We had plans, remember?”

  Plans? At least Lucky wouldn’t be alone on his birthday. “What plans?”

  Bo put his hands on his hips and rolled his eyes with more drama than really necessary. “We’re going car shopping, remember?”

  Oh, yeah. Right. Lucky had scoped out a few in the impound lot at work, but agents weren’t allowed to buy them. They had to be sold at auction, and even then, agents couldn’t bid. Harsh, but kept the agents from working deals.

  Nothing said Charlotte couldn’t bid on a car for Ty, though.

  At least Lucky test drove a few models to get the feel of them. He missed his Camaro. Another sports car would be impractical for a man with two kids. He’d need a family friendly vehicle. “Do we have to?” Buying a new car added another payment to their budget, though Bo’s promotion greatly increased their options. Still, a new car meant admitting he’d lost his ol
d one for good.

  “C’mon, Lucky. Let’s get out of the house. We’ve both been under a lot of stress lately, and we have an evening without the kids.”

  Lucky grinned. “And you want to leave the house why? I can think of fun we can have right here.”

  “Nice try. Now, get your cute ass into my truck.” Bo smacked Lucky’s ass with the palm of his hand when Lucky passed by.

  Oh. Now Lucky really did want to stay home. Spanking? Maybe he could talk Bo into a little light bondage. Or heavy bondage.

  With a side order of discipline.

  Lucky wheeled around. Bo pointed outside. “Now!”

  Oh, bossy Bo. That worked too. Was it too much to hope they’d finally get around to breaking in the truck? Sex in the back? Oh, yeah. Lots of room.

  No such luck. Bo wasted no time pulling out of the driveway. The community gate slid open when they approached, and promptly closed behind them. Damned thing liked Bo better.

  “So, where are we going?” Lucky asked when they left the neighborhood.

  “You’ll see.”

  “Are we there yet?”

  “No, Lucky.”

  “Are we there yet?”

  “No, Lucky.”

  “Wanna make out in the backseat?”

  “N…” Bo glanced at Lucky sidewise while stopped at a traffic light. “Hold that thought.”

  They stopped at a local dealership Lucky passed every day on the way to work. A salesman approached before they’d even gotten out of the car. “What can I help you gentlemen with today?” He couldn’t have been long out of high school.

  “We’re in the market for a car.” Bo held out his hand. “Bo Schollenberger, and that’s my partner Lucky.”

  Partner? Loud and proud?

  The kid eyed Bo’s truck and nearly salivated, too busy thinking of money to register Bo’s words. “That’s a sweet ride. You trading it in?”

  “No!” Lucky bristled. As if. “The car’s for me. Some asshole set mine on fire.”

  “Oh, that’s…” Lucky’s words hit the salesman. “They what?”

  “Set my car on fire. Blew it up. Whatever.” Or rather, doused it in accelerant and set off some C-4. Lucky leaned against the truck and hiked a thumb in Bo’s direction. “But his last one got rammed by a homicidal maniac, so he’s set the bar pretty high.”

  “And whose fault was that?” Bo huffed.

  Lucky stage-whispered to the salesman, “I took his truck on one little high-speed chase and he gets all bent out of shape. Men. Am I right?”

  “Um… If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I’ll be right back.”

  Lucky really shouldn’t enjoy the guy’s discomfort so much.

  “Lucky,” Bo growled. “Behave.”

  “Where’s the fun in that? At least now we can look to our heart’s content without him following us like a lost puppy.”

  “There is that.” Bo? Said what? He’d been learning all the wrong things from Lucky.

  Fun.

  “See anything you like?”

  Lucky made a show of running his gaze up and down Bo’s body. “Oh, yeah.”

  Bo whapped his shoulder. “What did I tell you about behaving?”

  “Have I ever behaved before?”

  “First time for everything.”

  “Ya think?”

  Bo rubbed his chin and sighed. “That one might be beyond your skillset.”

  “Damn skippy.” Oh, wow! The little red car wasn’t bad. Not his Camaro, but still. “How about that one?” He pointed to a sporty little number on the front row of the dealership. A Mustang. Sweet.

  Bo circled the vehicle. “I don’t know, Lucky. It’d be a tight squeeze.”

  “Four seats. Four of us. What’s the problem?”

  “Car seats, toys, diaper bags… What if we need to stop for groceries? And it’s a two door. Can you imagine trying to get the kids in and out?”

  “One way to see.” Lucky opened the door, wriggled into the back, and patted the seat next to him. “C’mon.”

  “What?”

  “Get in. You’re worried about room. Come and try it out.”

  Bo’s height made crawling into the car difficult. Lucky grabbed him and pulled him into a lip lock.

  “Mmmppph…” After a moment Bo stopped resisting. Outside the car, someone cleared their throat. Bo jumped back.

  “May I help you gentlemen?” A woman stood beside the car, a sly smile on her face.

  On the third try Bo managed to work his way free. “Bo Schollenberger. And this is my h… partner Simon Harrison.”

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Vickie. So, you’re in the market for a used car?”

  Lucky started to answer, “No, we just hang out at dealerships for the hell of it.” The stink eye Bo sent him kept the words in his mouth. He crawled out of the car. “Yes, ma’am. My Camaro bit the dust. I need a replacement.”

  “You like the Mustang?”

  He’d have liked the Mustang a whole lot better if he’d gotten to finish his make out session. Oh, the things he’d have loved to do…

  “He likes sporty, but we have two kids, so something family friendly.” Trust Bo to burst Lucky’s bubble.

  Lucky shifted his attention to an SUV. Bo made a good point—he needed something family-friendly. He took one last look at the Mustang.

  Bo smiled the disarming smile capable of getting him his way. “Vickie, can I talk to my partner for a moment.”

  “Sure!” She strolled away, out of earshot.

  “Look, Lucky. If you really want something sporty, we can always use my SUV as the family car.” Bo rested his wrists on Lucky’s shoulders. “I want you to be happy.”

  “I am happy. I don’t need a car for that.” Plus, the offer shamed Lucky for being selfish. Sports cars also cost most than the typical family car.

  Too much planning involved in having only one car capable of hauling Lucky, Bo, the kids, and everything the kids needed.

  In the end, they selected a Toyota Rav4. Sporty enough to make Lucky happy, practical enough to suit Bo, and much easier on their paychecks than a Corvette.

  “We’ll pick it up tomorrow,” Bo said. “We have plans tonight.”

  They did? Lucky tried not to agonize over where they might be going. Somewhere loaded with friends, no doubt. The Italian restaurant didn’t surprise him. They’d often eaten there, or picked up takeout.

  Bo ushered Lucky into the restaurant with a hand at the small of his back. “Reservation for Schollenberger,” he told the host, who led them through the restaurant and to a patio out back. Only one other couple sat out there, far enough away to give Bo and Lucky some privacy. Tall gas heaters drove back the chill, and strings of overhead lights gave off a gentle glow.

  Lucky tried to lift an eyebrow when Bo pulled out his chair, but still hadn’t managed to master the art of lifting his eyebrows separately. He sat and allowed Bo to settle him in. Sometimes, better to let Bo pamper him a bit.

  Bo ordered a bottle of wine.

  “Wine?” Lucky asked when the waiter left.

  “It’s a special occasion. We’ll just have a little.” Although neither had made alcohol their drug of choice, they still avoided partaking most of the time.

  Special occasion? So, Bo hadn’t forgotten Lucky’s birthday after all.

  Bo ordered vegetable lasagna. No surprise. Lucky wouldn’t dream of ordering for Bo, though he could. Having endured his share of junk food the past few weeks, Lucky ordered portobella ravioli. Fungus never tasted so good.

  Every now and then Lucky glanced up to find Bo watching him intently, fork hovering in midair.

  “What?” Did Lucky have sauce on his chin? If so, Bo could lick it off.

  Bo stared. “Oh, sorry. I zoned out there for a minute.” He tucked back into his food.

  The other couple left the patio and, other than a busboy who came to clean the table, they were alone. No one came by to remove their empty dishes either.

  “I think they forgot a
bout us out here.” Good thing they didn’t need anything.

  Bo drummed his fingers on the table. “Look. Let’s wrap up the rest and take it home, okay? I’ve got something I want to do.”

  Wow. That was odd. “Okay.”

  Bo stayed quiet on the way home.

  “Is something wrong?” Lucky hadn’t seen Bo this agitated in a while. Not since right after Mexico. Then again, two people they’d known were now dead.

  Lucky had nearly joined them. He linked his fingers with Bo’s, needing the contact and reassurance of having his lover near.

  No one waited at home.

  Bo finally spoke in the driveway. “Let’s put dinner in the fridge. Get your leathers on. I want to go for a ride.”

  O… kay. Definitely something wrong. Lucky put on his leather jacket—bullet hole and all. He’d managed to get the fake blood off the leather, mostly, and zipped into Bo’s spare chaps. Blood and bullet holes as a fashion accessory? Didn’t get more badass than getting shot and keeping on going.

  They uncovered the Harley in the front yard, and Lucky climbed on the back. Bo drove.

  Turtle Fur kept his neck and ears warm, and the helmet’s plexiglass shield kept the wind out of his face. Curious thing about a Harley: as much as he loved the sound in daylight, at night the pipes echoing off the asphalt took on a clearer, richer tone.

  They left the neighborhood and headed toward a more rural area, away from the city lights. Bo pulled the bike over in a circular driveway, the foundations of a house vaguely visible in the gloom. He turned off the headlight and got off the bike.

  What the hell was he up to? Lucky followed suit.

  They removed their helmets and stowed them on the bike. Bo pulled a blanket out of the saddlebag, unfurled it on the ground, and held out his hand.

  Lucky joined their fingers, and together they laid back on the blanket. Stars overhead, barely any sounds. In a few weeks there’d be crickets, cicadas, and frogs.

  Now, just him and Bo.

  “Are you okay? Comfortable enough?” Bo asked. Of course he’d be concerned and treat Lucky like an invalid over a few bruises.

  “I’m fine.” Later Lucky might claim otherwise and earn himself some TLC. Bo gave the best TLC.