Reunion: Diversion Six

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Reunion: Diversion Six Page 19

by Eden Winters


  The day Lucky’s checked into the hospital. When had Walter gotten in touch with Nestor? “Who…” Had to be Victor and Nestor. Walter only recently found out about Nurse Andy being Agent Jimmy, ruling the boss out. Maybe learning about Daytona being drugged put Nestor and Victor on alert. They’d promised to watch out for Lucky, after all. And they definitely had the pull to make arrangements for a baby sitter. “Don’t make a lick of sense.”

  “Since me hovering over you like a mother hen means you’re still breathing, I guess the request proved right.”

  Couldn’t argue there. “Is that why Bo took my clothes so I couldn’t go with him back to the hospital? I still owe him one.”

  Jimmy grin fell. “I’ve never worked with him, but my boss sings his praises. Bo’s a pro, but with you around, he’d lose focus and not concentrate on work. You know what happens to agents who can’t keep their minds on their work.”

  Yep. SNB memorial page. But still, someday soon, when Bo least expected… “What’s happening at the hospital? What’s Bo doing there?”

  “Maybe I shouldn’t be telling you this, but he’s keeping an eye on the rest of your family.”

  “Not to sound ungrateful or anything, but why?” If someone kept an eye on Bristol, the rest of the family should be safe.

  “Let’s call it a hunch.” Jimmy stopped at a red light and turned to Lucky. “I’m afraid we have a lead to follow up on.”

  Lucky’s mind reeled, and not from painkillers. He eyed a Starbucks sign. Good news or bad news all went down better with coffee.

  Someone along the way must’ve trained Jimmy well, because after a thumb jerk in the right direction, he pulled into the drive through. “Black decaf, lots of sugar,” Jimmy ordered. “Make that two.”

  He pulled up to the window, retrieved two cups, and handed one to Lucky.

  Umm… coffee. Lucky eyed the cup with suspicion. Hopefully, he’d get over worrying about drugged Starbucks cups. Something to take up with his therapist next appointment.

  And nothing scary about Jimmy knowing how Lucky took his coffee, or rather, used to. No, nothing at all. Lucky eyed the parking lot. If he could only run.

  But more questions needed answers before he could bail on his ride, and no running until his insides put themselves back together. He set his drink in the console cup holder. “What do my mother and sister know?” They’d gone through enough the last time he’d been declared dead. Not to mention a whole lotta tears and prayers during his lawless younger days.

  “We can’t share a lot at this point, but enough to keep ‘em from worrying too much.” Jimmy frowned. “Your sister doesn’t have a concealed carry permit, does she?”

  Her super heavy purse slapping against Lucky’s back came to mind. “I’m not positive, but I’m pretty sure she does, at least in Washington. Why?”

  “’Because she took a shot at me with her index finger.”

  Lucky laughed and grabbed his stomach. Holy fuck! After a minute or two of deep breathing and a whole lot of cussing, the pain subsided enough for him to talk again. “You better not lie to her. She threatened my partner with a shotgun when he went looking for me after the last time I died.” Last time I died. Who said such things? Lucky wasn’t in the habit of apologizing. The “Sorry” he slipped out must’ve been the drugs talking.

  Jimmy grinned again. “I didn’t notice a wedding ring on her finger. I like her spirit, and always had a thing for redheads When all this is over, you won’t shoot me for asking her out, will you?”

  Oh, hell no. No looking across the dinner table at a rabid fan with eyes for Charlotte. “No, but she might.” The moment Lucky got a chance, he’d ask his sister to change her hair color from the auburn she currently wore.

  “She strikes me as the kind of woman who can take care of herself. I like that.” Jimmy put his serious face back on. “Now, you sure you don’t know why your brother wanted you dead? Have you come up with anything else to tell me about him?”

  “He’s a money grubbing sonofabitch who wouldn’t even get tested to donate a hunk of liver and save Dad’s life. And like I said, up till a few hours ago, he believed I was already dead.” Charlotte had warned him Bristol might try to fight Bo for assets if he thought otherwise.

  Assets. “Wait a damned minute.”

  “You remember something?”

  You’re no good alive, but you had some use to me dead. Whoa! “Yeah. Have someone check records from about three years ago. And if he took out life insurance on Dad.” If Lucky was right… the bastard! If he was wrong… Hell, Bristol still might’ve tried to kill him.

  “What am I looking for from three years ago?”

  “If he came into some money about the time Richmond Eugene Lucklighter died.”

  ***

  Lucky jolted out of a doze. “Owww!” What the fuck? When had the sun gone down?

  Jimmy shook Lucky’s shoulder. “We got company.”

  The side mirror showed a shiny silver BMW. “How long?” He’d seen a silver Bimmer recently in pictures.

  “Since we left Virginia.”

  Judging by the road signs, they were nearing Charlotte, North Carolina. Lucky’s famous instincts twisted his gut into knots. “My brother owns a silver BMW. That’s him, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah. We’ve run the plates. It’s registered to Bristol Lucklighter.” Jimmy held the steering wheel with a two-handed grip.

  “So, he doesn’t believe I’m dead.”

  “Nope. Your boss let something slip.”

  Walter didn’t let information pass his lips by accident. “You asswipes are using me as bait!” Ow, ow, ow… Was he ever going to quit hurting?

  “I’m following orders and taking you home.” Jimmy glanced into the rearview mirror, watched the road a minute, and checked behind them again.

  “Has he figured out who you are?”

  “No. More than likely, he figures I’m your boyfriend.” Jimmy gritted his teeth. Could be a smile, but maybe not.

  “What’s the plan?”

  “Bathroom break.”

  He had to go and say that, didn’t he? Lucky hadn’t had to piss until Jimmy made the suggestion. Bastard.

  They pulled off the interstate at a truck stop. The BMW followed.

  And so did a familiar chicken shit green Malibu. And a black jeep. And a Kia.

  Jimmy led his caravan of tails into the relatively empty parking lot of a fast food restaurant. How about some subtlety, y’all?

  “I’m going to go in first and leave you in the car.” Jimmy handed Lucky a 9mm Glock that fit into his hand almost as good as his dick did. “Use it if you have to, but try not to have to. I’ve been assured you won’t. Smile, you’re on camera, and you might not want to say anything bad about your boss. I’ve got a mic in here strong enough to pick up things you haven’t even said yet.”

  Lucky kept his eyes on the BMW in the side mirror.

  The car parked right behind Jimmy’s Ford Escape.

  Same sandy blond hair, same swagger. Couldn’t be nobody else but a Lucklighter. Lucky kept his eyes on the driver’s approach and tightened his grip on the Glock.

  Please, God, don’t make me have to shoot my brother. Mama will never forgive me.

  The Malibu flanked them, and the Jeep cut off any possible escape. Where was Jimmy?

  Lucky’s heart pounded. He’d faced down many a drug dealer, but he’d never had to take down family before.

  The seconds ticked away, Lucky’s target grew closer. He readied the gun and let the window down. Footsteps padded toward the car. Closer. Closer.

  They stopped. Lucky swallowed hard and turned to face his fate. “Bris…” His mouth dropped open. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  Chapter Nineteen

  The man standing at Lucky’s window reached into his jacket. Who wore a jacket in this heat? The haunting scent from the hospital teased Lucky’s nose. The same guy. Had to be.

  Lucky raised his gun, heart pounding. “I don’t wan
na pull this trigger, but if you so much as flinch I will.” And may God have mercy on his soul.

  “Is that any way to talk to your brother?”

  “Those are the first words you’ve spoken to me in twelve years.” Lucky chanced a glance in the side mirror.

  Jimmy waited a few yards away, gun at the ready. Behind the car, Johnson flexed her arms. Lucky didn’t see a weapon, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t armed to the teeth. And being out after dark and not being home with her kid made “pissed off” her most dangerous weapon.

  “Why are you holding a gun on me? I just want to talk.” But the man kept his hand in his jacket.

  “Then talk. I’m listening.” With the Glock’s safety off, but still listening.

  “I wanna ask you…” The man pulled his hand from his jacket. “Yaaah!”

  One moment, familiar eyes stared Lucky down, the next minute his stalker simply wasn’t there—plowed down by a freight train. Never even had time to run.

  Johnson pinned the guy flat, face in the pavement, and her knee in his back. She wasn’t gentle about hauling his arms behind him, and if she pinched his flesh snapping the cuffs, she didn’t look sorry.

  Lucky was braced for more hatred, more fury. His social climbing brother never had a good word for him when he stood at Victor’s side, enjoying the lush life. Not when Lucky had what his brother wanted so badly. And now, Lucky stood free and his brother wore cuffs.

  Johnson hauled her prey to his feet. And maybe dislocated his shoulder.

  But it wasn’t Bristol.

  ***

  Blue flashing lights lit up the parking lot. The crowd of gawkers gave up, pocketed their cell phones, and wandered back to their cars.

  Show’s over, folks. Nothing to see here.

  Static crackled over a nearby police radio. Lucky watched a squad car pull away with his brother inside. Most honest folk were tucked in bed and snoozing by this late hour. No one ever accused Lucky of being honest. Not enough to totally blow his rep anyway.

  Jimmy slapped Lucky’s shoulder. “I believe I’m leaving you in good hands.” He eyed Rett and tipped an imaginary hat. “Ma’am.”

  “You didn’t just ‘ma’am’ me.” Rett’s scowl would’ve sent a smarter man hauling ass, though Jimmy’s quick scamper might count. She threw an arm around Lucky’s shoulder. “C’mon. Let me get you home.”

  Lucky staggered to the front passenger door.

  “Nope, no need for that. I’ve made things nice and cozy for you in the back.” She opened the rear door and gestured Lucky inside.

  Pillows, blankets, and a sleeping bag sat piled on the backseat. “You don’t do nothin’ halfway, do ya?”

  Rett lifted a blanket for Lucky to crawl under. “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth overdoing. Now get your ass settled, and I’ll get our butts back to Atlanta.”

  “I’m not an invalid.” Wow. She’d managed to make Lucky a fairly comfortable makeshift bed.

  “Didn’t say you were. You okay?” Johnson drove slowly out of the parking lot and had the decency not to hit any potholes.

  “Are we there yet?” Lucky hollered.

  “Don’t make me come back there.”

  Strapped in the back seat of Johnson’s Jeep, nestled in enough padding to shield him from direct impact with an eighteen-wheeler, high on two fucking amazing pills. If and when he stopped hurting, he might need to check into rehab.

  “No, really, how far are we?” His bladder ached.

  At least the ache in his bladder and side dulled the ache in his head and heart. Poor Mama. And Dad. And neither in any shape to deal with their kids’ shit.

  “Rett?”

  “We’re a half mile closer than the last time you asked.”

  “That’s not what I intended to ask. Can you find out what they plan to do with my brother?” Had Daytona really intended to kill him? Did he have two brothers after his sorry ass, or just Day? He and Bristol favored each other enough to be mistaken on a video.

  “They found a gun under the BMW’s seat, but not on him, so they’re taking him in for questioning.”

  “Where they taking him?”

  “Greensboro.”

  Greensboro. Fuck. “Turn this thing around. I want to be there when they question him.” Regardless of what he’d tried to do, the kid was still Daytona. He needed family, even family he wanted to kill.

  Johnson glanced up at Lucky in the rearview mirror. “Walter said to take you home. I’m considering his words to be an order from a superior.”

  “I’m your superior, and I said we’re going to Greensboro.”

  “Are you asking, telling, or ordering?”

  “Whatever it takes.”

  Johnson did a U-turn in the middle of the road.

  ***

  Man, returning to the Greensboro police department gave Lucky the screaming shivers. He could’ve gone his whole life without setting foot on the floors he’d last trod wearing handcuffs. Same lobby, same desk sergeant. Same gray walls.

  A young lieutenant approached. “Right this way, Agent Harrison.” At least he came as a guest this time, and not a new resident.

  No need for directions. The interrogation room where he’d spilled his guts about Victor hadn’t moved.

  Essence of Old Spice added a note of comfort to an otherwise nerve-wracking situation. Old Spice meant one thing, even without a visual: the boss. Lucky’s escort opened a door and confirmed his suspicions. Walter. With Bo as a bonus.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Walter stared through the two-way glass into the very interrogation room where Lucky once lost a game of Twenty Questions. He couldn’t go back in time and change a damned thing. Normally Walter sat behind his desk. Today, he remained standing and nodded for Lucky to take the chair next to Bo.

  “No. I don’t want to, but I reckon I better anyway.” Lucky clasped Bo’s hand out of sight between the two chairs. Bo sat next to him, but not close enough. So much for Lucky’s hard-assed demeanor. Seemed like someone got underneath his prickly exterior.

  Three men sat at a table on the other side of the glass. Two he’d met in passing, one he knew. Or sort of did.

  The years of hard living showed on Daytona’s face. The youngest Lucklighter appeared older than Lucky and might pass for Lucky or Bristol at a distance. Same dirty blond hair. Same height, or lack thereof.

  “He fucked me over,” Daytona said, staring at his hands. “I was doing good, getting my life back on track.” He clenched his hands together on the table. “Then he had to go and send me shit. He knew I wasn’t strong enough to refuse.”

  Flat, emotionless words. The tone of a defeated man.

  God, but Lucky’s chest ached. It’d been Bristol in his room trying to kill him, right? But drug-addled as he’d been, maybe it could’ve been Day.

  Damn, now his head hurt.

  “I nearly died, got kicked out of college, lost my girlfriend. And campus security found the shit I hadn’t used. Know how hard it is to get back on your feet after being busted and having possession on your record?” Daytona paused to take a sip of water from a plastic cup. “I hated him for it. Wanted to go after his sorry ass. But then he went to jail and that kinda evened things, ya know?”

  The detectives said nothing. Daytona continued purging his anger. “Then he up and died. Seemed he’d straightened his ass out and worked with the Feds or something. Died a motherfucking hero.” He buried his face in his hands. “I hated him for what he did, but he was still my brother.”

  Lucky didn’t even realize he’d been squeezing Bo’s hand with a death grip until Bo squeezed back.

  “Mr. Lucklighter,” one of the detectives prodded after too much dead air. “How did you find out Richmond still lived?”

  “My brother Bristol told me. Said he’d seen the sonofabitch in the hospital bed. I went to find out for myself.”

  Shit. So the video showed Daytona.

  “Where did you get the carfentanil?”

  Daytona’s h
ead shot up. “Carfentanil? What’s carfentanil?”

  “The drug you injected into Richmond in a saline solution.”

  Lucky couldn’t miss Daytona’s trembling even through the glass and fifteen feet away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I went looking for Rich, wanted to talk to him, but he wasn’t there.”

  The detectives glanced at each other. The talkier of the two asked, “What do you mean? You were observed going into his room.”

  “Wasn’t me, I tell you. I got as far as the door, but he wasn’t there. Someone said something about him dying, but I figured he’d lied once, he’d lie again. Then Bristol told me where they took him. I followed.”

  “Why did you follow your brother?”

  “I done told you, I needed to talk to him. Needed to find out why. How could he do that to me?” The pure misery on Daytona’s face tugged at heartstrings Lucky didn’t often use.

  All these years, the kid believed Lucky’d been the reason for his downfall.

  “And you planned payback? You intended to murder him.” Damn. Detectives at this precinct hadn’t mellowed since Lucky’s interrogation.

  “What?” Daytona shot out of the chair. “Murder? I wasn’t gonna kill him.”

  “We found a loaded .38 under the driver’s seat of your car. That makes you a felon in possession of a gun.”

  “I don’t know nothing about no gun.” Years of dealing with professional liars, not to mention formal training in reading body language, taught a man a thing or two. Daytona spoke the truth—or his own version of truth.

  “Mr. Lucklighter, do you realize why you’re here?”

  “For stealing Bristol’s car, right?”

  The two-way glass might stop Daytona from seeing him, but did nothing to shield Lucky’s heart. He turned to Walter. “I want to speak to him.”

  ***

  Shuffling into the room bought Lucky some time, but not nearly enough. His mind still reeled when he came face to face with his youngest brother.

  Daytona’s eyes grew wide and he clutched the back of a chair when he saw Lucky. “Rich? Bristol said you were alive, but he’s a lying son-of-a-bitch half the time. I can’t believe it’s really you! You’re alive! Oh my God!”

 

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