by Eden Winters
Steps sounded behind him. The farther he kept away, the better. Realizing his sorry ass really could die changed his way of thinking.
The officer crept up to him, gun aimed.
Lucky kept his voice low. “I’m Agent Lu… Harrison, Southeastern Narcotics Bureau. And I’m wired.”
The man nodded, but kept his gun at the ready. Gee. Suspicious much?
“My partner, Agent Schollenberger, was right behind me coming out.” And dear Lord let him not have been in the path of one of those shots. Better clue in the new arrivals. “There’s packets in a conference room. Tell your men not to touch the shit without gloves, you got me?”
The officer nodded but continued to hold his gun on Lucky. “Hands on your head.”
Lucky grabbed hold of the car door and climbed to his feet.
Moments passed at a snail’s pace. The occasional sweep of a flashlight shining from a warehouse window pierced the darkness. Sure was creepy out here at night.
“Wouldn’t we be better off waiting in your car?” Standing here made them easy targets. If the guy fought him, he’d pull rank.
The officer nodded. The other officers fanned out around the parking lot. They’d brought one hell of a lot of firepower. Someone hadn’t given him all the details.
A shot rang out, and another, and another. Inside the building.
Then outside.
Lucky sprung and knocked the officer off his feet. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuckety fuck!” Damn, but that hurt! With any luck, Lucky hadn’t torn anything open. The cop struggled beneath him, still not realizing he’d been saved by one of the good guys.
Over a month after surgery. When would the shit quit hurting?
Pop, pop, pop. The shots came slower now, like the last few kernels in a bag of microwave popcorn.
A flurry of activity, then, “Man down! Man down!”
Oh, God. Please not Bo.
Jimmy bolted out of the SUV. An ambulance arrived mere seconds later. Must’ve been on standby at a safe distance.
Night turned to day, and Lucky shielded his eyes from the glare of a half-dozen floodlights.
He let the wiggling cop go. The guy pointed his gun at Lucky again.
“Have you ever known a suspect to try to save your sorry hide?” Jeez, when would the guy get with the program? Then again, Lucky wasn’t much of a trusting soul, either.
The agent in him yearned to sprint inside, be in the middle of the action. The man who wanted to be alive come the weekend told the agent to shut the fuck up. Not his case. He’d done his part. Time to let someone else earn their keep.
Except… Where was Bo?
Paramedics hauled a gurney out, loaded with a body fully covered by a sheet. Two SWAT team members followed them, dragging two men Lucky hadn’t seen before in handcuffs. Damn. How much backup had money man brought?
More emerged. How many people were in there? All around him radios crackled, offering up bits and pieces of information. Two dead from the warehouse, one officer down.
Shit. Two dead. Please, please, please. Not Bo.
A man nearly as large as Walter, with the same, you’d-better-do-as-I-said bark reached down a hand. “Would you mind pointing your gun in some other direction?” The cop lowered his gun and backed away.
Lucky struggled to his feet.
“Agent Harrison?” The man kept his grip on Lucky’s hand.
“Some days.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. Special Agent Gaskins, DEA.”
“My partner…”
“All our men are accounted for. One casualty—one of our own. I lost a good man tonight.”
“There were two suspects involved directly in the drug deal.”
“Can you identify them?” Agent Gaskins towered over Lucky but kept his voice low.
Lucky nodded. “Yeah.”
“Come with me.”
Lucky followed Gaskins into the building, past the conference room full of blue uniforms into the warehouse. Two cops stood guard over a body.
A semi-automatic lay on the floor next to the deceased. Bo’s.
“That’s the man I brought here, the supplier.” Lucky nodded to the body. “The buyer was bleeding last I saw him, and exited the building right before your men arrived.”
“We’ve got him on camera, and we’re looking for him now.”
“Good. Can you tell me what went down at the airport?”
“Arrested four, and found a pallet of unmarked boxes. We backed off to let the lab handle cleanup.” Gaskins rubbed a hand over his head. “They know better what we’re dealing with. I hate the shit these assholes are bringing into this country.”
Right now, assholes, the shit they sold, and even Mr. DEA didn’t matter. Lucky trudged through the building as fast as his beat-up body allowed.
He strained to make out voices, recognize a familiar face in shadowy rooms, heart falling with each, Nope, not him.
Finally, a familiar drawl yanked Lucky toward the conference room, followed by Mr. DEA. Bo made eye contact while deep in discussion with an officer. Hallelujah! Closing his eyes, Lucky blew out a breath. Alive. Still alive.
If not for the roomful of people, he would happily check Bo head to toe for injuries.
“Umm… Harrison? You all right?”
Lucky opened his eyes to find Special Agent Gaskins staring down at him.
“Yeah. Just tired. It’s been a rough few hours.”
“I’ll bet.” Gaskins tugged on rubber gloves from a box on the table, lifted a packet from the floor, and dropped the instrument of death into a zip-close bag. “I can’t understand why people do this horror.”
“Some assholes mix stronger stuff into heroin.” Made the heroin more potent, but in the end shot the dealers in the foot by killing their clientele. Which might have happened to the woman Bristol allegedly sold to.
The guy nodded. “First started coming into this area about four months ago. We’ve had twelve overdoses since then. I’d love to believe this operation supplied them all, but I’ve never been much of an optimist. What say we get out of here?” the first DEA man Lucky’d met in a long time who didn’t insult him said.
“I’m game.”
“Thought you might be. Care to drive the BMW back to the station?”
His brother’s BMW. Bought with ill-gotten gains, though Lucky had yet to figure out how much profit Bristol made and for what. So far all he’d seen tonight was enough drugs for minor deals, and acting as a cab driver. Flunky work alone didn’t finance Bristol’s lifestyle. And he’d supplied his basement operation somehow. “I’d really rather not.”
“Don’t blame you. I’ll get one of my men. You can ride with me.”
Lucky followed behind the man, too tired to argue, with a dull throbbing around his heart—and in his side.
Gaskins opened the car door for Lucky. “I can’t tell you how much we appreciate your help. And if it’s any consolation, I’m sorry about your brother.”
“Yeah, me too.” And not just Bristol. The whole situation likely fucked with Daytona’s head, not to mention the hell Mama went through. Or Charlotte.
Breath whooshed out of Lucky when Bo stood silhouetted on the loading dock. Safe. Still safe. Bo nodded once and returned inside the building.
Right. Still on a case. Lucky’d done his task.
He needed his family, now more than ever, with every fiber of his being. “After we finish the formalities, can I get a ride up to my parents’ farm?”
“It can be arranged.”
Time to officially reenter the Lucklighter clan.
Chapter Twenty-five
Few cars sat in the police station parking lot at barely past sunrise. The pink horizon gave way to blue skies, dotted with a cloud or two, the day shaping up to be a warm one.
With any luck, Lucky would soon be snug in a bed, and not alone, sleeping and loving his way through the heat. But no, he couldn’t lose himself in the wonders of sex and block out all the painful shit in his life.
>
No need to keep secrets anymore. The whole family would soon know what happened to Bristol. The whole fucked up story.
His perch by Bo’s Durango, parked near the door, gave him clear view of anyone coming or leaving. No chance of Bo getting away without saying goodbye.
A uniformed officer nodded on his way to the steps leading to the station’s front door, a fast food bag in his hand wafting the drool-inducing scent of sausage. Probably a biscuit, nice and fluffy, like Mom used to make, slathered with butter and filled with meat, eggs, and cheese.
Lucky’s rumbling belly protested until another officer, reeking of cigarette smoke, trotted by slightly out of breath. Shift change, and he’d been here most of the night, except for a brief visit to an all-night urgent care clinic to check any damage he might have done.
Scrapes. Bruises. Soreness. He’d live.
Cigarette Man climbed the steps and held the door while Bo strolled out and made a beeline for Lucky. Bo. Finally. And alone.
After a quick left to right perusal, Lucky grabbed the man he’d been within reach of for the last few hours but unable to touch.
“Aaaak!” Bo struggled all of three seconds.
Nothing shut the man up quicker than a tongue to the mouth. After a moment, Bo answered passion with passion, slamming Lucky against the side of his Durango.
Oh, hell yes. Lucky ground against his man. Five minutes, all he needed—or less. Nights like last night made him want to hold on and never let go. But he had to. “What’s your plans for the next few hours?” he stepped back enough to ask.
“I heard you needed a ride to your parents’ house.” Bo jutted his chin out. “I’m driving you.”
Stubborn looked good on the man. Lucky ought to argue, put his foot down. Bo had to be worn completely out and in need of a few hours’ sleep. He couldn’t be up to a visit to Redneckville. Being bone-weary himself took the fight out of Lucky. Maybe he should sleep first, but no, he needed to be with his family. If they’d have him.
And he needed to be with Bo. Bo acting as driver also meant no more undercover—for now.
Damned if giving statements didn’t become more time consuming each time. Seven fucking A.M. Not the hour of day to come calling unannounced.
“Okay. You win.” Arguing with a smart man like Bo used up energy Lucky’d rather keep.
The Dimple peeked out of Bo’s cheek and disappeared. Yup, probably too tired to pull off a megawatt smile. “What? You’re giving in so easily? I didn’t even have to employ any of your mother’s techniques to pull you into line.”
Double-teamed. He’d keep an eye on his partner around his mother. Charlotte too. “Just remember, there’s more Lucklighters where we’re going. Lots of ‘em.”
“I’ll take my chances. Now get in the truck.” Bo jogged around the hood and got in the driver’s side.
Lucky crawled into the passenger seat, buckled himself in, and called his Mom’s cell phone. “Mama. I need to see you. Can I come by?” Please say yes! Please say yes!
Silence. Not good. Finally, his mother answered, “Yes, I suppose I’ve kept things from your father long enough. Charlotte’s been begging me to let her talk to him. I reckon it’s time.”
“Okay, see you soon.” Lucky ended the call. “Here’s the address, or close enough.” He punched a store near the farm into Bo’s navigation system. Even satellites couldn’t find the Lucklighter farm.
Bo gave Lucky’s hand a squeeze and pulled out onto the road. “I heard you went to urgent care last night. Everything okay?”
“Yep. Just banged up a little.”
“Good. Seeing you hit the ground like to have made my heart stop, let me tell you. It was all I could do not to say ‘fuck the case’ and come running out to check on you.”
“Same happened to me when I heard shots.” And envisioned Bo lying in a pool of blood. The no-fraternization rule at work made more and more sense. Distracted agents became liabilities, or worse, dead agents.
One side of Bo’s mouth quirked up. “Aren’t we a pair?”
“A pair of what?”
They passed a club Lucky used to haunt with Victor. No need pointing out such a landmark to Bo. Twenty minutes later stores and office buildings gave way to green fields and black barns of tobacco farms.
With each mile Lucky’s heart pounded harder. Almost home.
And then the surroundings grew more and more familiar. “That’s where I went to high school,” he pointed out. Nothing like the massive school buildings in Atlanta. Might as well give his partner the grand tour. “And over there’s the feed and seed. I went there a lot with my dad when I was a kid.” The twinge in Lucky’s chest had nothing to do with his surgery. The post office and a handful of businesses rounded out the wide spot in the road Lucky used to dream of leaving.
He rolled down his window, letting fresh air wake him. “We don’t have Starbucks, but stop at the convenience store, m’kay?” Coffee. Even decaf, might make him feel human again.
Not one damned thing seemed to have changed since Lucky last came home over twelve years ago. He left, and life continued without him at the same molasses pace.
Birds chirped in the trees when he got out of the car, and he caught a slight whiff of honeysuckle and freshly-mown hay. Home. He’d come home.
“You all right?” Bo placed a hand on Lucky’s shoulder, snapping him out of his daze.
“Just tired, I reckon. You?”
“Same. But not too tired to be here when you need me.”
No, Bo would never be too tired, too busy, too sick, to have Lucky’s back. He made a great partner, both on and off the job. Would asking Bo to marry him here and now count as being under duress?
The words sat on Lucky’s tongue, but Bo deserved hearts and flowers and some grand romantic gesture.
“C’mon. Let’s get you some coffee.” Bo ushered Lucky into the store, holding onto Lucky’s arm, but Lucky lacked the energy to say anything about being treated like an invalid.
He dawdled at the coffee pot, excitement and fear pouring through him in equal measure. Mama accepted Lucky back, but Dad? Stubborn didn’t begin to describe him. When he dug his heels in, nothing changed his mind. And Mama wouldn’t go against Daddy.
“You’re stalling, aren’t you?” Bo didn’t accuse, merely pointed out the obvious. “I’m here with you. No matter what. But things never turn out as bad as we fear.”
Yeah. Lucky’d remember to say those words when they ventured to Arkansas to reconnect with Bo’s folks.
He plodded back to the car on autopilot, buckled himself into the passenger seat, and sipped coffee while pointing out rights and lefts. “There’s where I wrecked my four-wheeler, and across the road I used to go fishing with my dad.”
The Lucklighter kids once waited at the end of the driveway for the school bus. “Turn off the paved road here.” Lucky pointed to a “blink and you’ll miss it” dirt road.
Packed red clay and gravel crunched under their tires. Pecan trees came into view. Many an afternoon, the Lucklighter clan gathered pecans to sell to a local farmer’s market.
The garden where he’d spent summer days weeding and picking beans, squash, and other vegetables now hid beneath tangled overgrowth. Twelve years hadn’t done the barn any favors.
White goats with red heads dotted the landscape, interspersed with white shaggy bodies, Moose’s ilk, keeping watch over the herd.
No rolls of hay stood curing in the fields. No one kept the place up with Daddy sick. Guilt overcame anxiety. What a piss-poor son he’d been. His sorry ass should be out on a tractor, cutting the field or plowing the earth for the garden.
Bo stopped his Durango before the house came into sight, lifted Lucky’s chin with his hand, and connected their lips.
Lucky latched on like a dying man, the last few hours slamming home: grief, guilt, terror of Bo being hurt, and for the next few hours he’d cling tightly to denial regarding the new facts he’d learned about Bristol.
He
soaked in the comfort of Bo cradling his skull in one hand, the love surrounding the man who put up with all his bullshit. When the kiss ended, he rested his forehead against his partner’s.
For good, bad, better, and worse, this man would always be a part of him. And in return, Lucky had given away something of himself he’d never get back. Didn’t want back.
“You ready?” Bo asked one thousand years too soon.
“As I’ll ever be.”
In true Southern fashion, Bo smiled and replied, “I heard that.”
Fate awaited.
So did the Lucklighters.
***
The old swing Lucky and Charlotte used to sit in as kids still hung from the front porch. Roses scented the air.
The old frame two-story farmhouse flaked white paint. Brilliant red geraniums bloomed on either side of the steps. The same blue curtains hung in the window of Lucky’s old upstairs bedroom—a room conveniently located close to a massive oak tree.
So many times he’d slipped out the window, shimmied down the tree, and got into a little late-night mischief. If the hayloft could talk…
Two tabby cats met Lucky on the path up to the front door. “Mroow?” One stropped against his leg and he bent to scratch a furry ear, his incision halting him in mid-motion. Bending. Not a good idea.
Barely out of kittenhood, neither of these critters knew him, though the gray tabby lying on the front porch might. “Don’t tell Cat Lucky I cheated on him and tried to give his scritches to other cats, okay?” Lucky muttered.
Bo stood off to the side, saying nothing about Lucky’s cowardly attempt to buy time. Sooner or later, he’d have to knock on the door and face whatever came his way.
The entryway seemed so much bigger from the porch, the old timey screen door in bad need of new screen. The moment of truth. He sucked in a deep breath. Sweat trickled down his face, due to more than a sweltering summer day.
Bo sidled closer and gave Lucky a smile.
With Bo at his side, he’d face down a hundred drug lords. Or family.
Lucky opened the screen and rapped on the front door. The scent of coffee teased his nose. Once more he knocked. His pounding heart kept time with the beat.