Redemption (30 page)
With way more wiggle than necessary, she shrugged into her jacket and traipsed out the front door to a chorus of slamming doors. Bo returned a few minutes later, grinning ear to ear. “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“No.” And worth Bo’s bright smile, dimple included.
Bo patted Lucky on the ass. “Help me with cleanup. I’ve got plans for us tonight. I’ll load the dishwasher if you’ll take out the trash and let the dog out.”
“You’ve got a deal.” Lucky grabbed a garbage bag from under the sink and made the rounds, picking up a napkin here, a few dropped morsels there, dumping a trash can. Cat Lucky glared at him from the bedroom. “I know. How dare I lock you up and let strangers invade your castle, your highness.”
Next, he approached the guest room with caution. He pushed the door open, the door pushed back. A whine emerged. “If you want out, you gotta let me in.”
He pushed, Moose pushed, overeager to escape. Damn, Lucky should add the going-on-seventy-five-pound-puppy-push to his workout routine. After a struggle he got the door open enough for the dog to barrel out into the hallway.
“Oh no, you don’t.” He grabbed a handful of fur before the beast tore through the house, and slipped on the leash. Sometime soon he’d have to go back to the shelter, make the fostering permanent, in his name, and in Bo’s.
Leash in one hand, bag in the other, he called out, “I’ll be right back.”
He stepped outside, trotted to the dumpster he used for disposing of ripped up carpeting, and threw in his bag.
For a moment he stood there, recalling all the times he’d returned to an empty house, wishing someone waited for him. Now lights shone from every window. “No, Rett, I won’t blow it.” Blow Bo, maybe… in about five minutes.
Moose whined, thudding his tail against the sidewalk. “Okay, okay.” The critter dragged Lucky to the fence. Lucky opened the gate, removed the leash, and let the dog run free.
The street light’s glow reflected off something shiny at the edge of the yard. What the hell? Lucky crept closer.
A Harley Road King? Ah, hell! Bo’s Harley Road King. The one they’d left in Mexico. His heart slammed against his ribs. Vibrations from his pocket made him jump, and he yanked his cell phone out.
“Happy New Year!” appeared on screen from an unknown number. He circled the bike.
A flat, wrapped package leaned against one side. No need taking chances. Who had brought the bike? How had they gotten through the gates?
He ripped open the paper. A picture. Or rather, a painting. The gloom wouldn’t allow him to see clearly. He lugged the package into the house. Bo sang in the kitchen, rattling dishes.
Lucky snuck into the bathroom, locked the door, sat the painting on the sink, and turned on the light. For a moment his breath caught: the image bore the same style as the portrait of Mama Mangiardi.
A landscape, Paris, judging from the French words on the buildings in the background. Two men sat at a café table, the first unmistakably Nestor. One arm encircled the other man while he lifted a glass of wine in toast with the other. A golden band circled the third finger of his left hand that hadn’t been there at Lucky and Nestor’s last meeting.
Lucky lifted his phone and redialed the text number. “The number you have dialed has been disconnected.”
Damn. How often did the guy change numbers? A white sheet of paper caught Lucky’s eyes, a reminder of the picture he’d gotten a few months back, warning him of Walter—a card.
Lucky’s heart pounded.
The front of the card showed two champagne glasses and the words, “Happy New Year.” With trembling fingers he opened to read, “Happy New Year. May you be as happy in your new life as I am in mine. No matter where you go or what you do, you’ll be watched over, only not by angels. Expect the Harley’s title in the mail, made out to William Patrick Schollenberger III. One day Cyrus Cooper may need to ride again. I hope he’s ready. Keys are in the saddlebag.”
The card was signed
N.
The second man in the painting also toasted—and also wore a band. Most of his face was obscured by shadows, but white strands highlighted his dark hair. Lucky studied the image, his heart putting together the mystery a split second before his brain did. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
Hopes, fears, and tons of guilt fought for dominance in Lucky’s brain. Then they all… vanished. The load he’d carried for years dissolved.
Bo knocked on the door. “I let Moose back in. You ‘bout ready to call it a night?” He rattled the doorknob. “Hey, why do you have it locked? Are you okay in there?”
Lucky unlocked the door and let Bo into the bathroom. Bo stooped down in front of the painting. “Where did you get this?”
“It’s a New Year’s present. I found it outside, along with your motorcycle.”
Bo jumped back, eyes wide. “Who’s here? Do they know about us? Call Walter! Now!”
“Bo, calm down. If Nestor wanted us dead, we’d be dead already.” Words he’d said over and over the past few months. “Look closer.”
Bo inspected the image. “Oh my God. Nestor and…”
Lucky nodded. “Yeah.” So much made sense now.
“Did you see this?” Bo pointed to the lower right corner of the painting.
Beneath Nestor’s name and the date he’d written a single word:
Redemption.
About the Author
Somewhat of a nomad, Eden Winters has visited seven countries so far. Her earliest memories include making up stories for the family’s pets, and through her academic years, she wrote many short stories and poems. Dreams of writing professionally were realized, only not as planned, with a good dozen years spent as a technical writer.
She began reading GLBT fiction as a way to better understand the issues faced by a dear friend and fell in love with the M/M romance genre. During a discussion of a favorite book, a fellow aficionado said, “We could do this, you know.” Eden wrote her first novel shortly thereafter and never looked back.
Currently, Eden calls the southern US home, and many of her stories take place in the rural South. She lives alone, having successfully raised two children, and divides her time between a day job, friends, writing, trying different varieties of vegetarian cuisine, and outdoor adventures such as hiking and camping. Her musical tastes run from Ambient to Zydeco, and she’s a firm believer that life is better with pets. She also loves cruising down the road on the back of a Harley Davidson.
Find Eden’s other works at
http://edenwinters.com
or
Rocky Ridge Books
. Contact her at [email protected].
More from
Rocky Ridge Books:
Diversion
- When a smartass excon turned narcotics agent gets a straightlaced Marine turned pharmacist for a partner, the drug peddlers aren’t the only ones who should be terrified.
Collusion
- Bo and Lucky pursue the white collar thugs who are willing to let children die so they can make the big bucks.
Corruption
- Going undercover in pursuit of designer drugs shows a side of Bo Lucky’d never imagined. Bo’s alter ego is one scary dude.
Manipulation
- Breaking one drug ring leads Bo and Lucky to bigger, more dangerous prey. The case could kill them and the past won’t stay dead.
Also from
Rocky Ridge Books:
Spokes by P.D. Singer
- A journalist’s ear for quotes could be the undoing of his fragile relationship with a skittish pro cyclist. Tactics, not just speed, wins hearts as well as races.
Table of Contents