Redemption (5 page)

“What about What’s-her-name?” Lucky strung together enough brain cells to ask. He didn’t trust that “camera on the fritz” bit.

“She’s turning a blind eye as long as we don’t get too frisky.”

Bo’s lips on Lucky’s neck fizzled out any thoughts more complex than “Oh. Good.”

Body to body, Bo rubbed against Lucky, the stiffness in his jeans matching the stiffness in Lucky’s own.

Lucky might blow right here, right now.

“Even if she’s watching and lied about the camera, it doesn’t cover here by the wall. I checked,” Bo whispered against Lucky’s ear. “And she’ll keep anyone else from coming out. Not that anyone does now with the crappy weather.” He unbuttoned and unzipped Lucky’s jeans and plunged his hand inside.

Lucky bucked into Bo’s grip while fumbling with the front of Bo’s jeans and palmed his erection through a layer of denim. “Get these open.”

Bo stepped back, unbuttoned, unzipped, and resumed his position against Lucky. Mouth to mouth, shoulder to shoulder, and hands on each other’s cocks, they stroked. Bo moaned into Lucky’s mouth.

And somehow the prospect of an audience ramped up the lust factor. Bo liked public sex. Whether the possibility of getting caught or exhibitionist tendencies turned him on, at the moment nothing mattered but how good his hand felt on Lucky after them being apart for so long.

In other circumstances, a few filthy words about getting caught might kick the heat factor up a notch, but given how things had gone lately, Bo might shut down.

The center, the rain tapping out a steady rhythm on the roof, even the woman inside faded to nothing. The world narrowed down to Bo: the taste of green tea on his tongue, the comforting weight of his body pressed to Lucky’s, and his hand, his talented hand, stroking Lucky.

Lucky closed his eyes, tilting his head farther back to rest against a rough brick wall.

Bo moaned again.

Oh, fuck! Oh fuck! Lucky lost control, shattering into tiny pieces. Somehow, he managed a faltering tempo.

Bo shot, his come coating Lucky’s hand. They leaned against each other, panting despite the chill, foreheads pressed together. Bo let out a laugh. “I can’t believe we did that.”

Lucky couldn’t either, but he was too busy trying to keep his knees from buckling to form words.

“Stay still.” Bo messed around with his pants, producing a wad of tissue he used to clean them up—somewhat. Good that the “taking care of everybody” part of his personality hadn’t disappeared completely.

Once they were respectable again—or as respectable as Lucky got—they lay together under a blanket on the chaise lounge.

“How are you doing?” Lucky asked.

Barely enough space existed between them for Bo to shrug. “I dunno. My counselor says I’m getting better at recognizing when Cyrus tries to take over, and can distinguish his reactions from my own.”

He rested his head on Lucky’s chest. Good. At least he wasn’t running like he often did when he most needed a warm shoulder and comforting arm.

“They’re both a part of you, but remember, you created Cyrus. You control him, he doesn’t control you.” Lucky never went undercover long enough to blur the lines between fantasy and reality, and had enough felon in him to not play a role, only tap into his darker side. And no one had shot drugs into him on a daily basis.

“You sound like my counselor now.”

Was that a good thing, or a bad thing? “But you’re able to figure out who’s at the wheel, right?” Cyrus had his advantages, like not suffering from Bo’s heavy conscience. He looked out for himself. The self-preservation instincts could stay as long as they didn’t interfere with who Bo was.

Bo nodded but kept quiet.

Rain patted on the patio beyond their awning. They nestled together with the tap, tap, tap, and sluicing of tires against wet pavement as background noise.

After several moments, Bo broke the quiet. “My lease is up on my apartment. They called me today.”

“What did they say?” Getting words out of Bo didn’t used to be so hard.

“They want me to sign another year’s lease.”

No. Please no. Not another year apart. “The offer to move into my place still holds. That is, if you want to.”

“You’d never ask me to move in to be nice, but are you sure you want to give up your freedom and personal space to have me around all the time?” Bo raised his head and focused his deep brown eyes on Lucky.

Lucky’s bank account. His car. Hell, everything he owned was Bo’s for the taking.

His insides quivered. God, his man was gorgeous, in a way most people never noticed. There was a fire to him, an energy. Whatever it was, the raw power drew Lucky in and wouldn’t let go.

Lucky trusted little in the world, so life wouldn’t let him down. Couldn’t let him down. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

Bo dropped his gaze to their joined hands. “And if I snap one day? Go bat shit insane?”

“You won’t.”
I’ll catch you if you fall.

Bo remained quiet for a while. Too long. Nerve-wrackingly long. “You can’t know that.”

“Then we’ll deal. Who’s to say I won’t snap? Or one day we wake up to the cat dangling a dead mouse in front of our noses.”

Bo snorted. “He’s too lazy to hunt. You feed him too well.”

Nope. No changing the subject. “We’ve already had this conversation. Well, not about the mouse thing. I can handle anything you throw at me. And I thought we’d agreed to move in together.”

“Just wanted to offer you an out in case you had second thoughts. I’ve been thinking about what we said in Mexico, about buying a house together.”

Cool! Time for Lucky to share his news. “About that—”

“I think we should wait. I mean, I’m not sure about what I want right now. One minute I think about staying on with the SNB if they offer, the next I’m online digging through college course books and dreaming about going back to school or something.”

What?
No pressure. Don’t give him any pressure. He can’t stand any more.
The shattering of Lucky’s dreams rang loud in his head.
Don’t let it show! Don’t let it show!
At least Bo hadn’t mentioned moving away from Atlanta.

It took a lot of effort for Lucky to say, “If that’s what you think’s best.” Fuck! What about the house? Now wasn’t the time to tell him. He might see the token of commitment as Lucky forcing his hand.

“So, you okay with me moving in with you? What about your landlady?”

Now was Lucky’s turn to snort. “If it came down to a choice between me and you, you’re her favorite. You have that effect on people.” If anyone didn’t like Bo, Lucky hadn’t found them. Hell, even the fur ball that’d barged into Lucky’s life meowing sucked up to Bo. Figured. The little ho cat made nice with Johnson too.

“The doctors here think I should be ready to leave in a few more weeks. Too bad that means leaving my counselor. I’ll see someone else once I’m discharged, but she’s easy to talk to.”

“Want me to go ahead and move you?”
Quick! Before he changes his mind!

“I can’t ask that of you. I got too much stuff to move alone. Why don’t I give notice and pay another month?”

“Save your money. I won’t be alone. She don’t know it yet, but someone volunteered to help.” Johnson wanted to be Lucky’s friend?
What good are friends if I don’t intend to use ‘em?

They huddled together in the chair, not speaking. Lucky squirmed and rearranged his cock. He’d gotten off a few minutes ago and already needed another round. His movement wafted their combined scents from under the covers. No doubt about what they’d been doing.

The door squeaked open behind him the moment Lucky snaked his hand into Bo’s jeans for round two. “Sir? I’m afraid visiting hours are over.”

Fuck.

Or maybe not.

***

“Oh, pretty!” Johnson held up one of Bo’s dragon statues. “The boy has good taste… in some things.”

Lucky snatched the figurine out of her hand. “Hush up and earn the case of beer I’m paying you.” Somehow, luring Johnson into helping him pack hadn’t been such a good idea.

“Yes, boss.” Could she sound more mocking? “But you should’ve warned me before I packed the bedside table.”

It’d be a cold day in Hell before she’d let Lucky live down how fast he’d run when she’d found Bo’s toy.

Lucky pulled himself up to his full height—six inches shorter than Johnson. “You so much as breathe a word to Bo, and they’ll never find your body.”

She raised her hands, palms splayed. “Wasn’t gonna.”

Good. He’d hate to hurt her.

“I don’t promise to not use it against you whenever I need blackmail material.” She danced out of the way of Lucky’s swat. Damned short-assed T-Rex arms.

A pile of packed boxes formed in the living room, marked to take to Lucky’s, and larger items, like Bo’s bed, landed in a rented storage unit.

The toy he’d take to the house. When Johnson wasn’t looking.

“Oh, now, I like this.” Johnson pulled a photo out of a drawer of a much younger Bo, baby-faced and in uniform.

Lucky snatched the picture from her hand. “I’ll take that. And any more you find.” He rummaged through the drawer. Other pictures showed the man in uniform, with a smiling woman and a sullen teen who looked enough like Bo to be his younger brother. Must be the aunt who’d raised him.

Bo mentioned patching things up with their families one day. Lucky flipped through a few more photos and found one of two young boys, one unmistakably Bo, with a woman and a man. Had to be his parents. The man, woman, and Bo smiled. The younger boy had his lip poked out.

Bo had his mother’s smile, eyes, and dark hair. The man and boy had reddish curls. The mother who’d died and the father who’d turned out to be an abusive asshole. Lucky picked out a few pictures to take to the house, the rest he shoved into a box. If Bo wanted to see them again, the pictures or the people, Lucky would be there.

***

“I’m sorry, sir. Mr. Schollenberger isn’t taking visitors right now.”

Lucky placed a Starbucks cup of green tea on the desk. “I thought I’d been cleared to see him.”

The receptionist glanced up and down empty halls, leaned across her desk, and whispered, “He’s kinda had a bad day.”

Damn. “Will you at least give him this?” Lucky pushed the tea forward.

“I will.”

Lucky took slow steps back to his car, hoping for a “Wait! Stop!” that never came.

His ten text messages went unanswered.

***

Holy fuck! What would Bo say about the blood? He’d have Lucky’s hide for messing up the house.

Blood covered the comforter, the floor, even oozed from the walls. Where could Lucky hide the dead body? Bo should be home soon! He’d have a fit over the mess.

Lucky charged into the living room. What to do? What to do?

Bo stood in the middle of the room, lips bloodless, eyes staring.

No, he didn’t stand—he hung.

Lucky screamed.

***

Lucky shot upright out of the bed. The cat scrambled out of the room, hissing. Fuck. Not again. Much more and
snap!
Goodbye mind.

He stepped over boxes into the kitchen. Six a.m. Hell, he might as well make coffee. More boxes sat on the counter. He pushed them out of the way of the coffeepot. Bo’s stuff. But no Bo.

If Bo were there, he’d hold Lucky, tell him everything would be okay. Not that Lucky wanted a hug right now. Not really. Oh hell, who was he kidding? Bo. He needed Bo…

…who’d tell him to talk to Walter. Damn it. Too fucking early now.

Telling Walter about the nightmares would make everything real. Others would find out, forcing Lucky to face the music.

But he’d kill a dozen guys to save Bo. And he’d sure as hell pull the trigger on Stephan Mangiardi and not lose a moment of sleep.

Where was the bastard? Was he coming after Lucky? Were Mexican henchmen planning to take out Bo?

Fuck. Lucky might never sleep again.

Chapter Five

“Boss, I need to talk to you.” Yeah, might be better to wait until 4:30 on a Friday, have his talk with Walter, and haul ass after his coworkers fled the building. But something had to give before Lucky lost his ever-loving mind. Three weeks’ worth of nightmares and pretending things were fine when he visited Bo left him desperate.

“Have a seat. Would you like coffee?” Someone had cleared enough room on one of Walter’s cabinets to put a fancy one-cup coffee pot. “I have decaf around here if I can find it.” Walter dug through a desk drawer and pulled out a K-cup.

“No, thanks.” The mere thought of coffee rolled Lucky’s nervous stomach.

“You’re saying no to coffee? Someone alert the media.”

The lame humor further roiled Lucky’s gut. If he didn’t get the weight off his chest, explosions were coming. “There’s details from Mexico I wasn’t sure of, so I left them off my report.”

“Oh?” Walter sat up straighter and rested his hands on his desk. Seemed he had an official stance for every occasion.

“I told you about the gun fight. It all happened so fast.” The Garcia brothers, dead. Bo dying. And a dead guard. All in a few seconds. Yet, some of those seconds stretched into hours.

“Regardless of what you see on TV, most shootouts last less than three minutes.”

“This one didn’t go two, I don’t think.”
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang
rattled through Lucky’s head. He closed his eyes and blew out a breath. “I had a borrowed gun, and…” He sucked in air to buy a few moments. Once the words left his mouth, no taking them back.

“Go on.”

“I… IthinkImighthaveshotaman.” There. He’d confessed.

Walter regarded Lucky with deceptive calm, but behind an unemotional façade, the man’s mind had to be churning. “I see. Who do you think you might have shot, and where is the gun now?”

For fuck’s sake. What had he done with the gun? “One of Stephan’s men. And I’m not sure about the gun. Someone shot Bo full of hydrocodone, and the only thing on my mind was getting him back across the border. I might’ve dropped it in the office, or in the lab where we found the naloxone.” Naloxone. The only reason Bo still drew breath.

Walter steepled his fingers. His bushy gray brows gathered over a deep furrow above his eyes. “You’re aware that shooting a suspect calls for further investigations, don’t you?”