Redemption (6 page)

“Yeah. I can’t swear it was me. Bullets were everywhere.”
But it could have been me. Was most likely me.
Wishing it wasn’t didn’t change a thing. Still, no harm in trying. “If I did, it was self-defense.”

“Of that I have no doubt. Nothing appeared in the report I received from Mexico of you having shot a man. Perhaps the other witnesses saw things differently. Bo made no mention of it either.”

“Bo was busy. And I hope Cruz saw it different, ‘cause I’ve been having dreams… You told me you’d shot men before. How do you keep it from eating you alive?”

“I did what my country called on me to do. I stand by each decision and would pull the trigger again if put into the same circumstances.”

“That don’t answer the question.”

“Taking a life is never an easy thing, nor is the emotional fallout later. But if I hadn’t pulled the trigger, the enemy would have, and killed me or my brothers in arms.” Walter made killing sound so reasonable.

“Then I’m screwed, right?”

Walter abandoned his chair, rounded the desk, and sat next to Lucky, pressing the warm weight of his hand to Lucky’s shoulder. “Off the record? If you took a life without remorse, you wouldn’t be human.

“For years I wondered about the men I shot, the lives and families they’d left behind. I didn’t let it show and told no one until I entered counseling ten years later. I should have told you last summer when you first asked, but even today talking about it makes me uncomfortable.” Walter slipped his hand off Lucky and stared at the wall. “No amount of training can prepare you for something like this. Value for human life, early religious training, it all plays a role.” He gave Lucky a tremulous smile.

“I’m screwed, then.” Lucky buried his face in his hands.

“Our insurance website lists department-approved therapists and psychologists. I expect you to make an appointment with one.”

“I don’t need—” Lucky peered through his splayed fingers.

“I believe you do. Plus, it’s required of any SNB personnel who discharges a firearm in the line of duty. I’m afraid if you don’t choose someone, I’ll be forced to choose for you.” He returned his hand to Lucky’s shoulder. “Trust me, Lucky. I wish I hadn’t waited ten years.”

Walter never raised his voice, didn’t even sound stern. Lucky got the message anyway. As fatherly as he spoke, first and foremost Walter was Lucky’s boss.

Lucky ought to give Art a call, find out who he’d used when he’d shot a man determined to carve out his liver with a switchblade about three years ago. But Art winged the guy, who’d lived to get shot by someone else in a drug deal gone wrong.

“Is that all you have to tell me?” Walter sat, unblinking.

“I think so.” Lucky dropped his hands to his lap. The chloral hydrate should be out of his system by now, thanks to the gag-inducing brew he choked down every night, courtesy of Loretta Johnson.

“A drug test is mandatory when there’s been a shooting.”

“I’ll go.” And pray they did a piss test and not hair analysis—and that it came out negative.

The rigid set of Walter’s shoulders relaxed. “I’m sorry, Lucky. After all you’ve been through these last few months. You should have mentioned this earlier and included as much as you remembered in your report.”

“I wasn’t sure. I keep having nightmares. They mess with my brain until I can’t figure out how much is real or a dream.”

Walter nodded. “Make an appointment soon. Until we’ve finished our investigation, I’ll reinstate your leave, if you’d like.”

“No. Don’t.” Lucky didn’t want more time to think. He stood and slogged to the door, body heavy, like swimming through molasses. Maybe he should take a break. “I’ll let you know.”

“Lucky?”

“Yes?”

“Two agents behaved admirably under pressure and performed above and beyond expectations. You returned both to me through your actions. If you pulled the trigger to save the lives of two good men, you did the right thing.”

Confessing meant dragging in Internal Affairs or whatever—and Bo. Last thing the poor guy needed.

Lucky spent the next few hours finishing his report, filling in what he could weed out as fact, and what he recalled of the fuzzy parts. Had Cruz stood on his left or right? Where was Bo? Alejandro? Fuck. Alejandro, who’d taken on his own brother to save Lucky. And bled out in a parking lot.

Lucky’s phone chimed around 3:00 p.m. Bo texted,
Gotta talk to you. Now.

Shit, meet fan. Four stretched yellow lights and three middle finger salutes later, Lucky pulled in to Magnolia Center.

***

Bo met Lucky at the door. “Oh, God, Lucky. Why didn’t you tell me?” All the breath whooshed out of Lucky from Bo’s savage bear hug.

Tell you what?
“Um… you were a bit busy?” Lucky gasped in enough air to say.

Bo loosened his grip but didn’t let go. “Yeah, and I’ve been kicking myself ever since Walter left.”

Fuck. “Walter was here?” So much for breaking the news gently.

Bo darted a glance toward the attendant, who chatted with a couple at the desk. “C’mon. Let’s go outside.” He marched Lucky out to the patio. The day was pleasant for October, not too cool, not too hot. And it wasn’t raining.

“What did Walter tell you?” And did Lucky need to have words with the man once he got back to the office? Bo had enough to deal with right now.

“He came in with a guy I’d never met. Wanted to discuss the night I got… injured.”

Injured? A vial of narcotics injected into Bo’s system counted as one hell of a lot more than injured. If not for a shot of naloxone to stave off an overdose he’d be dead.

Bo narrowed his gaze and brought his nose within inches of Lucky’s. “They asked if I’d seen you shoot a gun.”

Fuck.

“I told ‘em the truth. That all hell broke loose and I lost track of who did what. And the lights were out part of the time.”

Thank God. “So, you didn’t see me shoot anybody?”

“No, Lucky, I didn’t.” Bo rested his head against Lucky’s. Green tea aroma drifted to Lucky’s nose on Bo’s breath. “Is it true? Did you kill one of Stephan’s guards?”

Lucky spun and stalked away, wrapping his arms around himself. Why was it so cold all of a sudden? “Sometimes I think I did, other times I close my eyes and can almost see Cruz pulling the trigger. Then at night when I dream…”

Warm arms wrapped around him from behind. “Sh… It’s okay. Same thing happened to me the first time.”

The first time? No, Lucky wouldn’t ask the next obvious question. Nope. No way, no how. Bo didn’t talk much about his time with the Marines. Lucky now understood why.

“What happens now?” Bo asked.

“Nothing. They investigate, talk to whoever Cruz works for. In the meantime, I can warm a desk or take time off.”

“What’re you gonna do?”

“I don’t know yet.” About anything.

Bo nodded against Lucky’s back. “I’m getting out of here soon.”

“That’s good. What’re your plans?” Lucky turned his head enough to see Bo shrug.

“I’m not sure yet. If they release me to return to work I might climb back on the horse that threw me, at least until I come up with a better idea.”

Oh hell no. Not this soon after almost losing him, even if Walter did let him back undercover.

“Are you okay?” Here Bo was, sitting in a rehab center, piecing his life back together, and he worried about Lucky.

Now came Lucky’s turn to shrug. “Good as I ever been, I suppose. I got my .38 a few years back and was proud. Getting to haul a gun around meant I wasn’t a second class agent no more. I never thought much about putting the damned thing to use.” Hell, some agents only fired at range targets. Trust trouble to find Lucky.

“Are you in therapy?”

“Not yet, but Walter’s told me to pick someone from the department approved list or he’ll do it for me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

Bo clutched him tighter. “That I’m so wrapped up in what I did and what happened to me that I blocked out the hell you went through. I’ve been selfish.”

Selfish? Bo? Confused perhaps. “If you were, you got a right to be selfish. You gotta look after yourself.” Bo’s arms around Lucky made life better, no matter what happened.

“But like you said, we’re in this together. I can’t think of just me anymore. There’re two of us to consider.”

Dear God let him still feel that way after the center released him. “I want you home. Do what it takes to get there, okay? That is, if you still want to be there.” Please, God, let him say yes!

Bo grunted instead. “Where else would I go? Until I figure out what’s what, I guess you’re stuck with me.”

A camera panned over the patio area. Lucky couldn’t care less. Let Little Miss Painted Nails get an eyeful. He turned, grabbed his man by the back of the head, pulled him down to kissing height, and laid a big wet one on him.

“Lucky?” Bo mumbled.

“Yeah?”

“Air?”

“What? Oh, sure.” Lucky eased his hold without letting go.

Bo panted. “You can be darned forceful when you want to be.”

Shit. Bo didn’t like to be held down or restrained. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Bo grabbed Lucky and gave as good as he’d gotten.

***

“Good evening, Lucky.” Mrs. Griggs waved from her perch on the porch swing. More than cats occupied the space beside her. Loretta Johnson was all Lucky needed after the day from hell. Her familiar black Jeep filled the landlady’s driveway.

He bobbed his head and breathed in too-thick air. A tickle started in the back of his throat. If he stomped into the house without making eye contact Johnson might get the message to leave him the alone.

No such luck. She met him at his front steps. “Wanna talk about it?”

“No.” Gritting his teeth didn’t ease the growl in his voice.
Go away. Go the fuck away.

The newbie with more guts than self-preservation eyed him up and down. Let that kid come to Atlanta soon and give her someone else to spend her maternal instincts on. Lucky hadn’t been mothered in a long time and didn’t intend to start now.

“I’ve got a better idea,” she said. “Grab your stuff. We’re going to the gym.”

“Johnson, I…”

She bared her teeth. “Get your stuff. Trust me. You’ll thank me later. We’re about to work out whatever the hell’s eating you.”

There wasn’t enough exercise in the world to fix Lucky’s problems. “And if I say no?”

“Then I’ll drag you.” She took her hostility down a notch. “Believe me, Lucky, I’m trying to help.”

Well, her witch’s brew hadn’t hurt him yet, and except for nightmares that weren’t her fault, he slept better. “Okay, but you owe me one.”

Johnson sat on the top step. “You’ve got five minutes before I come in and get you. And don’t think there’s a house made that I can’t get into.”

Lucky grabbed his things and waited out the full five minutes before stepping back on the porch. No need going easy on her.

She stood and pulled a set of keys out of her jeans pocket. “I’ll follow you so you don’t get any ideas.”

Losing her in traffic would be easy, but she knew where he lived. Damn it.

***

“We need a ring.” Loretta spoke up before Lucky’d even gotten in the door. Trust her to get the upper hand and try to intimidate him with her dominance. Fat chance.

The Lord of the Cell Phone sitting on a stool at the front desk paused his texting. “Sure, Ret, how ya been? Two’s open.” In all the time Lucky had been coming to this gym he’d never seen the fuckwad attendant smile. Had never before seen the guy’s teeth, truth be told. But now he grinned big. “Ret” grinned back.

“Enough socializing. Can we get on with it?” Lucky could be home sulking and munching down on something fried and artery-clogging.

“You’re taking him on?” The creepy little jerk cut his eyes in Lucky’s direction. “Shoulda told me sooner. Lots of folks around here willing to pay good money to watch this cocky little bantam rooster get taken down a notch or two.”

Fucker. “Hey! I’m standing right here!”

Johnson tossed a glance over her shoulder, complete with batted lashes. “Won’t be for long.” She exaggerated a sigh. “Let’s get this over with.” With a wink at the texting wonder she slung her gym bag over her shoulder and traipsed to the women’s locker room.

“You’re about to get your ass kicked.” The guy went back to texting.

Lucky dressed and warmed up before his opponent arrived at the ring, padded and helmeted. She wore a tiny pair of blue nylon shorts and a white wife-beater tank top, showing off her muscles. Another move designed to intimidate. “Built like a Mack truck” didn’t even begin to describe her solid form. If the truck hit her, he’d lay his money on Johnson.

“Where’s your gear?” she asked, adjusting the chin strap on her helmet.

“Protection is for wussies.” Not having trained to use padding and such put him at a disadvantage. Better for his opponent to think him hard-headed. Gloves were all he needed.

“Do you screw without a rubber?” She held out a gloved hand and scrunched up her face. “Don’t answer that. I remember what I found in the nightstand. But it’s your funeral.”

And the answer to her question was: not anymore. Damn it. Lucky climbed into the ring, bounced in place, and sized up his opponent while Johnson went through a series of warmups the likes of which he’d never seen before. With Johnson’s height and longer arms, he’d soon be working hard to get close enough to land blows. But what he lacked in size and reach, he made up for in speed, agility, and attitude.

Johnson ended her routine by closing her eyes and taking several deep breaths. Chances were she’d already visualized the entire fight in her mind. She’d be in for a few surprises. “Ready, T-Rex?”

Oh hell, she didn’t go there. Nobody called Lucky T-Rex and got away with it. Nobody but Bo. Lucky forced an evil smile and tapped his glove against hers, short-assed arms and all.

He’d go down fighting, cocky to the end, but he’d go down. Whereas he never made solid plans and took advantage of any opening, from what he’d learned of his student so far, she had cold calculation down to an art form.

“I asked around work about you. Seems you like to bring agents here and show off a little.” Johnson circled, keeping Lucky in her sights.