“We haven’t talked about it, but didn’t you ever pull the trigger on someone in the service?”
“Several times,” Bo replied, “and I still see their faces, their slack jaws and staring eyes. If I channel Cyrus, they leave
me alone.”
Cy was a cold, prickly fucker and could handle pretty much anything, but Bo had a warmer heart. Lucky scooted across the blanket to take Cyrus or Bo or
whoever into his arms. Bo let out his breath in a rush, collapsing against Lucky’s shoulder. No tears fell, but the strangled noises from his
throat sounded like dry sobs. Lucky held him and rocked him, so many things growing clearer, like his compassion and the way he lived his life. Bo
wasn’t a light-weight, and he took up for himself when it mattered, but like Lucky, he’d done things he’d never forgiven
himself for. He excelled at being someone else because he’d hidden behind a false identity before. The badass who’d taken a swing at
his father wasn’t the same terrified kid who’d screamed for his life while tied to a bed. Whenever Bo felt uncomfortable in a
situation, he ran and isolated himself. If he couldn’t run physically, he disappeared into his mind.
“You’ve talked to your counselor about this?”
“Yes. Long before Cyrus Cooper, I pretended to be someone else when the going got rough. When I stripped during college, my alter-ego helped me
out. In Afghanistan, ‘Schollenberger’ took over. Do you think I’m evil?”
“No, why would you think that?”
“Because I have the backbone of a jellyfish unless I’m pretending to be someone I’m not.”
“Those parts are all in there somewhere. You just don’t use ‘em all the time. The three eighths inch socket don’t
disappear out of the toolbox when you’re not tightening bolts.”
“But then I get… You know how I can’t sleep…”
Lucky’s shoulders rose two inches with the air he needed to admit this. “I can’t say I would’ve handled matters any
better had I been in your shoes.” He took another deep breath and made a confession of his own. “I’ve been in rough places
more than once, but I’ve never had to shoot a man, and the mere thought gives me the screaming shivers.”
“Really?”
“Really. Now, don’t get me wrong. If someone threatened you or Charlotte and the boys, they’d be road kill, but I’m
not sure if it came down to them or me, I could pull the trigger to save my own skin.” He shrugged the shoulder that’d taken a bullet
not too long ago. “While I had no problem holding a gun on the woman who shot me, and faulted the guards for not dealing with her better, when it
came down to it, I hesitated. She didn’t.”
Neither one of them spoke after that. Bo lay back down on the quilt, allowing Lucky to cover them up in an attempt to shield them from the mosquitoes
who’d recently noticed their presence.
Eventually Bo asked, “Can we stay here forever, and never go back?”
Go back.
No, I never want to go back.
“Someone might miss us.” Only a handful of someones, but they were out there.
“But I’m happy here with you,” Bo grumbled, all traces of Cyrus gone.
A cabin by the river in the middle of nowhere, with Bo, and a Harley Davidson to take them wherever they wanted to go. Could it get any better? Bo planted
a kiss on Lucky’s forehead.
“How long you reckon we can stay out here before they miss us?” Lucky asked.
Bo sighed. “I gotta be at the garage at eight in the morning.”
“What time is it now?”
“Not sure. Midnight, maybe?”
“Any objection to walking funny and being tired tomorrow?”
Bo paused a moment before replying, “No, none at all.”
Lucky bent down for another kiss, then tucked them both back into the quilt. A buzzing a bit louder than a Georgia mosquito had him grabbing his phone out
of his jeans pocket. A text message from Walter said, “Travis Eubanks dead. Gunshot to head. No witnesses, no suspects.”
Chapter 16
Lucky spent the day lying low and surfing the Net for information on Travis Eubanks and Joe Clinkscales, and watching his phone like a hawk lest Bo call.
He asked Walter to increase surveillance on the garage.
Whoever Reyes had spoken to last night had to be in the area to get to Eubanks so quickly. Bo could be in danger. Lucky also hinted at using Jerry
Wilkerson as a possible witness. He might not be able to promise immunity, but having Walter in the kid’s corner was the best he could do that
this point. Bo wanted the kid out, so Lucky would do his best to make that happen.
He came out of his bathroom after a shower, towel around his waist, and stopped in his tracks. Mateo Reyes sat on his couch. Bo stood by the door and Lucky
finally understood what even Bo hadn’t yet figured out: Reyes planned to use Cyrus Cooper as an enforcer. Sergeant at Arms wasn’t
merely a symbolic position. No wonder he’d given his trust. But Bo couldn’t have possibly taken out Eubanks last night; he’d
been with Lucky. Or had Eubanks died before the heated phone call, while Lucky met with Walter? Had Cyrus been a party to murder? How much disassociation
was Bo capable of?
Bo wouldn’t have hidden such a thing. Cy would.
“What can I do for you?” Lucky asked, channeling Ricky Getsinger and pretending dangerous men showed up at his house uninvited on a
normal basis. Well, they had eleven years ago.
“I have a problem,” Reyes said, adding a silken purr to his voice. “And when I have a problem, everyone has a
problem.”
“Is that kinda like, ‘when Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy?’” Lucky quipped.
“Mr. Getsinger, yesterday I had my bike cleaned. Know what they found?”
Lucky longed to snap a glance to Bo, but he didn’t dare. “Since we’re in Georgia, I’m guessing a windshield full of
dead June bugs.”
“Not that kind of cleaning.” Reyes remained deceptively calm while tossing over one of the gadgets Lucky’d been planting like
radishes.
Lucky squinted at the tiny fleck of metal. “What’s this? Did you break a rivet or something?” He poured his entire self into
being a good-ole-boy hick, too country to know what he held in his hand.
“That’s a tracking device,” Reyes said, crossing his legs and leaning back on the couch like he owned the place.
Lucky willed his wildly thudding heart to calm, stepping back into character. “Who the fuck did this? Tell me! I’ll hurt ‘em
for you.”
Reyes visibly relaxed, lips pulling back in a smile. “Cyrus tells me I can depend on you. I should have listened sooner. But you see, a man in my
position can’t trust lightly.”
“I understand,” Lucky said. He didn’t give his trust lightly either, if at all.
“Good. I hope you also understand why I had you followed last night.”
Oh shit. For the first time since he’d joined the SNB, Lucky’d been unaware of being followed.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
“And?” Lucky kept any waver from his voice.
“I called my man off when I realized the two of you intended to spend the night together.” He chuckled, turning a fond gaze on Bo.
“I didn’t realize you swung that way,
mi amigo
. Although I’m sure you could have found—how do I say
this?—a prettier companion. If he’s loyal to me, we don’t have a problem, yeah? Any port in a storm, I’ve
heard.”
“Beauty’s in the eye of the beholder,” Bo replied, appearing nonplussed. Did he have to add, “And in the dark, who
can tell?”?
“That is true, my friend. So true.” Lucky began to relax enough to almost forgive the jibe about his looks, until Reyes added,
“However, when my man was leaving, he spotted a bike parked back from the road. He wasn’t the only one watching.”
Holy shit. Please say it wasn’t Keith.
“I have a traitor in my midst who means to harm me and my friends.” Reyes plucked the tracker from Lucky’s outstretched palm.
“His name is Jerry Wilkerson. It seems young Jerry hasn’t been entirely honest with me.” Reyes’ tone remained unconcerned, as
though he merely discussed the weather. “He’s been a busy guy. This isn’t the first time I’ve caught him nosing
around where he didn’t belong.
“This was a friendly visit, to warn you.” Reyes rose from the couch. “If you should see our little friend, I’d very
much like to talk to him.”
Bo dropped the Cy persona long enough to exchange a flash of eye contact with Lucky before following Reyes out the door. Lucky got the message loud and
clear:
watch your back.
How fucking stupid not to guess that his and Bo’s every little move would be scrutinized. Only, until last night, Lucky hadn’t a clue
how important Cyrus had become to Reyes. Yet, even months ago Bo had referred to the man as “partner.” Shit, when Bo went deep, he
went deep.
Batten down the hatches, folks, there’s a storm coming.
***
At six o’clock, Lucky made his way to Mateo’s garage. Normally relaxed, tonight the crew eyed each other with suspicion, an extra
measure thrown in for Lucky. “Like what you see?” Lucky growled at a clean-cut man giving him the stink eye.
They played a dangerous game, and one had followed him and Bo last night. No telling how much the guy had seen. How much had Jerry witnessed, and why
had the little twerp been spying in the first place? At least in character as Ricky and Cyrus, Bo and Lucky had kept SNB talk to a minimum.
As of yet, other than Reyes, Lucky hadn’t met any of the supplier’s people. He picked up a truck in Texas and drove it to Georgia,
returning the vehicle on the next run. So far he’d counted three different F-150s in rotation, though Bo’d mentioned five. The trucks
never crossed the border. The drugs came up from Mexico and were loaded into the trucks somewhere near Harlingen.
“He gets the truck keys through FedEx delivery,” Bo had said, “from a Harlingen address.” As much as Reyes seemed
to trust Cyrus, he still kept his right-hand man in the dark about much of his business.
Harlingen, Texas. Close enough to the border that a stiff wind might send the whole town across the line. Victor’s old home lay a little over
six hours from there. The US confiscated Victor’s domestic holdings. What became of his foreign real estate?
Whoever was behind the deal certainly kept a low profile in the States. Warning bells sounded in Lucky’s head. Victor’s parents were
dead, and his sister and brother had turned blind eyes to their brother’s shady dealings. There was the nephew, Stephan. Nah, couldn’t
be. Stephan didn’t have enough of his uncle’s brains and business savvy to pull off an operation of this size, though he’d
been smart enough to avoid charges during Victor’s takedown. A coincidence, maybe? It wasn’t like Victor’s methods
hadn’t become common knowledge. Even Bo mentioned the organization’s exploits being used as textbook examples. Walter mentioned two
cartels operating in the region. So many little things about this case reminded Lucky of Victor.
Bo arrived, and Lucky couldn’t help notice the absence of Jerry nipping at his heels.
“Can I get that for you, Cy?”
or
“You know I’ll make deliveries, right? You know you can trust me, right?”
Maybe it was better that the kid
wasn’t here. If he’d shown up, in a few short hours Bo would have to turn him over to Reyes. Lucky didn’t want to even
imagine what might be left after the encounter.
Okay, maybe Lucky was going soft, but somehow they had to get the kid out of there without tipping off Reyes.
He sat in a chair at the back of the garage, watching Bo distribute the evening’s goods. A few eyes fell on Lucky. He pretended not to notice.
Maybe he should distance himself from Bo. The men were getting suspicious, and if whoever’d followed them last night turned out to be a
homophobic asshole…
Damn, I’m getting as paranoid as Reyes.
***
“We need to hurry. The guys will be back soon.” Bo opened the door wide, letting Lucky inside the vault.
“These are the last I brought with me. I’ve asked for more.” Lucky held out his hand to show a dozen transmitters.
They’d have to make damned sure to get the goods out before Reyes had the bright idea to check the boxes and not just his bike.
“These’ll have to do.” Bo captured Lucky’s gaze, his brow wrinkled, questions in the depths of his eyes.
“How much longer?” he asked, so softly Lucky scarcely heard.
His stoic veneer showed signs of stress. Six months was a long time to be someone else, separated from your own life. Doubly so for someone barely past
training. Triply so for someone who fell too deeply into character.
“Do I need to tell ‘em to pull you out?”
Bo scrunched his eyes closed and shook his head. “No. It’s… I’m not sure how much longer I can hold on.
I’m already growing too close to some of the guys. I’d never do anything against protocol, but it’s hard, you know? Donnie
has a wife and two kids, but doesn’t make enough at the warehouse where he works to give them the things they need.”
“So he gets them by peddling shit to secretaries who flip out and shoot people. Go on.”
Bo shot him a threatening glare. “Javier can’t find work other than what I… what Cy gives him. Hell, and to watch Reyes beat
a man. And there’s Jerry…”
“What about Jerry?” Other than the fact that Reyes intended to have him for breakfast.
“Well, he’s a sweet kid. Misguided maybe, with no positive role models. He’s balls deep in this, and if Reyes gets his hands
on the boy, thinking he’s the traitor…”
“Technically he is, if he’s snooping around behind Reyes’ back. He just doesn’t have any high-level info. Also,
he’s damned near too stupid to live.”
Much as I used to be.
“That isn’t going to change if he doesn’t have a chance to grow up,” Bo growled from between clenched teeth. He
stared at the gadgets in Lucky’s hand, head hanging down. Lucky’d only been on the job two months, and already this assignment
threatened to swallow him whole. How much more so for Bo?
“And…” Bo continued, “…and I miss you. I see you here and there, whenever we can, but I can’t
touch you. At the end of a hard day, I can’t sleep with you and forget.”
Uh-oh. Bo seemed to be losing his grip on Cyrus, and Cyrus was who he’d soon need. Time to break the downer mood. “What? You
don’t miss my amazing prowess in bed?”