Diversion 2 - Collusion (23 page)

Lucky blew out a heavy breath. Maybe coming here hadn’t been such a good idea after all. The family climbed in the car and drove away. He picked up his coffee cup and swallowed down the dregs. How had his life ended up so screwed? And why did his eyes suddenly burn? They’d done that too much lately.

His phone chimed, and he fished it out of his pocket, the clouds of gloom lifting somewhat at Bo’s message.
“U done good. Get yo ass back here. Miss U.”

Despite the bittersweet view of the only family he had left, Lucky managed a smile as he keyed in
“B there soon.”
He paid his tab, then wandered across the street to leave the package containing his gifts on the front porch. Charlotte would think of something to tell the boys, but she’d also know that, no matter what happened, Richie hadn’t deserted her.

Lucky sat in a lounge chair on the Pensacola fishing pier, dangling an unbaited hook in the water. Reeling in a fish took more effort than he wanted to expend at the moment. Besides, the last fish he’d caught had struggled, fighting to keep on living. “I know how you feel, pal,” he’s said, tossing the grouper back into the water. Still, he loved the salty spray of the ocean breeze, the sunlight dancing on the water, and whiling away the day on a hobby meant he didn’t have to do anything constructive. Being unemployed might not be a bad deal, until his funds ran out.

He reached down and scratched his foot, the healing scars still itching from time to time. His walking cast lay propped against his tackle box.

The June sun beat down, a far cry from Calgary and Spokane. Vacationing in two different countries had been nice, but he belonged in the southern US. He’d made a life here. He’d met a man here.
“The man of your dreams,”
Charlotte might call Bo. Lucky didn’t get mushy, but he certainly hadn’t run screaming yet, and neither had Bo, though few would argue that Bo got the raw end of the deal.

He suddenly fou nd himself in the shade. “You’re blocking my sun,” he griped.
“Then perhaps I should sit down.” Walter groaned, popping open a chair of his own and easing into it. “Only, this close to the water, I worry about Greenpeace showing up and trying to push me in, yelling ‘Free Willie.’” He laughed at his own joke. Poor bastard laughed at anything.
So Walter had tracked him down—not that he’d been hiding. At least not very well. “How’d you find me?”
“Wasn’t hard. If you ever want to disappear for good, you do realize you’ll have to dispose of your landlady first, right?”
Lucky reached into his cooler and extracted a beer. “Yeah. The fact that she’s still alive might tell you I didn’t leave for good.” He held the brew out toward Walter, who shook his head.
“That’s good to hear, because she says Patches misses you dearly and wants you to come home.”
Damned varmint. Ever since Lucky held him the first time, the critter came strolling in every time Lucky left the door open. And the damned thing snored! Cats weren’t supposed to snore.
“Why are you here? ’Cause a darned cat wants to use my lap as a bed?” Lucky popped the top on the can and chugged down a few swallows.
“Actually, I’ve come to update you on your last case.”
“Oh really?” Like Lucky hadn’t been collecting newspaper clippings about Rasmussen’s crew and their little enterprise going up in smoke. Or that Bo hadn’t been in almost constant contact.
“It seems the Canadian Mounties intercepted a delivery of counterfeit cancer drugs to a hospital in Alberta, Canada. Calgary, I believe.” He regarded Lucky, one bushy gray brow reaching for his hairline. How did he do that? Lucky’s brows, unlike himself, seemed to work only as a team. “This time the drugs tested pure, but no more legal than the shipment you discovered in the old mill. However, the DEA traced the goods back to a manufacturer in China, the same one who produced the Rosario shipments. I imagine they’re still rounding up suspects and pressing charges.”
Lucky pretended ignorance. “What about Grayson?”
“Odd thing that. He suddenly surfaced in Cozumel. Seems the local police received an anonymous tip.” Walter stared at Lucky, a corner of his mouth twitching. “Even with a precedent, he may be forced to surrender his medical license.”
Unless Walter asked directly, Lucky owed him no answers. “Yeah, and the drug shortage rages on.” He gazed out over the sparkling water, the stress of the last few months slowly leaking out of him. Overhead gulls scolded each other, swooping and diving. “I don’t understand it. Danvers dodges the bullet with a heart full of greed, and a doctor trying to save his patients winds up losing his license.”
“Ours is not to judge motives, but uphold laws. On that note, the FDA gained approval to temporarily import medical supplies from the UK. The Rosario situation is much improved now. Not ideal by any means, but much improved.”
Lucky said a silent “thank you,” wondering how much Walter influenced the decision. “Danvers still got off scot-free.”
“I wouldn’t say that. I’m sure his in-laws aren’t happy with him for leading the FDA to their doorstep. Particularly not when their name is being bandied about as ammunition to push through the antigray market bill.”
The guy still got off too fucking light. “So all’s right in the world again?”
“Not exactly. There’s been a rash of overdoses of prescription narcotics in the Atlanta area.”
“And you expect me to do something about it?” He peered at his former boss over the top of his Ray-Bans.
“No, I’m merely here to give you your back pay.”
“My back pay?”
“Why yes. It seems that in your time with the SNB, you rarely used your vacation days. You’d built up nearly six weeks of time. And if you’d been at the office you’d know about the terrible IT fiasco.”
“What IT fiasco?” While Lucky didn’t often praise coworkers, the SNB had some of the greatest information technology geeks in the world, if you didn’t count Keith.
“It seems a server crashed. I lost an entire day’s worth of emails. Can you imagine? I think it might have happened around the day you started your vacation.” He dropped an envelope on Lucky’s lap. “I’ve done what I came to do. You have your check and I need to inform you that you’re nearly out of accrued time. I expect you back in the office on Monday morning.”
“Wait, you came clear down to Pensacola to tell me I still have a job?”
“No, I happened to be in the neighborhood. Dropping by makes this a business trip, and therefore tax deductible. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my wife is waiting at our hotel and expects me to take her to dinner.” Walter hauled his sturdily build body out of the chair. “I must say I’m not the only one who missed you.”
Lucky cut Walter a sharp glance. Sooner or later they’d have to talk. He’d rather wait until later.
“Yes. I believe your cube mate misses you, too. He’s dared anyone to remove so much as a paperclip from your desk, and he asked for the day off today and was most vague when I asked where he was going.” He landed a hand on Lucky’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t doubt a bit that he’s determined to track you down again like he did the last time you tried to quit. You make an incredible team.”
Before Lucky managed to get any words out Walter added, “Oh, and if you’re not at your desk at nine o’clock sharp, I’ve giving your case to Keith.” He folded his chair and ambled away the way that he’d come.
Asshole. He knows I won’t let him give Keith my work.

Lucky strolled back toward his hotel. Maybe he should take a nap since he had a long night ahead of him. While on a glorified work release program, he’d not enjoyed the freedom to roam clubs, though Walter normally turned a blind eye to the occasional bar visit to pick up a willing partner.

Now he was so far out of practice clubbing that he might have forgotten how. He showered and dressed comfortably, wearing long pants to hide his recent injury. A tight wife-beater shirt displayed his chest and shoulders to full advantage, though with his having to cut back on exercise due to his leg, he’d lost a bit of muscle tone. He studied himself in the mirror, hoping the longer he stared the better he’d look. No such luck. Maybe the darkness of a club would add a point or two to his “On a scale of one to ten.” What was he worried about? He’d never really cared about his appearance before.

“Damn man’s changing me already,” he m umbled to his reflection while sucking in the bit of softness around his middle that hadn’t been there a few weeks ago. Blast that waitress in Spokane and her, “Have another pancake.” Oh well, he’d have to make up for lost time once able to. His doctor might have a few choice words to say on the matter, but Lucky left the walking cast in his room.

Pensacola boasted several good gay clubs, but Lucky set his sights on Whisper, a venue with a mix of both music and patrons, where a banker could pick up a truck driver, and vice versa. He reared his shoulders back while in line, hoping for an illusion of height. After passing over ID and cover charge, he sauntered into the flesh market, murmuring, “Daddy’s home.”

He caught a few eyes among the button-down crowd, probably searching for a night of slumming before returning to their yuppiedom. They didn’t interest Lucky and neither did the twinks. Heh. It’d be fun to flash his badge a bit, flush out the underage ones.
Not your job unless they’re holding,
he reminded himself. The pounding rhythm of a techno tune reminded Lucky of his former neighbors in Anderson. The fuckers. Not his problem now.

Tonight, the only care he had in the world was finding the right man. He’d begun to get a bit frustrated in his search and approached the bar. A guy stepped into his space. “Buy you a drink?”

Lucky glanced up, staring into chocolate brown eyes so deep he could stay lost in them for days. Pay dirt! He groped around back, finding the impressive swell of a familiar bubble-butt. Damn, but Lucky couldn’t resist that gorgeous ass. “Sure,” he replied. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

If and when he showed up at the SNB on Monday, he intended to walk with a limp, and not because of his recently broken foot and ankle either.

A beefy b artender gave Lucky a wink. “Two ginger ales, coming right up.”
“Ginger ale? You’re shitting me, right?” Their first night out together and Bo ordered damn ginger ale?
“You said you’d have what I’m having. Be careful what you ask for.”
They sipped their drinks, leaning against the bar. Lucky’s hand might have traveled a bit low on Bo’s ass for being in public. Of course, Bo seemed to be practicing frisking maneuvers. Maybe Lucky should have stashed a vial down his boxers. SNB agent and drug trafficker. That would be some interesting roleplaying. It might also count as job training, too.
A twink giggled, shoving his way to the bar. “Why don’t you two get a room?” Oh, if Lucky only had his badge…
“Down, boy,” his partner said. “I think it’s a great idea.” Bo flung a handful of bills on the bar and took Lucky’s hand, towing him to the front door.
The envious stares made up for the indignity of being dragged bodily from the club—somewhat. They escaped the steamy confines of the overcrowded building, Bo leading Lucky around the corner and down to the beach. He stopped and smashed their mouths together. At first Lucky struggled, worried who might see, before realizing no one here gave a flying fuck what he did but Walter, and he certainly didn’t expect Boss and Mrs. Boss to be hanging out at gay clubs.
“Relax, that’s why we’re out of town, remember?”
He returned the kiss with a little more feeling. “That’s more like it,” Bo murmured against Lucky’s mouth.
With a gleam in his eye Bo pulled away, gripping Lucky’s fingers and starting off down the beach. Lights from restaurants and bars shimmered on the water, and waves washed up on shore as high tide crept in. The constant ocean breeze caressed Lucky’s face, and he couldn’t remember a time he’d been so unencumbered. The world might come crashing down sometime in the near future—he’d deal with the next crisis when it happened.
“I looked up hummingbird totems on the Internet,” Bo said, sliding a finger down the chain hanging from his neck to caress the pewter charm.
“That’s nice.” Never in a million years would Lucky admit to putting thought into the gift. He’d catch enough hell once they got back to their hotel room and Bo discovered the candlelit dinner he’d tipped the manager heavily to arrange—eggplant parmesan, Bo’s favorite.
“Yes, it is.” More quietly, Bo added, “Thank you.” He stopped suddenly, glancing down. “Where’s your walking cast?”
Nothing escaped Bo’s notice, apparently. “Don’t need it.”
Bo answered with a scowl that quickly eased. “Walter hunted you down, didn’t he?”
“Yup.”
“Did he ask you to come back?”
“No.”
“No?” Bo’s mouth dropped open. “What do you mean ‘no’?”
“He didn’t ask me to come back, he told me I’d never left. Apparently, I’ve spent the last few weeks on vacation.”
“You going back?”
“Should I?” Lucky asked, merely to goad Bo into righteous indignation. The guy was too easy to provoke sometimes.
“Damn it, Lucky! Are you outta your mind? Of course you should. Where else are you gonna find a job you love?”
“I hate my job.”
“Of course you do. That’s why you’re damned good at it.”
“You think I’m good at my job?”
“No, you suck at it. You suck at it so bad that you’re willing to leave to finish what you started, you stubborn son of a bitch.”
God, but Bo’s rants turned Lucky on. “Yeah, yeah. Whatcha wanna dobefore we go catch bad guys?”
“I want you to take me out to dinner someplace where we can eat without you watching over your shoulder, worried who might spot us. Jeez, man, it’s not like we’re famous or anything.”
Lucky raked his lips over Bo’s ear. “They got one hell of a sex shop here. I…picked up a few things.”
“Really?” Bo’s tone softened. “Maybe we’ll get takeout.”
Lucky smiled, loving how easily he’d won the argument.
“You can take me out tomorrow.”
Then again, maybe not. He slowed and finally stopped, gazing up at a full moon. If Charlotte were there she’d be spouting nonsense about how romantic it was to be walking on the beach under a full moon. Bo stood at Lucky’s side. “Now that’s downright pretty, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is,” Lucky replied, eyeing Bo, who stared upward. Lucky’s chest grew tight, the heart within too large to contain. He took a step back, wrapping his arms around Bo and burying his face in the back of the man’s T-shirt, breathing in the combination of scents that meant “Bo.”
He reached his hand down the front of Bo’s shorts, only intending to be playful. Bo groaned when Lucky palmed his rising shaft, pushing into the contact. Encouraged, Lucky rubbed him, slow, even strokes through the cotton of his boxers.
“It’s kinda wicked, standing out here on the beach getting stroked off,” Bo said.
“Yeah, anyone wearing night goggles is getting a show.”
“How many folks around these parts you reckon have them?” Bo didn’t sound a bit worried.
At any second a cop could arrive, in which case Lucky would take resisting arrest to whole new levels. “I don’t know. Walmart might be having a sale.” Who cared who watched at that moment? If they saw something they didn’t want to then they shouldn’t be hanging around the gay bar district after sundown. He wriggled his hand beneath Bo’s boxers, groaning when his rough fingers enclosed smooth skin.
A bit of slickness met him at the tip of Bo’s cock, and he smeared the wetness beneath Bo’s foreskin for lubrication. His own cock nestled between Bo’s ass cheeks, and Lucky humped in time with his stroking. For a split-second he considered grabbing Bo by the hand and hauling ass to their room. The big moon shone down like it had the lonely night he’d spent in the mountains. He hugged Bo tighter.
Say the words, Lucky, say the words.
He buried his stiffness in the cleft of Bo’s ass, trying to distract himself. The words wouldn’t go away—persistent fuckers. Rhythm never faltering, he ventured, “I’ve got something to say. I don’t want to spend hours discussing it, I don’t want to analyze it, and I’m sure as hell not gonna spray paint it on some damned water tower.”
Bo stiffened, then relaxed again. His needy whimpers quieted. “And?”
Lucky rose on his toes, ramming himself harder against Bo’s body. He opened his mouth but the fickle words ran away, laughing at him all the while.
Well damn, just damn.
“Lucky?” Bo’s voice came out strangled.
“Yeah?”
“Lucky, I’m gonna…” He stiffened again, every muscle tensing as he gushed across Lucky’s fingers.
Oh dear Lord in Heaven.
Standing on a beach, in front of God and everybody, and Bo just… Lucky muffled a groan against Bo’s shoulder, shouting, “I love you, you son of a bitch!” into a mouthful of shirt. He pulsed, coming in his pants like a horny teen. His knees buckled and he clung to Bo to keep from falling over.
Oh fuck, oh fuck, that was…that was… Hotter than fuck!
He sagged against Bo’s back. Bo laughed, entire body shaking. “Smile when you call me that,” he replied, in a bad impersonation of an old western.
Yeah, the guy had a six-shooter all right. Holding on for dear life, Lucky’s chuckles grew into guffaws, until finally he and Bo overbalanced and flopped onto damp sand.
“Oh my God, Lucky! Are you all right? Your leg!” Bo frantically brushed sand away from Lucky’s leg, running his fingers over the newly healed ankle.
“Bo?”
“Yes?”
“I’m okay. Now would you stop ruining the moment by fussing over me and just fucking kiss me?”
Grit scratched between their bodies as Bo lay across Lucky and sealed their mouths together. A shock of cold and the gulf waters joined in, washing over them, sucking sand from beneath them. Sand, ocean breezes, the moon, the stars, and Bo. Perfect.
Lucky ended the kiss. “I gotta ask you something. Why are you with me?”
“What?”
“You heard me. I saw how those guys were checking you out in the bar, how they wanted to rip my head off for being the one you left with. You could have any damn body you wanted. Why me?”
Bo’s eyes glittered in the low light, the wind and waves nearly drowning his softly spoken words. “Because you’re one hard-assed son of a bitch, cocky little bantam rooster—”
“Hey!”
“And I never have to turn around to see if you’re there. I know you got my back.” Waves crashing on the beach, fragments of music from the seaside bars, all faded into the background. The night boiled down to Bo. Smiling. Staring at Lucky, and truly seeing him as no one else did.
“Yeah, I got your back. Always will.” Lucky shut up before things turned sappy.
The promise in Bo’s eyes no longer inspired fear. “I love you, too,” he said. “T-Rex.”