Suspicion (Diversion Book 7) Read online

  SUSPICION

  Diversion Book 7

  Eden Winters

  Warning

  This book contains adult language and themes, including graphic descriptions of sexual acts which some may find offensive. It is intended for mature readers only, of legal age to possess such material in their area.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental.

  Suspicion © 2018 by Eden Winters

  Cover Art by L.C. Chase

  Layout and design by P.D. Singer

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced without written permission of the author, except as brief quotations as in the case of reviews.

  Published by Rocky Ridge Books

  PO Box 6922

  Broomfield, CO 80021

  The Diversion Series

  Diversion

  Corruption

  Collusion

  Manipulation

  Redemption

  Reunion

  For all the readers who wanted more...

  Chapter One

  Lucky was too old for this shit.

  He crouched behind a wall, straining to see in the low light of the narrow corridor. Movement caught his eye and he dipped his chin slightly, acknowledging his partner’s arrival.

  Bo stood, back against the far wall, nearly invisible in his dark clothes. As one, they peeked around the corner. Nothing. No sound, no movement. The perps could be anywhere.

  At least the concrete floor muffled any sounds from Lucky’s tennis shoes as he eased around the corner, hugging his weapon to his chest. No, not his weapon. Give him his .38, or even a Glock, and he’d kick ass and take names. This piece of shit? If he ever found the sonofabitch who’d designed the cheap plastic toy that didn’t aim worth a damn, he’d beat the crap out of them.

  He’d also like to shoot whoever designed the building, with its sudden intersections, random overhead perches, and too many places for his foe to hide. The overhead fluorescent fixtures of what could laughably be called lighting created plenty of dark alcoves.

  Two could play the game. Or even three or four. He hadn’t worn all black for nothing. He tugged his ball cap down more snugly on his head to hide his dirty-blond hair.

  Shifting his gaze right and left, Lucky inched forward, Bo’s comforting presence behind him. No need to look: he’d taught his partner well. Lucky’s instruction, coupled with four years of Marine training, left Bo the absolute best man to have at his back in any situation—both on the job and off.

  And during sex. Especially during sex.

  He fought back visions of Bo at his back—naked. Nope, not the time.

  The air reeked of stale sweat, some kind of chemical cleaner, and fresh paint. Splats of yellow, green, red, and blue created pop art graffiti on the floors, walls, and ceiling.

  Bo snugged up behind him, close enough to chase away sour smells with the hint of soap and green tea-scented breath. “Any sign of them?” His words came out a husky murmur.

  Lucky shook his head, wiping moisture off his forehead with the back of his hand. Sweat plastered his T-shirt to his back. If the place had air conditioning, he’d never know. Hell couldn’t be any hotter than Georgia in the summertime.

  One precise step after another they crept down the hall. They reached another intersection. Lucky signaled for Bo to take the right. Veering to the left, Lucky squatted, keeping a low profile. His bad ankle screamed in protest. His bad ankle needed to shut the fuck up. So did the scar in his side.

  He’d love to keep Bo with him, but by splitting up they stood a better chance of catching the two they sought.

  The hall led onto an open room with a guardrail around an upper level. Two shadows raced across the floor, and Lucky caught a flash of blue from above, gone a moment later. He quirked up one side of his mouth. His opponents might be young and fast, but no match for his skill.

  Only one way up there, and one back down. Sooner or later, they’d have to take the stairs.

  Lucky would be ready.

  Easing back into the shelter of the hallway, he waited. Footsteps pounded down the stairs heading…

  Oh crap! Straight for Bo! Motherfucker! Lucky whirled and hauled ass. Please, please, let him get there in time.

  Shots fired. No!

  He darted into the darkness, skidding when he nearly missed his turn. No longer caring who heard him, he rounded the corner without looking first, shoes slipping against a tiled patch of floor.

  Bo. Where the hell was Bo?

  A groan from behind made Lucky retrace his steps. “Bo?” he hissed.

  “Here!” came out on a pained grunt.

  Fuck. Lucky took a few more cautious steps.

  Bo slumped against the wall, one hand pressed to his thigh.

  No! Lucky dropped to the floor, searching for signs of injury. If those unruly heathens hurt his man… “Are you okay?”

  Bo waved Lucky on with a red-covered hand. “Don’t worry about me. I’m okay. Nothing hurt but my pride. Go on without me. Get them!”

  Though he’d rather stay with Bo, having his partner down wasn’t acceptable. No one shot Bo and got away. No one!

  Lucky tracked after his prey, heart pounding, a man on a mission. Laughter pealed out from somewhere ahead. They thought shooting Lucky’s partner funny, did they?

  He’d show them.

  He checked his watch. Ten more minutes and this whole thing would end. Easy to take out two armed suspects before then.

  No problem. Though, if they’d put Bo out of the fight, he might have underestimated their cunning.

  People underestimated him all the time. He’d not make the same mistake.

  Obstacles appeared, hay bales and boxes to hide behind. His small stature let him get into and out of tight places—once upon a time when he’d been more limber.

  Now, the force of running and jumping for the last twenty minutes caught up with him. When had he gotten so out of shape? Starting now, he’d run more, go to the gym more…

  Lucky yanked his attention back to the job. Jesus, was his mind beginning to fade as he aged?

  Soft scuffling sounded from behind. Lucky whirled and squeezed off a round. Nothing but a hat, lying on the floor. A decoy.

  Footsteps came from the other direction. Lucky spun. A young man stood there, grinning, gun pointed at Lucky.

  “You are so dead,” Lucky snarled.

  The guy grinned wider. “And so are you.”

  Two shots rang out.

  Red and pain bloomed across Lucky’s chest.

  The gunman grinned and high-fived his accomplice, oblivious to the huge blue splotch dead center of the oversized Aerosmith T-shirt he’d borrowed from Uncle Lucky.

  “You owe us pizza,” Todd crowed, in a voice far too deep to belong to a kid who hadn’t matured past age five in Lucky’s memories.

  Yeah, he’d shown his back to the enemy. How much deader could he get?

  “Good game,” Bo said, joining in the high-fiving. Hanging out with two teenagers added to the illusion of him being younger than his years. While Lucky came across as the older uncle that he was, Bo somehow managed to be the really cool cousin.

  The one who’d suggested killing a few hours playing paintball.

  Paintball. Bah!

  They exited the room, handed the guns to the attendant, and trudged over to where Loretta (my friends call me Rett) Johnson stood in her six-foot-plus glory in an immaculate white T-shirt, shorts, and tennis shoes, slurping a drink through a straw.

  A heart-shaped pendant dangled between her breasts, a gaudy thing, totally unlike her. Oh well, no one ever accused him of understanding women’s tastes in jewelry.
<
br />   Her son peeked out from behind her. Lucky trudged, the three “kids” with him darted ahead.

  “We kicked his a…” At a quelling glare from Johnson, Todd managed a quick save with, “…butt.”

  “Mama says ass when she thinks we can’t hear her. Why can’t we?” Ty challenged, glaring at his brother.

  “That boy is entirely too much like you,” Bo groused, sidling up next to Lucky.

  Ty quit laughing and glared. Teenagers. How many moods could he go through in five minutes’ time? “I’m nothing like him!” he spat.

  Bo, Lucky, Rett, and Todd all looked at him. Even Johnson’s son left the safety of hiding behind her to emerge and stare.

  No one said a word. They didn’t have to. With his light brown hair, bordering on dirty blonde, and five-foot-five-inch height, Tyler Watts made a slightly shorter version of Lucky, except for sharper cheekbones and chin. Other than his having his loser father’s last name, the kid was a dyed in the wool Lucklighter. Through and through.

  If Lucky tried hard enough he could ignore the few extra pounds around both their middles.

  Ty rolled his lip.

  “And where, exactly, were you?” Lucky growled at Johnson.

  She gave him a wide smile and reached back to pat her son’s head. “Rone here wanted to drive the bumper cars.”

  How did she know what the kid wanted? Lucky couldn’t recall hearing the boy say more than a handful of words. No telling how the boisterous, in-your-face woman managed to have a shy son.

  Same way Charlotte Lucklighter managed to give birth to a clean-cut, laid-back, straight arrow like Todd. Somehow Todd managed to gain a few inches on Lucky’s five-feet-six, though at eighteen he hadn’t yet outgrown his gangly puppy phase.

  Todd eyed Lucky. “Pizza?”

  The pizza and popcorn scent the amusement hall must spray out of a can made Lucky’s stomach rumble. His two hollow-legged nephews were likely starving. How did his sister ever keep them fed?

  “Ms. Perky. You and the wannabe teenager here”—Lucky hiked a thumb at Bo— “go rustle us up some grub.” He didn’t add, and let the old man rest.

  “I’ll stay here,” Bo said, shooing the others away with a wave of his hand. “Y’all go.”

  Lucky’s glower cut off any arguments. Or rather, a glower and handing his debit card to Todd.

  Rett winked and herded the boys in front of her to the concessions.

  Motherfucker! Lucky rubbed his sore chest and slumped down at the nearest picnic table clean enough to possibly not kill them with E. coli or one of those other things he read about in pharmaceutical reports. He dropped his head into his hands. How had he let this happen? He really must be losing his touch. Two untrained kids beat the living crap out of, not one, but two seasoned agents of the Southeastern Narcotics Bureau.

  And shot him at point blank range. That stung!

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Bo said, patting Lucky on the back and settling beside him. Streaks of red marred his cheeks and clothes. “They told me they did this all the time back home with their mother. They knew the equipment, had years to build strategy.”

  Still, the pang of losing delivered one hell of a bitch-slap. What if Lucky and Bo had been in the field for real? What if they were so easily defeated on the streets of Atlanta?

  He’d gotten old. And slow. And tired. Why did having a chunk of liver yanked out slow him up so much? Someone dropped down on the opposite side of the table. Lucky rolled his eyes upward. “You could’ve come in there and helped us, you know.”

  Rett Johnson held up a pizza box. The tantalizing aroma teased Lucky’s nostrils. Pizza. No healthy food in sight meant Bo couldn’t raise too much hell about Lucky wolfing down grease and pepperoni. His stomach roared at the thought.

  “Three against two isn’t good odds. Besides, me and Rone had fun on the bumper cars, didn’t we, baby?” Johnson’s son climbed onto the seat beside her, managing to keep mostly hidden behind his mother.

  She placed the box on the table and ruffled the boy’s curls. “You only have to grow a little more, then you can play paintball.” Protective Mama Bear. Small and delicate-looking, her six-year-old must’ve taken after his daddy.

  The elephant stampede noises of Lucky’s nephews’ approach beat them to the table. Blue paint on Todd’s shirt marked Lucky’s direct hit, while the red blotch on his own bore testament to Todd’s marksmanship. Of the four paintball players, Bo, Lucky, Todd, and Ty, only Ty’s clothes remained relatively paint free.

  They placed another pizza box and four drinks on the table.

  “I guess your mama taught you to shoot,” Lucky said, trying to make conversation with his younger nephew and connect. Bo’s words, not Lucky’s.

  “She’s taken us to the range back ho…” Ty’s smile fell. Soon home wouldn’t be Spokane, Washington, the only place the kid remembered. Todd might still recall living in North Carolina with his loser of a dad, but not much.

  Lucky opened his mouth to ask if Ty was okay with the move to Georgia, when Rett cut him off. “When will their mama be back?”

  Lucky stuck his hand into the pizza box, drew out a slice of cheesy goodness and ignored Bo wiping grease off his slice with napkins. Four napkins, soaked through, equaled good pizza in Lucky’s book, even if Bo ordered half of one of the pizzas without meat. Only, removing the grease before eating was sacrilege and ruined a perfectly good food fix.

  “Charlotte’ll be back as soon as she settles matters with her house, works her two weeks’ notice at the hospital, and arranges a moving van.” She couldn’t get back soon enough. Lucky loved his nephews, always had, always would, but he’d dealt with two young ‘uns the last time he’d been around his nephews, not two teens, one prone to dramatics and sullen moods.

  Not liking what Lucky put on the table for dinner.

  Or being too cold.

  Or too hot.

  Or everything in the world being lame.

  He’d looked up to Lucky, couldn’t wait to hang out—until finding out he’d have to give up his home, friends, school, and everything else Spokane offered.

  Todd, on the other hand, must’ve taken his job as older brother, and so-called man of the house, to heart. An old soul hid behind a youthful appearance.

  Sixteen and eighteen. They’d grown up way too fast.

  He hadn’t given Lucky a lick of trouble since Charlotte left. Lucky eyeballed his oldest nephew, searching for signs of Lucklighter in the boy. Good behavior and Lucklighter didn’t belong in the same sentence.

  Of course, Ty more than made up for Todd’s lack of redneck uncouth.

  If only Lucky hadn’t gotten involved with the wrong man all those years ago and decided on drug trafficking as a career choice—resulting in a ten-year prison sentence—and had been there for the boys. Too late to be sorry now. All he could hope for was to make up for lost time.

  He eyed Ty, sitting off to himself, thumbs working over the pad of his cell phone. Texting his friends back in Spokane, more than likely.

  “This sucks! My friends don’t start school until the 30th!” Ty glared at Lucky.

  Like Lucky had anything to do with school schedules. Wasn’t his fault Fulton County schools started classes August 1, next Monday.

  Lucky hadn’t had many friends over the years. Leaving folks behind never really mattered much, except for family.

  Family. He’d have to call his mother later, catch up on the goings-on at the family farm—just because he could.

  For now, he’d content himself with being with the boys he’d missed so badly, the coworker who wouldn’t take no for an answer on friendship, and the man who never gave up on Lucky no matter how many times he should have.

  “So, Ms. Johnson—”

  The woman in question cut Todd off with a wave of her hand. “Honey, call me Rett. All my friends do.”

  “Okay, Ms… Rett.”

  She grinned. “That’s better. Now, you wanting to ask me something?” Taking a bite o
f pizza postponed her answers.

  “Uncle Ric… Lucky says you’re working a case with him.” Must be hard for Todd to stop thinking of Lucky as “Uncle Richie”, the way he’d known him for years.

  “Well, I wouldn’t really call it a case.” Rett took another bite of pizza, chewed a moment, and swallowed. “We’re doing a risk assessment for a pharma company.”

  Todd leaned forward, elbows on the table. “What does that mean?”

  “We go in and look at their operation, find the weaknesses, and advise them on how to better comply with state and federal laws.” Jeez. So, Bo wasn’t the only walking textbook at the bureau.

  Todd held a slice of pizza aloft but hadn’t taken a bite yet. “Do you bust them if they’re doing something wrong?”

  Even Ty turned his attention to Lucky’s on-duty partner.

  Rett barked a laugh. “No, honey. If we find too many deficiencies we might share information with FDA or DEA, but we’re just there to advise.” She winked at him. “I’m not saying we won’t come back if we think we have a reason to. And then we bust them.”

  Todd’s eyes went wide. “Y’all got the coolest job ever.”

  Anyone who thought the life of an agent exciting never hung out with Lucky on plant audits. Boring, boring, boring. Unless they found something. However, Bo usually provided a bit of amusement by covertly arranging pharmaceutical samples with all the labels facing the same way.

  “Not saying we do, but I’m not saying we don’t either,” Rett said. “But it is a risky business to be in. What? You thinking of changing your major to criminal justice?”

  “Nah, I think there’s more money in engineering.” Todd finally bit into his pizza.

  “Have you ever been shot?” Ty asked.

  “No, but I had to shoot someone once,” Rett confessed, voice as casual as if she’d said, I ate pizza for lunch.

  “Really? That is so awesome.”

  Lucky studied Rett’s face, ready to wade into the conversation if she took offense. The kid didn’t know he delved into dangerous territory, calling Rett’s having to shoot her child’s father “awesome.”

  Rett shrugged. “Not really. I wish I didn’t have to, but sometimes you ain’t got a choice.” The smile left her face. Then she brightened. “I know somebody who’s been shot.”