Suspicion (Diversion Book 7) Read online

  “Just watch it, okay?”

  Lucky rolled the device over in his hand. Just a flash drive, nothing more, though Lucky ran the wand over it in case. “Is that all?”

  “No. Seems I’m missing some equipment. At first I thought you raided me, until I checked my cameras.”

  If Lucky raided him, the asshole would never know. “You watch your own folks?”

  “How else will I know what they’re up to? Anyway, I found someone wandering around surveillance who shouldn’t be there.”

  “Who?”

  “One of O’Donoghue’s guys.”

  “What’s missing?”

  “A necklace fitting.”

  Who the hell stole necklaces? “Microphone?”

  “Yeah. Designed to fit into something pretty for the female ops. Hadn’t gotten a chance to test it yet.”

  The heat of Lucky’s glare should’ve sent Keith up in flames. “Why are you helping me? I thought you hated me.”

  Keith let out a snort. “I do hate you, but Walter Smith is the SNB. If someone’s fucking with either one of them, you’re sonofabitch enough to stop them.”

  Damned skippy. “As Bo might say, ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend.’” Lucky and Keith would never be friends.

  “No.” Keith shook his head, lips in a thin line. “In this case, the enemy of my enemy is my weapon. By the way, keep Schollenberger out of this as much as possible.”

  Lucky bristled at Keith daring to say Bo’s name. “Why?” One wrong word and he’d remove some teeth.

  “Think about it, and don’t hit me. As much as I love the man, best case scenario, Walter only has a few more good years with the bureau. Rumor has it the brass has been encouraging him to quit.” Keith leaned in and lowered his voice.

  Lucky took an involuntary step back.

  Keith scowled. “Rumor also has it that O’Donoghue’s planning to transfer from DEA to SNB. Some of us in the department think he plans to take over permanently.”

  “Oh, hell, no,” Lucky growled.

  One side of Keith’s mouth lifted. “Believe it or not, for once the entire department except for one or two idiots agrees with you. Sadly, we’re lacking in agents with the proper qualifications and backing to stand a chance at landing the job.”

  “Why are we even talking about this? Walter’s gonna be fine. He’ll be back.”

  “Would you shut up already? Even you don’t believe that. Not really. Though Schollenberger came to us much like you did, he’s got a clean slate now, holds a PharmD degree, is proven in the field, and is well liked. Although he doesn’t have seniority, he stands the best chance of being Walter’s replacement if they fill the position from within.”

  What? Bo? The boss? What would that do to their relationship? If Lucky was Bo’s direct report…

  “Don’t worry about it right now.” Keith nodded toward the flash drive in Lucky’s hand. “Watch the video.”

  Lucky held the flash drive up to his nose and turned it over. Nothing special. A dozen just like it sat in the drawer of his desk. “What am I looking for?”

  “I could tell you, but then you’d be looking only for that and might miss something important I didn’t see.”

  No way would Lucky admit how much sense the man made.

  Keith strode a few paces away and turned. “Oh, and Lucky?”

  “Yeah?”

  He nodded toward the wand. “Keep that. I have a feeling you’re gonna need it. And one more thing.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t trust anybody.”

  “Never have, never will.”

  “Good. I’m counting on you being a total bastard. To keep one of us in the know, I’m pretending to be on board with O’Donoghue, but I’ve got Walter’s back. Remember that in days to come.” Keith slunk into the shadows, leaving Lucky with more questions than answers. A moment later a door closed in the back of the house.

  ***

  The flash drive burned a hole in Lucky’s pocket, but with Bo and the boys home when he got there, he didn’t dare disappear into the bedroom with his laptop.

  He wolfed down his spaghetti and garlic bread—Todd’s first, rather successful attempt at cooking—picked at his salad, and tapped his foot through the movie Bo picked.

  When the rest of the house fell quiet, Lucky slipped out of bed and into the living room. He grabbed his laptop bag from by the front door and headed out to the deck, Moose and Cat Lucky on his heels.

  Crickets sang in the grass, and the scent of seared meat hung on the air, coming from the direction of the neighbor’s yard.

  He fired up his laptop and shoved the flash drive into the port.

  Anger rose as he watched the scene unfold in Walter’s office. Walter entered, sat behind his desk and set down a file. A cup of coffee waited on the desk.

  He watched himself enter the office and sit down.

  All appeared normal until Walter took a sip of coffee. Lucky’s eyes burned and a boulder lodged in his throat. What if he hadn’t been there?

  Walter collapsed onto the floor, Lucky not quite fast enough to stop his fall.

  The desk partially hid the team’s efforts to save him.

  Team. A word he’d once despised.

  Paramedics took Walter away on a gurney, Bo, Lucky, and Johnson filed out, and then the office remained empty.

  What had Keith intended for him to see? Despite the knife twisting in his heart and his anger at Keith for installing the camera, he replayed the video clip again and again.

  What was he missing?

  He slowed the video, watching frame by frame, snorting in disgust when he reached the end and still hadn’t found anything noteworthy.

  And then…

  He paused the video, backed up the action, and started again. Shadows fell across the walls of Walter’s empty office. Barely distinguishable to the eye, a frame jumped.

  Lucky watched again. The frame repeated the jump. He studied the before and after. The shadows were longer in the “after” version and…

  Oh, God.

  The coffee cup and file were missing from Walter’s desk.

  He’d forgotten about the fucking file.

  Chapter Thirteen

  At one time Lucky answered to nobody and kept his own secrets. Now he could barely look Bo in the eyes for fear he’d drag his lover into his own personal hell.

  Best to keep the distance and shield him as much as possible. Bo didn’t fully believe his suspicions about Johnson, and he wouldn’t believe Lucky and Keith were kinda, sorta collaborating.

  For Walter. Only for Walter.

  “Why don’t you take the boys out and hunt floofballs or something?” Lucky asked around noon on Sunday.

  Bo raised a brow, but in the end herded Todd and Ty out the door, phones in hand, to pursue their favorite non-couch potato video game. Although Lucky didn’t understand the rules, at least the pursuit of pokey-whatevers got the three of them out of the house.

  The more he thought over his last case, the more things didn’t make sense.

  He’d love to have someone with him, but better to keep Bo out of things, and doubts remained about Johnson. The missing cup and file. The case. Somehow the two were related.

  He made the call on his own and set up an appointment.

  ***

  Lucky checked behind him but couldn’t see a tail. Didn’t mean there wasn’t one, just that they’d gotten better at their job.

  He drove to the outskirts of Atlanta, to a nice neighborhood, but hardly the plush place he’d expected.

  Chastain opened the door of a modest home—modest for the owner of a successful pharmaceutical company.

  “Mr. Harrison?” Chastain held out his hand, though he didn’t smile. “Come in, please.”

  Lucky shook the guy’s hand and went inside. This visit might be considered a conflict of interest, since he wasn’t here in an official capacity. What O’Donoghue didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Or, rather, it might. Real soon, if Lucky
had his way.

  “Thanks for meeting with me.” The house smelled nice, some kind of floral scent. Lucky followed Chastain into the living room.

  “Can I get you something? Soft drink? Beer?”

  Lucky shook his head and sank down onto a black couch a couple of cows had given their lives for—there he went thinking like vegetarian Bo—and leaned back to appear casual, like he’d seen Walter do many times to put people at ease and not on their guard.

  The better to extract information.

  Chastain sat across from him on a chair, wearing a pair of shorts and a polo shirt. “I don’t know what else I can tell you that I haven’t already told the DEA. My attorney advised against seeing you, but you were there. You know we followed the code of federal regulations to a T.”

  He’d checked with his lawyer before seeing Lucky? Proved he had sense. Even against the advice of legal counsel he agreed to the meeting. Which meant he had nothing to hide, in Lucky’s experience. “Do you remember the name of the DEA agent who came to see you?”

  “Umm…” Chastain rolled his eyes upward and rested a fingertip on his chin. “Not at the moment. I’m afraid all my notes are at the office.”

  “That’s fine, but I’m curious to know the name.”

  “If I think of it, I’ll tell you.”

  “Right before they came, did you hire any new employees who had access to the shipments or paperwork?” Lucky clutched at straws, but even a blind squirrel found an acorn every now and again.

  A muscle twitched in the man’s jaw. “We’ve been expanding the business, so new faces are normal. There’s probably three or four in the office with access who’ve been there less than a year. But we perform thorough background checks.”

  Uh-huh. Lucky offered living proof of background checks being altered. If the man researched him he’d find a squeaky-clean record, with no mention of a ten-year sentence for conspiracy in connection with drug trafficking. “Anybody suspicious?”

  “I’ve been shut down for something I didn’t do.” Chastain grimaced and let out a harsh exhale. “Only a handful of my employees aren’t under suspicion.”

  Lucky had approved the supply chain security himself. Someone deliberately planned to sabotage Chastain’s operation. “Do you mind if I ask if you were working on something important? Something a competitor might like to ensure never saw the light of day?”

  All expression dropped from the man’s face. After a moment he closed his eyes and sighed. “We tried to keep it a secret until we received FDA approval, but we’ve developed a new oral insulin. Works like the long acting insulins, but no injections and half the blood sugar monitoring. It’ll revolutionize diabetes treatment.”

  Holy shit! Lucky didn’t have Bo’s pharmaceutical knowledge, but even a narcotics agent specializing in diversion prevention recognized the importance of such a breakthrough.

  “FDA assigned the prototype breakthrough drug status to speed up the approval process, which is why we asked you in to ensure we’d meet requirements. If all went well, it’d be on the market in less than a year.”

  Lucky whistled. “You’ll make a fortune.”

  Chastain gave a rueful laugh and opened his eyes, meeting Lucky’s gaze. “Maybe. But my father is diabetic. I’ve seen him jab himself every day, sometimes three or four times. The pain, the bruising, the nausea... I’m doing this for him.”

  He wasn’t simply chasing the money? “Can you think of anyone who’d want to stand in your way?”

  Chastain snorted. “Any manufacturer currently making diabetic drugs or supplies. This product will take a lot of dollars out of competitors’ pockets. Or add to them, if they could get their hands on it.”

  “Who?”

  “Let me show you.” Chastain picked up a tablet computer off the coffee table, punched a few buttons, and turned the screen toward Lucky.

  Lucky let out a low whistle. Daaaaaaaamn! Billion-dollar corporations likely shook in their collective boots because of a family-run organization without the aid of outside stockholders. They were right to be afraid.

  Two in particular caught his eye: a big fish, and a really big fish, or rather, a shark.

  Chastain returned the computer to the table, propped his elbows on his knees, and laced his fingers in front of his face. “While I want this mostly for my father, the company sank so much into developing this drug, we’re in serious trouble if we can’t finish what we started.”

  “How far are you in development?” If only he’d brought Bo. Bo would know far more what the new drug meant for Chastain—and the competitors.

  “We’re doing human testing.”

  Wow! “That close?”

  Chastain let out a bitter laugh. “Close, but not close enough.”

  Pieces started falling into place. “Let me ask you something. Have any large pharmaceutical companies tried to buy your company?”

  “We’ve been fighting off hostile takeover attempts for years, one of the reasons we’ve steered clear of becoming a publicly traded company. We’re a family-run business. Some of our employees are second and third generation. We want to stay a place where sons and daughters work the same jobs as their parents and make a decent living.”

  Built-in loyalty. A noble goal, but not very practical. “Thank you. You’ve given me a lot to work with.”

  “Are you going to get our doors open again?” Had anyone ever spoken to Lucky before with such hope?

  Lucky couldn’t promise anything at this point. “I wish I could. For the moment I’d settle for proving you were set up. Any number of folks have a lot to gain by putting you out of business.”

  Chastain nodded, rubbing a hand over his chin stubble. “I appreciate your helping me, but why? Are you trying to save face since the DEA pretty much said you didn’t know what you were talking about when you cleared us?”

  Ouch! Direct hit! “Mr. Chastain. I’m not altruistic, never have been, never will be.” Was that the right word? “But I know right from wrong.” Walter wouldn’t stand for this man and his company suffering. Without a doubt, even though he’d downplayed the incident, Walter must have been asking questions. He had quite a long reach.

  While Lucky saw part of the folder’s contents, he hadn’t seen it all. Someone had wanted to keep him from it badly enough to steal, and take Walter out of the picture—maybe permanently.

  Walter must’ve asked all the right questions to all the wrong people. If Lucky had read the rest of the report instead of just the beginning would he now be lying in a hospital bed too? Or worse?

  “I’ll let you know if I find anything out. Right now, there’s something I need to do.”

  ***

  Lucky had only driven two miles before he picked up a tail. He hoped they didn’t mind boredom. The hospital parking lot was quite full when he got there, Sunday being a high visitation day.

  Heart pounding in his chest, he made his way to Walter’s room.

  Mrs. Smith beamed at him. “Lucky, what perfect timing! Look!” She stepped aside.

  Walter Smith stood by the side of the bed, gripping the bed rails with both hands.

  Hallelujah!

  “Boss?”

  Walter raised rheumy eyes. Not a bit of recognition shone in their depths.

  ***

  Walter lay in bed, lightly snoring. Standing must’ve worn him out.

  His body still worked, but maybe not his mind.

  “Mrs. Smith, did Walter happen to mention any cases he might have been involved with, particularly with the DEA?” No matter how close they were, he still couldn’t bring himself to call her “Lucy” or “Lucille.” She’d always be “Mrs. Smith” to him, the way he’d been raised to address his elders.

  “No. He’s spoken about retiring lately, but he never made a habit of talking about work to me.”

  Lucky’d been afraid of that. He needed answers, and Walter wasn’t in any shape to give them.

  ***

  Lucky used his personal computer at home, u
nwilling to risk who might have access to his work searches. At one time he’d have been untraceable, but with new technology coming along every day, he’d gotten out of touch.

  He read the trade magazines, searched the FDA and DEA websites, and logged on to his favorite pharmaceutical newsletter.

  Fuck.

  An unexplained fire took out Chastain’s big fish competitor.

  Which left the shark.

  Forsyth Pharmaceuticals.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lucky’s laptop threatened to slide into his groin but the Adirondack chair on the deck was his best hope for privacy without offending someone. He ignored the weeds in the lawn almost as well as his teenaged weeders did, choosing to think of dandelions as decorations instead of flaws in his haste to open the file.

  He watched Keith’s video for the twentieth time. Someone went through a lot of trouble to alter the content. What was it about the cup and the file?

  Why not simply make the evidence disappear? Who even knew of its existence?

  Someone found out Keith planted the camera. Someone from surveillance. Lucky knew Keith and Rogers. The rest were hardly blips on his radar.

  Keith would’ve questioned the loss of the video. For that matter, what if Keith doctored the video himself for some reason?

  No, the guy might be an asshole, but he’d been genuinely concerned. He’d be watching his own people.

  Rogers. Following Lucky. How he’d love to beat the truth out of the motherfucker. Without proof of wrongdoing, O’Donoghue would have his badge for sure.

  So many things could’ve caused Walter’s attack, or so the doctor said, a few more Lucky could add. Some so potent one sip could kill.

  Someone put something in Walter’s cup. Or something else.

  Or on it. Why would anyone want to hurt Walter?

  The same reason they’d stick Lucky on desk duty—to get him out of the way.

  The video began with Walter entering the office. The cup already sat on the desk. Surely Lisa hadn’t brought Walter a poisoned cup. As much as he hated Keith for installing a camera with the hopes of recording Lucky’s downfall, now he wished the guy had started filming earlier, though the camera might have been motion activated.