Suspicion (Diversion Book 7) Page 17

  He turned to leave.

  “Mr. Harrison? Lucky?”

  Lucky stopped and faced her. “Yes?”

  She glanced right and left. The halls were clear. “I’m sorry about calling you to the house for Keith. I really didn’t want to.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “It’s for Walter.”

  The stiff set of Lisa’s shoulders eased. “Well, okay. Any news?”

  “He’s doing better. Don’t worry, he’ll be back.” Walter had to get better. Lucky wouldn’t accept anything less.

  He took the elevator to the garage level but strode up the sidewalk and outside. After he’d left the SNB a few blocks behind he returned Chastain’s call.

  “Martin Chastain,” a wary voice answered.

  “Chastain. Harrison here.”

  “Oh, thank God,” the man said in a rush. “You told me to let you know if I heard anything. Forsyth Pharmaceuticals is pressuring us to sell, and they’re trying to work around regulations so the Federal Trade Commission won’t block the merger.”

  “So, they made a move.” And pretty much admitted their guilt. “I kind of expected someone to make an attempt.” He’d not dealt much with the FTC. Maybe he should.

  A long pause followed, then a sigh. “There’s something else.” Chastain blurted the words out in a rush.

  “What?”

  “You asked about how well I knew and trusted my employees. Well, we’ve been trying to stay in contact, keep them informed as to what’s going on, and make sure they received any pay owed them.”

  The hairs on the back of Lucky’s neck rose. “And?”

  “There’s this one guy, relatively new, we can’t find. He didn’t show up for his last paycheck either.”

  The sudden stench in the air could be trash in an alley or bullshit getting deep. “Can you send over anything you have on this guy?” Lucky gave Chastain his personal e-mail. No sense in getting the SNB involved, especially if he couldn’t trust his own so-called teammates.

  “I will.” Chastain paused, then added in a weak voice, “Do you think we’ll be able to beat this thing?”

  “I’m damned sure going to try.” Like hell would Lucky let some big deal corporation steal Chastain’s hard-won success.

  “Oh, and one more thing.”

  “What?”

  “The DEA agent? The one who closed us down?”

  “Yes?”

  “His name is Owen Landry.”

  Fuck.

  ***

  Lucky didn’t see Bo until he got home, where he did his best to be a good father figure to the boys, eating dinner at the table and later watching a family movie—after Ty finished homework, grumbling and complaining all the while.

  The moment the boys went to bed, Lucky grabbed Bo’s wrist and hauled him to the bedroom.

  Bo let out a laugh. “Not worried Todd and Ty will hear us?”

  “I’ve got something to show you.”

  Bo waggled his brows.

  Lucky rolled his eyes. “On my laptop.”

  “I’m up for porn if you are.”

  Lucky scowled. How he’d love to throw Bo down on the bed, fuck him senseless, but first things first.

  Where had he taken a wrong turn in life to wind up with work taking precedence over sex?

  He grabbed his personal laptop, sank down on the edge of the mattress, and raised his eyes to Bo in a question.

  Bo sat beside him, playfulness and innuendo gone. “What you got?”

  “Chastain says Forsyth Pharmaceuticals is trying to force a buyout.”

  “Good luck with that.” Bo barked a disbelieving laugh.

  “He also said he had a relatively new employee that he can’t contact and who hasn’t picked up his last check.”

  Instant seriousness wiped away any traces of Bo’s humor. “There was a plant in his office.”

  “It seems so.” Lucky fired up the laptop and surfed through spam e-mails to get to Chastain’s.

  “Farrell Justice,” Lucky read. O’Donoghue had told them during classes to work undercover to choose a name close to their own so they’d react more naturally at its use.

  Did the name mean anything? “Twenty-eight, blond hair, blue eyes.” Didn’t mean anything. His sister was living proof of how many shades of hair dye Clairol made, and colored contact lenses weren’t hard to come by.

  He put the name into his favorite site for background checks, scrambling IP addresses first, thanks to a device he’d gotten from Keith a year ago and failed to return.

  Nothing. Squeaky clean. Not even a traffic ticket.

  Ever.

  Much like Simon Harrison, the persona the SNB cooked up for Lucky to keep him safe, at least in theory, from anyone who might hold a grudge against him.

  Wasn’t a soul in the universe now who didn’t know Richmond Eugene Lucklighter still lived, and one day soon, when Lucky wasn’t ass-deep in alligators, he’d see to changing his name back.

  For now, he viewed personnel records, a resume, the background check, and the pre-employment drug test results from Justice’s hiring at Chastain Pharmaceuticals.

  Nothing. He couldn’t find one damned thing on the man.

  One more attachment to go, entitled “Company Picnic.”

  An image appeared of roughly thirty smiling people crammed into a group picture. Lucky felt a twinge of remorse for the time Bo had wanted him to attend an SNB staff picnic and had ended up going on his own when Lucky refused.

  Never again. If Bo asked, next time Lucky would say yes.

  Or maybe he’d do the asking.

  He scanned the faces, scrutiny coming to rest on a circle drawn on the photo—around a blond-haired man.

  “Well, fuck me.” Farrell Justice was none other than Phillip Eustace.

  Red tinged Bo’s face and he took several hard breaths. “Sonofabitch!”

  Lucky took a deep breath and dropped a bomb. “I found out the DEA agent who yanked their registration. Owen Landry.”

  Lucky was going to kill Landry, Phillip, and maybe a few others for good measure. How dare they?

  “Calm down.” Bo placed a calming hand on Lucky’s arm. “We can’t go charging in. We have to build our case first.”

  Lucky breathed heavily in and out, rage threatening to take over. “What else do we need?” He’d kick their asses if he had to quit the bureau to do it. Wouldn’t be the first time he’d put down his badge to seek his own form of justice.

  “Think about it. Phillip’s with DEA, so it could well be him, acting undercover, who legitimately discovered the illegal shipment, working with Landry.” Trust Bo to be the voice of reason.

  “If he was undercover, why didn’t we see him when we toured?”

  “He might have been off that day, or busy somewhere else.”

  “Walter would have known.” Judging from the boss’s reaction he sure as hell hadn’t.

  When all else failed, Bo lapsed into textbook or policy manual-speak. “You know it’s against SNB policy to discuss an agent’s cases with another agent unless there’s good reason.”

  “Them yanking a DEA registration from someone we vetted doesn’t count as good reason?”

  Bo tilted his head to the side but didn’t immediately answer.

  Lucky scowled. “Are you with me on this or not?”

  Bo gazed into Lucky’s eyes, calmed now and thoughts likely churning in his head too fast for Lucky to follow. “I am, but you know as well as I do that we can’t go in half-cocked. We have to look at every angle.”

  There it was: the reason Bo made the best choice to fill Walter’s shoes. He thought things over before acting, something Lucky didn’t have patience to do.

  He nodded and threw out his next argument. “What if Phillip planted the record and the drugs?”

  Bo tapped his index finger against his chin. “To what end?”

  “To run Chastain out of business, forcing him to sell to Forsyth. They stand to ga
in a lot if they manage to get their hands on Chastain’s new diabetes treatment.”

  After a few moments of staring at the wall, Bo replied, “That’s a big logic jump to make.”

  “You don’t believe me.” Disappointment weighed heavy on Lucky’s heart. Bo was supposed to have his back, damn it!

  Bo shook his head. “Of course I believe you, but it’s not me you have to convince.”

  “There you go, talking sense again.” Storming in, guns blazing, suited Lucky better.

  “Let me see what you’ve got so far to back up your story.”

  Lucky pulled up file after file: the information from his conversation with Chastain, minus the whole meeting him thing, what little he’d gleaned from Keith, dates, times and places he’d been tailed, and all he’d gathered on Forsyth.

  Lastly, he brought up everything he’d learned about Walter’s attack and O’Donoghue’s actions afterward. This time he gave honest effort to seeing the problem with new eyes, seeing O’Donoghue as possibly a jerk, but not necessarily a guilty one.

  Nah. Guy was guilty as sin.

  Walter. If only he could talk things over with Walter.

  Bo poured over the information, occasionally, ummming and uh-huhing. Finally, he glanced back up at Lucky. “Lots of puzzle pieces here. How do you suppose they fit?”

  “I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”

  Bo tapped his finger on the keyboard, lips pursed, and stared out into space. Lucky expected the screech of turning wheels at any moment. “Lucky?”

  “Yes?”

  “How would you feel about a trip to Alabama tomorrow?”

  “Why?”

  “Just humor me. Oh, wear your best suit. I’ll handle getting us proper IDs.”

  What the hell? “Are you thinking of doing something dirty and underhanded?” Lucky could hope.

  “Maybe.” Bo set his lips into a thin line.

  Really? “Maybe not, or maybe so?”

  “Maybe so. As a matter of fact, more than maybe.” Bo straightened, muscles working in his jaw.

  Maybe sounded good. “Is it something Walter might not approve of?”

  Bo lifted an eyebrow and his chin. “Actually, he might not, but O’Donoghue definitely wouldn’t.”

  Oh, dear lord. “I think you’re turning me on.”

  “I hope so.” Bo moved the laptop from the bed to the floor and leered.

  “I don’t like wearing suits. You might have to convince me.” Lucky gave Bo his evilest smile. He’d do anything his lover asked. Probably better not to tell Bo so.

  “I think I can do that.” Bo pulled Lucky down on the bed. “On second thought, I’m sure I can.”

  Weight lifted. For once, Lucky didn’t care who might be in the house.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “What did you tell them at work?” Lucky asked between sips of coffee in the passenger seat of Bo’s Durango.

  “You’re heading to Spokane to help your sister move.” From the driver’s seat, Bo swiveled his head toward Lucky. “I logged into your e-mail and requested two weeks of personal time.”

  “Works for me.” Two weeks of not seeing O’Donoghue and his minions? Sure.

  Bo returned his attention to the road. “They think I’m following up some leads on one of my cases, and for some reason, they don’t question what I do too much. Lisa’s going to log into my e-mail and send some timed reports throughout the day.”

  Lucky considered Bo’s scheming. “You started kissing up to O’Donoghue, didn’t you?”

  “You asked me to.” Bo batted his lashes. “I always do what you want me to, right?”

  “If that’s what you’re going with.” Lucky tried for a long-suffering sigh. He’d rubbed off on the man a bit too much.

  “Besides, people tend to believe what they want to, and he wants to believe I’m loyal to him, despite my connections with you and Walter. Chatting up Landry and Eustace doesn’t hurt either. O’Donoghue complimented me on my team behavior.” Bo rolled his eyes.

  “Yeah, you they want to keep. Plus, you’ve got a squeaky-clean reputation and haven’t worked for Walter long enough to become overly connected to the old guard, in their minds. Same goes for Johnson.” Keith and Lucky? Their devotion to the old ways and unwillingness to change put their necks on the chopping block.

  Lucky must’ve fallen pretty far to now have something in common with a waste of skin like Keith.

  “If that was true, I wouldn’t be lying about my whereabouts and hauling ass to Alabama with the office black sheep.”

  Lucky smiled. He really must be rubbing off on Bo. Actually, he’d love to rub off on Bo, but they didn’t have the time.

  Maybe later. “What’s the plan?”

  Bo gripped the steering wheel, checking over his shoulder and slamming the gas to merge onto the interstate. “I made a few calls, called in some favors, and we’re scheduled for a routine inspection as part of a vendor audit.”

  Vendor audit. “You sneaky sumbitch, you.” Most impressive for a guy who normally kept to the book. “How’d you manage that?”

  “Found a company with reason to like the SNB, since we saved their asses once, and reason to hate Forsyth, especially since they keep jacking up their prices.” Bo squeezed the SUV in between two eighteen wheelers and out the other side into the center lane before Lucky had time to grab the “oh, shit!” handle.

  His heart still slammed his ribs.

  He slid a sidelong glance Bo’s way and urged his pounding heart to slow. Normally Lucky drove on the interstate. Since when did Mr. Respects-speed-limits drive like a demon?

  “If they get their hands on Chastain’s new diabetes drug, they’ll do more than drive up prices, they’ll own the market.” Bo continued, “If FDA doesn’t find out first.”

  “And they will find out first, right?” If not already in motion, Lucky’d make a few calls.

  “Chastain passed stage one trials. The FDA will damn sure notice a different entity launching stage two.”

  Dang! Now why had Lucky not included Bo in his plans from the get-go? He’d gotten pretty shrewd since coming to work for the SNB. Plus, he’d been through Hell and had come out the other side.

  Maybe Lucky needed to rethink his whole “Bo needs protecting” thing.

  The drive to Nowhere, Alabama didn’t take as long as Lucky feared. Along with his newfound disregard for rules, Bo seemed to have lost his feather foot. Once or twice on the ride down Lucky had craned his neck to check the speedometer.

  “Problem?” Bo asked, checking his GPS app for trouble ahead.

  “Nope, none at all.” Bo became more like Lucky every day. Or Lucky more resembled Bo. “What about the boys this evening? I doubt we’ll make it back by supper time.”

  “I left a lasagna in the fridge and cooking instructions. They’ll be fine.”

  “You forget, one of them’s Ty.”

  Bo snorted. “I don’t mention this because he might die of embarrassment, but I think part of the reason you two don’t get along is that he’s so much like you.”

  “Like me?” Lucky whipped his head around. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “You’re too close to the situation, or you would’ve noticed. Charlotte pointed out similarities, and I’ve got to admit, the longer I know him, the more I agree.”

  What? Wait until he talked to his sister. “Bullshit. We’re not a bit alike.”

  “You’re both stubborn beyond belief, and you probably haven’t noticed, but he’s starting to mimic your habits, how you walk, how you talk. You know what they say.” He faced Lucky long enough to wink. “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.”

  “He hates me.”

  “No, he’s confused.” Bo reached over and patted Lucky’s knee. “He misses friends and his old school, especially since he enrolled here too late to make the soccer team. He’ll adapt in no time.”

  Shit. Lucky had forgotten Ty played soccer for his former school. Another thing his nephew ha
d to give up. Yeah, he had the right to be put out. “How do you know he’ll adapt?”

  “C’mon, don’t you remember what it was like to be sixteen? Thinking you were grown when everyone else thought you were a kid. It’s a hard time.”

  “I wasn’t that insufferable.” Actually, Lucky had been worse, but Bo didn’t need to know.

  Bo snorted and took the exit ramp. “Bet you were. Anyway, his older brother is about to leave for college, his mother is going back to school, and his whole life is in turmoil. I’m no psychologist, but I suspect he’s got some anxiety issues he’s working through. Give him time, and if he doesn’t come around, I’ll suggest Charlotte take him to be evaluated.”

  Anxiety? Ty? “What’s he got to be anxious about?”

  “I don’t know. How about his whole world getting turned upside down, his family moving from the only home he’s ever known, his Uncle Bristol being killed a few months ago and, oh yeah, another uncle just returned from the dead.”

  Well, hell. Sounded like an episode of Lucky’s favorite soap opera, which he hadn’t dared to watch with Todd and Ty around. They’d give him hell for sure. “When you put it that way…”

  Lucky kept checking mirrors, but no one followed them. Then again, maybe they’d gotten sandwiched between the two trucks Bo ducked between.

  Bo’s phone chimed from the console. “Check that for me, okay?”

  Unknown number sent a text. I’m here waiting. “Looks like your contact made it.”

  “Cool. We’re almost there.” Bo nodded toward a monstrosity of a building looming on the horizon. Cotton fields as far as the eye could see, then this huge building in the middle of nowhere. Must’ve gotten one sweet tax deal.

  Bo pulled up to the guardhouse and flashed a badge and a smile. “Bill Clegg and Anderson Fowler, here for a vendor audit.”

  The guard barely scanned the offered badge and opened the gate. “Your buddy is already here, in the west parking lot.”

  “Thanks. Have a good day.”

  “You too!”

  “That was easy enough.” Bo rolled up the window and passed Lucky a badge. “Here, put this on.”

  “Anderson Fowler?” Lucky glanced down at the shiny plastic bearing his likeness.

  “Yeah. Now, get ready to play nice.”