Suspicion (Diversion Book 7) Read online

“I don’t play nice,” Lucky reminded him, tugging on his collar, trying to keep his tie from choking him. For a moment the ghost of Old Spice scented the vehicle, gone in a moment. Damn, but he missed Walter.

  “Something I’ve come to love about you,” Bo said with a hint of a smile, easing into a parking space, “but a lot’s riding on us getting on these folks’ good side.”

  “That’s why I got you.” Bo excelled at the people stuff, and would no doubt have these buzzards eating from his hand in no time. Lucky, on the other hand, spotted shit that shouldn’t be there, and recognized criminals from all the experience he’d gained looking in a mirror.

  “C’mon. Let’s go find someone to bust.” Bo hopped out of the Durango.

  Lucky climbed out of the SUV and followed Bo across the parking lot toward an older man with graying hair.

  “Hey, Chuck,” Bo said, hand outstretched.

  The man shook Bo’s hand. “You ready to get this show on the road?”

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” Bo drawled, fine-tuning his Arkansas dialect to match Chuck’s Alabama drawl.

  How easily Bo sank into his undercover roles. Lucky shuddered, remembering Cyrus Cooper, badass biker, and the months Bo spent being someone else so well he barely came back to himself.

  Bo clasped Lucky’s shoulder and urged him forward. “Allow me to introduce Anderson Fowler, or rather, the man taking Anderson’s place today.”

  Lucky cut his eyes toward Bo.

  Only knowing the man as well as he did let Lucky find the hidden smirk in his smile.

  The skin around Chuck’s eyes crinkled. “I know Anderson. You’re a far sight easier on the eyes than he is.”

  Anderson must be one ugly sonofabitch. Or a harder ass than Lucky, dim possibility though that was.

  “What exactly are you looking for?” Chuck asked.

  “We’ll know it when we see it.” Bo hiked a thumb at Lucky. “This man has more experience in this sort of thing than I’ll ever have. Get him into as many places as you can.”

  “Will do. I’ll ask for a complete audit. Tour, operating procedures, incident reports, the works. They’ll wish we were just the FDA when we get through with them.”

  Guy must be pretty tough. The mere mention of an FDA inspection sent most pharma operations scuttling for cover.

  Lucky followed Bo and Chuck into the building. His nerves kicked into high gear. Answers to his questions lay inside, waiting to be found.

  He would find them.

  How he’d love to have Johnson here with them, do a full takedown of this place. The talking heads here at Forsyth offered Chastain a shady deal, they had secrets to hide.

  Finding out those secrets would make Lucky one happy man.

  The warehouse gave him no surprises, and the stock stood in organized rows on shelves.

  Tight security too. The guard escorting them scrutinized their every move. Lucky’s eyes had begun to cross by the time he finished reading boring procedure after boring procedure, and his tie threatened strangulation.

  Bo charmed all he met, and even got invited out to lunch three times. Once by a man who smiled too broadly and stood too close.

  “No, thank you. We’re not allowed to socialize.” Bo gave a sheepish shrug. “Sorry.”

  The man’s flirtiness vanished and he backed away. Good. Lucky wouldn’t have to gut slug him one.

  They’d lied to O’Donoghue, drove all this way, and found absolutely nada. Last stop: executive wing.

  Nameplates graced most of the office doors, but one corner office bore an empty plate. On a whim, Lucky asked the receptionist, “When will you fill the job?” After all, he had read about an unfilled executive position, hadn’t he?

  “Don’t worry.” She gave him a blinding smile. “We already have. He starts next month. He’s former DEA.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “O—.”

  “Ms. Payton, may I see you for a moment?” a well-dressed man barked from an open doorway.

  “Coming, sir!” The woman’s face flushed and she scampered away.

  Ho-ly fuck. One more minute! One more minute was all he’d need.

  He searched the internet from his phone all the way home, and still didn’t get the name, though he had a pretty good idea.

  O’Donoghue.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lucky ripped his tie off before they’d made the main road. “What a clusterfuck.”

  “You can say that again.” Bo took a hand off the steering wheel and massaged one temple.

  “I knew that bastard was up to something, but I never imagined this.” Actually, he’d not given O’Donoghue enough credit to use his position in this way.

  “So, if what we suspect is true, O’Donoghue arranged to hand them Chastain Pharmaceuticals at a discount price in exchange for a job that’ll pay him millions.” Bo might have mumbled “the bastard” under his breath. Lucky couldn’t be sure. “That explains why he got so upset about you investigating Forsyth.”

  “How do we go about confronting him?”

  Bo chewed his bottom lip, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “We don’t. Not yet. All we have so far is speculation and a receptionist who nearly named him. We’ll have to be careful about digging too deeply using work resources. They can be traced. If Forsyth has hired O’Donoghue, there’ll be background checks, drug tests, and so many other traceable paper trails. The Security and Exchange Commission would be all up in that too.”

  “I could always beat the truth out of him.” Kicking O’Donoghue’s ass might prove to be the best therapy ever. Especially since Lucky still hadn’t, and wouldn’t, visit O’Donoghue’s hand-picked therapist.

  “You know we can’t do that.” Funny how long it took for Bo to respond.

  “Spoilsport.”

  “I never said I didn’t want to,” Bo shot back. “I only said we couldn’t. Besides, kicking his ass would be too quick. We need to make the muthafucker suffer.”

  Lucky did a double-take so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. “Who are you and what have you done with my textbook-quoting, by-the-book partner?”

  “He stopped being Mr. Nice Guy as soon as a stupid shitbrick took aim at my partner.”

  It wasn’t in Bo to quit being nice altogether. Thank God! Or he’d have ripped Lucky a new asshole a few years back. “So, what’s your suggestion?”

  “I don’t know, but we have a lot of highway and hours between here and Atlanta to figure things out.”

  “We’ll get him.” Lucky had never been surer of anything in his life. Well, except for Bo.

  “It’s not only him. He’s dragged others into this mess, others who should know better. And Forsyth’s circling the drain too.”

  Yes, and with any luck, Bo and Lucky would be the ones to flush them down the toilet.

  With two hours left to go, Lucky’s phone rang. He shot Bo a questioning look. Surely someone hadn’t figured out what they were up to. The screen displayed, “Walter Smith.” What? Lucky hit the button and held the phone to his ear. “Boss Man?” Dare he hope?

  “Hello, Lucky,” came a soft, sweet voice.

  “Oh, hi. How are you, Mrs. Smith? How’s Walter?”

  “Nice job!” Bo snarked. “Manners and everything.”

  Lucky shot Bo a go to hell glare.

  “We’re fine. Actually”—Mrs. Smith dropped her voice— “could you possibly come by sometime this evening?”

  “Sure thing.” He pulled his cellphone away from his ear to check the time. “Will ‘bout seven do it?” She didn’t sound panicked like Lisa had, but he had to ask, “Everything okay?”

  “Right as rain. Bring Bo and the boys too. I’ll cook dinner.”

  His stomach rumbled at the mention of food. Mrs. Smith made one mean pot roast. “You don’t have to do that. We’ll be getting back to town around seven and won’t have time to get the boys.”

  “Oh, well, maybe some other time then, but I still need to speak with you.”r />
  “We’ll be there. And ma’am?”

  “Yes?”

  “If anyone asks, you ain’t seen hide nor hair of either of us.”

  She chuckled. “I’ll remember that.”

  “What did she want?” Bo asked once Lucky hung up the phone.

  “For us to stop by. Sounded important, but she says she and Walter are fine.” Or as fine as Walter could be right now, more than likely.

  Bo saluted. “If Mrs. Boss calls, we answer.”

  Lucky nodded. “Damned skippy.”

  ***

  They pulled into the Smiths’ driveway at five minutes to seven. Lucky swore he saw wings folding back up underneath the Durango. Somewhere along the way, Bo rethought his views on speed limits.

  Nice. Especially if it got them to the Smiths’ earlier, and to whatever Mrs. Smith wanted them for.

  She opened the door on their first knock. “Come in, come in.” Her eyes sparkled and her shoulders no longer slumped as they had when Lucky last saw her. She even smiled, something Lucky had rarely seen her do since Walter entered the hospital.

  “Why did you want to see us?” Bo asked.

  “I think I’d better show you.” She led the way into the living room.

  Bo lifted a brow in Lucky’s direction and followed her, Lucky bringing up the rear.

  Bo stopped so suddenly Lucky ran into him.

  He peered around Bo.

  Walter Smith stood by the window, cane in hand.

  “Good evening, gentlemen. Why, Lucky, you’re wearing a suit!”

  More lines marred Walter’s face, but the awareness in his eyes hit hard. Lucky’s heart gave a swift mule kick. “Boss!” He eyed Walter up and down, but other than the cane, a few missing pounds, and a world-weary tiredness, he might have been back to his old self.

  One side of Walter’s mouth lifted. “Sit down. Let’s talk.”

  Lucky stood frozen. Bo’s hand on his back jogged him toward the couch. He sat thigh to thigh with Bo.

  Any minute now he’d wake up, find Walter still in the hospital…

  Walter gusted out a heavy breath and sank into a recliner. “Ah, that’s better.” He fixed his bifocaled gaze on Lucky and Bo. “I still get tired so easily.”

  Tired? Lucky couldn’t take his eyes off the man he’d feared would never be himself again. “It’s good to see you. A lot’s happened since you’ve been gone.”

  Bo elbowed his side, jostling Lucky into continuing, “Which we don’t have to talk about now. We’re glad you’ve made so much progress.”

  Walter waved a dismissive hand. “You don’t have to coddle me. I brought you here to talk business. What’s been going on at the office?”

  Lucky cut his eyes toward Bo and raised his brows, bracing for another elbow jab.

  Bo dipped his chin. Permission, but with a raised brow. So, better not hop up and swear a blue streak about O’Donoghue and his lapdogs. “Remember the case we were working on, Chastain Pharmaceuticals?”

  “Yes. I believe DEA was instrumental in closing their doors.” Walter’s jowls shivered with the pursing of his lips. The boss had trusted the accuracy of Lucky’s clean report, and look what happened. He’d been sent to the hospital before the Board of Pharmacy shut Chastain down, so he’d been getting information from somewhere.

  Lucky nodded. “Yeah, and you were looking into things. Had a folder when you called me into your office. You showed me the report, saying they took possession of a shipment from an unregistered vendor.”

  “That much I remember.” If rubbing his temples could squish the memories out, Walter would remember everything back to World War I.

  “There was more in the folder you didn’t show me.” Stupid fucking good guy traits. Lucky should have snagged that folder. Even if his entire attention was on the man hitting the floor. Victor had trained him better than that. Or worse, maybe. Compassion and concern were over-rated. Well, maybe not, but a firm hand on the evidence was underrated.

  Walter switched his friction attack to his chin, staring off into space. “I’m afraid I don’t remember. Do you have the file? May I see it?”

  Lucky shared a look with Bo. “It’s gone. I don’t wanna go into too much detail, but after your… episode… someone came in and took the file.” There, he’d explained the situation without throwing his own speculations in. A smart man like the boss wanted evidence untainted with opinion.

  “Was anything else taken?” Walter stiffened and sat up in his chair.

  “The coffee cup you drank from.”

  Walter stayed silent for a long moment. “Nothing else?”

  “Not that we found. Someone tried to cover that much up. The cup was there when you came in. Any idea who brought you coffee?”

  The lines on Walter’s forehead deepened. “I’m afraid I don’t.”

  Bo stood. “Why don’t I go get the video?”

  “Video?” Walter’s bushy brows shot towards his hairline.

  “I’ll explain later, but we have video of the whole thing.” He’d already shocked the boss enough. Telling him about cooperating with Keith might send him back to the hospital.

  “Well, then, yes, please do, Bo.”

  “You need to see it. I’ll be right back.” Bo gave Lucky’s hand a squeeze, whispered, “Don’t let him get too tired,” and whisked out the door.

  Lucky eyed the man so like a father to him. “Boss, I…” Words wouldn’t come. Maybe it was just as well. With his mind on the surveillance tape, Walter might miss Lucky going from hard as nails and twice as pointy to sniffling mess.

  Like Walter ever missed much. Even if it was one little sniffle. Disguised in “Glad you’re—”

  “I know.” Walter opened his arms.

  Lucky shot across the floor and flung himself into Walter’s hug. Judging by the bone-crushing embrace, the boss definitely had regained some strength. Good. Lucky’d take getting his face smushed into wool lapels any day if it meant Walter was on the mend. He had to be. Too much near-loss unhinged a man. First his dad, now Walter. They were both on their feet now, and getting stronger by the day, and maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay. If Lucky’d give half a liver to the man who’d cast him out of the family, he’d give Walter twice as much for making Lucky one of his own. If only Lucky had anything to give that would heal Walter faster…

  He had nothing but time. And Lucklighter stubbornness. He’d turn that into information. He’d get Walter anything. So would Bo. Walter patted Lucky’s shoulder and gently disengaged.

  Lucky sniffed, swiped at his eyes, and sat on a nearby ottoman. “God, I was so worried about you.”

  Walter gave a hearty laugh, but his voice didn’t have its normal booming quality. “To tell you the truth, so was I. I’m better now.”

  “Things haven’t been the same at work.” A gross understatement. Any happiness in the building left when Walter did.

  “I can guess. Fill in the details for me, why don’t you?” Walter put on his favorite uncle act like he’d done so many times, the persona guaranteed to get even the most hardcore cons to spill their guts.

  The effect wasn’t lost on Lucky. “O’Donoghue’s taken over the department. Landry, Rogers, and Eustace act like they own the place.” He lowered his voice. “I’ve been put on desk duty.”

  The furry gray masses above Walter’s eyes jolted upward. “You believe you’re unfairly targeted?”

  Lucky shrugged. “Yeah. It’s like O’Donoghue’s trying to get me out of the way.”

  “How about the rest of the team?”

  The team. The one Lucky never felt a part of until recently. “Lisa’s been a crying mess since you left, no one’s watching the newbies, O’Donoghue makes sure to keep me, Bo, and Johnson apart.”

  “I heard you had an altercation with Keith.” Walter sighed. “I’d so hoped the two of you would pull together.”

  Oh man, the boss would never believe… “We have, sort of. He’s the one who gave me the info Bo went to get.”
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br />   Walter’s eyes went wide. “Really? Then my illness has accomplished what I’ve been trying to do for years. But something is on your mind. Bo and my wife probably warned you not to burden me, but I know you well enough to see something’s bothering you.”

  “O’Donoghue grounded me to keep me from digging, but I’ve found evidence that Forsyth Pharmaceuticals is trying to take over Chastain’s outfit to claim a breakthrough diabetes drug.”

  Boss went into all business mode, sitting up straighter in his chair. “What evidence do you have?”

  “The other company trying to suck them up recently had a fire, knocking them out of the competition. Chastain turned down offers from Forsyth and wouldn’t sell. I think they arranged things so he’d have to.”

  “What have you turned up on Forsyth?” Walter tapped his fingers against the chair arm, studying Lucky’s face.

  He could stare at Lucky all night if he wanted to, as long as his eyes weren’t clouded over and he wasn’t in the hospital playing human pin cushion.

  “They had a top management position open and filled it with a ‘former DEA agent.’” Lucky made air quotes. Now might not be the best time to mention going there himself and his conversation with the woman who’d almost said too much.

  “You believe it’s Jameson.”

  “Yes, and I know for a fact Phillip Eustace was the one who planted the evidence at Chastain. Owen Landry turned in the report to DEA. You didn’t assign them to check out Chastain, did you?”

  “Why would I, with my best agents already performing a full audit?”

  Exactly what Lucky thought.

  Walter breathed heavily in and out and clenched his fist. “I trust your judgement, always have. You realize Forsyth’s reach is international, do you not?”

  “International?” Oh, yeah. His researched turned up international ties.

  “Yes. They may be headquartered in Alabama, our jurisdiction, but their reach is so very much farther.” Walter drew his brows together, lips pursed. “Don’t tell anyone at the Atlanta office that I’m recovering, and bring me all the proof you’ve collected.”

  Lucky’s heart thudded. “You’re calling in the big dogs, aren’t you?”

  “If I have to.”