Reunion: Diversion Six Page 20

  “It…” Clearing his throat didn’t dislodge the boulder cutting off Lucky’s air. “It’s me.”

  Daytona launched himself too quickly, and the detectives weren’t fast enough to stop the redneck missile hell bent on a bear hug.

  “Holy shit!” Lucky screamed. Direct hit to the gut! Bo and the detectives yanked Daytona back.

  “Rich? What’s going on?”

  Lucky held his middle and stayed still until the stars stopped dancing behind his eyelids. Bo’s arm around his waist helped him remain upright. Shit! That hurt!

  “Why don’t we all sit down?” Bo led Lucky to a chair.

  Daytona froze in place, gaze riveted on Lucky. “Rich? Bro? You okay?”

  Bo answered, saving Lucky the breath. “He gave your dad half his liver. He’s still recovering.”

  “Oh. Oh!” Daytona’s eyes went wide again. “It was you! That’s what you were doing in the hospital.”

  “Yeah, it was me.” Lucky tried not to fall into the chair. He grunted when his ass hit the seat.

  “Mama said they found somebody.” An angry glint came to Daytona’s eyes. “Did she know all along you were alive?”

  “No. Someone else contacted me.” He’d never throw Charlotte under the bus. At least not until he figured out where Daytona stood.

  Daytona took a step forward. Bo and the detectives stiffened. “I want to hug my brother, okay? I promise not to hurt him.”

  The detectives turned as one toward Lucky.

  Lucky nodded. “Let him.” Daytona couldn’t have tried to kill him. No way, no how. No signs of guilt, no signs of lying.

  The detectives backed off. Bo stayed. Daytona ignored them, squatted down, and wrapped his arms around Lucky. “God, Rich, I’m so glad you ain’t dead.” He cut off Lucky’s air with the force of his embrace. Sobs wracked his body.

  What now? Lucky raised a hand. Should he rub his brother’s back? Pat? Oh, to hell with indecision and any pain. Damn, but he’d missed this little twerp—who’d grown up a lot. He tuned out both the ache in his middle and the ache in his heart and held on for dear life. The chance to be this close to Daytona might never happen again.

  “Rich,” Daytona blurted out, only to start bawling again.

  “Sh… It’s all right, brother. It’s all right. Everything’ll be okay.” Lucky gazed over his brother’s head. Bo shuffled close enough to place a comforting hand on Lucky’s back.

  For long moments they stayed in place, the only sounds Daytona’s squalls. Gradually he quieted down enough for Lucky to make out his words. “I love you, bro. I hated you, or said I hated you, for years. But you’re still my big brother. Now will you tell me why? I’d been clean for weeks.”

  Lucky lifted Daytona’s chin with one finger and waited until they were eye to eye to answer. “I didn’t. I only found out about the heroin when you told Charlotte on the phone a few weeks ago.” And there he went, throwing her under the bus anyway.

  “But it came from you. Your handwriting was on the card.”

  Lucky’s throat burned. The guilty would pay dearly. “Day, why would I do such a thing?”

  “He bought you a video game.” Bo crouched to be on Daytona’s level. “That’s what he meant about your vice. Video games. Someone must’ve switched the package.”

  Daytona remained still. Eyes wide. Good. At least he listened.

  Time for Lucky to make his case. “I sent my gift to you at the farm, not your dorm. Hell, at the time, I didn’t know you’d already moved into your dorm.”

  Daytona crumpled. “Well, who else could it have been?”

  Who else indeed? Bo rested one hand on Lucky’s knee. God, the amount of support in one simple gesture. “While I’m all for getting to the bottom of this, we have a more pressing matter. Who tried to kill Lucky?”

  “I forgot about that.” Daytona shot to his feet. “The cops who brought me mentioned a video. Can… Can I watch?”

  Bo nodded. “I’ll see if it can be arranged.”

  Twenty minutes later, they sat in front of a laptop.

  Lucky’s over-wracked brain didn’t shake out any more clues. The video started, showing Daytona in the hallway, pacing back and forth before poking his head into a room—presumably Lucky’s hospital room. He stalked back down the hall.

  The next clip, taken hours earlier by the time stamp, showed the same man entering the room. No, wait. Not the same man.

  Daytona spoke for them all. “Aw, hell.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Lucky’s heart battered his ribs. Until seeing the proof with his own eyes, he’d held out hope for a mistake or someone else from his past finally catching up. No one deserved this shit. Though the figure’s face stayed hidden in shadows, the camera captured enough detail to make out the identity of the man who’d paid Lucky a visit.

  Daytona staggered to his feet. Bo caught him and eased him down on a chair.

  A bit of wriggling pulled Lucky’s chair closer. He joined Bo in putting an arm around Day. Poor guy had to be wrung out by now.

  “Why…? Why would Bristol do something like that? Why isn’t he glad you’re still alive?”

  How in the world had Daytona endured so much crap in his life and remained naïve? Now wasn’t the time to share hard facts about another Lucklighter. The kid had been through enough for one day. Lucky addressed the detectives. “The guy you’re looking for is Bristol Lucklighter, like we suspected.” To Daytona he said, “How is it you got ahold of Bristol’s car?” It wasn’t like the asshole to share his toys.

  “He… he gave me the keys and asked me to pull it around to the hospital entrance.”

  “Had he ever let you drive his car before?” Not likely.

  “Well… No.” The Lucklighter crease appeared between Daytona’s brows. “Used to say he’d kill me if I so much as looked at it, when he talked to me at all.”

  “And you weren’t suspicious when he gave you the keys?”

  “I assumed maybe he was being nice, Daddy being sick and all, and me finding out about you.”

  No one ever accused the Lucklighter boys of being too smart. “He set you up. Even pointed you in the right direction, didn’t he?”

  Daytona’s silence spoke for him.

  One of the detectives took charge. “I’m going to need a statement from you both.”

  Lucky clasped his brother’s shoulder. “Sure.”

  ***

  The best view in the world might be the Greensboro Police Department’s parking lot, which meant freedom. Stars overhead in a clear sky. Damn. Staying up late again. Exhaustion pressed down on him, leaving Lucky disoriented, or maybe it was a combination of exhaustion and painkillers.

  Jimmy’s Ford Escape easily blended with a dozen other cars, but his bright-as-morning-sun hair positively glowed from a street light’s glare.

  Bo kept pace two feet behind Lucky, offering quiet comfort.

  “What happens now?” Daytona rammed his hands into his pockets, looking small and lost next to Jimmy.

  “He takes you home.” Lucky nodded toward the man he still wanted to call Nurse Andy. “But you can’t say a word about any of this. Understand?”

  Daytona sniffled and nodded.

  One more hug, and Lucky sent his brother on his way. “We’ll catch up later, I promise.”

  Daytona clung for a moment and shuffled off.

  “I’ll take good care of him.” Jimmy patted Lucky’s shoulder and gave him a half smile. “Give my regards to your sister.” He slid beneath the steering wheel and slammed the door.

  As if.

  Daytona climbed in the other side of the SUV and waved when Jimmy drove them out of the parking lot.

  Johnson leaned against her Jeep. “You ready to go? You know I hate not being home to tuck my kid in, but not being there to send him off to school sucks canal water.” She might be there in time to make him an after-school snack.

  “What about you?” Lucky stepped close enough to feel Bo’s body heat.

&n
bsp; “I gotta get back,” Bo said. “You go on home with Loretta. I’m still working a case.”

  Oh. “So much for going home and showing you my scar. Tell me a die-hard biker like you finds scars sexy.”

  Bo nuzzled Lucky’s nose. “I find your scars sexy. In fact, I find every single inch of you sexy.” The quick brush of lips didn’t come close to the kiss Lucky wanted, but…

  “Hey, guys. I’m standing right here.” Johnson tapped the toe of her shoe.

  “And?” Lucky growled.

  “And you don’t want me telling you how cute you are, do you?”

  Lucky didn’t give a rat’s ass who saw, or even if Johnson said the “c” word. He kissed his man. Might be the last time for a while.

  “If I can’t keep an eye on you…” Bo dug in his pocket and pulled out the dragon key ring.

  Lucky clung to his talisman all the way home.

  ***

  “We’re here.” Johnson pulled up outside the gate to Lucky’s neighborhood, rolled down the window, and punched on the keys. The gate slid open.

  “How the hell’d you get the code?”

  Johnson managed a weary grin over her shoulder. “I learned from a hard-assed motherfucker who never let gates stand in his way.”

  Yes, she had. Damn.

  She helped Lucky into the house and settled him on his bed. He’d never been this tired in his life. “Want me to strip you, or can you do it?”

  The loose T-shirt and sweat pants ought to slide off easily enough, if Lucky didn’t mind Johnson glimpsing his junk.

  “You ain’t got nothing I ain’t seen before,” she said, hands on hips.

  “How do you know? Maybe I got a third nut or something.”

  “Oh! Call Guinness! Three balls, world’s shortest dick.” Johnson rolled her eyes toward the heavens and started whistling.

  Okay, maybe he wouldn’t be showing her anything new. But still… She’d never seen his junk before and wasn’t going to. “I’m all right.” And world’s smallest dick, hell!

  “Good.” She trotted out of the room and returned a few minutes later with a glass of water and a bottle of pills. “Take one and get some rest. I’ll be out in the living room if you need me.”

  Like he’d need her. He tried to take off his shirt. Ow! Okay, take the pill first, then tackle his clothes. On second thought, they weren’t bothering him too much. A blanket would be nice. But impossible without help.

  Ah, home in his own bed. Alone. With too much time to blame himself.

  He took the pill. He’d hunker down in guilt later.

  No matter how he tried, he couldn’t get comfortable.

  Johnson wanted to be friends? What use were friends if he didn’t intend to use them? “Hey, Jo… Rett! I could use some help here!”

  The woman who’d waltzed into his life, too stubborn to leave, came charging in. “What you need?”

  “Help getting undressed, just don’t stare at my junk, okay?”

  Her lips twitched. “I’ll do my best to restrain myself.”

  True to her word, she didn’t linger and worked with efficient motions. She didn’t even gasp at the Steri-Strip covered incision—much. “When do those come off?”

  “When they fall off.” Like hell would Lucky try to peel the damned things off again. Holy crap! Felt like being ripped back open.

  “What did the doctor say?” Trust Johnson to go all Mom on him.

  “The internal sutures dissolve on their own. Leave the Steri-Strip at least seven days. The operative words there are ‘at least.’”

  Rett stepped back, palms out. “Okay, okay. I get it. Don’t touch your ouchie.”

  “Damn straight.”

  She pulled the covers up to Lucky’s chin. “Tuck, tuck, tuck.”

  “What the hell?”

  “It’s what I tell Tyrone when I tuck him in at night. Makes him giggle. You settled now?”

  “Yeah. But you go on home to your kid. I don’t need any more help.”

  “Says the man who couldn’t get his shirt off. Look, they cut you open a week ago. I can stick around for a few hours. Granny has Tyrone.” She strode toward the door. “I’ll be on the couch whether you like it or not.”

  “Rett?”

  “Now I done told you—”

  “The guest room is made up. Might as well get what sleep you can.”

  She nodded and turned out the light. The door snicked shut.

  In a bed, all by himself, without even Moose and Cat Lucky for company, and no telling when Bo might get to come home.

  But Lucky wasn’t by himself. Not really. He had Bo, Rett, and Walter.

  And also Mom, Charlotte, and Daytona.

  He could live without Bristol.

  ***

  Lucky sat at the kitchen table. Again. Alone. The neighbor’s lawnmower buzzed next door—for the third time this week.

  Maybe some kind of code for, “Dude, what grass you have needs cutting.”

  No grass cutting for Lucky for a few more weeks. Maybe he should get Charlotte to bring him a few goats. That’d make the neighbors talk.

  His phone chimed with a text midway through his second cup of coffee: At SNB Atlanta. Be home later—B.

  Bo? Home? Hallelujah! Lucky’s definition of hell included the week since he’d kissed Bo goodbye and came home to lie in bed, watch TV, and fend off Johnson’s hovering whenever she came to check on him.

  Dishes sat piled in the sink, empty dog food bags hung half out of the trashcan, and the four chairs clustered under the table. Might be a good idea to spruce the place up.

  He gave himself a sniff. Yeah, he could stand a trip through the shower too, because, hello! Sex! Finally! With more than his right hand. And this time he wouldn’t fall asleep in the middle like yesterday after taking his meds.

  Coming home to a messy house meant Bo cleaning and not getting naked.

  Lucky straightened up, showered, and shaved. Still too many hours left before Bo got home, and he’d hear lectures from both Walter and Bo if he showed up at work.

  He could wait until evening to get reacquainted with his man. Yes, he really could. Maybe he should get a few things at the grocery store for dinner.

  The car cranked on the first try, so unlike a few months ago before Bo had the Camaro overhauled and painted for Lucky’s Christmas present. The dragon dangling from his keyring swayed in time to the music on the radio and Lucky’s off-key warbling.

  Hmmmm… How’d he get to Peachtree Street? Must’ve taken a wrong turn. Well…since he was here…

  Lucky parked in his usual spot, and took the elevator to the floor housing the Southeastern Narcotics Bureau. The door opened, and he peered around the corner. No Lisa. Good.

  But also no Bo. Not in their shared cube, the breakroom, or Walter’s office. And also no Walter. Lisa emerged from the conference room and traipsed back to the reception desk.

  So that’s where everybody went. The conference room. Lucky eased inside the partially opened door. All heads were bent over laptops. Maybe they wouldn’t notice…

  Walter glanced up from a pile of papers in front of him with a scowl. “Have you been cleared to return to work?”

  Bo popped his head up. “No. Now get your ass back home where you belong. You’ve only been back a week.”

  Seven long, torturous days, with nothing to do but worry, and wait for some word from his family. Calling Mom, Charlotte, or Daytona might jeopardize Bo’s case.

  “I belong here.” Lucky leaned against the wall, out of Bo’s swatting range.

  Bo drummed his fingers on the table. “No, you don’t.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “No. You belong at home resting and getting better.”

  “And how am I supposed to rest knowing someone’s out to kill me?” Ha! Answer that one, Mr. I-know-better-what’s-good-for-you-than-you-do.

  Walter waved a dismissive hand. “Stay, but as an observer.”

  “Now wait a da—”

  “You’ll a
bide by my rules or go home.” Walter going all boss wasn’t a good sign.

  “Oh, all right.” Lucky inched up the table to Bo. Bo flipped his laptop screen closed. Two rookies sat at the far end. Oh, the young ones. So easy to intimidate. Lucky eased into a chair between them. “What ya got?”

  The first one made eye contact with Walter. Damn, a smart one.

  The dumber of the two blurted, “Bristol Lucklighter’s financial records.”

  They had a suspect, now they needed a motive. As though being an unrepentant asshole wasn’t reason enough.

  Walter’s glare dried up Lucky’s only lead in the room. “Why won’t you let me help?” he demanded.

  “Because, I don’t want to involve you until we have to, once we’ve gotten a better feel for the events. Remember, you’re not supposed to be here.” Walter heaved out a sigh. “Besides, this is your family, you’re too close.”

  Yeah. The doctor put him out of work for six weeks, contingent on his checkups. He’d been cut open two weeks ago. Still hurt, but he’d been through worse. Lucky left the rookies and parked himself by Walter.

  Walter said nothing, but didn’t truly try to hide his reading material. Lucky lifted a sheet and read. Nothing out of the ordinary. Their suspect—best not to acknowledge him as “brother” right now—paid his bills, made a decent living, but didn’t manage to save a dime.

  Damn. He sure paid for a lot of insurance. Lucky jabbed a finger at the page. “What’s this?”

  “We already have someone chasing down leads.” Walter snatched the paper back.

  Bo glanced at Lucky and turned his attention to Walter. “I believe we might have found something. I’m e-mailing.”

  Walter opened his laptop, pushed a few buttons, and read the message. “I see. Keep looking.”

  Like hell would they exclude Lucky from his own attempted murder case. “What are you looking for?”

  Did Walter growl?

  “Okay, okay, I’m going!” Lucky stepped out into the hallway. More than one way to skin a cat. He ambled down to his cube and opened the laptop someone brought back home. The insurance records weren’t hard to find. Hard to explain, but not hard to find. Why pay so much to insure a car? The man hadn’t even owned a house at the time.