IN through the nose, out through the mouth. Pine bark rasped against Lucky’s back, and the bitter scent of sap assaulted his nose. Needles nearly as long as his hand fanned out before his face, hiding him from view while allowing him to see. The sun beat down, too early in the day yet for the stifling heat due to descend around 2 p.m. A few gnats buzzed around his head. Gnats he could deal with, as long as mosquitos stayed away. And palmetto bugs. The big nasty fuckers squished underfoot and still refused to die.
He studied his quarry through the trees on the far side of the ravine. Thank his redneck upbringing for hours spent in the woods learning to lay low and observe. Once his stealth had meant the difference between a full belly of deer meat and just vegetables again. Now life and death often hung in the balance. Too many times he’d been lax and paid the price. The scars on his ankle began to itch, a reminder of one of those times.
Never again would he drop his guard. Skills were only as good as the man who used them. While he’d fully earned the “dumb redneck” label folks hung on him—and wore the epithet like a badge of honor—he wasn’t above learning from his mistakes. He just wouldn’t let people know he’d learned. His greatest advantage was in being underestimated.
Leaves crunched underfoot and branches shook across the way. Slow, unhurried. A sitting duck. Lucky’s favorite kind.
He crouched down to wait. Twigs snapped, and his target swore, picking up the pace once he’d cleared a bramble thicket. The ruckus quieted. Ah, so he’d stopped bushwhacking and discovered the old cow path winding around the pine where Lucky took shelter. Perfect.
The guy muttered to himself, too low for Lucky to hear. Didn’t matter. He might as well wear a cowbell around his neck. Poor guy didn’t stand a chance. Too bad Lucky didn’t believe in pity.
Closer and closer. Any second now. Lucky held his breath and pulled back behind the tree. Normally he hated being short, but five feet six hid a whole lot easier than six feet.
Crunch, crunch, crunch. Last year’s fallen leaves tracked every footstep. The noise stopped right behind Lucky’s tree. One step. Two steps. A T-shirt clad back appeared in his view. The guy had over six inches on Lucky. Lucky had surprise. He pounced.
“Ahhhh!” The man went down and came up swinging. Nice reflexes!
Lucky danced out of reach. The guy swung again. In a flash, Lucky twisted his prey’s arm behind his back, forcing him to the ground and pinning him face down in Georgia clay.
Determination changed to anger on the face of the fuming brunet now glaring over his shoulder. “Damn it, Lucky! How many times do I have to tell you? Don’t fucking do that! You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
Bo, Lucky’s partner both on and off the job, clutched his chest with his free hand as if to prove his point.
He squirmed, but Lucky held tight. Better allow some time for Bo to cool off a bit before letting him loose. No telling what he might do.
Once Lucky’d known his partner like the back of his hand. Since their latest undercover assignment, Bo had grown unpredictable, spending more and more time in his undercover persona of Cyrus Cooper and less as Bo. And wasn’t that as sexy as it was troubling?
“Hey, you’re the one who was teacher’s pet in all those classes.” Being demoted to second best still stuck in Lucky’s craw. For eight years, he’d had been the star undercover operative at the Southeastern Narcotics Bureau, until Bo waltzed right in and stole Lucky’s thunder. “Think of this as practical application, something you can’t pick up in a conference room.” The worrisome part? The niggling doubt that he wasn’t the best anymore. If he wasn’t the best, someone else was better—possibly the criminal with Lucky in his sights.
He loosened his grip, and Bo nearly jerked away. Hmm…not good to release him while he still wanted to fight. Taking advantage of their position, Lucky swiped his tongue over the side of Bo’s neck, and the light bite that followed earned him a moan. The right moves sent the man from pissed off to horny in no time flat. Oh yeah. Bring on those right moves.
“We’re out here all alone, just the two of us. How will we pass the time?” Lucky rumbled into Bo’s ear. He wasn’t above using lust as a diversion. Come to think of it, Bo offered the same effective distraction for Lucky.
Releasing Bo’s arm to slide his hand under Bo’s shirt, Lucky breathed in deeply of his lover’s favorite cologne, plus tangy undertones of sweat from Bo’s early morning hike. A hint of pine, freshly mown hay from a nearby field, and a touch of moisture from the river a few yards away added to the blend. If Lucky could choose one place to call home, it’d be here. With Bo. With no job or other responsibilities, and definitely no outlaw past looming over his head.
For this, Lucky had hauled his ass out of bed early, creeping out of the cabin the moment Bo left the yard.
Bo rolled over in Lucky’s now unrestraining arms, hands warm and sure as they cupped Lucky’s face. Over the past few weeks while sharing a cabin in the woods on their undercover assignment, Lucky had grown used to kissing his man whenever certain they’d ducked out of surveillance range. Nothing brought a lust-filled moment to a screeching halt faster than imagining coworkers critiquing the video.
Here, out in the wild with only the faint hum of cars on a back road to break the peace, they were free to do whatever they wanted away from the cameras monitoring the cabin. And Lucky wanted Bo. Here. Now.
He didn’t kiss Bo so much as devour his mouth, catching Bo’s low moans as they vibrated against his tongue.
Palming the back of Bo’s head, Lucky crawled up the man’s body to even out the difference in their height.
Lucky vaguely noticed Bo’s arms around him, pulling him close, and he peeled Bo’s T-shirt up and off, pausing the kiss long enough to get the collar over his head. By feel, he shucked off Bo’s nylon running shorts. Bo shifted his weight to toe off his shoes and socks. Hidden from the surrounding countryside by a stand of pines, Bo soon lay naked on the ground.
He’d added muscle over the past few months on assignment, playing the role of drug-running biker and hoisting engines in a garage, and instead of the even coloring he’d once acquired at a salon, he now sported an uneven farmer’s tan on his face and the part of his arms exposed by a T-shirt while out riding his Harley Davidson. His legs were far paler than they used to be.
He still made one hell of a tempting package. Bo helped Lucky out of his jeans, boots and T. By the time he’d stripped down to nothing at all, his impressive erection pointed up toward his belly. Though short in stature, Lucky was big where it counted. He rubbed against Bo, Bo’s uncut cock saying “howdy” to Lucky’s circumcised flesh. They rejoined their lips, roaming their hands over each other’s sweat-slicked skin.
Lucky dropped down to take Bo into his mouth, pine needles cushioning his knees. Skimming back Bo’s foreskin with one hand, Lucky sealed his mouth over the purpled head, swirling his tongue over the slit to catch the drop of moisture beaded there. A taste of things to…come.
Lips stretched tight, Lucky descended, trying to accommodate Bo’s hefty girth. Deep moans sounded above his head. He took his time on the upstroke and back down. Let Bo squirm a bit, grow needy. Sure enough, Bo raked his fingers through Lucky’s hair, gripping the back of Lucky’s head to speed the pace.
Lucky resisted enough to let the man know he didn’t call all the shots, then abandoned his hold on Bo’s cock to clutch the glorious swell of a perfect bubble-butt. He used the leverage to work Bo deeper into his throat. His own cock bobbed with his movement.
The musky scent of sweat and pre-come filled Lucky’s nostrils. Oh damn, oh damn, oh damn. He found a better purchase on Bo’s thigh to free up a hand for his own need.
Bo pulled away. “Not like that.” He grabbed Lucky’s arm, hauled him upright by sheer force, and tugged him back the way he’d come on his hike. “Here.”
A bed of red clover. Right when they needed one.
Shaded by pines and oaks, the cushiony plants felt cool against Lucky’s heated skin. He rolled onto his back. Bo blocked out the sun and lowered himself down, placing his shaft inches from Lucky’s mouth, positioned to return the favor.
Oh, hell. Bo wrapped moist lips around Lucky’s straining flesh. Lucky opened his mouth and took Bo’s offering. His balls tightened when Bo ran his tongue down Lucky’s length, and his brain switched off.
With his arms wrapped around Bo’s upper thighs, Lucky controlled the rhythm as much as he could, pushing up his hips in time with Bo’s thrusts. Bo stroked Lucky’s balls, reaching a finger back to massage the place just behind.
So fucking good. Lucky relaxed his throat and took Bo deeper.
Bo alternated between dragging his tongue up and down Lucky’s cock and taking the head into his mouth to slide down the length. When a tingling began deep within, Lucky grunted, leg muscles trembling. Bo backed off Lucky’s cock, easing the rising tide of his orgasm. Damn him for knowing Lucky’s body too well. Two could play that game.
Lucky sucked in earnest, steady strokes designed to bring Bo off quickly. When Bo gasped, “I’m close,” Lucky stopped dead.
“Asshole,” Bo mumbled around his mouthful.
“I’ve got one you can use.” Lucky wasn’t above using spit for lube but wasn’t gonna last long enough to assume the position.
Finally Bo settled into an “I mean business” pace. Lucky matched him. Faster and faster he advanced and retreated, the taste of salty pre-come on his tongue.
Bo’s rhythm faltered. Oh sweet heavens.
Pulse after pulse coated Lucky’s tongue. His muscles seized and he groaned, loosing the tide into Bo’s mouth. Oh God, oh God, oh God, yeah!
He collapsed back onto the crushed clover. Boneless. Totally spent. Overhead, a few wispy clouds wandered aimlessly across a blue sky. Bo settled next to him, resting his head on Lucky’s shoulder. Out of habit, Lucky wrapped his lover in a one-armed hug without thinking, the post-sex position now as familiar as breathing.
The sun warmed Lucky’s skin, the scent of crushed clover and a blue jay’s cackle reminding him where he was. A moment’s calm before the storm.
He’d nearly drifted off to sleep when Bo asked, “When do you think they’ll recall us back to Atlanta?”
A load of reality Lucky didn’t want to consider came crashing back down.
For a month now, they’d hung around Athens, Georgia, waiting for a drug supplier to revamp the pipeline they’d torn apart and once more flood the region with the synthetic bogeyman known as “bath salts”, or in their case, “Corruption”. But the Southeastern Narcotics Bureau couldn’t leave two agents idling indefinitely. Sooner or later, they’d give up the wait, ending Lucky and Bo’s idyllic summer vacation together. When the recall came, they’d once more be Simon “Lucky” Harrison, and William Patrick “Bo” Schollenberger, two agents who damned sure shouldn’t be caught lying in the clover, buck naked with each other’s come on their breath.
“I don’t know.” When the call came, it’d be too fucking soon. Lucky could stay here forever, hiking, fishing, loving Bo—not that he’d confess to the fact. Back in Atlanta, they’d pretend to be merely coworkers, sneaking around and hoping no one saw them. And chances were they’d have separate assignments, taking them away from each other for weeks on end.
Bo ran his fingers through the soft clover. “When we get back, I intend to start house hunting again. I’ve been thinking about the one on Sycamore. You know, with the garage? I sent you a link.”
“Want me to look at it? I’ve done some renovations back in the day. I can see if it needs work you haven’t noticed.”
Bo rolled on his side, staring up at Lucky with soulful brown eyes. “Would you? I’d like that.”
He’d tried to include Lucky in the house selection process before. Lucky had pretty much screamed and ran. His butt should have a permanent boot imprint from all the times he kicked himself. Of course he’d tread softly now.
“Yeah. Wouldn’t want you to get stuck with a money pit.” A phone rang. Oh, hell. That phone. Lucky shot to his feet. Now where the fuck had he left his pants? He ran barefoot back to the pine tree where he and Bo had left their clothes. Ouch! Rock! Ouch! Stick!
He hopped the remaining three yards on one foot and dove into his jeans pocket for his work phone. Oops. Wrong one. It stopped ringing the moment he pushed the button to accept the call, “Walter Smith” displayed for a second on the screen. Oh shit. What did he want? Lucky hit the redial button.
Walter picked up on the first ring. “Lucky? I hope I’m not disturbing you.” Did boss man know something he shouldn’t? Like two of his agents “fraternizing” against bureau policy. God, Lucky hated the word. “We need you back in Atlanta. If you haven’t heard from your old friend yet, you probably won’t.”
Your old friend. Not Victor Mangiardi. The man who’d shared Lucky’s bed and introduced him to the exciting world of drug trafficking, resulting in a ten year sentence and a lot of personal baggage. And the reason Lucky now answered phone calls from Walter Smith, head of the Southeastern Narcotics Bureau’s Department of Diversion Prevention and Control. And Lucky’s boss.
Old friend, indeed. Damn it. Wasn’t nothing wrong with Lucky’s ears the night some asshole conked him over the head and threw him into a car trunk. He couldn’t forget hearing “Hello, Lucky” in Victor’s voice. And if Victor was still out there and not dead like the papers said, he’d have a score to settle with the man who’d thrown him under the justice bus.
“What do you want me to do?” Double damn Walter for managing to worm his way under Lucky’s skin, one of a handful of folks Lucky might possibly listen to.
“Since Art’s accident, he’s been talking more and more about retirement.” The SNB took a toll on its agents. Most wised up and hauled ass. Many died in the line of duty. Few retired. Art got broadsided by a woman on her way to a birthday party and nearly lost his life to a few wayward balloons. The informant sitting next to him hadn’t been so lucky.
“Can’t say that I blame him.” Lucky didn’t. Not really. Close calls reminded one how precious and fleeting time was. But Art’s leaving would take out one of the few fellow agents Lucky trusted.
“His leaving means I need you back here to assume responsibilities for the trainees.” Uh-oh. Walter was using his “Boston college professor voice.” He never used that particular tone when Lucky got a say in the matter.
Bo massaged his shoulders, kneading away his rising tension. Lucky leaned back into the touch, phone clapped to his ear. “So, you haven’t recovered your senses enough to figure out that me and training just don’t mix?”
Walter’s chuckle wafted from the phone’s speaker. “Would you rather entrust all these bright young minds to Keith?”
Good point, and the one argument sure to reel Lucky in. One poor excuse for a major ass wipe per department was enough. Keith didn’t need to sow the seeds of ignorance into the newbies. “When do you want me back?”
“Tie up any loose ends there today if you can and get back to Atlanta.”
One day? One fucking day? He rested his free hand on top of one of Bo’s. One day wasn’t enough. Not that he’d clue Walter in. “I’ll be there.”
Bo squeezed his hand. Smart man to figure out which way the wind blew with only half of the conversation to go on. Even with the sun high overhead, storm clouds gathered on Lucky’s own personal horizon. Away from Bo. Going to a home that wasn’t home.
“What about Bo?” Lucky kept his tone professional. Couldn’t let on that he really gave a happy damn one way or the other.
“We’re keeping him in place for the time being.”
Keeping him in place while a pissed off Mexican drug dealer knew his whereabouts, to either take revenge or to recruit new drug runners and rebuild his stateside distribution network. Not good when the best case scenario still meant “you’re fucked.”
“Are you sure that’s wise, with me gone?” He normally didn’t naysay the boss, but this was Bo, not so long out of rookie-hood himself, and still far too trusting for his own good.
“Keith runs surveillance on the cabin, and I don’t think I have to remind you how well Bo performed in training or on his cases. He’s worked with you for nearly two years. Don’t you think you should trust your capabilities as a trainer? I do.”
Fuck. And that’s why Walter called the shots. He always managed to make sense, even when Lucky didn’t want him to. “I’ll leave him set up, then get my ass back to Atlanta.” Dragging my heels all the way, didn’t get said. Neither Walter nor Bo needed to hear that part.
“Good. I’ll expect you in my office first thing in the morning.”
The comforting hand left Lucky’s shoulder the moment he hung up. When he turned around, Bo was gone.
Narrowed eyes, hard as steel, stared back at him. Cyrus Cooper, Bo’s undercover persona, had taken front and center. “You’re leaving.” Flat. Emotionless. A statement, not a question.
Those two small words set a weight on Lucky’s chest. “Yeah.”
“I’ll go pack your bags.” The man who wore Bo’s face paused long enough to put his clothes back on before trudging toward the cabin without looking back.
Lucky pulled on his jeans and rammed his feet down in his boots. He hurried after Bo while struggling into his T-shirt. “Bo, wait!”
Cyrus glared over his shoulder. “It’s okay, Ricky. We knew this would happen sooner or later.”
Ricky, Lucky’s undercover character, not Lucky. In the back of Lucky’s mind, a door slammed shut.