LUCKY surveyed the eaves of the house. No security light, no cameras. A dumb move when the downward sloping property backed up to a canal. No difficult matter to paddle silently to the dock, park the boat, and creep up the hill unnoticed in the dead of night.
He rounded the corner and eased open a window casement with little resistance. Faulty latches. Not good. Not good at all. Within five minutes, he could take out a family of six, be in the boat and halfway across the county. What the hell kind of trusting soul owned this house, anyway?
One good push opened the window enough for him to slide through. He hoisted himself inside, to land on a carpeted floor at the Realtor’s feet.
Lucky stared up. The woman huffed out an aggrieved sigh and gazed down at him, hands on her hips. “I take it that’s a no.”
Lucky shrugged. Not his fault she’d tried to sell him another unsafe house.
She plastered on the fake grin that paled more with each property. “Let’s move on to the next house, shall we?”
***
House number nine appealed to Lucky’s inner hermit. However, there were no other houses for two miles on either side, no Starbucks for fifteen, plus an hour and a half commute to work. Even though Bo spent a good deal of time on assignment and wasn’t driving in to the office much, this wouldn’t do.
The woods behind the house provided shade and a good place for walks. This far out, no one around? Perfect for a meth lab, or maybe a dozen.
Lucky called up the Internet on his cell phone. “Thirty-five murders in this county last year, forty-seven drugs arrests, and fifty-nine grand thefts. What kind of slum are you trying to sell me?”
The Realtor stopped even trying to smile. Her mouth said, “Next house?” while her clenched fists and the horror in her eyes said, “Dear Lord, get me out of this realty Hell!”
***
Lucky studied the square opening in the garage ceiling. “Where does that go?”
“To the attic. There’s a lot of storage room up there.” A note of pride returned to the Realtor’s voice as she kicked back into saleswoman mode.
“How far does it go?”
“All the way across the house. You could even add a bonus room if you wanted.”
Lucky charged through the structure, noting security system contacts on the doors and windows, but not on the attic openings in both second floor bedrooms. Hell, he might as well leave the damned door open. All anyone had to do was break into the garage and they’d have free range of the house.
He shimmied out of an uncontacted basement window and climbed a wisteria vine to enter an upper room.
Oh, hell no. Last year he’d gone up a kudzu vine to gain access to a trafficker’s warehouse and cases full of poison sold as cancer drugs. He’d fallen and broken his foot and ankle escaping. As if on cue, the ankle throbbed.
The vine would have to go, and he’d have to secure the attic and basement. Still, the neighborhood was nice, and not too far from the SNB offices on Peachtree Street.
But what was that? He knelt in the master bedroom on obviously new carpet to examine a stain on the baseboard.
“Hey!” his escort shouted when he grabbed the edge of the carpet and yanked. Rust-colored stains covered the plywood underneath.
“Are you going to tell me, or do I call up copies of the police report?”
“Why don’t we go to the next house?”
Sounded like a good idea. Bo didn’t deserve to live in a place where traces of the former owner hid beneath carpet and paint.
***
Lucky sniffed and sniffed again.
“What are you doing?” Little Miss I’m-sorry-I-offered-to-show-you-houses asked.
Lucky didn’t reply. He dug his phone out of his pocket and called Walter.
“Walter Smith speaking.”
“Four-seventeen Magnolia Trace.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“I’ll send a team.”
Lucky hung up and faced the Realtor. “This one is temporarily off the market for cleanup. And you better tell the next prospective buyer that this building was used as a meth lab.”
***
“What’s the code?” Lucky asked his reluctant escort, now slumped against the passenger side of his Camaro.
“I can’t tell you.”
“Why not?”
“Mr. Security has to ask?” She’d long since stopped smiling. Lines formed around her pursed lips.
Good point. Given time, Lucky wouldn’t need her help, but now wasn’t the time to test the subdivision’s security measures. If and when he chose a house, he’d put the entire system through its paces. If someone wanted Bo, they’d have to get through Lucky first. And they wouldn’t fucking make it. Safe. Lucky would keep him safe.
The Realtor glared. Lucky glared back. Finally, she got out of the car and clip-clopped around the hood to punch in a four-digit code. 4-4-1-7. So much for security. She closed the door a little harder than necessary when she got back in the car.
“Do they always keep the gates locked, or do they open them during the day?” The gate itself was a check in the plus column, if only the security company hadn’t gotten lax.
“Always. There are only three ways in: code, clicker, or having a resident buzz you in.” The woman’s monotone couldn’t have possibly been any flatter.
Hmm…Nice. But as Bo’s current apartment proved, folks were always willing to hold the door for strangers. Still, this neighborhood beat Cornfield Central.
The gate swung open, and Lucky drove inside.
“Third road on the left.” The world’s most reluctant real estate agent slumped against the door again.
Mostly new two and three story homes with build-in garages, some still under construction, lined either side of the road. Garages were nice, and if Bo came home late at night, he could drive right in and not worry about who might be lurking in the bushes.
Lucky pulled into the driveway of the neighborhood equivalent of a poor cousin. No shiny windows, no wreath on the door, no well-tended flower bed. One scraggly rose bush dangled a single rose bud. Dandelions dotted the overgrown lawn.
“This house is in foreclosure, which is the only reason it’s in your price range.” The Realtor trudged to the door and opened the lock-box to let them inside. A motion detector hugged the ceiling just inside the front door. The carpet reeked, but more of pet odors than chemicals. Marker and crayon colored the walls. Spider web cracks ran up the sliding glass door in the great room, but it hadn’t shattered.
What a dump. The Realtor gave him a strained smile. “It’d be nice if you fixed it up a bit.”
On a brighter note, a gas fireplace had a granite surround. Cozy. Would Bo like a fireplace? They could stretch out on a rug in front of a blaze, Cat Lucky curled against the crook of Bo’s knees where he liked to sleep when Bo stayed over.
Lucky strolled into the first bedroom. Nothing to write home about. But this might be a good spot to put Bo’s treadmill and weights. A single window overlooked a half-acre backyard complete with privacy fence. So far so good, even if the carpet, paint, and a light fixture needed replacing.
“The house was custom built for a large family, with the rooms enlarged from the original plans…”
Lucky tuned out the Realtor’s droning. The next bedroom rivaled Lucky’s duplex for size. As with the rest of the house, he’d have to do work. The former owners had removed the ceiling light and probably a fan, leaving dangling wires. Nothing he couldn’t fix. The bathroom needed a good grout cleaning, some caulk, and a new toilet tank since a crack extended the width of the current one. The hole in the cabinet door beneath the sink matched a steel-toe boot, and a round hole, roughly the size of a fist, needed patching on the sheet rock. Lucky had spent a few summers on his uncle’s construction crew, and he’d patched up the family farmhouse enough to know how to swing a hammer.
He and Bo could make good use of the fireplace come winter.
Bo could pick the colors and carpet and have a house to suit his tastes, at a bargain price. Doable. Definitely.
Lucky strode down a hallway into the master bedroom and stopped in his tracks. Two separate walk-in closets with his and hers sinks in an adjoining bathroom. Jacuzzi. Cracked floor tiles. Separate shower and toilet stalls. At one time, this had been a house to be proud of.
And someone trashed the hell out of it. With Lucky’s sweat and Bo’s attention to detail, this place could shine again. He pictured his lover soaking in the tub, Lucky nestled against his back, or the two of them in the shower big enough for them both.
That sink cabinet was just the right height to sit on for a blowjob, or bend over for a good pounding. Oh, yeah, Bo splayed out…
The Realtor clearing her throat brought him out of his daydream.
Nice. Not that he’d let her know. He passed her, mentally ticking off items in the plus column. A small sitting area off the master bedroom had been done up in pastel colors, with blue giraffes and pink elephants. A nursery. A lump formed in Lucky’s throat. Bo wanted kids one day. A crib would fit fine over by the far wall, with a mobile hanging overhead. With a bit of loving care, this room would be…
Best not to finish that thought.
He trudged back down the hall and into the kitchen. Empty holes showed where a dishwasher and refrigerator once stood. Holy fuck, granite countertops. While living with his drug lord lover, Lucky’d gotten used to the finer things in life. Although granite was a far cry from the marble that had graced Victor’s home, it was also far removed from the cheap Formica Bo now used for preparing meals.
The former owners hadn’t managed to remove the twin, built-in ovens, nor the indoor grill. Mmm…grilled portobello mushrooms, even on rainy days. Beyond the kitchen a glassed-in dining room waited for Bo to bring in dishes from the kitchen, to be served by the… fireplace. A second fireplace in the dining room.
Now for the moment of truth. “How much?”
“Two hundred thousand.”
And another twenty for fix up. How much did Bo have for a down payment? Lucky sure couldn’t swing twenty percent on his own, even if he cashed in his Harley fund, reserved for the motorcycle of his dreams.
His phone rang, and Lucky glanced at the screen. Damn, if only he could talk to Bo now. Walter’s name appeared. Maybe he had questions about the meth lab report. “Harrison.”
A pause, and then, “I need to see you in my office as soon as possible.”
“What’s up, boss man? Need me to go back over to that house? You can smell the shit the moment you walk in the door. Any drug dog—”
“This isn’t about the house, Lucky. Bo is missing.”