LUCKY twisted the knife. “Who was the dead guy? Someone who got in your way?” If only boss man was here, they’d have Stephan on his knees confessing all to Uncle Walter. Lucky would have to do in a pinch. It might buy them a little time to keep playing ignorant.
The flush on Stephan’s face told just how close to the mark Lucky hit.
“He interfered in my business. I couldn’t allow that.”
And just like that: a murder confession. Damn. Why the hell hadn’t Lucky set his cell phone to record? “And you didn’t think anyone would ever try to use the tunnel again?” Especially not the migrants who’d obviously camped in the warehouse. If they knew the road straight to Texas lay under their feet, a little thing like a dead body likely wouldn’t have stopped them. “Did you think no one would miss your father?”
Their eyes met. This time, Lucky saw into the black pit his enemy had been given in place of a soul. He let Stephan see everything and know Lucky’d held Vincent’s wallet in his hand, had seen the bullet hole and the fancy diamond ring. Why the hell hadn’t Stephan taken those identifying markings? Because he’d left Vincent’s body where it wouldn’t decay, and where it could be found at the right moment. Surely Vincent wasn’t the first casualty to lie in the dark for months.
Stephan planned to point the finger at someone else. Perhaps another man who’d amassed too much power to let live, and who might have reason to cull the herd a bit when it came to who ran the show. Someone who’d been seen with Nestor and with the defector Cruz.
So many good targets existed. Bo, or maybe even Nestor himself. No doubt Stephan would go whining to the neighbors, hat in hand, seeking vengeance for his slaughtered father.
Holy shit. And slaughtered father would take the rap for Victor. Vincent had taken over Victor’s business, even wore his ring. Damn. Lucky’s policy on being underestimated backfired. The Stephan he used to know and avoid hadn’t been so damned clever. Perhaps he’d learned something from his uncle after all.
Or maybe he’d just shot his father in anger, covered up the body, and buried himself in denial, with nobody left to fix his messes.
Stephan stepped closer, resting the gun muzzle against Lucky’s cheek. Lucky jerked back as far as the chair allowed. His pulse thudded fit to drown Stephan’s voice, but he couldn’t let this asshole see him sweat.
“My uncle was rich and powerful. He could have had anyone he wanted for the taking. And he wanted you.”
Panic squirmed to life in Lucky’s gut. Jealousy. Stephan was jealous. But why? “I was just an employee with benefits.”
“No. He planned to retire, spoke of traveling the world. With you.”
“Victor never mentioned retiring. Of course, he never mentioned what a nasty piece of work you were either. He let it be a surprise.” Lucky didn’t dare glance away from Stephan to find out how Bo fared. His vision went dark around the edges, tunneling down to a man with a gun and nothing more.
Stephan’s hand shook, jiggling cool metal against Lucky’s cheek. No telling what the fucker might do.
His maniacal laugh wouldn’t be out of place for a late-night movie villain or a psycho ward. “I think I might see more of your appeal after all.” Stephan stroked the gun barrel over Lucky’s jawline. “I had a friend who owned a tiger once. I asked why he wanted an animal around that might eat him. Know what he said?”
‘“I taste like chicken?’”
“He said, ‘True power is being powerful enough to control a wild animal’s instincts.’”
“As we say back home, your friend is dumber’n a bag of hammers.”
“Was.” Stephan unleashed a wolfish grin. “The tiger ate him, you see.”
“Don’t worry. No way in hell would I eat you. You’d taste like rank asshole.”
Stephan smashed the gun against Lucky’s face. Stars erupted. A brilliant flash of pain followed. That’d leave a mark. The gloves were off. He glowered at Stephan as the tiger must have glowered at its master the moment before taking the killing bite.
Eyes every bit as feral stared back at him.
The door slammed open, driven by a pissed off Garcia. Alejandro grabbed the shotgun from his brother’s hands, screaming at Rafael.
Stephan turned and yelled. Lucky kicked him square in the crotch. The yell turned into a scream.
Cruz sailed through the doorway, knocked Oscar to the floor, and wrestled the gun from the translator’s grip. At his barked order, the two lounging guards raced out the door.
Stephan made a grab at Lucky. Lucky kicked against the desk, tumbling over along with the chair. He rolled straight into Oscar’s kick. Damn it! He curled around his injured ribs and gasped.
A shot rang out, then another. The Glock! There! On the floor! Lucky snatched the gun and shimmied back over behind the desk. Cruz had Oscar pinned to the floor. Alejandro held a gun on Rafael; Bo aimed his shotgun at Stephan. Oh, for one of them to sneeze about now.
Lucky took aim. Just one shiver, one false move, and he’d happily put Stephan out of the world’s misery. Only…until recently he’d never even shot a man, let alone killed one.
Once his pulled the trigger, life would change. He’d shot enough deer in this life to see firsthand how a one-second decision had lasting results. One minute the animal would be grazing, the next minute, it’d be thrashing on the ground. And then the light in its eyes would go out for good.
As much as he hated Stephan, could he take the man’s life?
He spared a glance at Bo. So calm, so cool. Stephan had tried to kill him. Would try again if given the chance.
Lucky squared his shoulders. Yes. Yes, he could kill the man. It might mean tons of paperwork, and a full investigation. To save Bo, he’d dance through fire.
Stephan slowly raised his hands, left palm out, right loosely wrapped around his pistol. He smiled and shot.
The shot went wide. Bo loosed a primal scream and tackled Stephan to the floor.
Lucky took aim. The moment he found the target, the men rolled. Oh fuck. He might shoot Bo.
Another shot rang out, chipping out a hole in the wall behind him. He glanced up to find a man standing in the doorway, chambering another round. Fuck! Another guard. Lucky’s brain switched off. He aimed and fired. Time slowed. Shock registered on the man’s face. He grabbed his chest and lifted his bloody hand. His mouth dropped open, and he stared at Lucky a moment before crumpling to the floor.
Rafael broke free of Alejandro and charged the desk to grab his payment for selling out. Lucky whipped around. Bo had Stephan’s arm, bending it back, trying to get Stephan’s gun. If Lucky aimed just right…
Stephan’s gun went off. The lights went out in an explosion of glass.
Flesh smacked against flesh. The door opened and closed. A scream of rage ripped the night. “Go, go, go,” sounded like Cruz.
Something heavy hit the wall with an “Oof.”
Lucky rolled to his stomach and cradled his gun. Inch by inch, he crawled across the floor. A body blocked his way, too thin to be one of the Garcias, too tall to be Cruz, and too smelly to be Bo.
“Wait a minute, I think I got it.” Yeah. That was Cruz.
Bap, bap, bap, came from outside. The gate screeched open, and a few seconds later tires squealed in the distance. A shadow raced for the window. “He’s getting away!” Lucky didn’t know the voice. Light drove back the darkness from a lamp in Cruz’s hand.
Rafael and Oscar lay sprawled on the floor, along with the man Lucky had shot. Alejandro was nowhere in sight.
Bo lay on the floor, an empty hypodermic sticking out of his neck. “Lucky?” He grabbed at the needle.
One of the guards who’d deserted Stephan earlier stared out the window. “He took your Jeep.” Lucky crawled over and grasped Bo’s hand. His fingernails were blue.
“The kit,” Bo whispered, dropping his head back.
Oh, God, no! “The kit! The kit’s in the Jeep!” If the syringe held what Lucky thought it did, combined with what Bo had earlier, he’d be dead soon. They kept the drugs in here. Surely the lab had what Lucky needed.
“Get Stephan.”
“No,” Lucky growled. “You come first.”
“No!” Bo might have meant to shout. It came out as a hoarse yell. “Go get Stephan. Don’t let him get away!” He pulled out the empty syringe and flung it away.
If Lucky left the room, he might never see Bo again. He wanted Stephan. Wanted to see him bleed. Wanted him to rot in prison. He wanted Bo alive more. Bo breathing or Stephan bleeding? Not even a contest.
“Cruz.” Lucky met Cruz’s gaze. “He took something earlier. To fight the withdrawals. That along with this might kill him.”
No telling how much shit flooded his system. “Help me pick him up!” Lucky ordered the guard. “Get him into the lab.” He glared at Cruz, daring him to say no. He wasn’t letting Bo or Cruz out of his sight.
“Do as he says,” Cruz said.
The guard nodded and lifted Bo’s feet while Lucky grabbed Bo under the arms, doing his best to avoid the injured shoulder. Cruz picked up the needle. “We might need this if we can’t find another.” He checked the body blocking the door, lying in a pool of blood. “Oh, Rafael.” He crossed himself and let out a sigh. “Come. We see to Cyrus, then look for this one’s brother.”
They rushed down the hall and into the lab, Cruz leading and Lucky bringing up the rear.
A woman wearing a lab coat squealed and disappeared through a door. There were no flat surfaces in the lab large enough to hold Bo. “There.” Cruz pointed to a chair next to a blood pressure cuff. “This is where the men are injected every morning.” He curled his lip.
Lucky and the guard set Bo down, and he dashed to the far side of the room to rifle through cabinets. Saline, saline, saline. Damn, no wonder the US didn’t have any. Saline, acetaminophen, hydrocodone in an open cabinet, where anyone had access.
He tossed aside vial after vial. Finally, naloxone. “Got it!” He rushed to Cruz’s side. Holy fuck!
Bo gasped for air, a blue tinge creeping into his skin. He opened his eyes and stared out at nothing. “You need to work fast. And once it’s in me, I need a doctor within an hour.”
Cruz punched a needle through the top of the bottle while Lucky wriggled Bo’s jeans down to expose his thigh. “Anyone around here you trust?” Lucky asked. Not that he trusted Cruz.
“No. We gotta get him to the border. The clock’s ticking.”
Lucky winced along with Bo when needle pierced flesh. Trapped between the devil he knew and the devil he didn’t left him no choice. Lucky took out his phone to call Walter.
***
A body lay face down in the parking lot. “Alejandro.” Cruz knelt by the wheezing man and rolled him over. Oh fuck. Not Alejandro. Lucky leaned Bo against a railing and dropped down beside Cruz.
Alejandro cupped Lucky’s cheek with his fingers. He smiled through bloody teeth. “Lucky,” he said. “Mi amigo.” His hand fell, and he stared at nothing. Once more Cruz crossed himself, as did the guard.
Lucky stared at the man who just might have died for him, had fought his own brother. A vise tightened around his heart. Fuck. Why Alejandro? Why? “I’m sorry,” Lucky whispered, hand against the man’s jaw.
“You stay here,” Cruz told Stephan’s former guard. “Be my eyes and ears.” Money changed hands. “See that Alejandro and his brother are cared for.”
No time to stop for the dead. The living needed him. Lucky stood and resumed his grip around Bo’s middle. “Sure you can walk?” He led the way across the parking lot.
“To the nearest car? Maybe. Up the side of Bear Mountain? Not on your life.” Lucky had no idea of the whereabouts of Bear Mountain, but Bo’s weak attempt at a smile fell short, a mere twitch of the lips quickly tightening into a grimace. No telling how much shit was in that syringe, or if the antidote even worked.
“Here. Stephan’s car.” Cruz rushed to the Jaguar. “Damn it! Locked!”
Oh, how Lucky loved classics. “Stay right here.” He propped Bo against the car’s hood. Popping the lock took sixteen seconds. What could Lucky say? He’d gotten rusty. He lost twenty seconds hotwiring the engine, but still it was good to be the redneck.
Cruz settled Bo into the area not big enough to be called a backseat. “I’m driving,” he said.
“Now wait a damn minute—”
“I know the way and the car. You don’t.” Cruz dropped his voice. “Your man needs you.” Lucky wedged himself in back and pulled Bo against his chest, careful not to jostle him. Cruz took the wheel.
They’d only gone a few miles when headlights appeared behind them. “Oh shit, we got company.”
Cruz sped up, but the other car still gained. Lucky braced for impact. The car whipped around them. A Mercedes E250. Nestor’s Mercedes. Another car rode their ass while the Mercedes took the lead. Neither made any move to stop them.
“Our escort,” Cruz announced from the front seat.
“You okay?” Lucky asked Bo.
“Would you believe me if I said yes?”
“No. But you can try.”
Bo gave him a weak smile. “Did you mean what you said about living together?”
A year ago, Lucky would have screamed and run at such a suggestion. Not anymore. Not from Bo. “Yeah.”
“Tell me about the house again.”
“It’s got a big kitchen with two ovens. It’s even got a grill so you can cook portobellos to your heart’s content.”
“Nice.”
“A fireplace in the living room.” And by God, Lucky meant to see Bo stretched out on a rug, enjoying the blaze. “And another in the dining room.”
“That’ll be great around the holidays, if we ever manage to spend Christmas together.”
Every Christmas since they’d met, they’d been separated by the job or circumstance. Last year, Lucky allowed himself to dream of the family Bo wanted one day, neatly inserting himself in the picture. “The house has three bedrooms and another room we could use as a gym.” No need telling him one had been outfitted as a nursery.
“How’s the yard?”
“Fenced. Ready for a dog.”
“I’m tired.” Bo got quiet. “And cold.”
“Rest. I’ve got you.” Lucky rocked Bo in his arms and crooned a song Bo had once sung to him, an old country tune about needing someone. He couldn’t lose Bo, not when he’d finally found enough of himself to appreciate the man, and could possibly find a way to make Bo happy too. He’d never been big on relationships, but Bo hadn’t run screaming yet.
Coffee, bacon, steak, hell, sacrifice every vice, just leave Bo. “Bo?”
“Yeah?”
“Stay with me, hear?” Lucky planted his lips against his lover’s forehead.
“Not going anywhere. My stomach’s starting to cramp. The naloxone takes the drug out of my brain. Expect withdrawals.”
Fuck. “Cruz? How much longer?”
“See the lights up ahead?”
A fuzzy glow appeared in the distance. “Yeah.”
“That’s the border crossing.”
“Hang on, Bo, we’re almost there.” Each minute stretched to hours. So close. So close. Strobe lights flashed ahead, a Brownsville police car and an ambulance coming into view. Damn, Walter came through.
The escort car in back dropped away, and the Mercedes pulled off on the shoulder. Cruz stopped the car and opened the door. “Here’s where I get out. Take care of yourself, amigo.” He fist bumped Bo.
Lucky scrambled through the opening between the bucket seats. Cruz held the door open a moment. “Take care of him. He’s worth it. Vaya con Dios, hermano.”
Eyes trained on the flashing lights ahead of them, Lucky didn’t look back. “I know he said ‘Go with God,’ but what did he call me?”
Bo replied, “Brother.”