Charlotte, I bought a house.
Lucky attached a link to the real estate listing he’d downloaded and hit “send”.
While he checked local ads for appliance sales, a chime announced an incoming e-mail.
Rich,
It needs work, but it’s gorgeous! What does Bo think?
She had to ask.
Char,
He doesn’t know. He’s going through work-related shit, and it’s better not to tell him.
Lucky never disclosed work details to his sister and never confessed to her what happened in Mexico.
What? How could you not tell him? You intend for him to live there, right?
Lucky swore her heard her scream of outrage all the way from Spokane.
Of course I do!
She countered with:
But it’s in just your name, right?
Lucky replied:
What’s that got to go with anything?
She answered:
Lucky, if it’s his home, he should have gotten to help pick it out. But besides that, what if anything happens to you? Does he have to lose you and his home too?
Lucky sent:
What do you mean? I’ve added him to my will.
Charlotte wrote:
I wish you’d talk to me on the phone like a normal person, but since you won’t, here goes. Just adding him to the will isn’t enough. Trust me, I checked all this out when I got my divorce and house. He’s not related, and family can fight a will.
What? No one would do that.
You’re the only family that knows I’m alive, and you wouldn’t challenge him.
A message arrived thirty seconds later:
What about Bristol?
Fuck. Bristol. Lucky and Charlotte didn’t talk about the family much, but even when Lucky’d been a part of the Lucklighter clan, Bristol had been a pompous, money-grubbing son of a bitch. He’d been the one to put the bug in Lucky’s ear for Victor to pay for his college.
Bristol would fight Bo. He’d fight tooth and nail for every ill-gotten cent.
What do I need to do?
Three seconds later:
Talk to a lawyer. Now. And tell Bo about the house.
Lucky called the attorney he’d used to close on the house.
***
Time was running out. Even the hardware store played cheesy Christmas music, and Johnson’s apartment, where Lucky went to clean up before going home, was a mishmash of Santa Clauses, angels, mistletoe, and greenery. A tiny tree stood in one corner, amid half-emptied packing boxes.
“Damn, woman. You said you had a son, but there’re enough presents under the tree for three kids.”
Johnson added another wrapped package. “It’ll be his first Christmas here, without his friends and cousins. I have to make it special.” She dug in the closet and brought out two more gifts.
Lucky didn’t say a word.
“These are for Gran.” Under the tree they went, or rather, as close to the tree as they could get. Once more she rambled in the closet. “Hey, you need an air mattress for your new place until you get some more furniture, since the movers finally brought my stuff?” Johnson held a box in one hand and a pump in the other. “It’s a double. I’ve got sheets too.”
Might as well take it, though Lucky couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to visit. “Yeah, thanks. I’ll get them later. Right now I need to go home.”
Once more she played chauffeur.
The houses between her neighborhood and his displayed wreaths and lights, all except for Lucky’s duplex.
Though Bo had made great strides in getting back to normal, he hadn’t mentioned the coming holidays, another try to visit family, the office Christmas party, or even plans for dinner. He’d not decorated, even though Lucky owned a few pitiful decorations he’d bought the year before, hoping to spend the day with Bo.
This would be their third Christmas since meeting, and God willing, they’d spend this one together. Lucky should at least bring home the Christmas cactus from work, now full of pink buds.
“Same time tomorrow?” Johnson asked when she pulled into Lucky’s drive.
“If you’re not busy with…”
“Phillip. His name is Phillip. And no, he’s at Northeast with his boss. I won’t be seeing him this week.” Johnson’s pout appeared out of place on her usually stern features.
“How about your boy, and your grandmother?”
“They’ll be here Christmas Eve. Until then, I’m all yours.”
Christmas Eve. Just days away. And at least a month’s work remained on the house before he’d dare show it to Bo. But keeping busy kept his mind off things. Nothing more came from the bureau’s attorneys—yet. Stephan wouldn’t give up easy. If he stood the slimmest chance of getting an advantage by screaming about Bo and Lucky’s relationship, he’d scream loud and long.
He wouldn’t be the first man to throw someone else under a bus to save his own skin.
Johnson saved Lucky from his dismal thoughts. “We finishing up our factory audits tomorrow? I’d like to get that case closed before the holidays. I’ll pick you up in the morning and we’ll go straight over there.”
“Okay.” God, he owed Johnson so much. Making friends with one of his coworkers wasn’t the best of ideas, but when in doubt, consider what Walter might do.
While Walter was more likely to help Lucky than ask Lucky for anything, Lucky had taught the man how to work a new tiller when Walter’s missus took it into her head to dig a vegetable garden. And he’d moved the Smith’s big screen TV so many times it ought to come when he whistled.
“Are you going to the office party,” he asked.
“Yeah. You?”
“I’ll have to ask Bo.” For the past ten years, Lucky had avoided office get-togethers. If Bo wanted to go, he’d make an exception.
He got out of Johnson’s warm Jeep, into the cold. Close to freezing, and still Mrs. Griggs sat on her porch, watching the world go by. In the time Lucky’d lived next door, he’d not seen her have many visitors, and her side of their shared duplex was as plain as his.
He and Bo ought to invite her to Christmas dinner. Hell, it wasn’t her fault a high-powered drug lord delivered a package without her noticing. His henchmen probably dropped off a stray cat, and while she’d been busy ohhing and ahhhing, snuck the photos into Lucky’s mailbox. Hell, they could have hauled in a piano and a drum set, not just stuffed an envelope into the mailbox, by distracting her with a new cat.
Lucky threw up his hand, opened his front door, and jumped out of the way of a white blur. Carpet gave way to kitchen laminate. Moose skidded, hit the cabinet door, and dashed through the dining area, a black scrap hanging from his mouth. Lucky coulda sworn the beast giggled.
Bo skittered down the hall after him. “Damn it, Moose! Bring that sock back here!”
Hallelujah. Bo was back.
But with Stephan threatening to pull the rug from under their newfound domestic bliss, how long would he stay?
***
Lucky lifted the covers and wrapped an arm around Bo’s waist. “Hey, do you want to go to the office Christmas party?”
Bo rolled over. “Who are you and what have you done with Lucky? You don’t like to hang out with coworkers after-hours, remember?”
“Maybe not before, but you like office get-togethers, remember?”
Bo asked on a yawn, “And you’d go if I did?”
Not Lucky’s thing. Oh, the sacrifices he made. “Yeah. I reckon it wouldn’t kill me.”
Bo stayed silent so long Lucky worried he’d fallen asleep. “I appreciate it, but I’ll let you off the hook. It’s clear you don’t want to go.”
No, he didn’t. But if Bo wanted to, then Lucky needed to go. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
The Bo of last year would’ve volunteered for decorations or such.
Bo twisted around and faced the other way again.
Now or never. Although Bo said “No”, he’d kept calm. “Bo, I need to tell you something.”
Silence.
“Bo? Bo!”
Soft snores answered him. Damn.
***
“Mr. Harrison?” The receptionist with the big worried eyes and a Santa sweater hovered at the entrance of Lucky’s cube.
“What?”
“Mr. Smith asked to see you in his office.”
What now? The skittish rabbit of a woman flitted back down the hall.
Bo hadn’t returned from going home to check on the pets. Lucky scrawled a note: “Back soon.” No need to say where he’d gone, with Bo one breath away from freaking out at any moment.
Lucky locked his laptop and sauntered down the hall. This time, he knocked.
The door opened, and Lucky came face to face with a stranger. The guy stepped back and let Lucky into the office.
“What’s this about, boss?” The room was asshole deep in… assholes. In suits. Walter sat behind his desk while four other men took up odd places around the room.
“Come in, Mr. Harrison.” Fuck it all to hell. Boss being formal meant a shitload of trouble. “I’m sure you’ve met some of our legal team.” Walter swept his hand from one man to the other, muttering, “Mister This” and “Mister That.”
A couple of faces were familiar. While Walter kept his agents out of the spotlight, the occasional turn on the witness stand came with the territory. Ignoring all the suits but one, Lucky glowered at the moron stupid enough to park his ass in Lucky’s chair.
Lawyer Gray Hair, in the other guest chair, said, “Logan, why don’t you let the man have a seat?”
The flunky stood and slunk back into the recesses of the office. A non-threat. Gray Hair commanded attention, especially when Walter bowed his head in the man’s direction. Walter didn’t kowtow to many people, and when he did, only a fool did otherwise.
Lucky sat. “You wanted me?” Maintaining balance between bluster and respect might prevent a Walter swat later.
“These gentlemen need to ask you a few questions.” Walter leaned back in his chair. Rather than rest his hands on his desk, he folded them together in his lap, then unfolded them to grip the arms of his chair. Uh-huh. So Walter wasn’t comfortable either.
“Ask away. I got nothing to hide.” Except for the whole ex-con thing. And the little incident in Mexico involving chloral hydrate. Once having been a drug lord’s boy toy. Stealing cars as a teen… But if these guys were from SNB legal, they’d seen his file.
Gray Hair settled lower in the chair next to Lucky. Yeah, Lucky’d been to the same class: put yourself at eye level with your suspect, make ‘em believe you weren’t a threat. So, Lucky was a suspect now. Best to watch his mouth.
“What’s this about?” Was he about to be charged with something? He hadn’t exactly been living by the rule book in Mexico, but he hadn’t strayed too far from department protocol.
“Agent Harrison.” Gray Hair donned the phoniest smile east of the Mississippi. The piranha tasted blood and wanted more.
“That’s what they call me now. But I prefer ‘Lucky’.”
“For the sake of this briefing, I’ll refer to you as Agent Harrison. And this conversation is being recorded.”
Was that the clanging of a cell door? Lucky shot a glare at Walter.
No reassurances. Just a classic Walter Smith scowl. “Answer their questions honestly. If you don’t know the answer, tell us so.”
Uh-oh. The ultimate “oh shit!” moment.
Rapping on the door broke tension thick enough to cut with a knife. “Would you be kind enough to get that?” Walter asked the flunky.
The man opened the door.
The receptionist might have a permanent case of deer-in-the-headlights fright after this, judging from how badly her hands shook when she passed over a cardboard tray bearing cups.
Flunky Boy brought the care package to Walter’s desk. The receptionist vanished at light speed. Walter handed Lucky a cup and took one for himself. Gray Hair took the third, and a wizened old man who reminded Lucky of a high class Art took the fourth, leaving Flunky and a wet-behind-the-ears attorney empty handed.
Lucky sipped his coffee. He owed Walter big time. Not for the coffee alone, but the silent show of support. “Ask away.” The condemned man had his final, drinkable meal.
“Stephan Mangiardi hired the finest legal team money can buy.” Gray Hair held his cup, but didn’t drink.
“So did his uncle Victor, for all the good it did. We’ve got proof, witnesses, and a recorded confession. Our case is solid.” The time Bo and Lucky spent gathering evidence had to count for something. “We’ve got him for operating a major drug trafficking organization, money laundering, murder, among other things.”
“Oh, he can’t fight the charges, but he can discredit his accusers.”
Lucky’s heart dropped to his stomach and acid burned his throat.
“Agent Harrison, where is Agent William Schollenberger at this moment?” The lawyer rested his elbow on the edge of Walter’s desk, forming a wall on one side of Lucky. The walls closed in.
“Why don’t you call and ask him?”
“Please answer the question.” The man added a little more force to his voice. Reminded Lucky of being cross-examined during his own trial. He’d rather face a firing squad.
Glancing at Walter only got him pursed lips and a head nod. Walter had Lucky’s back. If he didn’t Lucky wouldn’t work for him. But in this his hands were tied.
Honesty. These guys sniffed out lies for a living. “Last I saw him, he was heading home.”
Gray Hair leaned in so close Lucky caught a faint whiff of peppermint on his breath. “His home? Or your home?”
Lucky closed his eyes, pulled in a deep breath to buy time, and leaked the air out slowly. He opened his eyes and met the interrogator’s gaze.
In a chair in the corner, Flunky Boy tapped away on an iPad.
Again Walter met his silent question with a nod.
Lucky returned the nod and stepped into the lion’s den. “Our home.”
The attorney retreated a few inches. “I see. The defense will use your relationship with Agent Schollenberger against you. They’ll claim collusion.”
“They can claim anything they want. We have names, we’ve been following the shit he’s selling for months. There’s the factory…”
Gray Hair cut Lucky off with a raised hand. “To your knowledge, did Agent Schollenberger use illicit substances while on assignment in Mexico?”
“Stephan’s doctors shot him up like a guinea pig every morning if that’s what you mean.” Why were they even bothering with these lame-assed questions? If these morons handled legal for the SNB, they knew agents did what they had to.
“Did you ever witness this event personally?”
“Well, no. All the men got drugged daily. I wasn’t allowed in the lab.”
“But if you didn’t see someone physically administering the drugs, how can you swear under oath that your partner didn’t take them willingly?”
What the hell? “Hey, I thought you were here to represent our case, not Stephan’s.”
The attorney’s eyes turned hard. “If found guilty of even half of the crimes he’s charged with, Mangiardi is facing life in prison, even without the murder charge. He’s not going to win his freedom, so he’ll cast doubts on his arrest. You damned well better believe his counsel will ask the same questions I am. We need to understand what we’re up against. Now, did you ever see Agent Schollenberger take drugs of his own free will?”
Fuck. Lucky had. To stave off withdrawals during the big showdown. “He had the shakes…”
“Answer the question, yes or no, Agent Harrison,” another suit barked. Time for “Good Cop, Bad Cop”. These guys needed a new game.
Lucky stared at his coffee cup. He couldn’t lie, no matter how bitter the truth tasted. He took them all in: Walter, Gray Hair, Old Guy, Bad Cop, Flunky. Not a sympathetic one among them, except for Walter. “Yes.”
Bad Cop threw his hands in the air and rolled his eyes.
“That’s enough, Winslow.” Oh yeah, now came Good Cop Gray Hair, to be Lucky’s buddy and try to win him over. Wasn’t Lucky’s first interrogation, and the only person in this room with Lucky’s best interests at heart was Lucky. Walter would help him if possible, but when the chips were down, he’d side with protocol.
Gray Hair softened his voice. “Had you met Stephan Mangiardi before you went to Mexico to look for your missing partner?”
“I didn’t go to Mexico to look for my missing partner as you said. I got clonked over the head and dragged down there without having a say in the matter.”
“You were abducted. Can you prove this?”
Walter replied, “We can. For Harrison’s own protection we kept him under surveillance. We have video of his unconscious body being carried from the house.”
What the fuck? “You do? Why didn’t you tell me?” And what about the landlady who never left her front porch? “What about Mrs. Griggs? And why didn’t my tail stop them?”
Walter sighed. “The agent monitoring you grew careless. During an altercation in the backyard with your rather ferocious landlady, the dash cam in his vehicle recorded your abduction. The video wasn’t discovered until the next day. The resulting search turned up the perpetrators’ car at a rest stop in Alabama. We felt it wouldn’t help you to know this information.”
“What the fuck?” What kind of game was Walter playing?
“So, yes, we have proof.” Walter glared at Gray Hair.
Gray Hair didn’t even flinch. “Was Schollenberger taken against his will, or did he go on his own?”
“He went to Mexico to forward his case.” Lucky fought back a growl.
“The Southeastern Narcotics Bureau has no jurisdiction in Mexico. Why then, did an agent travel to another country when he had no official capacity to do so?”
Like hell were they going to discredit Bo. Lucky opened his mouth. Walter beat him to the punch. “He’d been left in place in case the drug supplier tried to rebuild the pipeline we’d just taken down. He was following orders. My orders.”
Gray Hair rounded on Walter. “Did you order him into Mexico?”
Walter stared straight ahead. “No, I did not.”
“Why didn’t he contact you, his case agent? Why did he go to Mexico without advance notice? Mr. Smith, you’ve already told us you lost contact with Schollenberger.”
“During my last communication with him he reported that he was on his way to meet the supplier, but that was all.” Walter sat up to his full formidable height.
“They took his phone. He had no choice.” Lucky jumped to his feet, sloshing coffee onto his hand, and shot an eyeful of hate at the attorney. “Walter, tell him! We do whatever it takes to forward our case. If it’s not safe to check in, we don’t. Bo’s a good agent and he did his job. Nothing more.”
“I have no doubt you take him at his word, Agent Harrison, but you’re biased. You’re living with the man, and Mangiardi has presented the two of you as sharing an intimate relationship. The defense will say Schollenberger’s a drug addict who willingly went to Mexico to work for Mangiardi. That until you showed up, he’d no intention of returning to the US. He loved the money, he loved the action, loved the drugs.”
Bands tightened across Lucky’s chest. “No. That’s not Bo!”
“How well do you know your partner?”
“We’ve been together for over two years. We know each other pretty well, I’d say.”
“Are you aware that he lost his pharmacist license for failure to pass a drug test?”
“Yes.” Bo had spilled all his dirty little secrets during the early stages of their relationship.
“Were you aware that he faced charges of pilfering controlled substances at his former place of employment?”
“Yes.” Lucky lifted his chin. Did they think Bo hid something like that?
“Did he tell you officers were called to his residence for a domestic violence complaint, but his partner refused to press charges?”
Whoa. “I knew about the incident. Bo didn’t mention cops. I know all this, and I’m getting sick and tired of you trying to drag him through the mud.”
The lawyer’s scowl turned evil. “Is it true you were Victor Mangiardi’s business partner and lover and met Stephan Mangiardi in that capacity?”
“All that’s in my record. I’ve never hid it. But my past has never gotten in the way of my job. Tell him, boss!”
Walter’s thin lips and downturned eyes formed ice water in Lucky’s veins. “Lucky, Stephan Mangiardi is trying to discredit Bo and exclude you as a witness. If the defense finds reasonable doubt of his character, it will affect not only the outcome of Stephan’s trial, but all Bo’s other cases. If Doctor Ryerson’s attorneys find out about this, they’ll call for an acquittal, as will others.”
“Walter! You know Bo’s not a junkie!”
Gray Hair kept on twisting the knife. “Yet, on numerous occasions in the past few months, Schollenberger tested positive for narcotics, as he did when he checked into the hospital in Texas for an overdose.”
Lucky lost the fight to keep his voice down. The nerve of this asshole. “He was drugged!”
“I’ll not have you badgering my agents.” Walter keeping his voice low didn’t mask the threat.
The attorney dropped his arm off the desk and turned around in his chair, facing Walter. “The questions I’m posing are nothing compared to what the defense will ask during trial.” Gray Hair pulled Lucky’s attention away from Walter. “Did he or did he not recently complete six weeks in a rehabilitation clinic?”
“He did, but…”
For the first time the man dropped his courtroom attorney presence. “Agent Harrison, we’ll do everything we can to keep them from calling Schollenberger to the witness stand, but if they do, it’s not going to help our case.”
Lucky lowered his hackles. “What about Cruz?”
Walter’s sympathetic gaze might as well have been a hangman’s noose. Cruz wouldn’t risk his own interests, whatever they were, to help Bo. Cruz once called Lucky “brother”. Brother my ass!
Lucky sat his coffee on Walter’s desk before he crushed the cup in his hands. “A man, an agent, put his life on the line, gave the case his all, and now you’re gonna let him twist in the wind.”
“He’s undergoing treatment for drug dependence. The evidence speaks for itself.”
“PTSD.”
“Excuse me?”
“He’s being treated for PTSD. Not drug dependence. Not anymore. Anyway, we’re taught to do what it takes. And he did. It was put up or shut up time, and he put up.” Lucky crossed to the window and stared out at the setting sun. Soon, in a restaurant across town, most of his coworkers would drink and exchange cheap gifts.
Better to be there than here.
“The defense will exploit any weakness to the fullest. It won’t help our case.”
Picking up a big-assed book off the bookcase and slamming the bastard across the face wouldn’t help the case either. Might make Lucky feel better—for a while. “What you’re saying is that we’re screwed.”
“Jurors read newspapers, and lately those papers have been filled with stories of agents and police officers behaving badly. It will be easy for his attorneys to cast doubt about our key witnesses, and easy to sell corruption to the jury.”
“Witnesses” not “witness”, so Lucky too. “What about the customers?”
“You mean the prominent, upright Texas citizens?”
Whose side was this guy on anyway? “How about Vincent Mangiardi’s body?”
“No body has been found.”
“What? What about the pictures from Bo’s phone? Huh? What about the recording where Stephan said he killed his father?”
Lucky made it a habit not to need people, but right now he’d welcome a knight in shining armor. What choices were left when a wolf had him by the throat?
He needed bigger damned wolf.
Nestor had mentioned a memorial service, and he’d called Lucky’s personal phone. Time to redial and take his chances. “I need to talk to Nestor Sauceda.” He whipped out his phone, scrolled through his call log, and hit “dial” for the strange number with no name.
“The number you have dialed has been disconnected…”
***
Lucky toyed with his cup of cold coffee. Hard to force a drink into a squirming snake pit of a stomach. At least the suits all left.
Sundown had come and gone. “We’re screwed aren’t we, boss?”
“No. We’re just trying to prepare for what you’ll face on the witness stand if you testify against Stephan.”
“You mean the shit storm? And what’s this if stuff? Of course I’m going to testify. The asshole has a lot to answer for.”
Walter reached behind his glasses to wipe his eyes. “Even if it leads to a mistrial?”
“It won’t. One way or another, he’s going down.” If Lucky wouldn’t have to clean up the mess, he’d sling his coffee cup across Walter’s office.
“Go home. Get some rest.” Walter rose from his chair and yawned.
“Like that’s gonna happen with all I’ve got on my mind.”
Walter shuffled around the desk and clapped Lucky on the shoulder. “I’ll do whatever I can for you. If there’s another way, I won’t put you or Bo on the stand.”
Stephan had them by the balls and the asshole planned to twist.
“Thanks, boss. You go on home to your wife. I wanna sit here for a moment. Turn the light out, please.” Things were getting bad if Lucky resorted to politeness.
“Are you going to be all right?”
“What choice do I have?”
“Tomorrow’s Christmas Eve. I’ll be on vacation until Monday, but if you need me, call.”
Lucky grunted an answer.
“This might be an odd thing to say under the circumstances, but Merry Christmas.”
The lights went out and the door clicked shut a few moments later. Lucky stared out at the night sky. He’d never minded being a felon before—hell, he’d been good at it. And knowledge of the inner workings of drug rings had served him well with the SNB. Never had his past embarrassed him so much, when sins from long ago might splash over onto Bo.
He’d lost Victor, his family, his self-respect, his freedom. But he’d survived jail. If Stephan had his way, Bo might wind up facing charges—Lucky too.
The fact remained: Bo had gone to Mexico of his own free will. He’d rolled his sleeve up every morning to have narcotics injected into his veins. Had he done so willingly? Had he gotten off on the rush of the criminal life?
“Between the two of us, we could easily take over Stephan’s whole operation. You know that, right? You miss the old excitement, don’t you?” Damn it all to hell. Bo had. He’d said so himself.
“You’re this close to being me,” Stephan told Bo. Was there truth in his words?
And was it too late for Lucky to pull Bo back from the brink?
He couldn’t stay here forever. Sooner or later he had to go home. Bo might be worried.
Lucky pulled out his phone. No texts. No missed calls. “Working late. Be home soon,” he typed.
Home. For months now he’d dreamed of sharing a home with Bo, and now their playing house might cost them their case. Or a couple of cases. Their jobs. Their freedom.
The hallways were empty, and the lights were dim when Lucky trudged out of Walter’s office and down the hall toward the elevator. Light in a conference room caught his eye and he stuck his head in the door.
A woman, ear buds in her ears, danced with her back to Lucky while sweeping a duster up and down the blinds. How at ease she looked. Not a care in the world.
Had Lucky ever been so carefree? Had he ever not had the weight of the world on his shoulders? He left the woman to her work and rode the elevator down to an empty parking garage.
Fuck. He didn’t have his car, and Bo probably thought he’d catch a ride with Walter. No help for it now. He called a cab.
The taxi pulled into his driveway and he sat in the car a few moments counting out the driver’s payment. A red glow marked his landlady’s presence on her porch swing, smoking a pipe. Cherry tobacco teased Lucky’s nose when he got out. At this time of year she traded her lightweight robe for a fuzzy one, and the cats gathered around her would be thick with winter coats, like Cat Lucky, who probably even now sat in Bo’s lap. The woman had singlehandedly taken on an agent she’d found creeping around the backyard.
Lucky owed the rookie who’d let him get kidnapped a swat the next time he laid eyes on the guy.
He should tell Mrs. Griggs the truth about who he was and how he made his living, arm her to the teeth, and use the woman for a guard. Or train the cats to attack on command. He’d be invincible.
The kitchen light shone from a window on Lucky’s side of the shared duplex. He dragged his feet up the steps, unlocked the door, and shuffled inside.
Bo wasn’t on the couch.
Lucky found a bowl of spaghetti in the fridge, but his stomach twisted too much to eat.
He locked up, set the unfamiliar security system for the night, and stood just inside the bedroom door. The backyard security light shown across the bed, painting Bo in stripes from the window blinds. The poor guy wasn’t aware of it yet, but his hell was far from over. In fact, it had barely begun.
Lucky would give all he had to spare the man.
He stripped down to his boxers, lifted the covers, and climbed beneath. Cat Lucky squirmed at the foot of the bed, then settled. Bo, back to Lucky, snuffled in his sleep. Moose whined softly, once, and quieted. So much for having a watchdog to keep Bo safe.
There’d been a time with the poor guy hadn’t been able to sleep in a bed. Now he slept in Lucky’s.
Let him sleep.
Lucky curled around Bo from behind and wrapped his arm around his lover’s chest.
Bo felt safe enough with Lucky to sleep.
He shouldn’t.
The phone rang at three a.m.