Diversion 2 - Collusion (10 page)

The next morning Lucky “accidentally” bumped into Bo in the clinic’s coffee shop. Stalking? Who, him? “Hey, tomorrow’s Saturday and Walter wants me back in Atlanta. You coming? I figured with us being this close to the state line, we can drive back up tomorrow night and stay near Cherokee. Maybe ride around in the mountains a bit, or go to the casino. The mountain laurels are blooming up there, too, right?” Cherokee, far enough from home not to risk being seen.

“I’m sorry, but I have to work. Maybe some other time,” Bo replied.
What? As bad as Bo harped about learning more about each other, he intended to pass up a golden opportunity?“Why do you have to work? I thought you hospital executive types got weekends off.”
Bo gusted out the longest breath Lucky’d ever heard. “With the drug shortage crisis, I’m up to my eyeballs, calling every damned manufacturer in the country. Most of the pharmacy staff are pulling overtime, too.” He stared into his tea, fingers clinched so tightly around the cup that the cardboard started to crumple. Huh? Bo didn’t lie often, at least not about important things. Until lately. “Maybe next time.”
“Well, how about tonight? You said you’d come over.”
“Sorry, Lucky. I truly am, but I have work to do.”
After another night alone, Lucky headed back to Atlanta to complete a few reports and relinquish the microphone he’d kept from his last assignment. Damn it. Keith had to go running to Walter, didn’t he? Lucky’d intended to stay the weekend at his own home, but found himself halfway back to Anderson before realizing he’d missed his turn for the grocery store.
At nine o’clock on a Saturday night, Bo couldn’t possibly be working, yet his Acura sat in its normal spot outside of Rosario. Damn. What was up with him? Bo didn’t call Lucky all weekend, and Lucky found the Acura in the parking lot on Sunday at seven A.M., noon, and six P.M. Did Bo ever go home? Lucky debated calling Walter, but what would he say? “Bo’s really involved in his work”? Still, the sinking in the pit of his stomach remained.
On Monday morning, Ava said, “I’m liking Eric a whole lot better than Danvers. That man does what it takes to get the job done.”
Eric?
Oh, they meant Bo, or rather, Eric Scott, the new assistant buyer.
“And, honey, he got an ass on him!” Martin exclaimed, tracing his hands around an imaginary hiney.
Lucky attempted to sear the man with laser vision. It didn’t work.
Ava shot Martina dirty look. “Don’t you be talking ’bout my boy, now. He don’t mind rolling up his sleeves, unlike some other people I could name.”
What the hell was she talking about?
He barely made it to his apartment before texting:
“U R coming over 2 nite. No excuses.”
If Bo didn’t have a real good reason for staying at the hospital night after night, an intervention loomed. Ava might have given him a good report, but Bo’s office sat on the fourth floor. What was he doing in the pharmacy? Lucky didn’t like the implications one bit.
For once the neighbors were fairly quiet. However, if they started their normal shit tonight, Lucky might have to kill them, or whip out the badge he kept carefully hidden in his closet, along with the golf shirt and ball cap emblazoned with the SNB logo.
A few moments later his cell phone chimed. A text from Bo said,
“K. Catching cab.”
Not an overwhelming response, but he’d take it.
He shoved dirty dishes into the dishwasher, scooped clothes off the floor and tossed them into the closet, and put a pot of water on the stove to make Bo a cup of green tea. A knock counterpointed the steady
ba-boom, ba-boom
starting up from the next apartment. Fucking hell! Why couldn’t the assholes be decent neighbors for one damned night? Lucky opened the door to find Bo slumped against the wall, shirt wrinkled and hair in an every-follicle-foritself state of disarray.
“You look like warmed over shit.” Lucky held the door open, suspicions about a drug relapse igniting anew.
Bo managed a halfhearted smile. “Yeah, it’s good to see you, too.” He staggered into the apartment and collapsed onto Lucky’s couch. “God, am I ever tired.”
“Tired? What do you do every day? Sit behind a desk and talk on the phone?” Catty, yes, but after days of being ignored, Lucky wasn’t in the mood to play nice.
“I’ve been scrambling since daybreak, tracking down dead-end leads for someone who might supply us with some drugs.”
Lucky put a finger to his lips. “Shh…keep your voice down. You’ll get my crack head neighbors excited shouting the ‘D’ word.”
Bo pinned Lucky a glassyeyed glare. “I don’t care who’s living over there, the scary’s on this side of the wall. As I was saying, I’ve been following leads, trying to locate
pharmaceuticals
for the hospital.” He gave Lucky a “happy now?” face.
“What kind of leads? Any of interest?”
Bo dropped his head back to rest on padded upholstery. “We’ve been approached by seventeen different wholesalers today, not on the list I gave you, who’ve offered us stock at ridiculous prices. The first question they ask is what meds we’re having trouble getting so they can go snatch them up and sell them to us for enormous markups, the bastards. It’s against company policy to tell them anything.
“Graham called another meeting with the department heads for tomorrow.We’re putting in one more plea to let us consider a gray market broker. We’re pretty fucking desperate.”
“Graham?” And
we’re?
“Mr. Danvers, the head buyer.”
Lucky had a file on Graham Danvers, such as it was. Squeaky clean with a nauseating disposition toward humanitarian awards. Apparently, he invested a good bit of time and money in local charities. Ava didn’t seem to like him. The highly vocal pharmacy tech just became Lucky’s new best friend. “Bo, remember what I told you about getting personally involved with suspects? You’ve got to remain objective.”
Bo shot to his feet. “Damn it, Lucky! Graham isn’t a suspect! He’s a pharmacy buyer, for crying out loud. Do you have to be suspicious of everybody?”
He had to ask? “Yes, I do. It’s in my job description.”
“Your job description is the same as mine. I read it, I signed it. There’s nothing in there about mandatory trust issues.” Bo added under his breath, “Or about being an asshole.”
“Hey, maybe you got a new revision. Take Keith, for example. ‘Asshole’ was definitely in his.”
Bo pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Lucky, I work with Graham, and trust me, he’s on the up and up.”
“Oh my God! You haven’t told him why you’re there, have you?” Shoving Bo back toward Atlanta seemed more and more likely.
Arms folded across his chest, Bo glowered, the stance and expression reminding Lucky of himself. “Do you actually believe I’m an idiot?”
Lucky opened his mouth to reply but Bo cut him off. “Don’t answer that. But remember, I graduated head of my class at pharmacy school and served my country in Afghanistan. I’m not a moron and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t treat me like one.”
After a moment Lucky ventured again, “Did you?”
“Did I what?”
“Tell him why you’re there.”
Throwing his hands up in the air, Bo stomped across the living room. “No, you suspicious son of a bitch, I didn’t. But I also believe you’re out of your mind if you consider the man a suspect.” He flopped back down on the couch with a huff.
Lucky remained standing, leaning against the bar separating the poor excuse for a kitchen from the poor excuse for a living room. He studied his partner, cataloguing the telltale signs of burnout. Tired? Check. Moody? Check. Less sociable? Double check. Some folks weren’t cut out for handling the type of shit the Southeastern Narcotics Bureau dealt with, and from day one Lucky had suspected Bo wouldn’t make it. Of course, he’d said the same about Keith, Art, and anyone else who’d stayed long enough for Lucky to learn their names.
“Are you hungry?” Lucky asked, though at the moment he didn’t have much in the way of vegetarian cuisine handy, unless he counted the makings for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
“No.” Bo stared out the window at the brick wall of the next building.
“Can I fix you some green tea?”
A weak, “That’d be nice,” barely reached Lucky’s ears.
Moseying into the kitchen and going through the motions of tea preparation allowed Lucky time to mull things over. He recognized the listlessness, the lack of greeting when he opened the door. Even to himself, he and Bo appeared to be merely coworkers right now, nothing more. Losing Bo as a lover hurt like hell, for he alone came close to understanding what made Lucky tick. Or, lacking understanding, accepted Lucky’s quirks as part and parcel, never trying to change what made Lucky “Lucky.” Bo only nudged and manipulated for the greater good, like weaning him off caffeine so he slept better. Oh, and the whole, “Tell me about yourself, Lucky” thing. Maybe Bo should have been a shrink instead of a pharmacist.
Plain and simple, the man couldn’t handle the job, though Lucky couldn’t imagine very many people dealing with sick kids and remaining unchanged. Before when the pressure reached critical levels, Bo sought comfort in alprazolam. Had he resorted to self-medicating again?
Watching a man he’d come to care about slowly slide back into the nightmare of addiction, and a possible jail sentence, was more than Lucky could bear. He’d do his damnedest, talk to Bo in a better moment, and only if hecouldn’t break through would he fill Walter in.
Not tonight. If Bo allowed him to, tonight Lucky would hold him, love him one last time before doing what he had to do. Because if Lucky’s hunch proved right, Bo might never forgive him.
His chest tightened, momentarily cutting off his air. No way in hell could he throw Bo under the bus. But what could he do? He couldn’t simply turn a blind eye and hope the man came around on his own, could he? No, he couldn’t, but as long as Bo didn’t jeopardize their assignment, he’d protect his partner however possible—if Bo allowed someone else to take care of him for a change. Afterward, when they got back to Atlanta, into therapy he’d go.
Damn it! Moisture sprang to Lucky’s eyes and he blinked it back. He added sweetenerto Bo’s tea, stirring and then taking the cup into the living room to face the cold hard truth.
Bo wore a more neutral expression. “I didn’t come here to fight,” he said. “I emailed you my reports today, and don’t have much other news to share. I came here to see you.”
He took the cup from Lucky’s hand, gave a brief nod of thanks, and took a few quick sips. After setting the cup on the coffee table, he extended a hand to Lucky. “Let’s go to bed.”
Lucky led the way to the tiny room he slept in each night, to the double bed he found far too empty. He turned on the bedside lamp.
Bo made short work of his white button-down shirt while stepping out of a pair of loafers. Lucky joined in to remove a rather stubborn belt and slide his pants down and off.
Unwilling to risk a mood-dampening chewing out by Bo, Lucky hung the shirt from a doorknob, folding the pants and placing them on the dresser. He watched as Bo peeled a T-shirt over his head, his sleek runner’s build thinner and less muscular than Lucky remembered. Or maybe he misremembered. They hadn’t seen much of each other in the past month, being on separate assignments.
While Bo reclined on the bed, Lucky shimmied out of his own T-shirt and jeans.
“I’ve missed you,” Bo said, holding his arms out. Lucky slid between them, plundering Bo’s mouth. Faint traces of familiar cologne mingled with the distinct taste of green tea. Home. Lucky’s heart clenched. What would he do without this?
He traced his hands up Bo’s sides, roughened fingers skating across smooth skin. Gasps and twitches and sharply drawn breaths guided him on his quest to bring pleasure. Lucky shrugged off the yoke of worry and lost himself in Bo’s long moan when he caressed the point where leg and thigh joined. The scent of the man, the solid rightnessof Bo in his bed overwhelmed Lucky’s plans to make their evening all about Bo. His cock rose to nestle against his lover’s sparsely furred thigh.
The world outside faded away, leaving only the here and now. He trailed kisses down Bo’s throat, stopping to savor the steady throb of Bo’s pulse quivering against his lips. What went on in the man’s mind? At what point had the two of them begun slipping apart?
He couldn’t think about that now, and shimmied down Bo’s body to take hardened flesh into his mouth. If this were his only way to connect to Bo, he’d give it all he had. He sucked Bo down, way down, and slid upward again, tracing a bulging vein up the underside of Bo’s cock with his tongue.
Bo began to struggle—Lucky held fast. Bo pushed him off. “No. Not like this.” He rummaged through the bedside table, finding the supplies Lucky had stashed there in hopes of future need. Their gazes met. Something haunted hid within the depths of Bo’s sable-eyed regard, gone before fully registered.
Supplies in hand, he wasted no time turning Lucky on his back and unrolling a condom down his length.
Oho! So this is how it’s going to be!
Bo slicked two fingers and crawled on top, locking their lips together like their lives depended on the connection. Grunts, moans, and rocking motions hinted at Bo preparing himself.
He pushed back and Lucky groaned, sinking inch by inch into welcoming flesh. “God how I’ve missed this,” Bo murmured.
So have I.
Lucky gripped Bo’s hips. He gave his brain cells the night off and fell into the slick-slide, thrust-squeeze, pant-whimper rhythm of their coupling.
Bo’s moans grew more urgent, his quiet, “Oh God!” a strangled sob. Lucky took a deep breath, splayed his hands on Bo’s thighs, and withdrew.
“Wha…”
He cut off Bo’s protest with a kiss, flipped him onto his back, and slid back into delicious heat. Face-to-face, with the erotic sensation of hands exploring bare skin, he crashed his mouth against Bo’s.
The bed squeaked, Lucky gulped in air, and Bo emitted frantic sounds and not-quite words.
Quivering began deep within. Lucky stopped and scrunched his eyes closed. He clamped down inside, fighting, fighting. Gradually the pressure eased. He grabbed Bo’s cock and frantically stroked in time with his renewed thrusts. Waves pulled back to the ocean. His muscles trembled, and he braced his arms to keep from smashing into Bo. For one brief moment all stilled. No sound, no feeling, no nothing. In one final lunge he let go. The waves crashed down.
“Oh God! Oh God!” Bo chanted.
Lucky’s come-slick grip glided more easily. He lost the battle with gravity and weakened limbs, hanging on to Bo for dear life.
Thumpa, thumpa, thumpa
beat in his ears, but not from the apartment next door. He sucked in sweet, sweet air. Bo’s muscles tightened, drawing a shuddering aftershock from Lucky.
That was…That was… Holy shit.
Lucky waited for Bo’s inevitable retreat to the bathroom to clean up. Gentle snores reached his ears. What the fuck? He rose up on his elbow, staring down at Bo’s slack face. Asleep. Thirty seconds after coming he fell asleep. Damned if that didn’t beat all.