Diversion 2 - Collusion (20 page)

“Here’s your coffee.” Bo placed the cup on Lucky’s desk. Lucky grunted a reply. A sweet little girl would never smile again, poisoned by a man supposed to help her. He snatched up his crutches. “I gotta go.”

“Lucky? Are you all right? Lucky? Lucky!” Bo shouted after him.
Walter chose that moment to step out of his office. “Lucky? You’re not supposed to be here.”
“I’m not here,” he replied, picking his way around his boss. “You haven’t seen me.”
He ignored Bo’s and Walter’s questions, letting out a pent-up breath when he stepped into the elevator and the door closed behind him.
Ignoring his ringing cell phone, he zigged and zagged through traffic on the way to his house, blinking hard to clear his vision. He slammed on the brakes, hopping and cursing his way up the front walk without acknowledging Mrs. Griggs and the army of cats at her feet. He didn’t even bother to bring his phone in with him.
He sagged onto the couch, flinging his crutches down in a rage. Why? Why? Always before he’d kept his distance, not letting his cases get under his skin, why this one?
“Merrrrow?” A curious cat popped through the front door he’d left standing open. A black-andwhite cat. “Mrrrooow?” it asked again. It spotted Lucky and, tail held high, scampered over to the couch. Lucky started to yell, stopping himself. One paw on Lucky’s knee, the feline rose up, touching its nose to Lucky’s. To Lucky’s surprise, the cat rubbed its head under Lucky’s chin, purring loudly.
His mother believed in omens and in the dead sending messages from the other side. For a moment he wondered if Stephanie sent the cat in payment for the one he’d given her, or to tell him she’d be okay.
A bunch of
s
uperstitious nonsense, Lucky, get a grip!
Lucky scooped up the creature, its soft fur brushing against his cheeks. He barked a sob, fighting against the weight threatening to crush his chest. How could that poor, sweet child be gone? Tears slipped down his nose. He batted them away. Why, why, why, why, why? He clutched the cat, mouth open in a silent scream. Damn it! No!He’d been there. He should’ve seen! He should have stopped it! Why couldn’t Walter have sent them the day he’d completed his last job? Would it have made a different? What if he tried harder? What if he’d been there investigating the nights Bo worked over, instead of prowling outside, accusing his lover of wrongs? What if, what if, what if?
He wailed, long and hard, like he hadn’t since finding out about Victor’s suicide. The cat wriggled into a comfortable spot to ride out the storm.

Lucky awoke groggy, sweating where a fur-covered space heater lay against his arm. “What the fuck?” He jumped but the cat merely blinked at him sleepily and lay its head back down. Its throat vibrated against Lucky’s skin.

The clock showed 4:55. Bo should be getting off work soon.
Maybe I better go get my phone. I bet he’s been calling.
Lucky lugged the cat to the door and let it out, closing the door when it tried to come back in.

A crutch under one arm, he attempted to make coffee the way Bo did, thoughhis never came close to Bo’s in the past. A bald head, blue eyes so full of life, and hopeful smile forced its way into his brain. Lucky pushed the image out again. Maybe some other time he’d think about Stephanie. Not right now. His blood pressure rose at the thought of the injustice done her, and the other victims. If he’d been able to use both legs he’d have gone to the gym and beat the shit out of some fool in the boxing ring.

He lifted the dishrag hanging over the kitchen faucet and flung it with all his might. It barely made a sound upon impact with the cabinet door. Next, he lobbed the plastic scrubber Bo used on pots and pans. Geared up and ready to go, he hurled potholders, spoons, anything that wouldn’t break. Through the house he stormed, hopping on one foot and using walls for support. He jerked his sock drawer open so hard it sailed free of the dresser, spilling sock balls everywhere. One by one he chucked them against the wall. He hefted a drinking glass, stopping himself before launching it, imagining Bo’s, “Why the hell did you break things? Who’s gonna clean up this mess?”

On to the bathroom he went. Ah! Soap bars made satisfying missiles. Who knew? He’d advanced to the living room and a stack of magazines when Bo opened the door. “Feeling better?” he asked, eyeing the mess.

Lucky froze, staring at his lover over the destruction. As one they moved, Bo wrapping Lucky in his arms. “Oh, Lucky.”
He pried Lucky’s fingers open, saving a back issue of
Time
from a quick journey across the living room. The magazine hit the floor. Clutching Lucky’s face in his hands, Bo held him, brushing their lips together far too gently.
Grabbing the back of Bo’s head, Lucky smashed their mouths together, determined to lose himself in the moment and the offered comfort. “I don’t want gentle,” he ground out between kisses.
Step by step they inched across the living room floor, ending in a tangle of arms and legs on the couch. Lucky rutted against Bo like a demon.
“Lucky, I…” Bo began.
“Don’t talk, just do. And do it hard.”
A bit of wrangling got them both undressed, Bo’s button-down and slacks joining Lucky’s T-shirt and shorts on the floor. They pushed and pulled, shoved and wrestled, until Lucky lay naked on his back, cast hanging over the side of the couch.
Bo graspedboth of Lucky’s wrists, pinning them to the couch with a wild look in his eyes. He froze, then released his grip.
“No,” Lucky insisted. “Don’t stop. I like it.”
A moment of meaningful eye contact and Bo resumed his dominant pose, grinding his erection against Lucky’s. He thrust brutally, near to the point of pain, while Lucky chanted, “Oh God, yeah! Like that! Harder, harder, harder!” Finally he yelled, “I want more! Now!”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, damn it!”
Bo vaulted over the back of the couch, slipping and sliding down the hall to the bedroom and hitting the wall once or twice from the sound of it. He came back in record time, making short work of donning a condom and preparing Lucky. Angling to accommodate the cast, he breached Lucky’s opening. “You are so fucking tight!”
Lucky clamped down enough to show Bo what tight really was.
“You’re killing me,” Bo exclaimed.
Lucky pulled Bo down for a ruthless kiss, thrusting his hips to speed a painfully slow entry. He wanted and he wanted now! No talking, no more foreplay, no thinking. Just primal, instinctual, aggressive,
feeling.
Agony/ecstasy, blurring and blending, carrying Lucky away on an undertow.
The couch creaked and groaned as Bo set up a punishing rhythm. Their bodies slapped together, sweat slickening their skin. Burning, stretching, advance, and retreat. Each thrust rocked Lucky and the couch, giving him all he needed. Each drive of Bo’s hips pressed his hard length against that perfect spot inside.
Over and over Bo drove in and withdrew, inciting exquisite pain/pleasure. Lucky hovered on the edge when Bo suddenly wrenched Lucky’s hands from the couch, pinning them to the arm and holding Lucky in place with his body.
Lucky lost it, spewing gobs of come without directly touching his cock.
Bo followed a scant moment later, moaning, “Oh God, oh God,” into Lucky’s ear. He released Lucky’s arms and fell. They held tightly to each other, heart rates slowing and breathing returning to normal.
Head resting on Lucky’s chest, Bo raised his eyes, connecting their gazes.“You should have told me you liked being held down.”
Lucky’s brain cells slowly threw off their post-sex stupor. “I usually don’t. It’s a sometimes kind of thing. Besides, I didn’t want it to bother you. Especially after you telling me how you feel about restraints.”
Bo rolled his shoulders. “This is me and you talking. It’s not something I get into personally, but holding you down was kinda hot.” He rose up, skating his lips across Lucky’s, barely connecting. “I trust you. You wouldn’t hurt me.”
Really? Hell, Lucky didn’t trust himself that far. Bo rose, holding out a hand to Lucky and helping him upright. “I’ll be right back,” he said, pulling the condom off while ambling toward the bathroom. Lucky waited, expecting a lecture about his earlier behavior at the office.
Bo returned with a washcloth, cleaning Lucky up a bit before leaving again. He came back with a glass of iced tea for Lucky and a cup of green tea for himself. He sat next to Lucky, lacing together the fingers of their free hands. “Mind telling me what happened at the office to send you running out like that? You scared poor Walter half to death. He planned to come after you but I convinced him you needed to get home and rest, that you’d overdone things.”
“Yeah, I did.” It occurred to Lucky that, although Bo didn’t seem to mind Lucky invading his quiet moments, Lucky wouldn’t have been so easy to get along with in reversed circumstances. Well, except for the cat.
“What happened? Can you tell me?”
Can you tell me?
Leave it to Bo to open the door yet not try to force Lucky through. If he’d made demands, insisted on Lucky talking, Lucky would have shut down tight. Instead, he offered up the truth. Bo deserved respect. “One day at Rosario I got off the elevator on the wrong floor and met one of the patients.”
Bo nodded but said nothing.
“There she was, bald, probably going through seven kinds of hell, but she smiled at me, chatted with a stranger.” She appeared in his mind, smiling and proudly showing off her doll. “I mean, even my nephews, and you know how much I love them, can act like spoiled brats, never satisfied with what they have, always wanting more. Yet this sick girl seemed happy.”
“What was her name?” Bo whispered.
“Stephanie.” Lucky raised his chin, blinking to drive away the burning in his eyes.
“The one who died?”
“Yeah.”
“I knew her,” Bo stated quietly.
“You did? How?”
Bo squirmed, fingers tightening on Lucky’s. “Remember all the time I spent working over?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t spend all of it in the pharmacy. Sometimes I volunteered in the hospital.”
“Volunteered? For what?”
“Whatever they needed me for. Sitting with a child who didn’t get many visitors, reading to them. Mostly I read.”
“Did you know any of the other kids who died?”
Bo turned, meeting Lucky’s gaze. “I knew them all.”

“Lucky? Could you and Bo come into my office, please?” Walter stood before Lucky’s desk, a self-satisfied expression spread across his heavy-jowled face.

Lucky exchanged a puzzled glance with his partner before struggling to his feet. Damn, would he ever be glad to lose the cast. He followed behind his boss’s broad back, claiming his favorite chair in Walter’s office before anyone else could, in case Walter called a department meeting. Bo took the chair next to Lucky.

“Although now a federal case an d no longer ours, I thought you’d like an update on the Rosario situation,” Walter began. “And, Lucky, a positive identification from you would be most welcome.” He handed Lucky a fax.

At first Lucky didn’t get what a missing person’s report had to do withhim, until he read the name, “Anne Fletcher.” The picture was old, but the face and eyes were the same. “That’s the woman from the mill. The one the leader called ‘Annie.’”

“Do you recognize this man?” Walter handed over a professionally printed flier, an advertisement for a chartered plane service. A man who appeared more walrus than human stared back. “That’s Theodore Rasmussen.”

“This is the leader, the one who did the talking. Annie mentioned a Ted, but I wasn’t sure who she meant at the time. She tookmy cell phone, badge, and .38.” While Lucky didn’t mourn the loss of his company phone, and could get another badge, he wanted the .38 back. The gun…meant something.

“Rasmussen and Fletcher own a few small planes, flying into a satellite airport in Charlotte, North Carolina, Fletcher’s hometown. Luther Calhoun, the owner of the van, lives near Charlotte and works for them, doing odd jobs mostly. Your friend Sammy from Rosario identified him as the man from whom he received his shipments.”

Walter handed over a picture that appeared to be a high school graduation photo. “This man’s with ’em too,” Lucky said. The guy who’d gone with him and Annie to the mountains.

“I suspected as much. His name is Kelly Barnett, an employee of Rasmussen’s. He’s been questioned, but it seems he now faces kidnapping charges, in addition to everything else.” Walter shook his head, fluorescent office lighting reflecting off the gray in his salt-andpepper hair. “Rasmussen’s crew primarily gives air tours, though they act as a courier service on occasion. Guess where they’re located?”

“Canada or Mexico?”
“Canada.”
“Well, hell. They’re bringing in the shit for Grayson from

there?”
“Seems that way. Fletcher’s sister reported her missing. She disappeared after you last saw her, and the Charlotte hangar’s been shut down tight. This is now the Feds’ case. We’ve done our part until it comes to trial. My guess is that Fletcher, Calhoun, and Rasmussen fled to Canada. The call that tipped Bo off to where they’d dropped you originated from a payphone in Idaho.”

“And that’s it?” Bo demanded. “Four kids lost their lives! These guys are gonna get away with it, aren’t they?”
Walter folded his hands on the desk. “That’s all we can do at the moment. Once found, they’ll be extradited back to this county to stand trial. Fletcher and Calhoun are US citizens.”
What a fucking letdown. Lucky would yell and scream if it would do any good. Instead he merely stood and stumbled out of the office, leaving Bo to rant and rave. What a fucking mess.
He sat at his desk, staring at an ugly gray partition. For years he’d done this job to avoid prison orange. He’d served his time and been released, returning only because Bo asked him to. Bo, who believed Lucky’s current stint with the SNB was Walter Smith’s doing, but Bo could ask Lucky to jump through flaming hoops and he’d probably give it a try. If Bo only knew how much control he had… Dangerous.
For a guy who doesn’t believe in emotional entanglements, I’m edging pretty close to the point of no return.
Bo returned tohis desk, still grumbling about, “Letting them get away.” He pecked away at his keyboard.
Lucky studied Rasmussen and Fletcher’s movements, where they lived, family connections. If they’d bolted to Canada, they might not wander south of the border very far, and they most certainly would avoid anywhere near Rosario, but maybe they’d venture locally. Lucky might have turned a corner a few years back, hunting felons instead of being one, but damned if he’d let this group of fellow traffickers escape scot-free.
He spent the afternoon perusing the records of Grayson’s interaction with Rasmussen, barely noticing when Bo dropped a sandwich on his desk.
He’d lost track of time when Bo shook his shoulder. “You want me to come over?”
You want me to come over?
Not,
“Your place or mine?”
Inequality existed in their relationship—all Lucky’s doing. Why the hell did Bo put up with him?
“Why don’t I swing by your place later?”
“What? Really?” Bo smiled like a kid at Christmas.
“Yeah, really. I’ll even stop and pick up supper if you want me to.”
“No, that’s fine. I’ll throw something together. Say, seven?”
Lucky glanced at the clock on his computer. Five o’clock. “Works for me.”
Bo gave Lucky’s neck a quick squeeze before joining the herd stampeding toward the elevator. Once the crowd thinned, Lucky hobbled to Walter’s office.
“Lucky, come in. What can I do for you?”
“I want to go after Rasmussen.”
Walter unleashed a sigh that rocked his entire bulk. “I’ve told you, the matter is out of our hands. I’m as upset about the situation as you are, but we’ve done our part. Let others take over now.”
“It’s too important to leave to chance.”
“Yes, it is, and I can assure you, it won’t be.”
Not good enough. Lucky wanted to watch Rasmussen go down. For Stephanie and the other innocent lives lost. “Is that your last word?”
“That’s my last word. Now, how’s your leg? Getting better?”
After fifteen minutes of small talk, Lucky retreated back to his desk to hastily type up a resignation letter. He owed it to a little girl not to give up. While he understood terrible events came of good intentions sometimes, it didn’t change the results. After he found Grayson, he’d go after Rasmussen’s crew. And while she’d definitely helped Lucky, he’d make no exception for Fletcher. He set an email to auto-deliver on Monday morning.
He armed himself with credit card records, flight plans, and any other information he’d gleaned to help him track his target. The governments of other countries might get the job done, but Lucky set a timetable. No case of his rode off into the sunset.
Crutches under his arms, he made his way to the parking garage and on to Bo’s apartment, stopping for a bottle of wine along the way. He had some making up and planning to do.