Chapter One
Another stinking alley. One of many in the bad part of Atlanta, reeking of trash and piss. Either rats or big-assed palmetto bugs scuttled along the ground. Lucky’s shiver wasn’t all due to a nippy spring evening.
Light mist chilled his face. He stuck close to the shadows, inching away from safety and closer to who the fuck knew. The nasty fug crept into his mouth and took up residence on his tongue. His throbbing ankle worked overtime to convince him he’d gotten too old for this shit.
Damned gimpy-assed leg. Lucky’s heart pounded, and sucking air like a vacuum didn’t fill his lungs with enough oxygen.
After this case, he’d have to put in more time running, to hell with the bitching ankle. And working out. And doing whatever else came to mind so a mere two-mile run didn’t leave him huffing and puffing.
The alleyway ended. He flattened his back against the wall, whipped his head far enough to the left to peer around the corner, and pulled back. Yup. The white panel van. Though the van hid the perps from view, the bumps and bangs gave their whereabouts away.
Six-feet-plus of pissed off fellow agent faced him in all her muscled glory, pressed against the far wall and scarcely breathing hard. Showoff. One look at Loretta Johnson and the perps might shit their pants.
They might laugh at him—for a minute. Small dogs bit hard.
Gun held close to his face, Lucky made a crisscross sign to his partner with his free hand. Johnson nodded. Nice having her play for the good guys. If not for the matching SNB logo on their shirts, he’d be scared of her too.
In a few seconds, some two-bit drug dealers were going to get hit with a whole lot of what they had coming. “If they make me late getting home…” Johnson muttered.
Oh no. Don’t ever keep Mama Bear out too late to feed her kid.
Lucky unlocked his knees and bounced out a count. On three, he darted to the left and around the back of the van. Johnson took the front. The van’s headlights projected her shadow to giant proportions on the wall behind her.
“Southeastern Narcotics Bureau. Hands on your head!” she barked.
One of the suspects smiled the slick, oily smile of a slime ball. He turned to Johnson with his hands out to his sides. “What have we here?”
His buddy, in the middle of picking up a big blue tote, did as told. Smart man. Making Slime Ball Dumbass the boss, and the flunky with his hands on his head, too much gut, and not enough hair, Idiot Number One.
Idiot Number Two jumped out of the van. From this angle, the asshole couldn’t see the red dot on his back. Yup. As much as Lucky hated teamwork, having a weapon trained on an enemy’s back worked for him.
And they hadn’t yet spotted Lucky, adding “Stupid” to their job titles.
Dumbass took a step forward. “You wouldn’t shoot an unarmed man, would you?”
Johnson’s evil grin didn’t faze the guy, but it scared the shit out of Lucky.
Lucky’s musclebound protégé had once knocked his sorry ass to the ground. This guy, who’d probably never lifted anything heavier than a case of beer, wouldn’t be a problem.
The shit-for-brains took another step. “No, I don’t believe you’ll shoot.”
Johnson kept an eye on Dumbass, leaving Lucky free to watch Idiot One and Idiot Two. The first, not given to fighting, now lay stretched out on the ground. “Stop, Ramon. He means business,” the guy shouted. Repeated arrests left a man well trained, and twenty bucks said his record beat Lucky’s. And how nice of him to provide a name.
“Shut the fuck up!” Dumbass shot back.
“Smile, you’re on my body cam…” Hell, the sound of Johnson’s booming voice alone ought to put the fear of God into all three targets.
Idiot Number Two reached into the van and pulled out a gun.
Go on, you sonofabitch. Aim at her. Give us a reason to take you down.Body cams came in handy for proving theneed for use of force.
And still Dumbass approached, sporting his red back dot. The dot, shuffling from the alleyway, and heavy breathing announced the arrival of the cavalry—slow asses.
Okay, Lucky and Johnson secured the scene, with a man on a balcony above and another in plain sight across the street. The boss could ream Lucky out later for not waiting until backup arrived to approach their marks.
Johnson put extra snarl into her words. “Your buddy there has three seconds to drop the gun, or I’ll drop you both.” Dumbass hadn’t yet realized the danger. The woman standing before him didn’t need a gun to put him down.
And call her a helpless female at your own risk. Right before your ass hit the ground.
