Lucky rolled his eyes. “All right.” He pulled in a deep breath, let it out slowly, and tried to imitate Walter’s words in a Southern accent. “Hardly the time to ask such a thing, is it not?”
Jimmy winced. “I’ll check the bookcase for family videos.”
Walter kneaded Lucky’s shoulders. “Are you sure you’re up to going through with this?”
Lucky stared at himself—not himself—in the mirror his brother had probably used every morning. Hair parted and slicked into submission. Topped off with the too-sweet scent he’d noticed in the hospital. Add a bit of a sneer and damned if he couldn’t pass for the guy in the photos. Just a driver. No real danger of being made if he stayed beneath notice. “I need to find out how deep in the shit Bristol was.”
Not to mention put a stop to whoever brought carfentanil into the country. As if the US didn’t already have enough drug problems. But truthfully? Lucky missed his job. Being in the action. What a hypocrite. One moment he worried about winding up dead, the next he nursed an adrenaline rush.
Jimmy stepped back into the bedroom, stuck a disk into a DVD player, and turned on a wall-sized TV.
Bristol’s face appeared. Despite the circumstances, Lucky’s heart lurched. Maybe if he hadn’t been so hard on the guy as kids…
Onscreen, Bristol asked, “How do you want your steak cooked?” Someone off camera must have spoken. Bristol nodded. “Rare it is.”
Jimmy paused the video.
A cookout. With people Lucky didn’t know and who hadn’t been a part of his life. Another felon to portray. Nothing personal. Nothing at all. “How you want your steak cooked?”
Walter cringed and didn’t bother to hide his reaction.
Still needed work. “How do you want your steak cooked?”
Jimmy sighed. “Let’s try another clip.” He fast-forwarded and tried again.
Bristol pulled his lips back in a lazy smile. “You’re sexy dressed like that.”
An image came to Lucky’s mind of Bo in his damned hot assless chaps. “You’re sexy dressed like that.”
Walter smiled, possibly for more than one reason. “Better. Try again.”
“Wow! He looks so much like you. And your other brother,” Jimmy commented, gazing at the video. “If he’d been wearing a hospital gown the day I saw him go into your room, I’d have fussed at him to get back in bed. I’ve seen plenty of videos and pictures, but seeing him here, now, with you for comparison…”
After fifteen minutes of watching, Lucky did a perfect imitation, “Hi, I’m Bristol Lucklighter.” He even managed the same oily smile.
“I have something for you.” Jimmy grabbed a box off the bed, crouched down, and lifted Lucky’s pant leg. “You can’t be too careful. How’s that feel?”
Lucky tested the weight of the leg holster and gun. “Works.”
Walter searched Lucky’s soul through his eyes. “How are you doing? Feeling all right? Remember, I trust your gut instincts more than any intel. Say the word, and this operation stops here. No one will fault you.”
The incision seemed hell bent and determined to be a pain in the side for of all eternity, not to mention the wood chipper ripping Lucky’s heart out piece by piece. Yet he’d never abandon tonight’s effort and pass up a chance to learn the truth. “I’m tougher’n a pine knot, as my sister says.”
“I’m sure you are.”
Jimmy slapped Lucky’s shoulder. “Nine o’clock. Show time.”
Hey, Lucky’s line.
***
If Lucky’s heart pounded any harder, it’d fly out of his chest and beat him to the airport. He hummedAchy Breaky Heartinto his microphone, sending Bo a message, if Bo happened to be within hearing.
At one time the silver BMW might have been Lucky’s dream car. Now, surrounded by his brother’s things, wearing his brother’s clothes, it made his stomach churn. Mama always said to respect the dead.
Hard to do when the dead tried to kill him.
Lucky pulled the car into the gate and parked near the hangar, like he’d watched his brother do before on videos. Bristol had been a lackey, with nothing much expected of him.
