“I believe he said he’d arrive around six thirty this evening.”
“Boss, I’ll attend the training this morning, but I need the afternoon off. Got something I gotta take care of.”
Walter fought a grin and shuffled the ever-present paper pile on his desk. Oh look! If Lucky twisted his neck the right way, he’d catch a glimpse of the wood beneath.
“As long as you’ve completed your reports, I have no problem with you taking a half day.”
“Um… If you see Bo before I do, tell him you had me run an errand or something.”
Walter raised one of his bushy eyebrows. “Are you planning something that might make me regret covering for you?”
“Nah. I promise.” Lucky nearly skipped out of Walter’s office and down the hallway. Oops. Time to paste on a scowl.
Keith stood by Lisa’s desk. “But it’ll only take about a half hour,” he whined.
Lisa shifted her attention from Keith to Lucky,Please help me!in her eyes.
“Oh, Lisa. Great. I caught you when you weren’t busy.” He gave Keith a pointed stare and grinned his most evil. “Do you like green drugs and spam? Are you an asshole, Keith, my man?”
The color drained from Keith’s face. “You!”
“Yup, me. And interfering with another employee’s work is a write-up offense. But I don’t do write-ups.” Oh, how priceless the fear on Keith’s face. “I prefer to settle things in a boxing ring.”
Keith relaxed his rigid stance and gave away his stupidity with a chuckle. “You’re in no shape to box.”
“But I am.” Johnson flexed on up to the desk, short sleeves straining over her biceps. “And as Agent Harrison’s second-in-command, I’ll happily teach you a lesson you won’t soon forget. Just say when.” She led the relieved-looking receptionist away from the desk. “C’mon, Lisa. Let’s go get some coffee.”
Lucky whistled and swaggered away toward his cube, leaving Keith fuming alone.
Now… Forget Charlotte’s shunning of e-mails. Lucky needed her help, and couldn’t write as fast as she talked. Why write, when she’d write for him?
He pecked out an e-mail.“Hey, woman. Bo’s coming home, and I want to make it special. If you don’t help me, I’ll screw it all up, and Bo won’t speak to either one of us for six months.”
There.
Knowing Bo waited at the end of the day made getting through a roomful of rookies—and Jameson O’Donoghue—more tolerable. Lucky tapped his foot, earning more than one scowl from the trainer.
Screw him. Or rather, no. Lucky counted the minutes until noon. At twelve o’clock he marched to his cube, printed his sister’s reply, and trudged down the hall, shoulders slumped, like he’d noticed zombies do on a late-night TV show.
“Oh, you poor man,” Lisa remarked. “You must be exhausted.”
“I am. Gonna go get some rest.” The moment the elevator doors closed, the dead returned to life. So much to do, so little time.
And worth every minute.
With him and Bo away for the better part of the last week, the chores piled up. Johnson swung by the house to feed the animals, but she drew the line at cleaning up. Lucky stopped by the grocery store, the hardware store, a housewares place, and the post office, to claim a package requiring his signature.
After unpacking his bags at home, he pulled Charlotte’s list out of his pocket. First things first: let the dog and cat into the backyard to keep them out from underfoot. Next, he loaded the washing machine per his sister’s instructions. Why he couldn’t throw whites in with darks he’d never understand. It’d worked so far in his life.
Vacuuming took too much time, him having to stop repeatedly and wriggle free of the cord. Next, he did what he should’ve done months ago and fixed the garage door once and for all by replacing the motor and all parts even remotely suspected of causing grief.
He’d save painting the bedroom ceiling for the weekend. He washed the sheets, remade the bed, and located Bo’s never-ending candle supply.
Unpacking the new dishes they’d been eyeing for a while took some time, as did running them through the dishwasher. Lucky packed the old stuff up for Goodwill.
One hour left. Not enough time to suddenly become an excellent cook. Takeout would have to do. Bo loved eggplant parmesan. He’d get what he loved. Lucky made the call.
Twenty minutes until time to go get dinner, Lucky sat down and opened the mailer he’d signed for.
