***
Lucky lay alone in bed, without even a cat or dog for company. Darned traitors preferred Charlotte’s company apparently.
Bo stepped out of the bathroom, naked and damp from a shower.
“Sorry ‘bout that.” Lucky lifted the covers for his man to slide beneath.
“Did you two have a good talk?” Bo slipped beneath the covers, skin warm from his shower.
Staring at the ceiling didn’t make the words come any easier. Bo might not believe Lucky hadn’t supplied his brother’s drug habit. Especially when Lucky couldn’t remember exactly what he’d sent. “My folks disowned me for sending my kid brother enough heroin to OD the whole damned family.”
“You what?”
Lucky held Bo close in case he tried to run. Averting his gaze made confession easier, and hid any disappointment or accusation in Bo’s eyes. “Someone delivered a birthday present to his dorm. He said I’d signed the card. He’d know my writing. But, Bo. I swear to God I’da never hurt him.”
Bo’s reply came instantly. “Any idea who did?”
“Victor wanted me to leave the county with him before we got busted. No way would I have left my family. Maybe he arranged things so I had no reason to stay.” Victor might have been a drug trafficker, running one of the biggest pharmaceutical drug rings in the country, but drugging a teenager wasn’t his style. No matter the reason.
“You don’t believe it was him.”
“No. But who else could it be?” If only he could pick up the phone and call Victor, ask him. But now, talking to him again wasn’t on Lucky’s to-do list. Ever.
“Someone who wanted you out of your folks’ life?”
“My family liked Victor, or his money at any rate.”
“Any spare homophobes hanging from the family tree?” Bo turned off the bedside lamp and spooned against Lucky’s side.
“Dad didn’t quite get it, and Bristol preached about me going to hell, but he still took Victor’s money for college.”
“And you don’t remember what you actually sent?”
“No. I’ve slept a lot since then.” He barely remembered breakfast, let alone what he’d bought for his brother’s birthday umpteen years ago.
“We could always ask Nestor.”
Nestor. Code for asking a man who’d supposedly died but might possibly be in France living the good life with a former Mexican drug lord. Maybe if Lucky didn’t have to talk to Victor directly…
“I don’t know how to get in touch with him. And Victor’s memory might not be much better than mine.” If Victor even agreed to answer.
“He’d remember drugging your brother.”
Damn. If Lucky’s head didn’t quit spinning it might twist right off his neck. “Maybe.”
“At least talk to Walter.”
Yeah. Walter knew things he shouldn’t. He might be able to track down two international narcotics agents.
Bo drew the covers back and pressed his hand against Lucky’s shoulder until he lay flat on this stomach. “I know I’m asking the impossible, but try to put it out of your mind for now. You need to get some sleep.”
Sleep. Helluva lot easier said than done. “What did you do out in the garage?”
“Worked on the door. It still doesn’t lift right. I’m afraid we need a new door opener.”
One more thing on an already ungodly to-do list.
Bo worked his knuckles against the knotted muscles in Lucky shoulders. The man had him some skillful hands.
