***
Four long-assed days of hell. Though the throbbing agony eased some, pain shot through Lucky each and every time the nurse made him walk.
Sadistic prick. Whenever Andy passed by the door, Lucky prepared for the worst. Sometimes the nurse glanced in and kept walking, sometimes he came in to fluff a pillow and otherwise freak Lucky out with too much attention, and other times he dogged the heels of anyone rambling out in the hallway.
Afraid someone might come in besides him? What’d he have? Bedpan envy? Didn’t he get enough of staring holes through Lucky last night when he stood over the bed?
And there Andy came, this time shadowing Walter. Walter stepped through the open door. Andy kept on going.
Ah, to have the office betting pool handy. Several twenties might find their way into Lucky’s pocket by wagering how long before Andy passed by again.
“You know my nurse is trying to kill me, right?” he told Walter.
Walter planted himself in the doorway, potted ivy in one hand and a Starbucks cup in the other.
Lucky nodded toward the open door where Nurse Nosy traipsed past. “I see you, you stalker.”
“And good afternoon to you, too, Lucky.”
Lucky held out his hand and took the cup. If Walter ever wanted him out of the way, all he had to do was poison the coffee, which at this point, Lucky might drink even knowing he’d die afterwards.
Lucky occupied himself with coffee to keep from getting all mushy. Ah, good and hot, filled with sugar, not stevia, but missing caffeine. Dammit. Even after being on decaf at Bo’s insistence, Lucky missed his morning caffeine jolt, though he slept much better at night now.
But at least he still got to enjoy the taste. And sipping coffee passed the time while Walter found a place for the plant and settled himself into the chair with a sigh. “Attempts on your life aside, how are you feeling?”
“Worse than shit.”
“Ah, an improvement then. When last we spoke you were, how did you phrase it? ‘Worse than warmed-over shit.’”
Leave it to the boss to classify feeling like shit into levels. “How’s things going?” Even though the pain kept him in bed most of the time, Lucky never idled well. He’d get up and do something—as soon as his guts stopped trying to kill him.
“Loretta is doing an admirable job with the trainees back in Atlanta, but I’m afraid Bo’s made a huge mistake at the Richmond office.”
“Not Bo!” Surely Mr. I-Love-Everybody hadn’t taken Lucky’s job of pissing people off.
“Yes, I’m afraid after less than a week they’ve already contacted me, asking to transfer him permanently to their office.”
“And?” Hell, Lucky’d turned down a job with Nestor’s international outfit, and now Bo got an offer? Would he turn this opportunity down? The moment came like a slap to the face. In the time he’d known Bo, the man had grown to be a superior agent. With his kind disposition, of course he’d be in demand.
When Lucky got out of here, he’d damned well keep the promise to be a better partner, lest he lose Bo to someone more thoughtful, like Walter might lose Bo if the Richmond office made a good enough offer.
No, not right. Lucky would be a better partner, not out of fear, but because Bo deserved to be treated right.
As soon as Lucky figured out how.
Walter spied the rather conspicuous flower arrangement worth more than Lucky’s first car. “Did you get your answer?”
“Yup. Nestor Sauceda came sneaking in here, said I should know better than to have to ask.” Though the details seemed a bit fuzzy. “I mean, if I didn’t hallucinate the whole damned conversation.” But hallucinations didn’t bring very real flowers.
Walter nodded. “What else did he say?”
“He’d try to find out who did.”
Again Walter nodded. “Who would do such a thing besides Victor?”
Lucky shrugged all his painful body allowed. “At the time I hadn’t turned anyone in, so hadn’t made the enemies I have today. I’d say Stephan Mangiardi, but the little asshole wouldn’t spend his money on someone else.” Or more accurately, he wouldn’t have spent Victor’s money on anyone else.
“How much does your family know about your… current arrangements?”
