Lucky awoke to Nurse Andy standing over his bed.
“I know who you are, Agent Harrison. Or should I say Lucklighter?”
Oh shit. What was the point of witness protection if every damned person on the planet knew Lucky’s real identity? He eyed the rolling bedside table for a weapon. No help there. Not even a bedpan to clobber the asshole with.
Damn housekeeping for taking his knife. Lucky inched close enough to grab the nurse call button if needed.
But it wasn’t himself he worried about. “How’d you get in here? Where’s Bo and Walter?” If the bastard so much as ruffled a hair on their heads… Pain and agony. And the bastard’s mangled corpse would never be found.
He’d work out details later on how to hurt the man without hurting himself.
What had Bo called the guard? “Josh? Josh!”
“I sent him home.” The world’s scariest nurse stuck his hand out. “Agent James Salters, Southeastern Narcotics Bureau, Division of Hospitals. Most folks call me Jimmy.”
“We have a Division of Hospitals? Not in Atlanta, we don’t.”
“I’m out of the Virginia office.”
“Prove it.” Lucky measured the distance from the bed to the door. Cut in half, gimpy ankle. Yeah, he didn’t stand a snowball’s chance in hell of escape. Oh crap, and naked from the waist down. He pulled the bed covers tighter around his middle. He owed Bo big time for making off with his clothes.
Nurse Andy, Jimmy, or whoever pulled out his wallet and flashed a badge, very much like the one in Lucky’s wallet.
“Anybody can forge a badge.” Not well, but Lucky managed a passable copy to prove a point once.
The guy currently maintaining the upper hand pointed toward Lucky’s computer case. “You got a laptop right there. Check me out.”
Keeping a close eye on his visitor, Lucky followed the guy’s advice, but only because he wanted to anyway. Jimmy told the truth. An agent with three years’ time in. “Mind ‘splaining what’s going on?”
Nurse… Jimmy flipped a chair around backwards and dropped onto the wooden seat, arms folded on the back. “Probably all the better you don’t recall.”
“Why?”
Jimmy met and held Lucky’s gaze. “What do you know about Bristol Lucklighter?”
Lucky suspecting Bristol might be a felon and hearing proof from someone else were two different things. “He’s my brother, he’s an asshole, and he hates me.” Who didn’t? “What about him?”
“He left your room, and we had to jolt you full of naloxone. A few seconds more might’ve been too late.”
Good point. Lucky’d thank him later. Maybe. “What’d he give me?”
“Labs results came back an hour ago. Carfentanil. Thank God he’d over-diluted or nothing could have saved you.”
Carfentanil? Jeezus! Scary stuff.
“Yup, about ten thousand times more powerful than morphine. Powerful enough to tranquilize an elephant. Or to kill a man with a nearly invisible dosage.” For a moment Jimmy sounded like Bo, quoting a textbook. Newbies. “You’re only alive because whoever it was didn’t know what the hell they were doing.”
How had Lucky’s would-be killer gotten hold of something so powerful? “I still haven’t ruled you out.”
Jimmy brought his nose closer to Lucky’s, close enough to reveal a tiny scar on his chin. “I studied chemistry. I wouldn’t have made a mistake. But me knowing what the hell I’m doing, and being a ‘stalker’ as you said, saved your life. I was first on scene. It took five shots to get you stabilized, then I started naloxone in a drip.”
Not a bad idea, especially since Bo owed his life to the stuff capable of reversing an opioid overdose. Not that Lucky would tell Nurse… Jimmy.
So now both Lucky and Bo owed their lives to naloxone. “If you suspected Bristol, why haven’t you arrested him?” Bo would have mentioned Bristol being taken into custody, wouldn’t he?
“Ah, come on. You train agents. You know the answer.”
Duh. Yes, he did. All the meds must be cooking Lucky’s brain. “Because you need to establish a motive or find out if he’s working alone.”
