Maybe some kind of code for,“Dude, what grass you have needs cutting.”
No grass cutting for Lucky for a few more weeks. Maybe he should get Charlotte to bring him a few goats. That’d make the neighbors talk.
His phone chimed with a text midway through his second cup of coffee:At SNB Atlanta. Be home later—B.
Bo? Home? Hallelujah! Lucky’s definition of hell included the week since he’d kissed Bo goodbye and came home to lie in bed, watch TV, and fend off Johnson’s hovering whenever she came to check on him.
Dishes sat piled in the sink, empty dog food bags hung half out of the trashcan, and the four chairs clustered under the table. Might be a good idea to spruce the place up.
He gave himself a sniff. Yeah, he could stand a trip through the shower too, because, hello! Sex! Finally! With more than his right hand. And this time he wouldn’t fall asleep in the middle like yesterday after taking his meds.
Coming home to a messy house meant Bo cleaning and not getting naked.
Lucky straightened up, showered, and shaved. Still too many hours left before Bo got home, and he’d hear lectures from both Walter and Bo if he showed up at work.
He could wait until evening to get reacquainted with his man. Yes, he really could. Maybe he should get a few things at the grocery store for dinner.
The car cranked on the first try, so unlike a few months ago before Bo had the Camaro overhauled and painted for Lucky’s Christmas present. The dragon dangling from his keyring swayed in time to the music on the radio and Lucky’s off-key warbling.
Hmmmm… How’d he get to Peachtree Street? Must’ve taken a wrong turn. Well…since he was here…
Lucky parked in his usual spot, and took the elevator to the floor housing the Southeastern Narcotics Bureau. The door opened, and he peered around the corner. No Lisa. Good.
But also no Bo. Not in their shared cube, the breakroom, or Walter’s office. And also no Walter. Lisa emerged from the conference room and traipsed back to the reception desk.
So that’s where everybody went. The conference room. Lucky eased inside the partially opened door. All heads were bent over laptops. Maybe they wouldn’t notice…
Walter glanced up from a pile of papers in front of him with a scowl. “Have you been cleared to return to work?”
Bo popped his head up. “No. Now get your ass back home where you belong. You’ve only been back a week.”
Seven long, torturous days, with nothing to do but worry, and wait for some word from his family. Calling Mom, Charlotte, or Daytona might jeopardize Bo’s case.
“I belong here.” Lucky leaned against the wall, out of Bo’s swatting range.
Bo drummed his fingers on the table. “No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No. You belong at home resting and getting better.”
“And how am I supposed to rest knowing someone’s out to kill me?” Ha!Answer that one, Mr. I-know-better-what’s-good-for-you-than-you-do.
Walter waved a dismissive hand. “Stay, but as an observer.”
“Now wait a da—”
“You’ll abide by my rules or go home.” Walter going all boss wasn’t a good sign.
“Oh, all right.” Lucky inched up the table to Bo. Bo flipped his laptop screen closed. Two rookies sat at the far end. Oh, the young ones. So easy to intimidate. Lucky eased into a chair between them. “What ya got?”
The first one made eye contact with Walter. Damn, a smart one.
The dumber of the two blurted, “Bristol Lucklighter’s financial records.”
They had a suspect, now they needed a motive. As though being an unrepentant asshole wasn’t reason enough.
Walter’s glare dried up Lucky’s only lead in the room. “Why won’t you let me help?” he demanded.
