Nigglings of anxiety or something squirmed through Lucky’s gut. “Cyrus Cooper.”
Lucky felt rather than saw the man relax a moment before a snicker reached his ears. The lights came on and Lucky stared up at a familiar face.
“Hola, mi amigo.”
Chapter Twenty-two
“Are you sure she’s okay?” Lucky asked for the thousandth time. He stared at the front door where two linebackers had dragged out the assailant. Millions of questions he wanted to ask, but the guy hadn’t come to by the time they’d taken him.
Lucky hadn’t recognized the fuckwad stupid enough to invade Walter Smith’s house, and neither had Walter, so maybe some cheap amateur who imagined himself a hit man.
He’d love to be a fly on the wall during questioning. Or get a chance to deliver a bitch slap for scaring Mrs. Smith.
“She’s fine.” Walter stepped into the den and sank into his chair. “A little shaken. You see, I’ve never really discussed the more dangerous aspects of my job with her. Given her lifelong struggles with a weak heart, I thought it best.”
Lucky sat on the couch and sipped a cup of decaf, watching out of the corner of his eye as blast-from-the-past Cruz made a face and shot Lucky a disdainful look from his place leaning against a wall.
“Hey, don’t blame me.” Lucky saluted with his cup. “Boss can’t have caffeine either.” And about a million other things, judging by the dietary guidelines posted on the refrigerator door when he’d gone to the kitchen to make coffee.
“I take it you know each other?” Walter glanced from Lucky to Cruz and back again.
“In Mexico. He’s related to Victor.” Lucky faced the man he still didn’t fully trust. “You still work for him and Nestor, right?”
Cruz flashed a smile. “Yes, which is how I wound up being sent here as your babysitter.”
Lucky recoiled. “Babysitter? Now see—”
“Ah, nice to meet you, Cruz. I’ve heard good things about you, Mr…” Walter held out his hand and quirked a brow.
Cruz clasped his fingers and shook. “Cruz is fine. I’ve heard good things about you as well. My employer doesn’t respect many people, so it says much that he respects you.”
If Walter heard good things about Cruz, they sure hadn’t been from Lucky’s mouth. Oh, wait. He’d made mention in his report of Cruz’s quick thinking and driving skills saving Bo’s life.
Of course, he’d barely restrained himself from adding, “The little shit” to the words.
Cruz chugged the rest of his coffee. “It’s late. Go, rest. Comfort your wife.” He gave Walter a nod. “C’mon, Lucky. I’ve orders to take you to a safe house.”
“Now see here…”
Cruz turned so Walter couldn’t see his face and winked.
What the fuck?
Gun in hand, Lucky followed Cruz out the door. Two cars sat parked on the street, one on either side of Walter’s house.
“Don’t worry. The house is under surveillance. I’m sorry we arrived nearly too late, but they’ll come to no harm. I’ve got my best men on this.”
For a moment adrenaline had rushed through Lucky’s blood, reminding him of some of his more exciting cases. Damn, he’d missed the action while confined to a desk. “So, who was our gunman?”
“I don’t know. Yet.” Cruz gave off the vibe that he wouldn’t mind removing the man’s fingertips in a quest for prints to match. “And you’re deliberately changing the subject. Now put that damned gun away. This is no longer your case. You’re the witness, and in need of protection. We’ve got you covered.”
“I don’t need a safe house,” Lucky groused. Whoever thought to coop him up while Bo and the others put themselves in danger? He didn’t need protecting. Sumbitches after Walter needed protection fromhim.
Cruz continued to the next street, hopped into an inconspicuous Chevy, and turned on a grin the moment Lucky opened the door. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”
Despite the alarm bells going off in his head, Lucky got into the passenger seat and buckled in.
Cruz started the car and pulled out into the street. “My boss has nothing but the highest respect for Walter, but he’s in no shape to be in the middle of this bullshit.”
