“As much as they could without a warrant.”
“Shit.” Warrants were for people who weren’t so damned desperate. Lucky’s gut feelings said they’d find something there. Even Walter listened to Lucky’s guts. O’Donoghue’s group couldn’t kill the man outright, but they might threaten him until he signed away rights to his company, then kill him.
He could see it now, Chastain being portrayed as depressed over losing his company and putting a gun to his own head.
“Send Johnson home to her kid. I think we have enough folks to do a search.” Lucky spoke to Keith. “We might need you at Chastain’s.”
Keith nodded. “I’ll finish up and meet you after I ensure there’s no evidence of us having been here.”
To the others Lucky said, “Let’s go see if we can save a man’s life.”
***
No cars sat in the parking lot at Chastain Pharmaceuticals, though the lights were on. “Just like Mexico,” Cruz said, though he could have meant any number of things by his comment.
They parked down the street, fanning out to sweep the perimeter. Time ticked away, each second possibly putting Chastain in greater danger, but despite his desire to barge in, guns blazing, Lucky had learned a thing or two in his time with Walter.
Keith showed up as they finished their assessment. Good. As much as Lucky hated to admit it, they needed the IT geek’s technical skills.
Cruz held his gun close to his chest. Keeping to the shadows, he worked his way to the front of the building.
Keith went next, a lumpy shape in the dark with the loaded backpack he’d stuffed with equipment.
They watched in silence, Cruz’s two men vanishing around the side of the building.
Lucky’s phone pinged with a text from an unknown number. “C’mon in.” He hoped it was from Keith, whose number he’d never bothered to store in his phone.
First Cruz, then Bo, darted to the front door, Lucky keeping his eyes peeled while bringing up the rear. A few dim lights shone from windows, not bright enough to be from someone working. Besides, the place had been pretty much deserted lately.
Creepy. Dark.
No guard greeted them from the front desk, and he’d no idea how Keith managed to let them in without someone manning the buzzer. Even closed down, a pharma company should have security. Lucky’s hackles rose.
“His office?” Bo asked.
“Yeah.” Lucky kept his hand on his shoulder holster, ready to yank out the Glock if needed. “This doesn’t feel right. Let’s take the stairs.” Lucky muted his phone.
Moving slowly to minimize sound, he, Cruz, and Bo crept up the stairs. Though a camera showed them entering the stairwell to anyone watching, he spotted no cameras in the stairwell itself.
Bo opened the door onto the third floor.
Barely any illumination in the hallway.
Lucky flattened himself against the wall, all senses on high alert. The exit sign over the doorway gave him enough light to see Bo a few feet away.
Low lighting gave off a soft glow, but kept things dim. Reminded Lucky of the paintball range, minus the splatters. He eyed the second door to the left. Chastain’s office.
Lucky dialed the number he’d been trying all day.
Straight to voicemail.
Lucky exchanged his phone for a gun and led the way down the hall, sticking to the shadows, and motioned Bo into a recessed doorway. Maybe it’d take Bo a minute to figure out Lucky had strategically placed him in the most protected position.
The feeble light reflected off the gun in Bo’s hand. One slow inch at a time, Lucky worked his way to Chastain’s office.
Chastain sat behind his desk in a rumpled suit.
The door swung shut. A man stepped from behind the door, gun aimed directly at Lucky.
