Oh shit!
Lucky grabbed Bo and slammed to the floor, covering Bo with his body.
The man shot four times in quick succession. Lucky braced and fired back.
Silence.
He moved to glance up.
A body lay on the floor, Cruz already hovering. “Nice shooting, man. Got him in one.”
Fuck, not again. Oh, one of Cruz’s guys stood in the doorway, gun in hand. Good. Let someone else file the paperwork and go to therapy. Lucky struggled to rise.
Cruz fished the dead man’s phone from his pocket. “Lay down over here, Lucky.”
Lucky crawled over, settling way too close to a pool of blood for his taste. Behind him Bo spoke in soft tones to a shaky Chastain.
Cruz aimed the phone, then lowered it and hit a few buttons. “You can get up now.”
“Who’d you send to?”
“Someone our dead guy’s been texting all night, asking ‘When you gonna get here’ and ‘I got him right here.’”
So, whoever arranged Chastain being here was on their way.
All Lucky had to do was wait.
Chastain sank further into the chair behind his desk, reached into a drawer, and pulled out a bottle and several cups. “I need a drink. Anyone else?”
“I’m on duty” came in chorus from around the room.
“You all right?” Lucky made his way toward the desk.
“Not yet.” Chastain raised the bottle in salute and drank. “I’m working on it.”
On the desk lay a manila folder.
A coffee cup ring dead center.
Chapter Twenty-three
While Cruz’s men and Keith kept an eye on the perimeter and handled the dead body, Lucky settled into a chair in front of Chastain’s desk and perused the file. The same paperwork Walter had shown him.
The pages Lucky hadn’t read before gave a full description of Chastain’s new drug and copies of e-mails from an executive at Forsyth and Owen Landry.
E-mails Lucky hadn’t uncovered because IT geek Rogers was in the perfect position to clean the SNB’s e-mail server.
A copy of a contract sat in the very back, signed by some of Forsyth’s top brass the same day Landry made a surprise inspection.
The document was only missing one signature.
Chastain’s.
So, this was why someone wanted Walter silenced, the information they thought Walter had passed to Lucky, and that Walter couldn’t remember.
They’d watched Lucky, recorded his conversations, trying to find out how much he knew. No wonder they wanted him dead.
“Cruz? You meant it about having a safe house, didn’t you?”
