Lucky peered back over his shoulder and threw Victor’s long-ago words back at him, “That you’d sooner destroy fine art than a talented thief?”
Victor barked out a laugh. “Maybe I should kill you because you know me so well.”
Tight bands uncoiled from around Lucky’s chest. “See you around, Victor, maybe.” He closed the door, both on the conference room and his past.
Chapter Twenty-five
The driver’s seat of Bo’s Durango sat way too high. Lucky adjusted the rearview mirror. Yes, definitely a tail, and none too subtle, either.
“Bo?” He glanced at the passenger seat from the corner of his eye.
“Huh?”
“See that Mustang behind us?”
Bo turned his head toward the side mirror. “Uh-huh.”
“It’s been following us since we left the parking garage.”
“You can’t lose them?”
“Nope.” Gut feelings told Lucky the driver behind him wasn’t one of Victor’s. Victor’s wouldn’t be so amateur as to be spotted openly. “I’m gonna take a joy ride, see if I can lose them.” He’d never tell Bo about being ordered to go home and sit on his ass while the big dogs ran down the prey.
Bo might make him obey.
Lucky peeled down the highway, putting the vehicle’s motor through its paces for the next forty minutes. He’d once owned a Mustang, much older than the glossy black work of art tailing him, and therefore knew the car’s weaknesses.
Traffic eased as he left the Interstate. He tossed his phone to Bo. “Call up my driving app and see what’s ahead.”
Bo punched a few buttons. “Cops. Not sure if it’s an accident, roadblock, or what, but there’s definitely cops.”
Could even be someone searching for the asshats.
Lucky veered sharply to the left. Cops might be helpful right about now, but they’d also scare off the asshole in the Mustang. Enough already! Time to find out who’d been riding his ass without having the good graces to kiss him first.
With any luck, it’d be one of the three shitheads he’d spent all morning looking for.
A dirt road ahead. Good. Leaving the blacktop, he pushed the accelerator to the floor as far as he dared. The Durango went airborne, hitting the ground again with a teeth-jarring jolt, leaving a trail of powdered Georgia clay to spray over the Mustang’s windshield.
With any luck, the amateur behind him wasn’t familiar enough with the South and might try to use his window washer, creating a layer of visibility-eroding crud on the glass.
“Um… Lucky? Why are you destroying my ride?”
“I’m not…” Oh, fuck! Lucky braked in time to avoid a fallen tree, backed up, and spun out across a field of broom sage. The scent of trampled vegetation drifted through the vehicle via the air conditioning. Tall, feathery green horse tails whipped at the truck, and dried grass crackled underneath the vehicle. With no rain to speak of in weeks, a cigarette thrown out of a car window could turn the whole field into kindling.
He spared a glance into the rearview mirror. Damn it! The Mustang’s driver had more balls than brains, plowing through the mess in a car far lower to the ground. Which only confirmed whoever followed couldn’t be Victor’s. Victor only hired folks with brains.
Lucky would use the driver’s stupidity against him. “Hold on, Bo!”
Bo grabbed the “oh, shit!” handle and peered over his shoulder. “A car chase? Seriously? Can’t anything be easy with you?”
Lucky grinned, adrenaline pumping through his veins. “I’m easy. Wanna see?”
“You’re getting off on this, aren’t you?”
The thrill of the chase? Redneck know-how winning the day? “What’s not to love?”
Bo snorted, but held on. “You are so gonna owe me blowjobs for this.”
