“Is that so?” O’Donoghue’s face turned a scary shade of red.
The witness flinched but stood her ground. “Yessir.”
If O’Donoghue didn’t stop scowling, his face might freeze like that and match a certain sulky teenager. “I’ll take care of Harrison later.”
Lucky bristled.
“Now, while I have you all together”—O’Donoghue clapped his hands— “I’d like to say that I’m not at liberty to discuss details, but many of you know that Walter Smith is indisposed. While I’m filling in for him, there’s going to be a few changes around here.”
What the fuck? Low murmurs agreed with Lucky.
“Although I’m from a different organization, the SNB brass felt I’m most qualified to assume Mr. Smith’s responsibilities at this time.” He turned in a circle, raking a calculating gaze over the assembled. “If anyone has any kind of problem”—he skewered Keith with a dagger-sharp gaze that he then turned on Lucky— “you bring that problem to me. Understood?”
A chorus of half-hearted “Yes”, “yessir,” and “yeah” filled the open space around the reception desk.
“Now, get back to work.” He crooked his finger at Lucky. “Harrison, come with me.”
Bo dropped a hand on Lucky’s shoulder and gave a reassuring smile. “I’ll wait for you in our cube.”
Lisa darted forward, wrapping her arms around Lucky. “I’m so, so sorry. I never meant to get you in trouble.”
“You didn’t. That punch was a long time in coming.” Years of sneering, of making fun of Lucky’s past, of making Lisa do his work. Yeah, he’d paid Keith what was owed.
Bo put an arm around Lisa and nodded at Lucky, his own personal language for“I got your back.”
Lucky returned the nod and followed O’Donoghue down the hall. No one offered to help Keith off the floor.
On the sidelines, Landry stood, customary sneer firmly in place. “You are so done here,” he mouthed.
Motherfucker stalked off before Lucky managed a comeback.
“I’m waiting!” O’Donoghue hollered.
O’Donoghue? Or Landry? The lesser of two bastards. Lucky chose O’Donoghue.
For now.
The consultant on loan from the DEA didn’t belong in Walter’s office. The place looked like a borrowed space, with no pictures or other personal effects. Cold. Clinical. Like O’Donoghue himself.
What happened to Walter’s things? Why move them at all when Walter would be back?
“Sit.” O’Donoghue waved a hand toward a chair, but not Lucky’s favorite, rounded the desk, and collapsed into a much nicer chair—nicer even than the one the boss used to sit in. Maybe when this jerkface went out to lunch one day, Lucky ought to swap the cushy chair with the Hell Bitch.
Jerkface. Ha! He’d been watching too many teen shows lately.
Lucky sat stiffly. If the man suspended or even fired him for hitting Keith, he’d have no regrets. Keith could press charges, but with the witnesses on Lucky’s side… Besides, the SNB preferred to deal with their own internal squabbles and not involve outside forces.
“First off,” O’Donoghue began, “I want to say how sorry I am about Walter Smith. I know you were close.”
Imagining Bo’s goading about manners, Lucky replied, “Thank you.” That should make Bo happy, right?
“You really shouldn’t go around hitting people, unless it’s in a boxing ring.” O’Donoghue reclined in his chair. Oh, yeah. He’d be on the floor by now if he tried that move with the chair from Hell. Too bad Lucky wasn’t on better terms with the surveillance department. He’d pay good money to see this arrogant bastard windmilling his arms and going splat.
Lucky remained quiet. Keith should’ve known better than to speak ill of the boss.
“Because I know how distraught you are, I’m giving you a pass on the assault back there.” O’Donoghue sat up and plucked a pen off the desk. Twirling the pen, he studied Lucky. “What? No answer? Normally, there’s no shutting you up.”
More than likely Lucky’s eyes were rimmed in red. He never should have broken down in front of the likes of Keith. “I don’t have anything else to say.” He tried to picture Walter in the chair, his kindly eyes, his deep voice, but O’Donoghue chased away the memories.
