Timing his footfalls to the conversation, he made his way to the baby’s room. Lisa’s toddler lay in his bed in a blue onesie, thumb in mouth and fast asleep. Cute little tyke. Thank God he was up here and safe instead of down below facing who knew what.
One by one Lucky slipped down the stairs, keeping to the outer edge to avoid loose or squeaky boards—a trick he’d learned in his teenaged years while breaking curfew.
Pausing to take a lay of the land, he tracked three adults in the kitchen. Occasionally Lisa let out a shrill comment. She wasn’t happy with whomever had invaded her home, but she didn’t sound scared.
Lucky crouched and waited outside the kitchen door. He’d sprung traps a whole lot easier three or four years ago. He schooled his breathing, shifting his weight like he’d learned to in the boxing ring.
Whoever pissed Lisa off had a date with his right fist.
The baby squalled. Lisa shot out of the kitchen. Lucky grabbed her and slapped a hand over her mouth.
She struggled.
“Shh… It’s me.” The wailing baby covered Lucky’s words. “Is everything okay?” He released his hold.
“Not really,” she said, “and I’m so sorry to bring you here with so much cloak and dagger, but he”—she hiked a thumb toward the kitchen— “wouldn’t take no for an answer or let me tell you the truth.”
“Who wouldn’t?”
“About time you got here,” a voice drawled from the doorway.
Lucky froze.
Chapter Twelve
Lisa shot up the stairs toward her child and Lucky spun, aiming his gun at the last man he’d expected to see.
Despite the venom in his words, Keith wasn’t sneering or smirking, his normal facial expressions when around Lucky.
“What the…”
Keith put a finger to his lips, held out a familiar device, and made twirling motions with his finger.
Did the asshat think Lucky low enough to bug their conversations? Keith specialized in surveillance, Lucky in everything else. Besides, he didn’t even know they were going to meet.
Whipping his head around to keep eyes on his nemesis, he turned, arms out to the side, but gun still at the ready.
Keith ran the wand up and down his body. Nothing. Lucky expected no less.
“How about you?” Whatever the hell Keith wanted couldn’t be good.
The greasy stain on the SNB surrendered the wand. “Nothing on me.” He placed his hands on his head and allowed Lucky to swipe him down.
“Why are you here?” Lucky asked. “Couldn’t you just speak to me at work or in the gym? Send an e-mail? Call me?”
Keith shook his head. “No one saw me come here, and since you didn’t enter through the front door, I’m guessing the same about you. I wanted to meet face to face, and iPhones are easy enough to monitor.”
Maybe the guy possessed more brains than Lucky gave him credit for. “Mind telling me what this is about?” Lucky waved the wand in the air.
Staring down four or five inches to make eye contact, Keith murmured, “Someone’s watching you.”
“You mean, other than you?” Lucky had no intention of sharing information about O’Donoghue’s lapdogs. No sharing info until Keith brought something worthwhile to the table. Yeah, he’d tipped Lucky off about a possible cube camera, but nothing solid.
Cabinet doors opening and closing in the kitchen gave away the location of Lisa’s husband. The baby no longer cried, but Lisa didn’t return.
Keith collapsed against the wall. “You have no reason to trust me, but hear me out, okay?”
“I’m listening.” Not that the shithead would say anything Lucky wanted to hear.
