Hurt he’d lay at Phillip and O’Donoghue’s feet.
Any day now.
Lucky relaxed, releasing the tension making his neck and shoulders hurt. “I’m on the man’s shit list for checking out Forsyth. He threatened to suspend me.”
“He what?” Rett eyed the parking lot and said more softly, “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Lucky rolled his shoulders in a shrug. “I’m not.” And he wasn’t. Not the first little bit.
He opened the car door, turned off the switch, and returned Rett’s necklace. She flinched when he fastened the clasp. “Now, my sister’s gonna be back down here soon, and I told her you’d show her around. There’s a couple of bars downtown she might like.” Yeah, torture Phillip with thoughts of his girlfriend on the prowl.
Rett jumped right into the game. “There’s this one place on the outskirts of town, got the finest male strippers in the south. Hung Like a Horse?” She giggled. “No, that’s not it. Stallion, something.”
“Raging Stallion,” Lucky supplied.
“How did you… never mind. They do have some fiiiiiiiiiiiiine dancers. Reckon she’d like to go there?”
Lucky chuckled. Would serve Phillip right to stake out a gay bar, trying to keep an eye on his girlfriend. Bo and the manager were friends. Maybe they’d cook up a surprise, like a lap dance or something. Caught on video. “Two single women and a strip club? I’d say you’re planning to corrupt my sister, but I get a feeling she’ll find stuffing dollar bills into some guy’s thong a bit tame.” He so did not need the mental image he’d just created, but anything to torture Phillip.
“Oh, we’ll have ourselves an amazing girls’ night out.” Rett crammed so much innuendo into one small sentence. “Umm… Better have bail money ready.” She dropped her smile, stared Lucky in the eyes, mouthed, “I got this,” and sauntered back to the elevator, whistlingAchy Breaky Heart.
Now to plan what information he’d feed the upstarts to make them chase their own damned tails.
Chapter Sixteen
Lucky sat at his desk, finishing up the last of the burger he’d grabbed for lunch. His cellphone chimed with a text:“Please call me.”
Chastain.
Lucky used Keith’s wand to scan himself, the cube, and his phone, but wouldn’t take chances. “I’m going for a walk to think,” Lucky told Lisa at the reception desk. “If anyone asks where I am other than Bo and Johnson, tell ‘em to go fuck themselves.”
Lisa’s eyebrows shot toward her hairline, but she schooled her expression. “Yes, Mr. Harrison.”
He turned to leave.
“Mr. Harrison? Lucky?”
Lucky stopped and faced her. “Yes?”
She glanced right and left. The halls were clear. “I’m sorry about calling you to the house for Keith. I really didn’t want to.”
“It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.”
“It’s for Walter.”
The stiff set of Lisa’s shoulders eased. “Well, okay. Any news?”
“He’s doing better. Don’t worry, he’ll be back.” Walter had to get better. Lucky wouldn’t accept anything less.
He took the elevator to the garage level but strode up the sidewalk and outside. After he’d left the SNB a few blocks behind he returned Chastain’s call.
“Martin Chastain,” a wary voice answered.
“Chastain. Harrison here.”
“Oh, thank God,” the man said in a rush. “You told me to let you know if I heard anything. Forsyth Pharmaceuticals is pressuring us to sell, and they’re trying to work around regulations so the Federal Trade Commission won’t block the merger.”
