Bo gazed into Lucky’s eyes, calmed now and thoughts likely churning in his head too fast for Lucky to follow. “I am, but you know as well as I do that we can’t go in half-cocked. We have to look at every angle.”
There it was: the reason Bo made the best choice to fill Walter’s shoes. He thought things over before acting, something Lucky didn’t have patience to do.
He nodded and threw out his next argument. “What if Phillip planted the record and the drugs?”
Bo tapped his index finger against his chin. “To what end?”
“To run Chastain out of business, forcing him to sell to Forsyth. They stand to gain a lot if they manage to get their hands on Chastain’s new diabetes treatment.”
After a few moments of staring at the wall, Bo replied, “That’s a big logic jump to make.”
“You don’t believe me.” Disappointment weighed heavy on Lucky’s heart. Bo was supposed to have his back, damn it!
Bo shook his head. “Of course I believe you, but it’s not me you have to convince.”
“There you go, talking sense again.” Storming in, guns blazing, suited Lucky better.
“Let me see what you’ve got so far to back up your story.”
Lucky pulled up file after file: the information from his conversation with Chastain, minus the whole meeting him thing, what little he’d gleaned from Keith, dates, times and places he’d been tailed, and all he’d gathered on Forsyth.
Lastly, he brought up everything he’d learned about Walter’s attack and O’Donoghue’s actions afterward. This time he gave honest effort to seeing the problem with new eyes, seeing O’Donoghue as possibly a jerk, but not necessarily a guilty one.
Nah. Guy was guilty as sin.
Walter. If only he could talk things over with Walter.
Bo poured over the information, occasionally, ummming and uh-huhing. Finally, he glanced back up at Lucky. “Lots of puzzle pieces here. How do you suppose they fit?”
“I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”
Bo tapped his finger on the keyboard, lips pursed, and stared out into space. Lucky expected the screech of turning wheels at any moment. “Lucky?”
“Yes?”
“How would you feel about a trip to Alabama tomorrow?”
“Why?”
“Just humor me. Oh, wear your best suit. I’ll handle getting us proper IDs.”
What the hell? “Are you thinking of doing something dirty and underhanded?” Lucky could hope.
“Maybe.” Bo set his lips into a thin line.
Really? “Maybe not, or maybe so?”
“Maybe so. As a matter of fact, more than maybe.” Bo straightened, muscles working in his jaw.
Maybe sounded good. “Is it something Walter might not approve of?”
Bo lifted an eyebrow and his chin. “Actually, he might not, but O’Donoghue definitely wouldn’t.”
Oh, dear lord. “I think you’re turning me on.”
“I hope so.” Bo moved the laptop from the bed to the floor and leered.
“I don’t like wearing suits. You might have to convince me.” Lucky gave Bo his evilest smile. He’d do anything his lover asked. Probably better not to tell Bo so.
