Ho-ly fuck. One more minute! One more minute was all he’d need.
He searched the internet from his phone all the way home, and still didn’t get the name, though he had a pretty good idea.
O’Donoghue.
Chapter Eighteen
Lucky ripped his tie off before they’d made the main road. “What a clusterfuck.”
“You can say that again.” Bo took a hand off the steering wheel and massaged one temple.
“I knew that bastard was up to something, but I never imagined this.” Actually, he’d not given O’Donoghue enough credit to use his position in this way.
“So, if what we suspect is true, O’Donoghue arranged to hand them Chastain Pharmaceuticals at a discount price in exchange for a job that’ll pay him millions.” Bo might have mumbled “the bastard” under his breath. Lucky couldn’t be sure. “That explains why he got so upset about you investigating Forsyth.”
“How do we go about confronting him?”
Bo chewed his bottom lip, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “We don’t. Not yet. All we have so far is speculation and a receptionist who nearly named him. We’ll have to be careful about digging too deeply using work resources. They can be traced. If Forsyth has hired O’Donoghue, there’ll be background checks, drug tests, and so many other traceable paper trails. The Security and Exchange Commission would be all up in that too.”
“I could always beat the truth out of him.” Kicking O’Donoghue’s ass might prove to be the best therapy ever. Especially since Lucky still hadn’t, and wouldn’t, visit O’Donoghue’s hand-picked therapist.
“You know we can’t do that.” Funny how long it took for Bo to respond.
“Spoilsport.”
“I never said I didn’t want to,” Bo shot back. “I only said we couldn’t. Besides, kicking his ass would be too quick. We need to make the muthafucker suffer.”
Lucky did a double-take so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash. “Who are you and what have you done with my textbook-quoting, by-the-book partner?”
“He stopped being Mr. Nice Guy as soon as a stupid shitbrick took aim at my partner.”
It wasn’t in Bo to quit being nice altogether. Thank God! Or he’d have ripped Lucky a new asshole a few years back. “So, what’s your suggestion?”
“I don’t know, but we have a lot of highway and hours between here and Atlanta to figure things out.”
“We’ll get him.” Lucky had never been surer of anything in his life. Well, except for Bo.
“It’s not only him. He’s dragged others into this mess, others who should know better. And Forsyth’s circling the drain too.”
Yes, and with any luck, Bo and Lucky would be the ones to flush them down the toilet.
With two hours left to go, Lucky’s phone rang. He shot Bo a questioning look. Surely someone hadn’t figured out what they were up to. The screen displayed, “Walter Smith.” What? Lucky hit the button and held the phone to his ear. “Boss Man?” Dare he hope?
“Hello, Lucky,” came a soft, sweet voice.
“Oh, hi. How are you, Mrs. Smith? How’s Walter?”
“Nice job!” Bo snarked. “Manners and everything.”
Lucky shot Bo a go to hell glare.
“We’re fine. Actually”—Mrs. Smith dropped her voice— “could you possibly come by sometime this evening?”
“Sure thing.” He pulled his cellphone away from his ear to check the time. “Will ‘bout seven do it?” She didn’t sound panicked like Lisa had, but he had to ask, “Everything okay?”
“Right as rain. Bring Bo and the boys too. I’ll cook dinner.”
His stomach rumbled at the mention of food. Mrs. Smith made one mean pot roast. “You don’t have to do that. We’ll be getting back to town around seven and won’t have time to get the boys.”
