“I heard you had an altercation with Keith.” Walter sighed. “I’d so hoped the two of you would pull together.”
Oh man, the boss would never believe… “We have, sort of. He’s the one who gave me the info Bo went to get.”
Walter’s eyes went wide. “Really? Then my illness has accomplished what I’ve been trying to do for years. But something is on your mind. Bo and my wife probably warned you not to burden me, but I know you well enough to see something’s bothering you.”
“O’Donoghue grounded me to keep me from digging, but I’ve found evidence that Forsyth Pharmaceuticals is trying to take over Chastain’s outfit to claim a breakthrough diabetes drug.”
Boss went into all business mode, sitting up straighter in his chair. “What evidence do you have?”
“The other company trying to suck them up recently had a fire, knocking them out of the competition. Chastain turned down offers from Forsyth and wouldn’t sell. I think they arranged things so he’d have to.”
“What have you turned up on Forsyth?” Walter tapped his fingers against the chair arm, studying Lucky’s face.
He could stare at Lucky all night if he wanted to, as long as his eyes weren’t clouded over and he wasn’t in the hospital playing human pin cushion.
“They had a top management position open and filled it with a ‘former DEA agent.’” Lucky made air quotes. Now might not be the best time to mention going there himself and his conversation with the woman who’d almost said too much.
“You believe it’s Jameson.”
“Yes, and I know for a fact Phillip Eustace was the one who planted the evidence at Chastain. Owen Landry turned in the report to DEA. You didn’t assign them to check out Chastain, did you?”
“Why would I, with my best agents already performing a full audit?”
Exactly what Lucky thought.
Walter breathed heavily in and out and clenched his fist. “I trust your judgement, always have. You realize Forsyth’s reach is international, do you not?”
“International?” Oh, yeah. His researched turned up international ties.
“Yes. They may be headquartered in Alabama, our jurisdiction, but their reach is so very much farther.” Walter drew his brows together, lips pursed. “Don’t tell anyone at the Atlanta office that I’m recovering, and bring me all the proof you’ve collected.”
Lucky’s heart thudded. “You’re calling in the big dogs, aren’t you?”
“If I have to.”
They spent the next half hour with Lucky giving a play by play of the goings on at work.
Bo strode in with a backpack, parked Lucky’s laptop on Walter’s knees, and fired up the video.
As Keith had done, Lucky remained quiet, letting the boss draw his own conclusions. Lucky poked Bo and nodded toward Walter’s reddening face.
After two viewings Walter clicked off the screen. “I want everything you have by tomorrow morning.”
***
The boys were asleep by the time Bo and Lucky got home, and a dishwasher full of dishes showed the results of Bo’s dinner instructions.
Lucky dropped his suit jacket over the back of a kitchen chair. He patted his stomach, full of roast beef, potatoes, and macaroni pie. Maybe eating two servings of beef hid the fact that he’d avoided all vegetables.
He put the wrapped plates Mrs. Smith sent for Todd and Ty in the refrigerator.
Walter was back, maybe not completely, but his fifty percent beat most other people’s one hundred.
No one else needed to know. At least not yet.
Bo returned from the bedroom, sans jacket, stepped up and took both of Lucky’s hands. “It’s going to be okay.” He rubbed his fingers over Lucky’s, offering loads of reassurance in one small gesture. “It’s all going to be okay.”
“Yeah, but we have to keep our mouths shut for a while.” Which might kill Lucky. He’d love to go strutting into the office, crowing to anyone who’d listen that O’Donoghue was on his way down.
