Even now his partner had his back, likely tossing aside an apron, grabbing a gun, and telling the boys he’d be back later.
No matter how much Lucky weaved through traffic, the BMW stayed with him. A professional then, not Rogers, who’d sooner hit Lucky head-on than manage to keep tailing him longer than twenty minutes.
Tires squealed. What the hell? A quick glance in the mirror showed a car gunning through the red light…
…broadsiding the BMW. A man jumped from the car, holding the cell phone he’d no doubt been texting from, and running toward the BMW.
A siren wailed as a patrol car spun a U-turn and headed back toward the wreck.
The BMW’s passenger door flew open and a man scrambled out. He shoved Cell Phone Guy out of the way and bolted.
An officer jumped from the squad car in pursuit while the other officer went to Cell Phone Guy.
Car horns behind Lucky shocked him into action.
Lucky circled the block and came back. The BMW sat empty in the middle of the road.
Whatever happened, Lucky breathed easier. He called Bo back. “Call off the dogs. I’m okay. I’ll be home soon.”
Bo let out a relieved-sounding breath. “You do that. And Lucky?”
“Yeah?”
“Be careful.”
“I always am.”
The BMW driver clearly hadn’t been one of O’Donoghue’s men.
Unease squirmed in his gut. He delayed going home long enough to get the plate number from the BMW. On second thought, he pulled into the parking lot of a deserted building and ran toward the car.
The officer turned from questioning Cell Phone Guy and held up a hand.
Lucky whipped out his badge. “Southeastern Narcotics Bureau.”
The cop nodded and returned to taking a statement. Crashing and running usually meant drugs.
The crumpled driver’s door wouldn’t budge. Lucky slid onto the leather passenger’s seat and searched. Nothing in the glovebox or console, nothing on the seats.
Clean. Too clean. Not even any dirt on the floor mat. He’d have to get a drug dog out here, see what the car hid.
A slip of paper stuck out from the visor. Lucky grabbed at the sheet and wound up with a whole lot of pages. Holy. Shit. Pictures of him. His schedule. Places he frequented, people he knew.
His home address.
He reached under the front seat and pulled out a gun.
Guts roiling, he called Bo.
***
“Look, Todd, I’m sorry I can’t take you myself, but you’re not safe here.” Lucky leaned in the window to Lisa’s car.
“It’s okay. I understand.” The hurt in Todd’s eyes said he didn’t.
“I’ll make it up to you later, I promise.” Lucky patted him on the shoulder, Bo gave him a hug, and Lisa pulled away from the house, her compact car full to bursting from Todd’s bags and all he’d need to start classes.
Bo put his arm around Lucky’s shoulders. “I’m sorry this had to happen, but you did the right thing.”
