And why someone turned a blind fucking eye and blocked a warrant.
The women Johnson witnessed going to the school either lied or didn’t know anything. They said they were given packages to drop off at each facility. The school package went into an empty locker.
As much as he hated to, he’d have to turn up the heat on his own nephew, and possibly his pimply-faced, eighteen-year-old grocery checker informant—who still awaited his ride in a police car.
Road Rage and Salters hadn’t turned up anything yet.
But at least he’d gotten the magistrate’s name.
Here he sat at six p.m. on a Friday afternoon, most of the department having left to start their weekends. He wasn’t waiting for Bo to go home. No, not really.
“Johnson?” Lucky shoved her booted feet off his desk. Why was she still here?
“What?” She growled and righted herself.
“I need you to check out a magistrate for me, Judge Spence.” Lucky added, “You can break him if you want.”
She shifted her scowl to an exaggerated grin, laced her fingers, and cracked her knuckles. “Really? Count me in.”
Lucky handed her all the intel he had on the guy who’d blocked their search warrant. Johnson dragged herself up and pushed Bo’s chair back under the opposite desk. “Oh. I meant to tell you, I went to the hospital to sit in on an interview with our witness. Seems she’s been asking one hell of a lot of questions about Bo.”
Really? Someone please tell him she wasn’t developing a crush. Handsome guy comes to her rescue and ensures she gets the best care. Not to mention the hours spent at her bedside. Oh, yeah. A nineteen-year-old might definitely get wrong ideas. “Bo? Like what?”
“Oddly enough, she wanted to know if he was religious. He’s Catholic, right?”
Religion? What a weird question to ask, especially of someone the girl saw as a possible love interest. “His mother was. I don’t think he’s been to church or anything in years.” Though Bo mentioned something about Christmas mass. “What else did she want to know?”
“If he had kids, what kind of guy he was, that sort of thing. What his wife was like.” Johnson spoke off-handedly, but the gleam in her eyes showed her true interest. She cared about Lucky, she cared about Bo. Could she be implying that Bo’s helpful nature could be misinterpreted as “available”?
“Wife?”
Johnson shrugged. “He does wear a wedding band.”
Oh, right. Lucky ran his thumb over his own matching ring. “What did you tell her?”
“The truth. That the little woman is a foul-mouth, coffee- swilling asshole of a cocky bantam rooster.” She flashed him a grin.
“You didn’t.”
“No, I didn’t. I said he had a partner and left well enough alone.”
If she asked about religion, she might be a good Catholic girl who’d think less of Bo for being gay. Better she didn’t find out. He was all she had right now. “After the shit she’s been through, and how Bo’s been there for her, she’s probably crushing on him.”
Johnson shrugged. “Wouldn’t blame her. You’ve met him, right?” She bounced one eyebrow up and down. How the hell did she do that?
Great. The last thing they needed was a pregnant witness idolizing Bo.
Johnson stood and stretched. “I gotta get home and spend time with my boy. Monday, I got me a magistrate to harass. Fun times. Lunch at the Varsity?”
The Varsity. Burger, fries, sweet tea. Bo likely would be in meetings all day. “Sure. Noon?”
“You got it.” She gave Lucky’s shoulder a friendly swat—that nearly sent him crashing to the floor.
Johnson’s footsteps had barely faded down the hall when Bo charged into the cube. “Yolanda’s in labor. She’s asked for me. I might be late getting home.” He brushed a kiss across Lucky’s mouth, nearly missing, and ran down the hall. “Hold that elevator!”
Oh fuck. Eight months pregnant.
Early. The kid needed to stay put for another month. No telling what problems the baby faced without Mama getting proper care and being exposed to chemicals and malnutrition.
