“Speaking of, I promised her I’d come right back.” Bo swiped his lips across Lucky’s. “Go home. Get some rest. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” Bo grabbed the bags. “Thank you again.”
Lucky waited three hours before giving up and going home. This could go so, so wrong. He had to be ready in case Bo needed him.
Bo didn’t come home all night.
Shortly after Lucky got to work, he received a text from Bo.“It’s a boy. He’s a fighter.”
A boy.
Lucky didn’t pray often. He prayed for Yolanda’s baby boy, and Yolanda.
A moment later, Bo texted,“She doesn’t want to keep him.”
Fuck. Poor little guy, coming into the world with no one eagerly awaiting his arrival, only to wind up in the system. Would some happy couple take him home, love him, spend the rest of his life making up for his crappy beginnings?
While he hated the circumstances, he understood. Barely more than a kid herself, Yolanda had no support system, no way to care for herself and her baby, and the kid served as a constant reminder of how she’d been used.
She wanted to go back to Mexico. Needed help to get on her feet, someone to look out for her, make sure she got a chance for a happy life.
A smiling face filled his mind, bringing with it the memory of salsa and enchiladas. Graciela now lived in the house Lucky had once been kidnapped and taken to. The one the Mangiardis kicked her and her children out of. A wonderful woman.
A man like Nestor wouldn’t praise her otherwise.
But Lucky had no way of contacting the woman who’d cooked meals for him, not without a little investigative work.
Would making a request for a poor soul in need of a new life mean Lucky owed someone a favor? Lord, he hoped not. He searched his phone for a number he’d always think twice about calling.
***
Cruz sat across the table from Lucky at a guilty pleasure restaurant Bo wouldn’t approve of. Seemed Cruz liked greasy burgers and fries too. For a moment guilt niggled at Lucky for bringing Cruz here when he and Johnson had made a lunch date for Monday, but once she learned the circumstances, she’d approve of him sharing “their” eating place.
The lanky agent took a healthy bite of burger, washing the morsel down with a mouthful of milkshake. Unlike Lucky, comfort food didn’t seem to be taking up permanent residence around the man’s middle. He moaned and swallowed. “Damn, this is good, but I know you didn’t invite me here for the joy of my company.” Cruz flashed an impossibly brilliant smile.
Three young women passed their table, glancing back over their shoulders and giggling. Cruz followed them with his eyes.
Yeah, yeah, so he could get anyone he wanted, big fucking deal.
Lucky could say the same, because the only one he wanted even now slept off a long night in their shared bed.
God, but Lucky hated asking this smartass for anything. For Yolanda, and for Bo, he’d swallow his pride. “Remember the pregnant woman you talked to when we investigated that apartment building?”
“Yolanda, I believe her name was,” Cruz stopped shoveling French fries into his mouth long enough to say.
“Yeah. She doesn’t want her baby, but wants to go back to Mexico. She won’t talk to the social workers helping the victims, and she’s scared as hell the bad men, as she calls them, will be back for her.”
Cruz sped up his chewing and forced a swallow. At least he didn’t talk with his mouth full. “It’s a legitimate concern. She makes them money. They consider her property. The others too.”
Damn, how Lucky hated asking Cruz for favors. “You’ve got some pull. Or rather, you know people who do. Can you find a safe place for her? She doesn’t want to go back to Mexico City, where she’s from.”
“No. Returning to her hometown wouldn’t be a good idea.”
“She’s going to need counseling too. A place to live. A job.” A life. Cruz owed the girl nothing. Hell, Lucky didn’t either. Surrounding himself with good people softened his heart.
He’d want someone to help Charlotte, after all.
Cruz shoved down a few more fries. “Let me make some calls.”
“Then you’ll help?”
