No money was expected from this initial deal, merely a discussion of terms—if the rogue pharmacist hadn’t screwed them over.
If he had, may God have mercy on him because Lucky sure the hell wouldn’t. In his mind he pictured Yolanda, pregnant and scared, and little Alejandro cradled in Bo’s arms.
He’d never write a book or a hit song, but he sure as hell would dedicate what he did do to them.
And Bo. And Ty. All the kids caught up in this nightmare.
“Clear,” O’Donoghue said. “One car parked out back with illegal plates. Another that definitely doesn’t belong in this neighborhood parked down the street. We’re running the tags.”
Hopefully, whoever Lucky planned to meet was novice enough to have driven their own car.Sometimes powerful people thought themselves above the law and made stupid mistakes.
Okay, no obvious threats in sight.
“Let’s move,” Lucky said. He and Salters got out of the car.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Lucky took a deep breath, heart pounding, but not in fear. Anticipation. Fight or flight, tilted heavily to fight. Long weeks of work, now yielding results. The case files now included something of a family tree, displaying names rapidly weaving a web of connection between all the suspects.
A few connections remained to be made. Why had their warrant requests been rejected, and how close were they getting to the top of this shit pile?
Approaching the door, he recalled doing the same a few nights ago with Johnson and Bo. He’d rather have them at his back, but Salters wasn’t a total waste.
Still not good enough for Charlotte, but hey, who was?
Lucky switched his gun from back holster to jacket holster, even though the weather was much too warm for a jacket. Salters followed his example. Smart man. Both kept their hands ready to grab and aim.
Slowly, slowly, they advanced. Dim lights grew brighter as they progressed to the warehouse.
The empty warehouse.
“Well, damn, they’re not here,” Lucky said, more to O’Donoghue than Salters. They both stood still and quiet, waiting for any sound.
Red light. Slamming into Salters. Falling to the floor.
“Oof!” came from Salters a split second before a bullet tore a hole in the sheet rock where his head had just been.
Lucky rolled off Salters, grabbing his gun and keeping low, belly to the floor.
Silence. “We’re okay, but someone tried to take us out,” Lucky murmured. Keith might be a sorry sonofabitch, but he knew his shit.
“Get the hell out,” O’Donoghue growled into his earpiece.
“Negative. Pinned down.” Lucky slithered forward, peering around stacked boxes. Wood splintered by his hand. “Motherfuck!” Pain lanced through his fingers, shooting fire up his arm. He pulled back, cradling his injured fingers as best he could with his gun hand.
Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck.
“What’s going on, Harrison?” O’Donoghue asked, concern clear even with his hushed tones. No real reason to keep quiet now. Either someone found out who they were, or never planned to deal with Lucky at all.
The suspect who’d set them up better bend over and kiss his ass goodbye.
“One shooter near left rear loading door. Another one armed on a catwalk above him.”
Silence. “We’ve got a lock on the shooter,” O’Donoghue assured him.
Served the asshole right for standing so close to a window. Lucky waited for instructions. Even he wasn’t stupid enough to go loose cannon at a time like this.
O’Donoghue spoke again. “If they’re not moving, stay down. Team two moving in.”
