Static came through Lucky’s earpiece, but he couldn’t make out words.
“That’s it. Just a little more,” Salters coaxed.
The smoke thinned. Lucky left wood for linoleum. A door slammed shut behind him. “There. I didn’t want to feed the fire with you in it.”
Lucky nearly collapsed. Salters grabbed his arms and yanked Lucky up.
Lucky screamed.
Salters threw opened the front door, to sirens and the crackle of radios.
Two men in firefighting gear came forward, one grabbing Lucky to keep him upright, the other slamming an oxygen mask over his face.
“He’s injured,” Salters said. “Left hand.”
More firefighters carried out three limp men, one in a sooty suit. Were they dead? Caught in their own damned trap.
He scanned the area for Bo, Walter, O’Donoghue. The world went dark around the edges. He pulled the mask away. “I told you to get the fuck out,” he tried to yell at Salters.
Did he really hear, “’Charlotte would have my ass if I’d left you behind” before he passed out?
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Beeping, whirring. Voices. Lucky hurt. His lungs felt raw, each breath agony.
Darkness.
Voices again. “There’s no reason for him to leave the bureau.” Walter?
“Would he still want to stay, under the circumstances?” O’Donoghue.
Circumstances? What circumstances?
“I have it on good authority that he’s tougher than a pine knot.” Huh, the familiar phrase sounded funny coming from Walter.
More quiet.
Crying. “Oh, God, Rich. I’m so sorry.” Charlotte?
Lips on his forehead. “You get better soon. Come home to me.” Bo.
Lucky tried to smile and reassure him, but he was too damned tired.
***
Lucky snapped his eyes open. What time was it? The sun was high. Was he late to work? He tried to turn and check the clock.
Holy fuck! Lucky stared at his bandaged hand. What the…?
Essence of hospital. Bed rails. What had he done to himself this time? He blinked to clear his vision and checked his hand again.
Oh, shit. The bandages didn’t look right. Flowers sat on a table to his left. On his right?
Bo lay back in a chair, mouth open, snoring, in a rumpled suit. That couldn’t be comfortable. Lucky’s hand hurt, but not unbearably so. He’d had worse.
Glowering at the bandage didn’t change its shape. A small object glinted in the sunshine from the flower-laden table.
His not-quite wedding band.
