CHAPTER 3
Although they drove separately to work, Bo and Lucky met in the parking garage beneath the SNB offices and rode the elevator together.
The moment the doors closed, Lucky whirled, trapping Bo between his arms and leering up. “Wanna play executive and the maintenance man? I got a pipe wrench I want to show you.” He turned and clasped his hands in front of him. The picture of something he hoped passed for innocence.
“Lucky, what…?”
The doors slid open, and Lucky stepped off the elevator. Oh, yeah, Thoughts to get him through the day.
The hand smacking his ass made Lucky jump and he threw a glance over his shoulder. Now Bo looked innocent-ish, flashing a quick smirk and schooling his expression back into business normal.
“Hold that thought.” Lucky slung his backpack off his back, letting it hang down in front to conceal his rising erection. He strolled down the hall, trying to hide the spring in his step.
Nice job perk—sitting right down the hall from the man he’d like to bend over a desk and…
So not helping his stiffy. “Later dear,” he said once they’d gotten past the reception desk.
“Have a good one.” Bo winked and disappeared into the office he currently shared with Walter.
A few years ago, Bo would’ve had a few choice words for Lucky. Now? Lucky had definitely rubbed off on the guy.
Speaking of… He’d love to rub one off on the guy.
Lucky’s mood dropped a bit when he took in the Bo-less desk next to his. He could do worse than Johnson for a new cube mate, but he missed Bo, glancing over and catching sight of his lover.
He put his bag down on the desk and turned to face Johnson, who currently had two fingers and a string of dental floss in her mouth. She paused, held up a finger and went back to flossing.
Yeah, he missed Bo.
“There! Got it!” Johnson crowed.
Lucky really didn’t want to know. He pulled his laptop out of his bag and set up for the day.
“What you up to today?” Johnson rolled her chair over to Lucky’s side of the cube.
“No trainees, so I’m typing up final reports on Robinson and Salters.” He shrugged. “Reviewing old cases.” Freedom. He’d released Robinson and Salters from training, making them full agents. He won some, he lost some. These two stayed.
Future drug dealers would one day curse Robinson’s name. The woman possessed two speeds: full throttle and full stop. Don’t get in her way for the first. “What’s on your plate today?”
Johnson closed her laptop. “I’m taking Robinson for a warehouse audit. She might get bored with no asses to kick. That woman is entirely too much like you.”
“Me?” Well, yeah. Road Rage Robinson did share his charming interpersonal skills.
Johnson shoved her laptop into her computer bag. “I’ll be back around two.” Blowing him a kiss, she loaded up and wandered down the hallway. “Yo! Robinson! Let’s go!”
Lucky sipped from a cup of lukewarm coffee. Cold coffee. Blech. He swilled down the rest before it grew too cold to drink and lobbed the cup in the general direction of the trashcan. Later, if he got up the energy, he’d toss the other six cups sitting on his desk.
His DEA consultant role earned him two emails about cases they’d like his help with. Ha! For years he’d done the hard work, only to have them sweep in and take credit. Now, his name appeared on reports too. Ah, sweet karma.
He raised a coffee cup halfway to his lips and stopped. Fuck. He’d nearly drunk yesterday’s. Or the day before’s. The cup joined the other he’d tossed into the trash. Oh, what the hell. Sixty seconds later he’d gotten rid of the assorted cups, and resumed reading emails.
The cases involved suspected drug diversion by a transportation service. Lucky’s area of expertise.
He held the highest rating in the department for number of successfully closed cases, and had managed to keep Simon Harrison’s name off the SNB’s memorial page.
Barely.
He’d taken some risks. Risks he’d smack some rookie upside the head for. How had Walter not killed him during his first five years?
