Between these two men, Chastain’s blood stained their hands, whether they did the deed themselves or not. An innocent man, who’d created a new therapy that would’ve helped millions, killed because he had the audacity to say no. Now the people who needed it most wouldn’t see his breakthrough therapy anytime soon—if ever.
“Hey, Landry. You do know that this douchebag killed a man and framed you, right?” If Landry hadn’t pulled the trigger himself. Though, in his paranoid state of mind, Chastain wouldn’t have opened the door for just anyone.
He would if the guy held out an SNB badge, and said Lucky sent him. O’Donoghue knew his way around a camera system too, and spent enough time undercover to create a convincing story.
“As you Southerners are so fond of saying, ‘He needed killing.’ Besides, it sent you the intended message.” O’Donoghue smirked, way too relaxed for the circumstances. Teacher mode, New York cop mode, even “eating crow” mode—this man had many facets. This might be the closest to his true self he’d ever shown at the SNB offices. An evil, greedy, grasping schemer.
Someone blew up Lucky’s car. Arranged Charlotte’s kidnapping.
Man, talk about something sticking in his craw.
As they’d talked, Landry slowly lowered the gun, aiming at Lucky’s middle now instead of his head. A bullet to the torso might not end in death, but it would hurt like hell. Lucky sidled behind a chair, back high enough to reach his collar bones. Not much protection, but he’d take what he could get.
It’d be stupid to shoot him here.
Leather jacket, tactical vest. How much would they protect him?
Lucky bet he wanted to live one hell of a lot more than they wanted him to roll over and die. If he continued slipping backwards, soon he might be far enough away to stand a chance of survival.
“I’m going to shoot him,” Landry said.
“Go ahead,” O’Donoghue replied in bored tones. “I totally agree. We can clean the place in twenty minutes.” He held up gloved hands. “They won’t find my prints, and any other DNA evidence can be boiled down to our having been here in the past for legitimate reasons, and a less-than-efficient cleaning service. After all, many agents and others were with me for a meeting not too long ago in this very room.”
At least Landry and O’Donoghue were too occupied sucking each other’s dicks to pay much attention to Lucky. One more step towards the door; he inched his makeshift shield along with him.
But wait. Landry hadn’t worn gloves. O’Donoghue had. And Landry hadn’t officially been in these offices for a long time.
Lucky’s cellphone rang in his pocket. Landry brought the gun up to Lucky’s face again. “Don’t move, you bastard.”
Lucky held up his hands, palms out. “Wasn’t gonna.” Well, not much. His head spun. Landry said this was about getting even with O’Donoghue. Then again, his words weren’t worth much.Lower the gun again. Lower the gun.
Lucky’s phone stopped ringing and started up again.
Who could be calling? Bo? Walter?
The blood drained from his head, leaving him dizzy. He grasped the back of the chair for support. Charlotte? What if Charlotte called, needing a ride to the hospital? No, she had another two weeks to go, and she’d have said something earlier if she’d gone into labor. When Charlotte wasn’t happy, no one in the immediate vicinity got to be happy either. She’d also been through this twice, she would know when the kid made up its mind to be born. Wouldn’t she?
But Lucky hadn’t been home in a few days. Would Charlotte have told Bo?
The kid. His son or daughter.
The ringing stopped.
And immediately started again. “Maybe I should get that,” he said.
“I’ll blow your brains out, motherfucker.” Landry’s double-handed grip on the gun didn’t hide the slight tremor in his fingers.
Not as confident as he made out. Nice to know. He’d said he didn’t intend to kill Lucky, wanted Lucky’s help bringing down O’Donoghue. What if O’Donoghue forced his hand?
O’Donoghue leaned back against the window with his arms folded across his chest. He spared a bored glance for Landry, whose focus hadn’t left Lucky.
Nearly faster than the eye could follow, O’Donoghue snatched the gun from Landry’s hand and fired.
Lucky froze for one second. A sledgehammer whammed into his chest. He screamed, grabbing his chest and falling to the floor. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Oh, God, that hurt!Breathe in, breathe out.Ow!
Chair stuffing covered the carpet.
“What the hell did you do that for?” Landry shrieked.
