Hold still. Play dead. Don’t let them know you’re still breathing.Lucky’s only chance. But damn, hard to stay still when he wanted to writhe and moan.
That would definitely leave a mark. Wait a minute. Didn’t Elsa give him… Keeping one hand pressed against his chest, he fished one of Elsa’s capsules out of his pocket and squeezed, rubbing his hand around the hole in his jacket. Fake blood ooze through his fingers.
“You muthafucker!”
Lucky used Landry’s yelling to mask any sounds and slithered under the table between two rolling chairs.
As discreetly as possible, he probed the aching part of his chest. No punctured lung. No bullet beyond the armor, but damn it! Sonofabitch shot a hole through his leather jacket. Bo gave him that jacket. Hurt like a mule kick, but the vest did its job.
Lucky eased over enough to see the action from under the table. Ha! His Sig lay on the floor. Must’ve gotten knocked off when he fell. Not close enough to grab, but out of convenient reach of O’Donoghue and Landry.
“I didn’t. You did.” O’Donoghue held the gun in gloved hands. Smug bastard. No wonder he’d used Landry’s gun and not Lucky’s. “Just like you killed Chastain.” He grinned. “Because you’ll take the blame for that too. And kidnapping that crazy bastard’s sister, and destroying his car. You see, your hatred of Lucky Lucklighter drove you insane with the need for revenge. It’s well-known, and you can’t deny it.”
Lucky Lucklighter. There was a name Lucky hadn’t heard in years.
“You… you bastard! Why did you have to frame me?”
“Because, you little maggot,” O’Donoghue snarled. “you wouldn’t go away, and neither would he. This way I can get rid of two of my problems at the same time. He’s like those ugly-assed palmetto bugs. Step on one and they just scuttle off the moment you move your foot.”
A palmetto bug? The nerve!
“What? Why? I did everything you told me to.” Landry’s voice took on the high pitch of a doomed man. Pounding sounded somewhere in the building. Could someone from the gym have wandered down here? God, he hoped not.
“Because you tried to blackmail me, you little shit.” O’Donoghue barked out a bitter laugh. He poured pure hatred into his ugly sneer. “A better job than you deserved still couldn’t shut you up.”
“Blackmail you how? I earned that job. Or, I would have if I’d gotten the drug. But that’s all I’m guilty of.”
“You knew too much, but didn’t have the common sense to keep your mouth shut to the others. Anyway, who’s going to believe you? I’m an SNB director.” O’Donoghue’s phone buzzed. He pulled it out of his pocket and glanced at the screen, then back up at Landry. “What the hell did you do?”
“What? What do you think I did?”
“That truck was supposed to sail right on through here and be close to North Carolina by now. It’s been impounded. Do you realize the trouble you just made for me?” For the first time, O’Donoghue looked shaken, flicking his glance out the window and back. “These men don’t play. If I can’t deliver safe passage for their cargo, I’m dead, and so are others.”
“What are you talking about, Jameson?” The confusion on Landry’s face said he wasn’t lying. He wasn’t a good enough actor to pull that off.
O’Donoghue stepped forward, Landry stepped back. Lucky eased his hand down and unclipped his ankle holster. “You know, if I shot you now, I’d be a hero. You shot an agent, and an innocent business owner.”
“I did not! I never intended…”
O’Donoghue stopped in his tracks. “Didn’t intend what?”
Landry yanked a chair from under the table, shoving the upholstered battering ram into O’Donoghue.
“Ahh!” O’Donoghue fell backwards, landing on his ass. A shot sounded, bullet digging into wood above Lucky’s head. Oh shit. Time to move!
Lucky crab-crawled toward the head of the table. God, any movement hurt.
O’Donoghue’s elbow connected with Landry’s nose. Blood spurted. Landry grabbed him, locking them together in a fight for the gun.
A hard shove from O’Donoghue slammed Landry’s back against the wall. The .38 clattered to the floor. They both dropped and scrambled for the gun.
Landry brought his forehead down against O’Donoghue’s. Crack! That had to hurt!
Not enough to stop O’Donoghue.
They rolled, kicking and clawing, two pairs of hands fighting for the gun. Landry grabbed the barrel and screamed, yanking back his burned hand.
Lucky had to get the gun. Landry got there first, clutching the handle in a vise grip, fighting O’Donoghue’s attempts to wrest control. The gun fired wildly. A window shattered.
