CHAPTER 24
One more minute in this conference room and Lucky would scream and run. Under the watchful eye of some SNB brass, he sat in the mangled chair that helped save his life, and gave his statement, again. He eyed the door while fending off paramedics with some well-aimed evil eye. “Look, can I do this later?” No more messages came in on his cell phone, and the texts he sent Ty went unanswered. He bounced his leg. How long did they plan to keep him?
“Someplace you gotta be?” one of the SNB legal staff asked, sipping on a cup of coffee that had to have gone cold ten minutes ago.
The hovering paramedics gave up and wandered off. What did it say about Lucky that he could self-diagnose based on past work-related injuries? The bruising over his sternum told its own story. Bruised but nothing broken. Dr. Lucky prescribed no intense hugging, and Bo topping for a few days.
His aches paled in comparison with what Charlotte went through, if her and their mother’s horror stories of labor and delivery proved even halfway true.
“My sister’s having a baby. I need to get to the hospital.” There was no doubt at all of O’Donoghue’s guilt. A recorded confession even. What did they need with Lucky? He drummed his fingers on the tabletop.
A cutting glare from the interviewer made him stop.
Momentarily.
“If Charlotte Lucklighter is in labor, I suggest you let her brother go,” Walter drawled. “Remember, you asked for her resume after reading the attempted kidnapping report. Can you imagine her reaction if she knew you kept her brother away when she needed him?"
The man held his hands up in mock horror. “Oh, then, by all means, go. We got what we need. If we have more questions, we’ll call later.” He gave Lucky a tired smile. “We know where you live.”
“You and everybody else, buddy.” The reason Lucky shelled out a lot of money for a state-of-the-art monitored security system. Would Moose object to sharing his humans with a couple of trained attack dogs?
Cat Lucky sure would.
Of course, in this case “we” also knew where he worked. Probably what he had for breakfast and the last time he’d had sex.
The interviewer didn’t mention knowing there was more to his sister having a baby than met the eye. Feeling Bo’s imaginary elbow in his side, he said, “Thanks, man.”
As though his thoughts cast a summons, Bo charged into the conference room. He immediately sought out Lucky, running an appraising gaze up and down his body. Seeing for himself that Lucky was okay, he turned his mind to business, chatting with the Atlanta PD officers milling about the room.
Lucky stood still. Watching. Bo. Here. Now.
Then who the hell was with Charlotte? Surely, they’d found Rett.
At last Walter gave Bo a tired smile and swatted him on the arm. “Go. We can handle this.”
Bo gave him a grateful smile, nodded to Lucky, and turned on his heel.
Lucky waited a full ten seconds before taking a deep breath and heaving himself out of the chair. Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow. “Bo, I don’t know if you’ve heard or not, but Charlotte’s in labor.”
“What?” Bo fished his phone out of his pocket, face losing color with each passing second. “We gotta go! Rett took me to get my truck, and one of Cruz’s guys brought your car.”
Lucky would rather ride with Bo, but yeah, they’d need both vehicles at home. “By the way, Bo. How the hell did you bypass the locked doors?”
“Ummm… Let’s just say I tested the integrity of the system and found a weakness. Now, c’mon. Let’s go.”
“Good luck,” Keith said, raising his coffee cup in toast.
Of course, the fuckwad knew.
Lucky checked his phone again. Another message from Ty.“Ma says get ur ass to hospital.”
Bo’s SUV sailed right through, but every traffic light in Atlanta caught Lucky’s rental car. After dark—when the hell had that happened? —on a Saturday meant everybody and their brother loaded into cars and headed somewhere.
Must be a concert or a ballgame or something letting out.
At long last he made it to the hospital, pulling his vehicle next to Bo’s empty one. Well, yeah. Bo likely arrived ten minutes ago and got tired of waiting.
Lucky raced across the parking lot. No time! No time! He dodged a family, jumped something—who knew what—and sprinted for the hospital’s front door. Bad ankle be damned, and clutching his chest sorta made his injuries hurt less.
