Redemption (29 page)

“I have a letter here from the head of the International Drug Trafficking Task Force.”

Whose corn flakes had Lucky pissed in this time? “Let me guess, they’re ripping you a new one for hiring an ex-con.”

“No.” Walter’s smile lifted his heavy jowls. “In fact, many of their agents are former traffickers and felons. Their philosophy is ‘you can’t fight the war on drugs if you’ve never seen the enemy.’ They’ve seen the enemy, in their own mirrors. Where do you think I got the idea to approach Victor Mangiardi?”

“And they’re all reformed felons who did their time like I did?” After the way the higher ups had bitched about Lucky’s hiring? “Why haven’t I heard of them?”

“Their greatest strength lies in being unknown. And many of them are still paying their debts to society, the same way you did, on the right side of the law. That’s not something the government wants to make public knowledge.” Walter toyed with a folder on his desk. “You’ve seen their work, usually credited to some small local organization that didn’t stand a chance without their help. They operate in shadows, and until recently, you haven’t had any reason to cross their path.”

An operation like that had to cost a lot of money. “Where do they get their backing?”

“From the Department of Justice’s asset forfeiture fund, for one, and similar accounts set up by other countries. I wish our department had a fraction of their budget.”

Yeah, yeah, but boss man hadn’t brought Lucky in here for no reason, and he’d better spit out his point. “What do they want?”

“They’ve submitted a formal commendation for two of my agents who performed extraordinarily in the line of duty. I quote, ‘When many in their situation would have yielded to temptation, agents Simon Harrison and William Schollenberger stood strong and followed their case through to its end, despite real and critical danger, putting themselves in harm’s way to protect civilians.’”

Lucky’s hackles rose. “How do they know?”

“Their case coincided with yours, and they had cause to interact with you and Bo.”

“Cruz.” And whoever had Bo shaking in his shoes and had gotten him off the hook.

The twinkle left Walter’s eye. “The risks we endure in the Southeastern Narcotics Bureau are but a drop in the bucket of what their agents face. They wouldn’t answer yes or no to that question, but if your instincts tell you Cruz is one of theirs, I’d trust your gut over a document any day.” Walter brandished the letter. “However, it wasn’t the man you call Cruz who testified on Bo’s behalf.”

“And you’re not gonna name names, are you?”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

“What else did they say?” Sooner or later, Lucky needed to come clean about the chloral hydrate he’d taken while in Mexico. Not today.

Walter pursed his lips. Uh-oh. Trouble coming. “They’re offering you a position.”

A position? “What? Me? Why me?”

“They feel you have what it takes to go deep undercover, adapt to your surroundings, and never lose sight of your goals.”

Damn. For years Lucky had crowed about being the best, and now, when he doubted his abilities, someone else agreed with him. Figured, though this would shut up anyone who’d ever taunted him about not being good enough, not being a part of the team.

The big boys wanted him. He’d find out who saved Bo. But at what cost?

Paper crinkled in Walter hand. “They’re offering a larger salary than we’d ever be able to afford.”

Well, damn. No worrying about mortgage payments. But… “How often would I be away?”

“Their standard policy is to keep undercover ops in position no more than two years, though there are exceptions. It’s not a job for a family man.” Walter fixed Lucky with a squirm-inducing stare. “They called you a man of convictions, who couldn’t be bought, and who’s loyal to a fault.” Walter set the papers on the desk. “I could have told them that. They also said that no matter how tempting the offer to return to a life of crime, you refused.”

“I refused? What offer?” Oh dear God. All this time he’d had his eye on Cruz and overlooked the obvious.

Nestor. He’d offered Lucky Victor’s empire and Lucky said no. But “family man”? Was that what Lucky was? Or wanted to be?

“What about Bo?” He wasn’t leaving his partner.

“The offer is for you.” Walter exhaled and ran a hand over the side of his face. “There’s no telling at this point if Bo will be fit for undercover work again.”

Working with the task force would sure be a smack in the face to jerk-offs like Keith, who’d always put Lucky down. And the war on drugs needed soldiers, no matter where they came from. But signing up also meant time away from Bo—a lot of time.

Just when he’d started planning a day in the office, followed by dinner at home, the whole nine-to-five routine he’d once feared, now someone wanted to take the dream away. Back in his younger days he’d call a routine job a sentence. Now he wanted that life with all his heart. With Bo.

“Tell them that’s a sweet offer, but no.”

“I understand.” The twitch at the corner of Walter’s mouth might have been him fighting a smile. Lucky hoped so. The old codger had grown on him.

“Can I ask a favor?”

Walter raised one brow. How did he and Bo do that?

“Never tell Bo they asked for me and not him.”

“I understand.” All traces of smile left Walter’s face. “There’s one page of this letter I haven’t yet shared.”

“What’s that?”

“The one where I’ve been formally asked to drop my inquiry into the death of Victor Mangiardi.” Walter locked eyes with Lucky.

Fuck.

“What about Nestor?” No matter what side of the law he’d been on, Nestor had looked out for Lucky, and Lucky kinda liked the guy.

“The only information I’ve gathered is that Nestor Sauceda-Vasquez is no longer in Mexico. He’s turned his entire organization over to his second in command.”

“His drug empire is being run by a drug task force?” Oh, God. That was too funny.

“You know the man. I do not. What do you think?”

Holy shit. Lucky dropped back in the chair, mind spinning. Puzzle pieces fell into place. Victor had made a deal with the international outfit, and he didn’t hand them Nestor—because Nestor was already theirs.

For how many years? How many times when he’d sat down to dinner with Lucky and Victor had they supplied him with information to be used against them?

Nestor, working for the good guys all along. He and Victor shared history. Victor talked of retiring. Without a doubt Nestor helped influence the decision. He’d convinced Vincent to go legit.

Then Stephan got antsy and blew the whole plan to Kingdom Come, got his uncle arrested, arranged a failed hit.

Maybe Victor lived, made a deal with Walter for Lucky’s sake, then hightailed it off somewhere with Nestor. Stephan wound up in charge in Mexico. Mama always said the best way to get even was to give someone enough rope to hang themselves. Which Stephan had.

And a drug task force controlled one of the largest trafficking operations in Mexico. They could bring down the entire infrastructure coming up from South American from the inside, had probably been behind many of the major takedowns Lucky’d read about over the years.

Damn. His head swam with possibilities—almost enough to tempt him into accepting their offer. “Remember at Thanksgiving when Nestor wanted to chat?”

“Yes.” Walter’s scowl said Lucky wouldn’t soon be forgiven for pulling a fast one and sneaking off to Mexico after Stephan’s arrest. “I believe he offered you Victor Mangiardi’s estate and you didn’t accept.”

“They used this whole fucking case as a job interview.”

Walter’s blank face told Lucky nothing.

Nestor, a drug task force big wheel. Would wonders never cease?

“Care to share what just made your brain explode?” Walter folded his hands on the desk in front of him, the picture of calm curiosity.

Like Nestor, Walter knew things. While he might not have figured out exactly what happened to Victor to break their deal, by now, with the letter, he’d put two and two together. Fuck, the voice on the phone. The one to clear Bo. It couldn’t be.

“Victor is alive and working for the good guys, isn’t he?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny, but I don’t think I’d be warned off my polite questions if a search of a coroner’s records would easily answer them.”

Polite questions, Lucky’s ass. More than likely Walter had waltzed in as unstoppable as an avalanche. Few people told the man no. He knew. He wasn’t telling. For now his word must do.

Victor had his life and his revenge. His estate fell into the hands of his family, as he’d intended, and the government had no rights to it. Sure they’d take Stephan’s drug proceeds, but not what he didn’t own. And no telling how much money Victor stashed in foreign banks before his arrest. He’d been given a life sentence. And he was serving it, as Lucky had, for the good guys. If he wasn’t free, he at least had the illusion of freedom.

The only thing he didn’t have was Lucky. And if he wanted Lucky, Lucky wouldn’t be sitting in Walter’s office.

“And that’s that. The case is over.” Walter’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

No relief settled in.

The case would never be over.

***

“What did Walter want?” Bo looked up from his side of their shared cubicle when Lucky approached.

They’d promised never to lie to each other, yet this Lucky couldn’t share. “He had an attaboy for me. I convinced him not to pin it to my bare chest.”

“Oh.” Bo returned to whatever held his attention on his laptop.

Lucky let out a slow breath.

Chapter Twenty

Lucky stood on the back deck, breathing in the crisp air. Someone once told him that whatever you did on New Year’s Day predicted how you’d spend your year. Lucky’d spent his scrubbing crayon off walls to make at least part of the house presentable enough for guests.

Guests meant Bo stayed inside, away from any fireworks that might set him off—advice from Dr. Libby. She hadn’t steered Lucky wrong yet.

The door behind Lucky opened and closed. Johnson said, “Figured I’d find you out here. Mind if I join you?”

Did Lucky mind? Not really. “Is there any way to stop you?”

Roman candles shot into the sky from the next street. Lucky glanced over his shoulder. Bo stood in front of the fireplace, showing Walter’s wife paint samples. Safe.

Johnson chuckled. “I reckon not, but I’m not a total asshole. If you really wanted to be alone, I’d let you. But I’d make you tell me why.”

Lucky shrugged but didn’t turn. Loretta Johnson’s name had crept onto the list of people he’d show his back to. “Not that I don’t like those folks in there, but I’m not a mingle and party kind of guy.”

“No, you have Bo for that.”

“And why are you out here?”

“Same reason as you, I guess.”

“Where’s Phillip?”

Johnson’s high-heeled shoes clip-clopped across the deck. She placed her elbow on the railing, drink in hand. “He’s with his parents tonight at some country club shindig, I’d imagine.”

“And he didn’t ask you to go?” Once upon a time Lucky had felt like a dirty little secret. Didn’t do much good for one’s ego.

She laughed without humor. “Can you imagine the looks on their faces when a tattooed black woman from the streets of Houston showed up at their hoity-toity
affair
?”

“You told me how you got together, but how did you two ever become a couple in the first place, if you don’t mind my asking?” Normally Lucky didn’t give a rat’s ass about other people’s drama. But he’d spent enough holidays alone to not like the feeling.

“Oh, you know how it is. I thought, ‘He’ll help me pass the time, keep me occupied until I get settled.’ I never expected to develop feelings for a privileged little rich boy like him.” She turned her head enough to give Lucky a weak smile. “Nor did I expect him to admire my struggles, not think less of me because of where I grew up.” The ice in her glass clinked when she lifted it to her lips and downed the contents. “It can’t go nowhere, but I’m not big enough to do the right thing and let him go.”

“Why do you have to let him go?” Lucky would never let Bo go. Not now when they’d come so far.

“His folks have big plans for him that don’t involve a woman who wears a badge and might go to work one day and not come home.”

Yeah, Bo and Lucky both faced the same hard facts. But he’d rather live with the worry than without Bo. Did that make him selfish? “Life is short. You take what it gives you and make the best of it.”

“My, my, my. The great Lucky getting all philosophical. I never thought I’d see the day.” Johnson’s laugher rang of truth this time.

“Hey! Even a blind squirrel gets an acorn every now and then, Johnson.”

“That it does, that it does. And it’s Rett. Only non-friends call me Johnson. Now, c’mon in and say goodbye to all the nice people. Sounds like they’re getting ready to leave.” She turned fully, staring at Lucky face to face. “You can deny it all you want, but you’re good people.” A quick lunge brought her down to his level. She planted a kiss on his cheek. “Happy New Year, Lucky. I hope it rocks.”

Lucky brought his hand up to cover the spot she’d kissed. “Same to you, Rett. Same to you.” She disappeared back inside the house. His and Bo’s house, with the half-finished tile floors, and mile-long list of projects.

He breathed deeply again and stared up at the sky. Home. After many years of roaming, he was finally home.

Walter Smith was helping his wife into her coat when Lucky reentered the house. “Oh, there you are, Lucky. We were just coming to say good night.”

“Well, I’m here now.” At a nudge from Bo, he added, “Thanks for coming, and thanks for the gift. You didn’t have to.”

“Now, Lucky. You and Bo will have to come to dinner with me and Walt sometime.” Mrs. Smith wrapped Lucky in a floral-scented embrace. “You have a lovely home. Happy New Year.”

Bo escorted the Smiths, Lisa and her husband, and Mrs. Griggs to the front door. She’d even worn a nice dress for the occasion though her coat resembled a bath robe. Lucky remained with John—Rett. She grabbed his arm. “You scratched your way up from the bottom. Don’t blow it.”