Redemption (11 page)

Lucky took a sip of the cold coffee. Blech. Didn’t come close to Bo’s. “I’ve tried. He used to like cooking and cleaning. Hell, I even leave socks on the floor just to hear him bitch. But nothing. Not a word. He leaves dirty cups right where they are.”

“You’re confusing needing him and using him.” The bark returned to her voice.

What? “I do not use him!”

“But it’d be easy to do. He’s laid-back, not the type to argue much, and might take a whole lotta crap before he explodes.”

The old Bo, maybe, but the Cyrus Cooper hybrid model stood up for himself, or might if he could muster up a rat’s ass about anything.

Johnson kept her eyes on the road and her mouth running. “From what I’ve heard, he’s good at undercover work, which ought to make him feel useful. But Walter won’t risk him when he’s been under too long. You need to find another way. Does he have family around here?”

“An aunt and brother in Arkansas. But he doesn’t see them much. Too worried he’ll slip up around them, I suppose. He’s planning to visit for Thanksgiving, the first time he’ll see them since he started with the bureau.” Which made more sense now after finding out Bo had snapped and beaten a boyfriend. Christ, how badly had the man isolated himself for one simple moment beyond his control?

Bo repeated the process again and again, running when he most needed support. Like when he’d not allowed Lucky to visit in rehab. Now, stuck in Lucky’s duplex, he’d nowhere left to run… but to his mind. And it would take dynamite to blow down the doors.

“What should I do?” Right now Lucky would take all the help available and worry about his pride later.

“There has to be something or someone who needs him. Let me think about it.” She drained her coffee and tossed the cup over her shoulder into the back seat.

What would make Bo feel useful? And why didn’t he already? Lucky couldn’t survive without him…

But Lucky already had. He’d been to hell and back, served time, died, and had been reborn. In Bo’s eyes, maybe Lucky didn’t need him.

Time to do a bit of convincing.

***

Lucky packed up his laptop and joined the herd stampeding toward the elevator. He’d never been one to watch the clock and leave the moment five o’clock came until he’d found a reason to hurry home.

A crowd of giggling women gathered around the reception desk. They hushed when he approached. The receptionist snapped a notebook closed and hid the binder behind her back.

“What’s going on here?” What was the woman’s name again? Lisa something-or-other. Bo said she’d had a baby. Must be showing off pictures. Babies. Bo wanted kids of his own. Coming home with tales of a chubby little infant might lift his spirits.

The women said quick good nights and fled, leaving Lucky alone with a wide-eyed, tight-lipped blonde. The traitors. She needed more loyal friends.

“Let me see.” Did that sound as gruff to the woman as it did to Lucky? For Bo’s sake, he added, “Please.”

They stood at a stalemate. The woman sighed and placed the book on the reception desk. Stickers of puppies and kittens dotted the front. She flipped the cover open to a picture of, not a grinning, toothless kid, but a dog. “My husband and I volunteer at the local animal shelter.” She paused long enough to huff a strand of hair away from her mouth, but kept her head down. “Seventy dogs and cats are due to be put down if we can’t find someone to take them. I was hoping those ladies might help.”

The SNB didn’t allow soliciting on the job. As a supervisor, Lucky should remind her of that fact. But seventy cats and dogs? Lucky didn’t like people most days, but animals were okay. And they didn’t deserve to die ‘cause no one wanted ‘em. Hell, if not being wanted meant a death sentence, Lucky would’ve been dead long ago.

The woman lifted her head. “They need good homes and soon.”

The magic word: need. If puppies and kittens helped Bo feel necessary, load a couple dozen in the car.

The woman peered through her bangs. “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in adopting a dog or cat, would you?”

Cat Lucky might not like another tom hanging around, and Lucky’s schedule meant he wasn’t home much. Adopting a dog without asking Bo wasn’t the way to make him feel included.

“If you can’t adopt, can you at least foster?” The woman flipped pages. The book seemed a whole lot closer than before. Cat, dog, dog, cat.

“Foster? What’s that?”

“You don’t own the pet, you just keep it until someone comes along who wants to adopt. You’ll buy food, toys, bedding or whatever the fur baby needs, but all vet care is provided. That way it’s not in the shelter and gets a little more time to find a forever family.”

Fostering. Bringing home a puppy required way more time and attention than Lucky could manage. Fuck, his good intentions might go so wrong. “What do I have to do?”

The woman pulled her thinned lips back into a smile. “I’ll give you the address. All you have to do is go find a pet you’re willing to take, and the shelter will make the arrangements.”

***

Yips and yaps echoed off the walls. On all sides of the room cages held wriggling, furry bodies, from itty bitty pocket pups to mid-size. Here and there folks milled around, excited kids exclaiming, “I want this one!”

There were far more dogs than people.

“What’s out there?” He nodded toward a door emitting a lot of gruff barking.

The attendant replied, “Big dogs. Didn’t you say you lived in an apartment?”

“Duplex.”

“Those might be too big.”

“I’m about to move into a house. With a huge back yard.” Without waiting for his escort, he opened the door and stepped out between more cages. Bird dog, setter, lab mix, all wagging their tails and coming up to the door of their cages. “
Pick me! Pick me!
” they seemed to say. How could Lucky choose?

He’d grown up with dogs, working dogs mostly, to keep watch over the family’s goat herd. Big, shaggy animals, sweet to the family, protective around strangers, deadly to predators.

Lucky stared at a critter straight out of his memories—a knee high bundle of white fur. He reached through the chain link fence to scratch beneath a tattered blue collar.

“That’s Moose, poor baby,” the attendant said.

“Why poor baby?” The beast looked perfectly healthy to him. And “Moose” fit the behemoth he’d grow into one day.

“He’s a Great Pyrenees. A family bought him as a present for a child, then turned him in here when he wasn’t so little and cute anymore.”

Not little and cute? Morons. Lucky plopped his ass down on the concrete to give the pup’s ear more attention.

“He was adopted, but brought back when the new owner said she couldn’t afford to feed him.”

Yeah, the darned things ate a lot. “How old is he?”

“Six months. And rambunctious. They’re calm animals, but like a walk to release pent-up energy. That’s why I don’t recommend him for an apartment.”

“Duplex.”

Walking a dog would get Bo off the couch. The beast leaned into Lucky’s hand, rolling a pair of big brown eyes up like he’d gone to puppy Heaven.

Oh hell. The shaggy pup made an excellent salesman. “What paperwork do I need to fill out to foster?”

“I can get that. But if you’re renting, we’ll need a statement from your landlord saying pets are okay.”

Without a doubt Mrs. Griggs of the twenty foster cats would sign. “No problem.”

“And you understand that he’s sixty pounds already, and will end up around one-twenty?”

Lucky snorted. “We called those runts back home.” But if the little guy hadn’t gotten a good start in life, he might wind up a lightweight. Daddy’s dogs often weighed in at one-forty or one-fifty.

“
I’ve got something to show you, son.
”

Lucky followed his dad out to the barn where Snowball lay on a bed of hay in an unused stall. The closer Lucky got the louder the whining grew. Four tiny bodies wriggled on the floor beside the dog. Dad smiled when Lucky crouched for a better look.

Lucky got up and brushed himself off. Bands constricted around his heart when the puppy whimpered.
The poor guy needed a home. Didn’t everyone need a home? And why did it seem he was thinking about home every spare moment he got? Hadn’t he spent the better part of the last decade erasing his past? With a last pat to the head he said, “Don’t worry, little fella. I’ll be back.”

Twenty minutes, a phone call to Mrs. Griggs, and several pages of paperwork later, the attendant smiled and handed Lucky a leash.

He might be only half-grown, but Moose took up all the passenger seat in Lucky’s Camaro.

A dog. Lucky’d gotten Bo a dog.

This could go so wrong.

***

Lucky hauled a bag a dog food and way too many squeaky toys into the house. Bo lay stretched out on the couch, watching TV, and didn’t even say hello.

Like ripping off a Band-Aid, better to get this over quick. Arms wrapped around the dog’s back, Lucky hoisted him up out of the car. Moose’s hind paws touched the sidewalk. He manhandled the dog up the steps and into the house.

Bo glanced up. “What the hell?”

“Bo, I’d like you to meet Moose. Moose, meet Bo. Moose is gonna be staying with us for a while. Now, he needs a walk while I put some grub on the table.” Lucky dashed back out to the car to retrieve the bag from his favorite sandwich shop—the bag he’d had to fight the dog over for the last six miles.

Bo stared at the bag when Lucky came back into the house. Did he even realize he’d taken the leash? “Subs again? Sheesh. Is this your way of telling me to get up off my ass and fix supper?”

“Not really. Until I met you, I ate subs at least four nights a week.”

Bo scowled and raised a brow. “That explains a lot.” He poked Lucky’s middle.

“Hey! At least it’s not a burger and fries.”

“There is that.” Bo toed on a pair of loafers at the door and slipped into his jacket. “Lucky?”

“Yeah?”

“You have no intention of letting me give up on life, do you?”

Not as long as there’s breath in my body.
“None whatsoever.” Bo giving up meant Lucky losing his reason for living. He’d face a hundred Stephans to keep that from happening.

Bo grabbed Lucky in a quick one-armed hug. “Thank you.”

Moose pranced to the door, whining. The moment Bo opened the door, the massive puppy shot out onto the porch.

“We’ll be back in a… aaaaah!” Bo hopped down the steps, tugging the leash with both hands. “Damn it, Moose! Stop!”

“Damn it” seemed to be Bo’s pet name of choice. There was hope yet.

***

“Don’t give me those wounded eyes. Nowhere does it say I gotta ask you before I make decisions.”

Baleful green orbs stared back at Lucky.

“It’s not like you own the place. It’s my name on the lease. That makes me top dog.”

Was that a growl?

“It’s for a little while, until they can find him a home. Besides, he can stay in the yard while I’m at work. It’s not like you’re home much either.”

“
Oh please!
” radiated off his accuser.

“We’re roommates. We got another one. Besides, he got Bo off the couch so you could sprawl out, right?”

Cat Lucky yawned, lifted his tail, and sashayed toward the kitchen.

“You’re gonna have to get used to the dog, your highness.” Lucky sighed and followed the cat into the kitchen to open a bribe of canned tuna.

***

Snores and snuffles filled the bedroom. Last Lucky saw, Cat Lucky lay curled up at the foot of the bed, hissing at the dog who’d dared try to play with him. A Shamu the Killer Whale-sized shape rolled between Bo and Lucky, letting out a toot.

The air grew unbreathable.

Bo sat up. “Oh, dear God. What crawled up that beast and died?”

Lucky ignored the question, mostly to continue holding his breath.

“Lucky?”

No such luck. “Yeah?”

“We’re gonna need a bigger bed.” Bo flopped back down on the mattress. “And gas masks.”

Well, if neither of them got to sleep, the nightmares couldn’t come, right?

Chapter Nine

“Good morning, Mrs. Griggs.” Lucky grasped the leash with both hands and didn’t dare try to wave. Damn, freight trains had nothing on Moose for pulling power.

“Nice looking dog you got there,” his landlady replied.

“Dogs. I think it might be two under all the hair.” Lucky took off down the sidewalk. At least he’d get a morning run.

Bo was up and breaking eggs for omelets when he returned. Now there was a step in the right direction.

Lucky’s cell phone rang. He wrestled the dog to a stop and yanked the device out of his pocket. Only a few people dared call him at this hour on a weekend, his boss being the most likely.

“Harrison.”

“Mr. Lucklighter.”

Lucky’s blood ran cold. How did Nestor Sauceda get his personal cell phone number? He eyeballed his partner, who was busy trying to coax Moose out of the kitchen. Lucky stepped out on the front porch. “Yeah?”

Chuckles reverberated into his ear. “It seems I have something you want.”

A way to make all drug dealers reform? Lucky had Bo. He’d soon have a house. Nothing else mattered. “I didn’t leave anything south of border I wanted back.”

“Oh, but you did, Mr. Lucklighter. I have no quarrel with you… yet. However, as a favor to an old friend, I’ll make you a deal.”

The hairs on the back of Lucky’s neck rose and the sandwich he’d eaten the night before grew teeth and gnawed his insides. “What kind of deal?”

“Next Thursday, I’ll leave a little gift inside the tunnel you reopened. Call it an early Christmas present. If he leaves on the US side, he’s yours. If he returns to Mexico, my men will be waiting.”

Lucky’s heart mule-kicked his ribs. “He” had to be Stephan Fucking Mangiardi. “Waiting for what?”

“To handle a traitor.”

Stephan Mangiardi. All Lucky’s. Lucky clenched his jaw. Visions flashed before his eyes, visions requiring years of counseling if his doctor found out. “What if he never comes out of the tunnel?”

“Then I’ll swear he went with you, and you’ll swear he went with me. Men disappear in Mexico all the time. But what a shame he won’t be around to attend his own father’s memorial service.”