EPILOGUE
No trial. No public listing of all O’Donoghue’s sins. He got off too easy. Even a week later the injustice stuck in Lucky’s craw. Yeah, maybe he was a cocky bantam rooster after all.
Too bad the asshole had to go and complicate a lot of lives in his passing. Now, a new case opened to find his killer.
Lucky slipped out of Walter’s office for maybe the last time. From now on, the place Lucky went to get advice from his mentor would be Bo’s office.
Lucky would mentor others in the future. The circle of life or some such. Blinking hard didn’t clear his vision. Cake, kind words, coworkers telling favorite boss stories. All too much for him. Too public. Too pretentious. He’d say his goodbyes to his former boss privately.
While keeping Walter as family.
Bo slid into Lucky’s cube. “I just got word. Southwestern is in an uproar. Diaz got out on bond and was hit by a car this morning. He’s in critical condition and isn’t expected to live. Garrison hasn’t been seen or heard from in two days.”
He would likely never be seen again.
They’d played with the big boys and lost.
A lot of people lost. Landry. Eustace. Rogers. Chastain. All for greed. Hunger for power.
“But it’s not our case.” Lucky didn’t mind turning this nightmare over to someone else.
“No, it’s not ours. But that’s not all I came to tell you.” Bo slid into the chair he’d once occupied across from Lucky in the cube. “We’re moving you out of here into an office.”
“An office?” With a door to shut everyone out?
“Yes. Starting next week, you’ll be reporting to the new Director of Undercover Operations on the seventh floor. She loves the idea about hiring a cosmetologist. We’ve arranged for Vivienne to work with you to get the program off the ground. Congratulations. It’s a promotion.”
“Seventh floor? Wow! Who said I’d never come up in the world? But what about training?” Not that Lucky would pass up a promotion to train a bunch of rookies. Victor loaning them Vivienne was likely one more way of trying to lure Lucky away from the SNB, showing him the resources he’d have at his disposal with an international organization.
Not happening.
“Loretta and Jimmy.” He nodded, indicating the cube. “This will be their new home. Congratulations. Now, no one can say anything about fraternization.” Bo let out a sigh, running his fingers down the shoots of the Christmas cactus sitting on the file cabinet. “You’ve come a long way, haven’t you? From the grumpy sonofabitch with a chip on his shoulder to a man with an office.”
“And you went from the edumacated college boy with buffed nails and highlighted hair, to the chief cook and bottle washer.”
Bo let out a laugh. “Aren’t we a pair?”
“That we are.”
Bo leaned back in the chair, stretching his long legs out in front of him and rubbing his foot against Lucky’s. “Back then, did you ever think you’d still be with the SNB when you hit forty?”
“Hell, I tried to leave back then.” Actually, Lucky wouldn’t have bet on still breathing at forty.
Bo reached across the way and took Lucky’s hand. “I am so glad for the grumpy sonofabitch. You know that?”
Lucky said words he’d never have dreamed of back when they’d met. “And I appreciate the hell outta that edumacated college boy.”
Footsteps in the hall broke them apart. The steadytap, tap, tapstopped before it reached the cube.
Bo relaxed. “It’s been one hell of a few weeks, hasn’t it?”
“Yeah.” The end of a threat hanging over Lucky’s—and his family’s—heads. “They still doing the thing this afternoon?”
“Yeah. Charlotte and Rett went to Costco this morning and bought supplies. They’ve been decorating ever since they got back. Come on and take a walk with me.”
They rode the elevator up to the seventh floor and strode down a hallway. Cubes lined the right side of the hall, across from a series of offices.
Bo stopped and opened a door with no nameplate. “Here you go.”