CHAPTER 6
Lucky sat at the kitchen table with Charlotte, Ty, Alejandro, and Bo, pushing mashed potatoes around his plate with his fork, knee pressed tightly against Bo’s.
Bo didn’t need words to understand something gnawed at Lucky’s mind. He reached a hand beneath the table and gave Lucky’s thigh a quick squeeze.
Andro sat in his highchair, opening his mouth like a little bird for Bo to feed him pureed peas, and slapping his hands against the highchair tray between bites. They’d banished Moose from the kitchen during mealtimes. “It’s so cute how Moose sticks close to Andro,”Charlotte had said, until the baby dropped food. The teething cookie never hit the floor.
“Furry Hoover” Lucky privately called the four-legged moocher.
“Are you trying to make a sculpture or do you intend to eat those taters at some point,” Charlotte asked, a fork in one hand and the other resting on the mound pushing against the front of her T-shirt.
“Sorry.” Here he sat with his nearest and dearest, his mind a million miles away.
If Landry had returned to Atlanta, and if he’d killed Chastain, should Lucky worry about his family?
A warm hand on his arm drew his attention to Bo. “I heard about the murder today. I’m sorry I couldn’t get away and join you on site.”
What? “You don’t come running when the other agents find a dead body, do you?” An all too frequent occurrence in the drug enforcement world.
Bo patted Andro’s mouth with a napkin and gave Lucky his full attention. “Well, no.”
Yes, Bo’s being there would’ve made Lucky feel better, but he’d have to put on his big boy pants and learn to work on his own again. “If you start showing up whenever I have a bad day, the department will think you don’t trust me or that you have to hold my hand.” Lucky held up his three-fingered left hand. “Or what’s left of it.”
“But Lucky…”
“No ‘but Lucky.’ I’m a senior agent. I was handling cases long before you came along.” Oh, shit. He hadn’t meant to sound so defensive.
“All right. You’ve made your point.” Bo went back to making airplane noises and cooing, “Open the hangar!” for a giggling Andro.
Charlotte and Ty swiveled their gazes back and forth between Lucky and Bo. Lucky stared at his sister. She was supposed to have his back, not consider him quality entertainment.
She paused, mid-slurp of a spaghetti noodle, gave him a sheepish grin, then inhaled the remainder of the strand. Spaghetti and mashed potatoes. He’d love to blame food weirdness on her pregnancy, but strange food combinations might be more of a Lucklighter thing.
“Well, something’s bothering you,” Bo said, keeping his tone calm. “Can you blame me for worrying?”
No. Although Bo couldn’t worry about Lucky anywhere close to how much Lucky worried about Bo. Had Walter told Bo yet about the threat to his job? Bo hadn’t said anything. Should Lucky?
“I’m sorry,” Lucky finally said. No getting out of this corner he’d backed himself into with a smart-assed answer. “But this isn’t something I can talk about openly.” He searched Bo’s face for some kind of distress, and found none.
Well, Bo shouldn’t worry about the job. No way, no how, would O’Donoghue force him out. Walter wouldn’t let that happen. Would he?
Ty grinned. “You? Developed a filter? Ha!”
It took a moment for Lucky to catch back up to the conversation.
Charlotte narrowed her eyes. “Unless it’s confidential about work, we need to hear this.”
Lucky let out a put-upon sigh. Now that he thought of the dark O’Donoghue-shaped cloud hanging over Bo’s head, he wanted to sweep the man away and offer comfort.
No winning, or changing the subject, when Charlotte and Ty teamed up. Should be illegal. Not that legalities stopped Lucklighters for long. He spoke more to his plate than anyone at the table. “A victim from a former case called me today, said he was being stalked. Wanted me to come talk to him. By the time I got there, he was dead.”
Bo’s fork clattered to his plate. “What case? Who?”
“Chastain.”
A furrow formed between Bo’s brows. “Chastain.” The light bulb came on, lighting up his face in the process. “Chastain! Oh, my God. He was killed?”
“Yeah. Right before I got there. That’s why I was late getting home. I had to give a statement to Atlanta PD.” And more statements, and more statements… “I promised them I’d send over case records.”