CHAPTER 7
Lucky settled behind his desk, adding the latest cup of Starbucks to the new collection he’d restarted after finally cleaning his desk. Chastain’s death still weighed on his mind. Was Landry responsible?
Could someone else be behind the murder besides Landry? Did Chastain have other enemies? Possibly. The pharma execs who’d tried to take his business. Personal enemies? Jilted lover?
While his instincts screamed Owen Landry’s name, he couldn’t let his personal biases blind him to something he’d missed. Maybe there were other reasons someone might want Chastain dead. Even strait-laced, successful businessmen got caught up in drugs, gambling, or scandals.
Nothing Lucky found in his searches indicated anything but a loving son, considerate boss, a man who donated both money and time to charities. Not so much as a traffic ticket. By all accounts, a good person. Almost like the squeaky-clean record Lucky got when Richmond Lucklighter ceased to exist, replaced by Simon Harrison.
Almost, but not quite. Even cleaned up, with a new name, Lucky’s rough edges showed through. Not so with Chastain.
Then some scum took him out for reasons unknown.
A shadow fell over his desk. Lucky glanced up, expecting to find Johnson returning to the vacant half of the cube she’d claimed whether Lucky agreed or not. Kind of the way she’d become his friend: by not taking no for an answer.
“Hey.” Bo filled the entrance to the cube. “You doing okay?”
“I might ask you the same thing.” Damn, it was good to see him. “You might get busted for playing favorites, coming down here to check on me.” Lucky appreciated the gesture, but like hell would he give O’Donoghue any ammunition for taking away Bo’s job.
Bo forced a half-smile and put a finger to his lips. “Shh… Don’t tell anybody, but you are my favorite.”
Lucky leaned back in his chair. “I bet you say that to all the boys.”
“Now that you mention it…”
Using Bo’s tie for a handle, Lucky sat upright and pulled him closer. “You don’t want me to open a can of whoop-ass on those boys, do you?”
“Why would I want anyone else when I have a cocky bantam rooster of my very own?” Bo kissed the tip of Lucky’s nose. “Or a T-Rex, depending on how irritating he’s being.”
“But you like irritating.”
“True, and you like changing the subject so you don’t have to answer my question.”
“What question?”
“Are you doing okay?”
Oh, that question. “I will be. I can’t help but think Landry’s behind Chastain’s murder.”
“You really think so?” Bo leaned back against the desk he’d semi moved out of. “He pissed off a lot of people, even if it wasn’t justified. He had every right to protect his company.”
“Landry was never caught, and he doesn’t strike me as the type to let grudges go.” Oh shit. “You were friends with him, when he first arrived.”
Bo folded his arms over his chest. “I’m friendly to everyone.” After a moment he sighed. “Yes, I thought we were friends there for a while, or rather, I was friends with the man I thought he was. Not a man who’d manipulate, steal, and attempt murder to get where he wanted to be.” He dropped his hands down by his sides, clenching and unclenching his fists.
Maybe Lucky shouldn’t have brought the subject up, but the jealousy when he thought of Landry pursuing Bo left a bitter taste on his tongue. “What if he, or anyone else with an axe to grind, comes after you, Charlotte, Ty or the kids?” He’d once taken pride in pissing people off. Then, he’d only himself to worry about.
“He’d be crazy to mess with you.”
“If he’s not crazy, I don’t know who is.”
“Lucky, you have a lot of people in your corner. Me, Walter, Charlotte, Loretta, and so many more.” He didn’t need to mention Victor and Nestor. “Cruz has been tracking him. Have you called him?”
“No.”
“Call him, Lucky.” Bo dropped his voice. “When you have doubts or worries, always come to me. I’m here for you. Always. Now, I have to get back to my meeting, but please, give Cruz a call, okay?” He glanced right and left. No one. Cupping Lucky’s cheek in one warm hand, he gave Lucky a kiss that fell somewhere between,“Oh, hello, sailor!”and toe-curling. “I love you.”
Bo sauntered off, turned, and came back, wrapping his arms around Lucky and squeezing tight. How did he know exactly what Lucky needed? Or was the hug what Bo needed? “You never told me if you’re okay.”