CHAPTER 8
Lucky squealed tires. Home. Home. He had to get home. Thank God Mrs. Smith had Andro for the day.
Bo dialed, hitting the speaker button on his phone. Straight to voicemail. Again. “This isn’t like her,” he grumbled. “Especially not with knowing how worried you are.”
Looking over wouldn’t accomplish anything but ramp up more worry, the anguish on Bo’s face feeding Lucky’s own fears. White-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, he teased a few more RPMs out of his Camaro.
In a daze he caught bits and pieces of Bo’s conversation on the phone. “Yes. Please pick Ty up from school, okay? Your name’s on the list. No. I can’t talk now. I know you will, but we need someone to get Ty. We’re on our way there now. When was the last time you heard from her?”
Probably killed Rett to do pickup duty instead of charging to the house. Charlotte was her friend.
“C’mon, c’mon,” Lucky chanted. If the community gate didn’t open, this time he’d follow through with his threat to plow right through.
The gate stood open. “Almost there!” he shouted. His tense muscles would likely hurt later from staying so tight. The neighbors might complain about him breaking speed limits, but screw them. He needed to get home.
A white van sat in the driveway.
The front door stood open, listing to one side.
Lucky slammed on brakes, wedging the Camaro against the back of the van. The van wasn’t going anywhere. He threw open the door, and Bo scrambled out behind him.
A woman’s scream made his blood run cold. But not a scream of anguish, pain, or fear.
His sister was pissed.
He ran toward the house, gun in hand, shocking the hell out of the neighbor strolling outside in his bathrobe. The man disappeared back into his house and slammed the door.
Lucky took one side of the doorway, Bo the other. Armed and ready.
“Don’t touch me, you motherfucker!”
The next scream didn’t come from Charlotte. Lucky charged in, Bo on his heels. “Freeze!”
Charlotte took advantage of the distraction to follow through on a homerun hit with a baseball bat. The guy hemming her into a corner screamed and crumbled.
Lucky took him the rest of the way to the floor.
Bo fell to his knees beside a second body lying by the sliding glass doors. Charlotte took out two attackers? With a baseball bat? Daaaaammmmnnnn.
“Moose!” Charlotte dropped the bat and ran to the hallway. A white lump lay in the floor. “Those assholes cut him.” Moose whined, tried to lift his head, and fell back to the floor.
Brakes screamed outside. Lucky looked up, expecting uniforms.
Jimmy Salters ran through the door, heading straight for Charlotte. What the hell?
Kneeling beside the battered dog, Charlotte reached up. Salters reached down. Then she became a sobbing, blubbering mess in his arms.
Lucky cuffed the asshole who’d tried to hurt his sister. His instincts screamed at him to push Salters out of the way and keep his sister safe. The guy in his grasp struggling and cussing made anything else less important.
“The bitch hit me with a bat,” the guy whined.
“That’s my sister, you douchbag. You came intomyhouse and attackedmysister. Do you have any idea who she is?” Motherfucker came after a woman who lived with two drug agents, for fuck’s sake.
“No, man, no. This dude just told us to come get her.”
“I don’t think she wanted to come. We’ll be talking about him later, but you picked the worst house in the world to break into.” Lucky would be happy to show him the depths of his bad life choices. Repeatedly. With his fists.
Charlotte filled them in between sobs. “I was getting Ty’s laundry. They kicked the door down. My gun’s in my apartment. All I had was the bat. Moose… Moose tried to help. They knifed him.” Charlotte let go of Salters with one hand to pull the dog’s head into her lap. “Oh, poor Moosie.”