Wait a minute? “Love?”
A blow to the jaw spun Lucky around. Ow!
“Yes, I love her, and she loves me, I think. I want to see where this will go. I want to take her and her boys out, meet them. Get to know them.” Salters grinned, still not as winded as he ought to be—as Lucky was. “Besides, if I get out of line, you know she can kick my ass, right?”
Lucky raised his hands. “Who do you think taught her?”
“Shut up and fight!” someone called again.
Lucky glowered at their unwanted audience. “Don’t make me come down there.” A Mack truck of a punch hit his shoulder. He sagged against the ropes. Slowly, slowly, he turned around to face a younger—and possibly fitter—man.
“To hear her tell it, she taught you.”
“Ha!” More like they taught each other. Why were Lucky’s spaghetti legs not responding? He stared at this man who dared date his sister. “You have a dangerous job. It’s hard on those waiting at home.”
“She lives with you and Bo. She knows what’s what.”
Yes. Yes, she did.
They stared at each other a long moment. Salters broke the quiet. “You trusted me in the warehouse, right? With your life.”
Wait. What? Words came back to Lucky through a haze of pain. “Did you really say that Charlotte would kill you if you left me behind at that warehouse?”
“Yeah. She would have too.”
Nothing Salters could do or say would convince Lucky to trust him. Trust had to be earned. For now, he’d have to make do with Charlotte trusting Salters enough to confide in him. “I don’t scare you in the least, do I?” The fact he said “Lucky” and not “Agent Harrison” proved the point. Lucky threw all his remaining energy into a roundhouse right—and missed.
Salters caught him before he hit the mat. “Actually, you do, but am I running? Oh, hell no. Not from you, or anybody else. Only Charlotte has the right to tell me to go.”
The day she’d faced down her would-be kidnappers, Charlotte hadn’t collapsed into a heap like many might have, didn’t cling to Lucky for protection. She’d held on to Salte—Jimmy—for dear life. Might as well start calling him by his nickname.
Charlotte had spent her life devoted to her sons, her parents… Lucky. Yes, she deserved someone to be a rock for her for a change. Could Jimmy Salters be that rock?
“If she does, will you?” Her ex had made her life hell until Victor Mangiardi stepped in. He’d bought her a house, moved her and the boys across the country, and explained in detail to the boys’ father exactly what would happen if he attempted to contact Charlotte again.
Salters released Lucky, holding his hands out like he expected Lucky to fall. “Why wouldn’t I? I don’t own her, don’t control her, and wouldn’t want to. I love that she has her own mind and isn’t afraid to speak up. We have some lively debates. She helps me see things from a different perspective.”
“You argue, you mean.” Yeah, Charlotte argued with the best of them. Lucky would punch the man hard—in a minute. After he caught his breath.
“No. We share points of view.” Completely still now, all pretext of sparring over, Jimmy turned imploring eyes on Lucky. “I’m a better person since I met her. Looking at you and Bo, I think you might know how I feel.”
Yes, Lucky did.
“Now, are we finished here?”
“Why?” Lucky glanced outside the ring. The spectators must’ve gotten bored and wandered off.
“I would imagine Bo, Charlotte, and Loretta are all pacing the floor, waiting to see which one of us comes back alive.”
“I didn’t tell anyone where I was going, did you?”
“No. But c’mon. This is Charlotte, Bo, and Loretta. One probably put a tracker on you, one followed you, and the other knows you too well.”
Actually, all three knew him too well. Jimmy had a point.
“I’ll even say you kicked my ass if it helps.” The man whose ass Lucky definitely didn’t kick gave him a possum-eating-briars grin.
Lucky stared a long time. Yes, Charlotte needed someone. Jimmy Salters was a decent guy, all things considered—and yes, he’d likely saved Lucky’s life that night in the burning warehouse. Lucky lost two fingers. He could’ve lost a whole lot more. Would’ve, if not for this man.