“Money changed hands to get these shipments through. Money we’re tracking. Now, we received an anonymous tip that Owen Landry, a former DEA agent assigned to the SNB for training, is behind this operation. Mr. Harrison there”—he nodded to Lucky— “interrupted another of Landry’s schemes, and has since been targeted.”
O’Donoghue and the other men relaxed somewhat, but still eyed Cruz like rabbits frozen in a bobcat’s sights. Yeah, there’d be a happy, well-fed feline soon.
Cruz’s lip twitched and he dropped a bomb. “Landry has been spotted in the Atlanta area.”
No one around the table showed the least bit of surprise.
“He has agreed to turn himself in tomorrow morning to Atlanta PD.” Cruz nodded at Walter, and a man sitting near Lucky. Had Landry really made a move? First Lucky heard of it. “Mr. Diaz, Mr. Smith. We have reason to believe that some individuals within your organizations are involved. We’ve opened an investigation.”
Oops, there went O’Donoghue, choking on another fly. Insects of Atlanta! Beware!
Had Lucky made the right decision in turning down the job offer from Victor? How he’d love to be neck deep in any case involving O’Donoghue’s takedown. Fully involved, not merely assisting like he’d been so far.
But no. Home. Family. Not being gone months out of the year. Away from Bo. Away from the kids. He shifted his gaze around the room.
Wait a minute. The man he’d recognized before. He’d questioned Bo and Lucky when they thought Bo had turned traitor. And Lucky had studied Southwestern personnel in preparation for the meeting Cruz organized in Texas. Director Diaz from the Southwestern Narcotics Bureau. Interesting. He sat with the manager Lucky had met in Cruz’s hotel room, who stared at Cruz with all the horror of a kid watching a late-night teen slasher flick.
Occasionally he glanced at Lucky, a crease forming between his brows. Vivienne’s disguise had worked, then. Garrison. The man’s name was Garrison. He’d look awful in prison orange. Not Lucky’s problem.
Cruz passed around information packets, containing an equal measure of truth and fiction. Definitely setting the stage to force a few hands.
The meeting broke down into a question and answer session, O’Donoghue and Director Diaz from Southwestern strangely quiet, and constantly texting.
Cruz paced back and forth behind Walter’s chair. “Mr. Smith has further evidence in his custody. Evidence that points directly to agents in your organizations.”
The meeting adjourned at four PM, and the assembled surged toward the elevators. Informational meeting only. No strategizing. Of course, plans were put into place earlier that Diaz, Garrison, and O’Donoghue didn’t need to know about.
Yet.
Diaz and Garrison wouldn’t get far. The moment they were out of reach of O’Donoghue, they had a date with Bo, Johnson, and handcuffs.
By the time Lucky took the elevator to the parking garage, they were already getting into their cars.
The two officers would follow O’Donoghue in an unmarked car, along with Lucky.
Cruz left the parking garage to take up position at the eighteen-wheeler. The tracker on O’Donoghue’s vehicle wouldn’t let him lose a tail. One of Elsa’s trackers. Undetectable.
Lucky wasn’t much for making new friends, but he might have to keep Elsa and Vivienne—and not entirely for the dirt they could supply on Cruz.
Lucky slouched down in one of the seized vehicles waiting for auction, checking his earpiece and the crucifix microphone. “C’mon, mutherfucker, c’mon. I wanna get this over with and go home.”
“You better not be talking to me,” Keith snapped into his ear.
“Nope. I didn’t call your name. You’re Bastard. Not Mutherfucker.” Lucky didn’t add the heat to the words he would have a few years ago.
“Oh, right, Shithead. How could I have forgotten.” Damn, Keith was learning the art of the snappy comeback. Another fifteen years or so of practice might turn him into a somewhat worthy opponent.
O’Donoghue exited the elevator, got into his car, and sat with the engine running, still texting. What was he waiting for? After about five minutes, he turned the car off, crossed the parking lot, and got back on the elevator.
Lucky spoke into his microphone. “Keith, O’Donoghue’s back in the building.”
After a moment Keith’s voice came through Lucky’s earpiece again. “I got him. He’s heading for Walter’s office.”
Ah, the lure of evidence called him back, did it? As if Walter would leave such sitting around. Not after he’d been attacked for the contents of a file.
“I’m going in, taking the south stairs.” Lucky rose in his seat high enough to see the officers in the next car prairie dogging their heads in the window. “Y’all take north.”
He checked his ankle holster and removed the gun strapped to his shoulder. With the elevator so close to Walter’s office, they’d have to take the stairs to avoid being seen. Six flights of stairs. Fucking O’Donoghue.