Diversion 2 - Collusion (2 page)

Lucky spun on his heels, launching two bottles at the closest officer. When the cop instinctively grabbed for the bottles, Lucky dove under Ferret’s truck and scrambled to the other side. A wide- eyed Christy crouched by the wheel, chanting, “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!” Lucky slithered past her, pausing to listen to the free-for-all in the parking lot. Goose and Ferret weren’t giving up without a fight. Lucky took full advantage of the distraction.

When the scuffling escalated to blows, he shot out from under the crew cab, hauling ass toward the chain link fence at the back of the parking lot. “One’s getting away!” someone shouted. He didn’t look back.

Inhaling and exhaling in time with his pumping arms and legs, he silently thanked the man who’d shamed him into taking up running. He never slowed down, throwing himself at the fence and clambering over. A bone-jarring landing rattled his teeth. He sucked in a deep breath and pounded across a vacant field, a cop in hot pursuit, judging by the fence clattering.

With no clear destination, Lucky zigged and zagged, hoping to tire his opponent rather than evade. A steady diet of doughnuts would leave a man gasping, right? At least two sets of pounding feet dogged his heels. Lucky put on a burst of speed, aiming for a nearby wood.

The huffing and puffing from behind grew closer. What felt like a Mack truck in a blue uniform slammed into him, knocking him to the ground. He rolled and came up swinging. The cop who’d hit Lucky staggered to his feet while his partner played decoy.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way,” the solid mass of muscle forced out between panted breaths. “Choice is yours.”
Lucky grinned, not recognizing either man, and eager to break in a pair of newbie officers. Most of the force knew Lucky— enough to avoid him, at any rate. “Mighty kind of you, but I ain’t ever in my life been accused of being easy.” The cop lunged and Lucky ducked, taking advantage of his small size. He wove past the other cop and took off again, aiming directly for the trees. A third cop came out of nowhere, tackling Lucky to the ground.
He landed two good kicks and a solid punch before the three teamed up and pushed him face down in the dirt. “Police brutality!” he bawled. Muscle Boy wrestled his arms behind him and slapped on a pair of cuffs. It took all three to haul him, kicking, screaming, and spitting out grass, to his feet.
“Out of four of them, leave it to the runt to give us trouble.” A cop sneered, wiping dirt from his face with a uniform sleeve.
“Hey! I resent that!” Lucky barked. “I’m a good six inches taller than the girl!”
“Yeah, yeah. Save it for the chief.”
Though trussed up tighter than a Thanksgiving turkey, Lucky refused to go quietly, unlocking his knees and letting the cop on either side hold his weight.
“We could shoot him for resisting arrest,” one suggested.
“I dare you,” Lucky shot back. “The video’d go viral before you got back to the precinct.” Not that Lucky’s boss would allow the exposure. Lucky’s face, or any other agent’s, wasn’t to be shown on any newscast, and not simply as a public service, though Lucky wasn’t likely to win any beauty contests.
He had to admit to being slightly impressed once his captors succeeded in dragging him—literally—back to the distribution center. No less than four squad cars sat in the parking lot, along with a couple of unmarked vehicles. Not bad for a two-bit operationlike Ferret’s, even one used for a training exercise.
He spotted a hysterical Christy making denials in the backseat of one car, pouring her heart out to a female officer and possibly counting on sympathy from another woman, while Goose sat stony-faced in another. Ferret was nowhere in sight. Yeah, figured he’d run.
Squinting toward the loading docks, Lucky spotted an open bay and a handful of workers rubber-necking the action. Fuckers. The boss ought to dock every last one of them. The facility didn’t allow cell phones on the premises, or somebody would be confiscating the gizmos to prevent amateur videos appearing on the Internet. Wouldn’t be the first time.
Lucky’s escorts steered him past the standard issue squad cars to an unmarked Chevy Impala. One cop pushed his head down while another shoved him into the backseat so hard he tumbled over sideways. Hands trapped behind his back, he struggled to right himself, breathing in a mix of sweat, leather, and things he didn’t want to dwell on. The vehicle dipped sharply to the right and the distinct aroma of Old Spice chased away the ghosts of prisoners past, along with a scent so heavenly he almost forgot his predicament—coffee, untainted by any scented frou-frou creamers. Gazing up through the crack between the front seats to the passenger side, he remained in prone position, mumbling, “Hello, Walter.” A man who’d easily make three of Lucky nodded acknowledgement.
A driver got in, slammed the door, and started the car while craning his neck over his shoulder to back up. The Starbucks cup in Walter’s mitt better be a peace offering, ’cause Lucky wouldn’t easily forgive his least favorite person on earth catching him like this. Oh crap! Keith specialized in surveillance. “You got video?” Lucky asked, voice none too friendly.
Keith stopped the car long enough to flash an evil grin. “Does a wild bear shit in the woods?”
“Walter!” Lucky bellowed.
“You know it’s standard procedure to record our operations, for legal reasons as well as for training purposes.” Bastard Keith sounded far too smug.
Shit. “Training purposes” meant the whole damned department gathered around a big screen TV, sniping catty comments about Lucky’s performance. He’d done the same for others’ videos.
“Uh…mind freeing my hands?” Though hardly his first rodeo, Lucky’s pulse pounded a steady beat in his ears. He sucked in a ragged breath, waiting to be released. The cuffs tightened and he strained against the cold metal holding him captive. What if he’d been arrested for real—again?
“Oh, I don’t know, boss,” Keith drawled to Walter. “Handcuffed and at my mercy is a good look for ole Simon, don’t you agree?”
Simon Harrison. Another tackedon name Lucky’d like to kick the shit out of someone over. Unfortunately for him, he’d gotten stuck with “Simon,” at least for the time being. His last big case ended in a bang, quite literally, Richmond Eugene Lucklighter being declared dead and Walter’s methods for handing out a new lease on life giving birth to Simon Harrison at precisely the same moment. The drastic measure allowed a former felon who’d served his time to make a new life, free of a criminal record and shady, grudge-holding characters. Tossing guys into prison for a living caused hard feelings, apparently. Some people were too damned touchy about such things. Without the new identity, “Simon” might have suffered a short life span.
To anyone who valued Lucky’s opinion, however, he remained “Lucky” unless the situation warranted a little discretion.
“There’s a squad car directly behind us, carrying one of your very irate… friends,” Walter replied. “We have to keep up appearances a few more minutes.”
Lucky sank back down, face against the backseat, and waited
. Think about anything but your hands cuffed behind you.
Now if he was in bed with a certain brunet and the cuffs tethered to his headboard, he might not mind so much.
Perhaps in retaliation for Lucky having done the same to him, many times, Keith cranked up the radio, rap music firing from the car’s speakers. Lucky didn’t need the nose-rubbing. He didn’t mind rap, but not at such high volumes, and he abso-fucking-lutely hated being bested at his own game.
After a near eternity of bass pounding hard enough to rock the car, they slowed and finally stopped. “Do I gotta?” Keith mock- whined.
Through the crackbetween the seats Lucky witnessed Walter’s scowl. “Yes, Keith, and without any further comments, please.”
What? Walter bitch slapping Keith down?
Hah!
Grumbling low, Keith got out and opened the back door, hauling Lucky upright none too gently. Lucky didn’t fight him directly, being under their boss’s watchful eye, but he didn’t exactly help either.
The cuffs
snicked
free. Lucky jerked his arms in front of him and rubbed abused wrists. Out of Walter’s line of sight, Keith mouthed, “Fucker.”
Lucky replied, “Yup. Not that it’ll do you any good. I have
some
standards.”
“Lucky, enough,” Walter quietly intoned, handing a Starbucks cup over the seat. “Get some sleep and report in this afternoon.” Lucky stepped out of the car while the man he’d never admit to admiring added, “You did good.”
Keith gave him the hairy eyeball from the side mirror. Lucky extended his middle finger. The car pulled away, leaving Lucky in front of his duplex, cup in hand.
“Good morning, Simon. Another wild night, I suppose,” his landlady commented from the unit next door, where she sat on her porch swing stroking one of about seven cats. Two more sprawled at her feet. Lucky had nothing against pets, but with his job, anything more than a houseplant was guaranteed to die of neglect. Not thathe’d actually tried with houseplants, either, unless the occasional sprouting onion or potato in the refrigerator counted.
“Ah, you know me—same ole, same ole.” He checked his full mailbox before trudging up the walkway to his front door. Bill, bill, envelope from his sister… “How’s things been with you?”
“The usual. Arthritis’s acting up, touch of gout. I’m guessing we’ll get rain today.”
Lucky gazed up at the clear morning sky. “I suppose we might,” he humored her. Having had enough small talk for the month, Lucky slogged through his front door and tossed his mail on the coffee table to join a few weeks’ worth of flyers and credit card offers. He chugged the cup of Starbucks, hoping Walter remembered he’d given up caffeine, and discarded the empty cup on the kitchen counter. A little on the cool side, but plenty of sugar, the way he liked his brew, when not under the watchful eye of He-who-insisted-on-stevia.
He stripped off his shirt and gritted his teeth, ripping out hairs in his haste to remove the transmitter taped to his chest. The distribution center didn’t allow employees to wear jewelry on the job, or other more easily attachable microphones. Or maybe Keith only told him that for the joy of causing Lucky pain. Asshole should’ve removed the damned thing before dropping Lucky off. Imagining the unrestrained glee on Keith’s face as he jerked the tape off to maximum effect, Lucky grimaced, deciding to keep the gadget for a few days. Let Keith sweat a while when his inventory came up wrong. “Forget something?” Lucky asked before clicking the device off.
A few minutes spent under the shower’s spray revitalized Lucky some, and when he accidentally poured shampoo on his hair that wasn’t his normal brand, decided it didn’t make a whole lot of sense to rinse and start over.
The shampoo’s fragrance invaded his senses, inviting memories of a simmering gaze peering up from beneath a tangle of water-slicked hair while a pair of welcoming lips enveloped his cock. He stroked himself in time with the image’s bobbing. God, it’d been too damned long. Reaching beneath his balls, he pressed against the spot sure to bring him off quickly and increased his pace. The warm water falling on his shoulders and his lover’s scent spurred him on.
In no time he cried out, spurting against the shower wall. He sagged against the tiles, letting the water rinse away both soap and the evidence of his arousal.
Damn but I want more than a memory to play with.
Bleary-eyed and the weight of the last few hours pressing down like a giant hand, Lucky dried off and dropped the towel to the bathroom floor. He picked his way over an assortment of shoes and discarded clothes to flump down spread-eagled on the bed. A weary glance at the clock showed nine A.M.
After a while he grew restless, tossing and turning in a vain attempt to get comfortable. He didn’t really need his “teddy bear” to get to sleep. No, Lucky didn’t actually
need
anyone, but did tend to sleep better with a familiar body lying close by and safe, even if the man snored from time to time. Not knowing “Teddy’s” exact location or assignment certainly didn’t help Lucky’s nervous tension, especially now without his own assignment to occupy his mind.
He recalled the envelope lying on the coffee table, addressed in his sister’s handwriting. What was today anyway? The ninth? The tenth? Ah, hell. The eleventh. Entering the pleasant void where sleep and wakefulness shook hands, he muttered, “Happy fucking birthday to me.”

Lucky turned sharply to the right, eyes glued to the rearview mirror. The truck following him turned, too. Ah, cat and mouse, huh? He’d rather be the cat. Either role got his heart revving.

He sped up, counting on the driver behind him not to break the speed limit, especially not within city limits, and Lucky wasn’t above using others’ scruples against them. Another turn and two blocks later the familiar pickup once again fell in behind him.

Gunning through a yellow light, he lost his tail, and turned right and left a few more times before driving under a building to the parking garage below. He sprinted from his classic Camaro— that others might call old—to hide in shadows. One, two, three. Yep, all surveillance cameras present and accounted for. Those might prove problematic. A quick look-see inside the elevator showed no units had been added since his last check over two weeks ago. Even in a government building, security saved the cute little “you can’t see me” models for when and where needed. He pushed the button to send the elevator to the sixth floor and buy him some time, and dashed out before the doors
whooshed
closed.

The rumble of an engine reverberated against the walls of the parking lot, shutting off in a spot close by. A door opened, then slammed shut. Lucky measured the
click, click, click
of a pair of hard-soled shoes. Tennis shoes were a whole lot quieter. Some guys never learned.

He crouched, ready to spring. The guy strolled right past him without even a glance and pressed the elevator button. About six foot, dark, artificially highlighted hair, trim build beneath a pressed, buttondown shirt. The new arrival wouldn’t stand out in a crowd. His most noticeable feature curved impressively behind him, nicely filling out a pair of dress slacks. Hands folded together before him, the understated hunk didn’t know what hit him when Lucky slammed against him the moment the elevator doors opened, trapping him against the back wall.