Lucky “Simon Harrison” Lucklighter left behind his criminal past to become one of the best agents in the Southeastern Narcotics Bureau. He’s found a committed partner in fellow agent Bo Schollenberger and built a life.
Now, enemies within the SNB and a friend’s betrayal leave him nowhere to turn—not even to his mentor.
His boss’s life, the future of the SNB, and Lucky’s career depend on him. With the help of his lover, an old enemy turned ally, and a man Lucky thought he’d seen the last of, he must stand and fight for what he believes in.
Even if he has to step outside the law.
Excerpt:
Lucky was too old for this shit.
He crouched behind a wall, straining to see in the low light of the narrow corridor. Movement caught his eye and he dipped his chin slightly, acknowledging his partner’s arrival.
Bo stood, back against the far wall, nearly invisible in his dark clothes. As one, they peeked around the corner. Nothing. No sound, no movement. The perps could be anywhere.
At least the concrete floor muffled any sounds from Lucky’s tennis shoes as he eased around the corner, hugging his weapon to his chest. No, not his weapon. Give him his .38, or even a Glock, and he’d kick ass and take names. This piece of shit? If he ever found the sonofabitch who’d designed the cheap plastic toy that didn’t aim worth a damn, he’d beat the crap out of them.
He’d also like to shoot whoever designed the building, with its sudden intersections, random overhead perches, and too many places for his foe to hide. The overhead fluorescent fixtures of what could laughably be called lighting created plenty of dark alcoves.
Two could play the game. Or even three or four. He hadn’t worn all black for nothing. He tugged his ball cap down more snugly on his head to hide his dirty-blond hair.
Shifting his gaze right and left, Lucky inched forward, Bo’s comforting presence behind him. No need to look: he’d taught his partner well. Lucky’s instruction, coupled with four years of Marine training, left Bo the absolute best man to have at his back in any situation—both on the job and off.
And during sex. Especially during sex.
He fought back visions of Bo at his back—naked. Nope, not the time.
The air reeked of stale sweat, some kind of chemical cleaner, and fresh paint. Splats of yellow, green, red, and blue created pop art graffiti on the floors, walls, and ceiling.
Bo snugged up behind him, close enough to chase away sour smells with the hint of soap and green tea-scented breath. “Any sign of them?” His words came out a husky murmur.
Lucky shook his head, wiping moisture off his forehead with the back of his hand. Sweat plastered his T-shirt to his back. If the place had air conditioning, he’d never know. Hell couldn’t be any hotter than Georgia in the summertime.
One precise step after another they crept down the hall. They reached another intersection. Lucky signaled for Bo to take the right. Veering to the left, Lucky squatted, keeping a low profile. His bad ankle screamed in protest. His bad ankle needed to shut the fuck up. So did the scar in his side.
He’d love to keep Bo with him, but by splitting up they stood a better chance of catching the two they sought.
The hall led onto an open room with a guardrail around an upper level. Two shadows raced across the floor, and Lucky caught a flash of blue from above, gone a moment later. He quirked up one side of his mouth. His opponents might be young and fast, but no match for his skill.
Only one way up there, and one back down. Sooner or later, they’d have to take the stairs.
Lucky would be ready.
Easing back into the shelter of the hallway, he waited. Footsteps pounded down the stairs heading…
Oh crap! Straight for Bo! Motherfucker! Lucky whirled and hauled ass. Please, please, let him get there in time.
Shots fired. No!
He darted into the darkness, skidding when he nearly missed his turn. No longer caring who heard him, he rounded the corner without looking first, shoes slipping against a tiled patch of floor.
Bo. Where the hell was Bo?
A groan from behind made Lucky retrace his steps. “Bo?” he hissed.
“Here!” came out on a pained grunt.
Fuck. Lucky took a few more cautious steps.
Bo slumped against the wall, one hand pressed to his thigh.
No! Lucky dropped to the floor, searching for signs of injury. If those unruly heathens hurt his man… “Are you okay?”
Bo waved Lucky on with a red-covered hand. “Don’t worry about me. I’m okay. Nothing hurt but my pride. Go on without me. Get them!”
Though he’d rather stay with Bo, having his partner down wasn’t acceptable. No one shot Bo and got away. No one!
Lucky tracked after his prey, heart pounding, a man on a mission. Laughter pealed out from somewhere ahead. They thought shooting Lucky’s partner funny, did they?
He’d show them.
He checked his watch. Ten more minutes and this whole thing would end. Easy to take out two armed suspects before then.
No problem. Though, if they’d put Bo out of the fight, he might have underestimated their cunning.
People underestimated him all the time. He’d not make the same mistake.