Lucky II (Patten Bodyguards Book 6) Page 7

  Lucky

  Before her flight takes off, I miss her so bad, I almost take her home but she needs some time off. Sometimes, I wonder if her mother is right. Maybe I should’ve let Callie find a safe, cushy life in academia. I’ve only brought strife.

  If Calliope had never met me, she’d probably have married a brilliant professor and had children all named after Greek muses or gods. She wouldn’t be stuck with an Aussie bodyguard, trying to earn his bachelor’s degree online.

  Callie pings me from the plane and my cock comes to life. I want to make love with her again.

  Callie: <3

  Me: <3 U 2. See u soon

  Callie: Miss u already.

  Me: Me 2

  She’s my heart and soul, my everything. Soon, the plane fades away to a silver dot in the sky. Taking a deep breath, I shuffle back to my SUV, and call my handler, Slate.

  While I wait for him to pick up, I start my car and tweak the rear-view mirror.

  “Hey, Lucky. What’s up?” Slate booms out my car speakers.

  After lowering the volume, I ask, “Any news on the kidnappers?”

  “No, and the FBI told us to back off.”

  “Get the fuck out.”

  “Not only that, they told Gray if anyone interferes, they’ll be arrested but you know him, he’s got our best men looking into it.”

  “I want in.” My EZ Pass pays for parking as I head for the highway.

  “Stan’s going wheels up in the morning. We need you back on the job.”

  Shit, I lost my coverage. “About going back on the job, the doctor says Callie needs a couple weeks off and I got some vacation time coming. I’m sorry it’s such short notice but I’d like to ask for a couple weeks off, too.”

  He hesitates. “Damn. Give me a day or so to rearrange schedules. One more thing. When was the last time you actually slept a full eight hours?”

  “No worries. I’m fine. We’ll talk soon.”

  Later in the afternoon, I park outside the grade school with the other limo drivers. A few, like me, are ex-military and a hell of a lot more than drivers.

  School is delayed because of some assembly so I lower my seat down for a bit of shut eye. Someone taps on my window and with a heavy sigh, I roll it down. One of the other drivers, Mack, wants to talk. Most days I don’t mind but not today.

  “You look like shit.” Hazel eyes size me up and his gray brows furrow.

  “Thanks. Nice to see you, too.”

  “Saw the news.” He takes a cigarette out of a new pack and lights it.

  “Ya know, pal, those things will kill you.”

  “I’m quitting after this one.” He shrugs, takes a deep puff, and puts me squarely back in his sights. “How’s Callie?”

  “Good, good. I sent her to Martha’s Vineyard.”

  “I thought you said she hated it there.”

  “Nah. It’s Boston she dislikes. The beach is great.” However, now I think back on her reluctance, I wonder. “Besides, security on the island is excellent.”

  Mack nods thoughtfully. “So, they haven’t caught the bastards who kidnapped her. Let me guess, the FBI wants to catch the big fish?”

  How the fuck is he always so spot on?

  Thankfully, the school bell rings and his eyes dart up and down the street. Content nothing is amiss, he takes another drag on his cigarette and rubs his sleeve over an imaginary spot on my limo’s hood. “So… you having bad dreams again?”

  My jaw ticks. None of his bloody business. “Maybe.”

  The motherfucker was special forces, he reads minds like a fuckin’ gypsy. “You think you fucked up. Am I right or am I right?”

  “I was there and didn’t do shit.”

  “Sometimes, pal, shit happens. I’m surprised Grayson had you on the clock at your own wife’s baby shower.”

  “I wasn’t. Still, I should’ve seen them coming. Maybe my luck has finally run out.”

  Thank God the kids come running out of the school and put an end to the conversation. Mack grinds his cigarette butt into the pavement then runs over to take the hand of a young kindergartener with big eyes and long dark hair.

  I jump out and open the door for the brown skinned ten-year-old. After I drop him off, I go home to an empty apartment. There’s leftover Chinese but after I sniff, it gets tossed in the garbage.

  It really doesn’t matter. I’m not hungry. I glance at the number of the recruiter who’s been bugging me for weeks, press dial, then hang up. Maybe tomorrow, we’ll talk.

  Then, I try my wife’s number and after a few rings, it goes to voice mail.

  “Hey luv, it’s me checking up. Call me back.”

  I wait, but after no answer, wander into the nursery. If I deploy, I’ll watch my baby grow up here, via cameras and Facetime. Daddy will be an image on a computer screen that only shows up live a few weeks out of the year.

  That’s the price guys like me pay if I want my wife and kid safe from terrorists. Another part of my brain shouts I’ve already paid my dues but I shut it down with a bottle of cheap whiskey.

  I fucked up. My wife and kid almost died.

  After checking in with Slate, I watch a few movies then try to sleep but the nightmares come back after a few hours. There’s plenty of bars open at this time of night, so I find one, have a few more drinks, then head home. I crash until the alarm goes off to bring the prince to school.

  About three days later, this becomes my routine.

  I don’t bother to change my clothes because what’s the point? The prince doesn’t mind and neither does the bartender.

  Saturday, I order a pizza in the afternoon and try my wife again. I understand why she might be pissed off but she’s never given me the silent treatment before. Maybe I don’t know her as well as I thought.

  Around nine at night, a call from my brother Ben comes in on my phone’s What’s App. I ignore the first two sets of rings and pick up on the third. I don’t want him traveling to the states because I’m an asshat and he’s worried.

  He may try to convince my other brother to come and my mom, too. I’m not ready for family right now.

  “Hey.” My attempt at sounding cheerful falls flat, even to me.

  “Hey, bro. I heard you had a little excitement.”

  “Yeah? Where’d you hear that?” I pour a little more amber liquid into my glass and swirl.

  “Made the national news. When were you plannin’ on tellin’ me?”

  “Ah… never?”

  “Fuck, Lochlan. Why do you need to be so closed?”

  “Because, there’s no point in worryin’ everyone. Okay? Callie’s fine. The baby’s fine. I’m fine. The whole fuckin’ world is fuckin’ fine.”

  “Whoa there, big bro, where’s all the anger comin’ from?”

  Shit. Not sure, but I probably was yelling. “Sorry. I had a long week.”

  “I thought you only had some rich kid to drive back and forth to school.”

  “Yeah.” And a whole lot of drinking to do. “Well, it was real nice catchin’ up with you. Talk soon…”

  “Not so fast. What the fuck is going on. You been drinking?”

  “Nah.” Yeah.

  “Where’s Callie? Let me talk to her.”

  “She went out for groceries.”

  “Fookin’ liar. You’re havin’ dreams, again, aren’t ya?”

  “My wife and kid almost died, alright? It may take me a couple days to put my head on straight. Give me a fucking break. I got through this before and I can do it again.”

  I can’t seem to hold back. Why is it we’re bastards to the people we love most? “Listen, I’m spent. I promise I’ll call you back in a couple days. Okay? Please don’t tell mum. I don’t want her to worry.”

  “Only if you call tomorrow, Loch, and every day. I mean it.”

  “Yeah, yeah, tomorrow. Good enough then?”

  “Sure. Hey. I love you. Don’t do anything stupid.”

  “What me?” I laugh but it sounds hollow. “Say
hi to everyone. No worries, eh?”

  I text my wife.

  Me: Everything OK

  Callie: Stop calling. I need some me-time.

  What the fuck is me-time? I slam down my phone, grab my drink, and sit and stare at the crib. There’s a teddy bear in it, which I grab and hold. Then, I sob into the soft fur.

  I’m losing her.

  Chapter 16

  Callie

  “Mom, have you seen my cell phone?” I crawl under my childhood bed. Funny, I remember it being a lot bigger.

  “No dear. Did you bring it with you?” My mother, standing in the parlor, calls up the stairs.

  “I’m sure I had it in the plane.” I’ve searched the beach mansion from the gourmet kitchen to the third-floor bedrooms. It has to be in my room under all this mess. I hang up my clothes, shake out the bedding, and still nothing.

  Dammit. I wander to the top of the stairs. “Mom, can I use yours?”

  “Sorry dear, I didn’t bring it.” She lowers her sunglasses under her wide-brimmed hat.

  There’s an old black touch tone phone sitting on a small table in a nook over-looking the ocean. I pick up the receiver but there’s no dial tone.

  Shit. “Maa-ahm.”

  She doesn’t answer so I run down the stairs and out onto the deck where she’s lying in a lounge chair. “Why didn’t you call the phone company?”

  “I spoke to your Grayson Patten. He said his company had some issues with security. He asked you stay off the internet because the terrorists could trace your IT or something like that.”

  “IP mother. That’s how people identify computers.”

  “Whatever. This will force you to relax. Think of the baby, dear.”

  “Did someone tell Lochlan? I don’t want him to worry.”

  “Grayson said he handled everything.”

  I’m not buying it and give her the look.

  “He’s your employer. Don’t you trust him?” She flutters her lashes and blinks innocently.

  Him, yes. Her, no so much.

  The beach house reminds me of summers long past, when my mother and father tried to be a couple. However, even in grade school, it was clear something was wrong. I was brought to the beach by a nanny, my father went off with his friends, and my mother with hers. With both of them teaching, they had light schedules and could have spent more time with me, they just didn’t.

  Tears well. Stupid hormones. I’ll be a much better mother and Lochlan, a better dad. At the thought of him, my heart aches.

  Honey, I love you. Can you hear me? What’s taking so long?

  I don’t want to put him or me in danger but I need him. Except for the kidnapping, we haven’t spent a night apart since we married. I can’t sleep unless I’m cuddled into his warm body, his heavy arm draped across my waist. He’s my alarm clock, his hard cock poking me at the break of dawn. Then, we make love until the real one goes off.

  Back in my old bedroom, I pick up a sand dollar. It sits on a ledge with so many others, all a reminder of how lonely my life was until the day I met Lucky.

  I grab my pillow, pretending it’s him, and hug it to me.

  After, I dress in my preggo bathing suit, I grab a paperback, and head for the beach. “You want to join me mother?”

  “No, run along, have fun. I’m going to catch up with some things here.”

  I sigh, not at all surprised.

  “C’mon you guys. Let’s find some sun.” The two hired to protect me follow and I pause with my hands on my waist. “For goodness sakes, not until you put on your bathing suits. I plan on going into the ocean.”

  Chapter 17

  Lucky

  At the start of day five of the silent treatment, a text arrives from my wife.

  Callie: Having a great time with my mother. You don’t need to come.

  Me: Got my ticket B there 2nite.

  Callie: Please don’t come.

  This is so fucked up.

  “Hey boss.” I put my phone on speaker and check my refrigerator for breakie but there’s nothing but pickles and beer.

  “Lochlan, what can I do for you?” He’s a fuckin’ billionaire and I feel bad about wasting his time but I need good news or I may lose my mind.

  “Have you heard anything from Callie?”

  There’s a moment of tense silence, then he clears his throat. “I did. Her mother called me. She said you two were having some sort of fight. She asked I tell you to back off. Claimed you’ve been texting and calling incessantly.”

  Shit. Last I knew, we were not fighting. I grab a beer and as a second thought, open a sleeve of saltines and the peanut butter jar. “Who’d you send to keep an eye on her?”

  “I found a couple new guys but not to worry. Both come highly recommended. Her mother tried to hire another firm but I convinced her to stay with us. We take care of our own.”

  No longer hungry, I toss my knife into the jar and set it aside. “Maybe that’s the problem, Gray. I didn’t take care of her. This whole mess is my fault.”

  “Is that what’s been eating at you?”

  “Yeah, sir. Sort of.” Beer for breakfast? Crikes, how low I’ve sunk.

  “Suds was on duty and even he’s let it go.”

  “I was outside and inside the restaurant. Why didn’t I see anything?”

  “First off, it was unexpected. Secondly, they were damn good. This is everyone’s fault, Lucky, including mine. I was the one who picked out the damn restaurant and said it was safe.”

  “But why? What the fuck were they after?”

  “They didn’t want your wife, they wanted mine. They figured if they had her, they could coerce me into doing just about anything. I’m not so sure they were wrong.”

  “A bodyguard is supposed to see shit going down.”

  “Only with the right intel, which you didn’t have. Let it go, Lochlan. I tell you what. Isabella’s been working with Jason to help track down a couple leads. Why not give her a call? She needs another point of view.”

  “I will, and thanks. If you hear from Calliope, make sure to tell her I was asking about her.”

  “Call her yourself.”

  “Sure thing, I will.” But I won’t. Not until she wants me to.

  After, like every day, I drop the prince off at school and pick him up. I have a shitload of homework and read some but all I can do is think of my wife up north without me.

  Tonight, the dark, dingy bar in Brooklyn perfectly suits my mood. The dive is hotter than hell and smells a whole lot worse. It’s got crappy food, criminal lowlifes, and a bartender who doesn’t give a rat’s ass if I get shit-faced.

  Suds holds out his hand as if expecting I’ll let him see what Callie texted. I’m not about to expose my complete failure as a husband, a father, and a human being. Instead, I chuck the electronics into my pocket, point to my glass, and the bearded bartender fills it with more whiskey.

  Before I can wrap my fingers around my drink, Suds slides it in front of him and downs my amber liquid. “You’ve had enough.”

  “Not even, close, mate.” I get in his face, then slam my cell phone on the bar. “Fine. Go ahead. Have a look-see. Then leave me be.”

  My best mate scrolls through my messages and sighs. “This doesn’t sound like her.”

  It hurts so bad I can’t even breathe. Without her, my life has no meaning.

  What am I, some kind of pathetic loser? I motion the bartender over while Suds regards me with hooded eyes. The whiskey heats the back of my throat and I cough but the real pain doesn’t subside.

  I point for a refill but my self-appointed nanny covers my glass with his hand and opens his mouth with more fucking words of wisdom. “You need to tell her how you feel.”

  “Thank you very much, Dr. Phil.” I raise my glass at the bartender, eyeing me now with brows creased. “Could you pour me another, pal?”

  The bun-tender empties the last of the Jameson into my glass and even after another, I’m still not inclined to chit-chat. “Why not go
babysit someone else? I was doing bloody fine until you got here.”

  Suds stands, piercing blue eyes finally angry, his southern accent thick. “Y’all need to go up north, apologize, and get her back.”

  I stand, thinking I’ll get in his face but I need to brace both hands on the bar to get the room to stop spinning. “You think I haven’t tried? She’s gone off the grid. No phone, no online, no nothing. She told me to back off so I am.”

  “Since when are you a quitter?”

  “Because she’s right. I’m no damn good for her. If we’d never met, the last couple weeks would never have happened and she wouldn’t’ve almost died.”

  “But she didn’t and she’s got your kid in her belly. Y’all gonna let her raise your kid alone?”

  “If that’s what she wants, yeah.” My stupid chest feels like the time I took a bullet.

  Suds slaps me on the back. “Don’t be such an ass. Pregnant women aren’t exactly the most logical beings on the planet. All those hormones make them crazier than a two-peckered billy goat. Just go up there, go caveman, and bring her home.”

  “What makes you such a fucking expert?” I gulp down the tall glass of water that bun-guy places in front of me.

  “I got four older sisters, all with kids.”

  “Suds, I messed up. Okay? I almost got her killed. They’re both better off without me.”

  My pal, one of the most laid-back guys around, stands, reaches back, and punches my jaw. I fall off my stool with my ass on the sticky floor.

  Fuck. Double Fuck. And Fuck that too.

  When the bouncer runs up, I send him away with a wave and force a grin toward Suds. “Only a friendly disagreement, mate. We’re good, eh? No worries.”

  I climb back onto my bar stool, grab a cube of ice and place it on my throbbing chin.

  Suds, apparently, isn’t done harassing me. “Drag your fucking ass out of here and go get your wife or I swear to God I will knock you fucking unconscious and drive you up to Mass-a-two-shits myself.”

  When my phone blips, I read the message and shove it under his face. “Yeah, nah. I don’t think so.”