Free Redemption by Eden Winters

clicked off the safety. “Bo!” No answer. Should he call Walter?
    Stephan Mangiardi’s men had come. Books lay on the floor. By the front door. Please, let Bo be here and okay. “Bo!”
    He glimpsed broken plates smashed on the kitchen floor. And in the living room… not one of Bo’s dragon statues! Shards of red, blue, and green littered the rug. No time to look now.
    Muscles tensed, Lucky cleared the kitchen and living room. Flat against the wall, he crept down the hall toward the closed bathroom door—the bathroom where he’d found a “Did you miss me?” note from Stephan before waking up with a headache in Mexico.
    Fuck! Why did Lucky stay here? Why did he leave Bo here alone? Behind the door, water ran.
    One hand on the doorknob, he turned. Deep breath. Here goes nothing. He flung the door open. A full bath sat empty, no Bo, water gurgling down the overflow pipe. One eye trained on the door, he turned off the water. He’d been around the block too many times to fall for a distraction.
    What if someone took Bo while he’d been waiting for his bath? Lucky toed off his shoes to sneak up on the bedrooms.
    The guestroom was empty, or as empty as it ever was, full of things Lucky never got around to putting away. His room, then.
    Gun at the ready, the twisted the doorknob and pushed. Bo lay face up, hugging a pillow.
    Lucky was on the bed without realizing he’d moved. “Bo? Bo! Are you okay?” No blood, no obvious hurts. He grabbed the pillow to check further, but Bo clung tight.
    “Bo, what’s wrong?”
    In a flat monotone, Bo replied, “I lost it today. Totally fucking lost it.”
    “What? Why?” And was this what the Magnolia Center receptionist meant when she said Bo’d had a bad day?
    “I was watching the news, about disgraced DEA agents in Columbia. Then they interviewed a few people on the street who lumped all narcotics agents into the same group. Said the government ought to do away with us.” Bo’s knuckles whitened where he gripped the pillow. “Every time we go out there we put our lives on the line, now folks are saying we shouldn’t even exist. Do they understand how much crap would be on the streets if we weren’t?”
    “I don’t even want to imagine.” Last year synthetic drugs cost a businesswoman her mind and her freedom, and a few other folks their lives. Doctors handing out meds like candy racked up kills. Without the SNB, DEA and other watchdogs, death tolls would rise.
    And a dipshit reporter with too few facts went stirring things up.
    “The more I watched, the angrier I got, until… I lost it.” Bo sniffed.
    Damn, he must’ve been out-of-his-mind pissed. “Are you okay?”
    “Lucky, I destroyed your house! Aren’t you afraid of me yet?” His voice rose a few decibels. Bo stopped and continued in a softer tone. “The doctors were wrong. I’m not ready to be home. I can’t control this shit anymore. Why do you want me here?”
    “You didn’t destroy the house. You broke a few things. Nothing that can’t be replaced.” Now might not be the time to mention the dragon statue from Bo’s collection.
    “Will I ever make it through the day without going crazy?”
    Lucky tugged the pillow from Bo’s chest and lay down, pulling Bo’s head onto his shoulder and slipping his gun onto the floor along with the pillow.
    Bo stiffened, then relaxed. Lucky held on until hunger forced him from the bed. Bo picked at his sandwich—eaten in the bedroom to avoid the mess in the kitchen and living room.
    But the niggling of worry from earlier took root in Lucky’s heart. What if? What if? What if? circled his brain.
    After Bo fell asleep, Lucky ventured out of the bedroom, put to right the shambles, and searched the guestroom for the cameras and alarms he’d bought and never installed. He’d deserved to get conked on the head and hauled to Mexico for letting his guard down.
    Never again. Using a hand-held screwdriver instead of power tools to keep the noise down, window by