Long Time Gone (Hell or High Water )

by SE Jakes

  Riptide Publishing

  PO Box 6652

  Hillsborough, NJ 08844

  http://www.riptidepublishing.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Long Time Gone (Hell or High Water, #2)

  Copyright © 2013 by SE Jakes

  Cover Art by L.C. Chase, http://lcchase.com/design.htm

  Editor: Sarah Frantz

  Layout: L.C. Chase, http://lcchase.com/design.htm

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Riptide Publishing at the mailing address above, at Riptidepublishing.com, or at marketing@riptidepublishing.com.

  ISBN: 978-1-62649-060-4

  First edition

  October, 2013

  Also available in paperback:

  ISBN: 978-1-62649-061-1

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  Soldier of fortune Prophet Drews always worked alone—until Tom Boudreaux became his partner. But when Tom walked away three months ago, ostensibly to keep Prophet safe, Prophet learned the true meaning of being alone. Everyone knows that Prophet, a Navy SEAL turned CIA spook turned mercenary, can look after himself. Which means he must’ve driven his lover away.

  Even with half a world between them, Prophet can’t get the man out of his head. Maybe that’s why he’s in New Orleans in the middle of a hurricane, protecting Tom’s aunt. But the only looter around is Tom, bursting back into Prophet’s life. It turns out that Prophet’s been stuck in Tom’s head—and heart—too.

  Their explosive reunion gets even hotter when Tom is arrested for murder. As they fight to clear his name, they delve deep into his past, finding enemies among everyone they meet. Staying alive in such a dangerous world is hard enough, but they soon discover that fighting to stay together is the most difficult thing they’ve ever done.

  For J, N & C, because you’ve been there from the beginning.

  Never love a wild thing . . . the more you do, the stronger they get. . . . If you let yourself love a wild thing. You’ll end up looking at the sky.

  —Truman Capote, Breakfast at Tiffany’s

  We are all searching for someone whose demons play well with ours.

  —Author Unknown

  About Long Time Gone

  Prologue: Sudan

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  Also by SE Jakes

  About the Author

  Kasey Coetzee backed against the cold stone of the well’s sides, hiding her knife behind her. Abject terror choked her, but she swallowed it.

  She would survive, dammit.

  After being ignored for days, someone was leaning over the side of the well, blocking the light. She wasn’t sure which was the more horrifying prospect—being left to die down here or her captors pulling her out.

  The last time they’d thrown several bottles of water to her—which had to be more than a full day and a half ago—one of them had called down, “Jy beter dit werd wees vir jou vader.”

  You’d better be worth it to your father.

  Now, a distinctively American voice said, “I’m here to help you, Kasey.” She sagged and sobbed with relief. Even if it was the CIA again, at least she would be out of this hole. She saw he was lowering something down to her only when it got close enough to grab, which she did. It was a harness with a pulley and she forced back her tears at the first near-taste of freedom.

  “Step into the rig and I’ll get you up.”

  Five days ago, her kidnappers—soldiers from her own country—had trapped her in here by lowering her into the well in a rig just like this, except her hands had been bound in front of her. She’d searched for days for something to cut the rope, which is how she’d found the knife.

  And the bones.

  The well was fifteen feet deep and both too smooth and too wide to climb. She’d tried, of course, but all she had to show for it were bloodied and bruised hands, her nails jagged and torn. At least it had been somewhat cool, thanks to the depth—that had been the only saving grace over the past few days.

  But this man was her true saving grace, and his voice was a rough-and-tumble slide over her nerves. It was deep and low and commanding—a voice she wouldn’t have thought to disagree with.

  “Kasey, you’re thinking too much,” he told her now. “Just step into the rig and I’ll haul you up. Go on, that’s it,” he encouraged as she pulled the rope around each leg. It was knotted to hold her around her thighs and waist, and as soon as she felt tension on the rope, she shoved the knife in the waistband of her jeans, grabbed onto one of the knots, and hooked her feet desperately into the smooth stones. She gained a foothold more easily now, thanks to the man’s strong grip on the rope.

  “Come on now. I’ve got you.” He helped her up the unrelentingly smooth sides, his strength doing most of the work. When she got close enough to the top, she panicked and grabbed for his arms. Her muscles screamed, but he eased her up, making her do as little of the work as possible, and finally, the heat of the midday sun hit her face. She was halfway over the top when he grabbed her around the waist and hauled her completely out.

  She remained balanced against him for a second, and even as she blinked to try to get used to the light, she could see a military-looking vehicle coming toward them through the heat shimmering off the sand. It must’ve been heading their way the entire time, but her rescuer seemed unconcerned as he set her feet on the ground and let her lean against the well. He immediately wound fabric around her head—she assumed it was for camouflage, like the one he wore—and in return, she shimmied the ropes off her legs.

  “Can you walk?”

  “Ja,” she rasped. Coughed. “Sorry, yes.”

  “Okay. Come on then.” His tone was skeptical, but he let her try. She lurched forward, nearly fell face-first into the sand, and he caught her in his
arms with a swift, easy movement, and carried her away from the well.

  And still, the big green truck came closer. “I’m sorry.”

  “Nothing to be sorry for.”

  How he could be so calm when the truck was advancing was beyond her. But it was lulling her into the same state, and she didn’t care anymore if it was a false sense of security. She was so tired of panicking. “My father?”

  “He’s okay.”

  “Are you taking me to him?”

  “No. It’s safer not to.”

  Safer.

  She was supposed to have been safe last week, when the CIA had taken her away from her father’s house, claiming she was in grave danger. They were the only thing standing in the way of certain death, they’d told her. There are men who want to kidnap you. We’ve already got your father in a safe place. He wanted us to come and get you.

  But they’d kept her away from her father, not with him. And not more than two days after putting her in a safe house, the two agents who’d been guarding her had been shot dead, and she’d been captured. Blindfolded, gagged, tied, thrown into a moving car, and brought here.

  Now, she blinked and saw a tent. Two trucks were parked alongside it, and several bodies were strewn along the ground like they were made of nothing. Three terrorists down.

  More are coming.

  He helped her up into the back seat of one of the trucks by the tent and handed her a gun. “Stay down. Shoot anyone who comes close. Except me. Otherwise, just wait here.” As if she had someplace else to be.

  She did as she was told, lying flat on her belly and peeking up to watch him walk toward the big green truck, his empty hands up in the air. The truck stopped near the other side of the well, and several men dressed in military camouflage got out with their weapons drawn. She instinctively started to raise her gun to save her rescuer, when, in a blur of motion, she saw him suddenly holding a pistol in each hand. With equal parts unmistakable grace and efficiency, he shot and killed the men before they could even register his weapons.

  It was the second time in recent weeks she’d seen men killed. But this time, it was the bad guys who died.

  She scrambled to the front seat as he jogged to the dead men’s now-abandoned vehicle, searched it, and walked back toward her with two bags. He put them into the back of the old Land Rover and got in next to her. The truck started up with a rattle and then a roar. As he drove, he slowly pulled the camouflaging from around his face, loosening it so it hung around his neck. Ready, she supposed, to be pulled up again quickly, if necessary.

  She didn’t want to think about that.

  She studied him surreptitiously as he drove—there were no true discernible paths, but he didn’t hesitate as he maneuvered the truck over the unforgiving landscape.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked.

  “I don’t think so,” she said, and how stupid she sounded.

  He smiled, just a little. She noticed fresh blood on the sleeve of his T-shirt, but when she gasped, he shook his head as if to tell her he was fine.

  “Why didn’t they kill you on sight?” she asked.

  His mouth quirked to the side a touch. “That’s a record. Usually, someone knows me at least twenty-four hours before wanting me dead.”

  She covered her mouth, but not before the laugh spilled out. A laugh, in the middle of all this shit. He was grinning too, and maybe inappropriateness during times of crisis was what got men like him through.

  She didn’t think he’d answer her, but he said, “There’s a bounty on my head in this country. I’m worth more alive than dead.”

  “What about me?” she asked.

  “Same. But I’m worth more.”

  “That doesn’t seem fair. I think I’m cuter.”

  He glanced at her slyly. “Life’s a bitch.” Then he blinked and demanded, “Did you just call me cute in a roundabout way? Because I’m not fucking cute.”

  She grinned again under her fist. If she didn’t laugh, she’d cry, because it was all there, bubbling up underneath the surface.

  And God, he hadn’t said a word about what had happened in the desert, about the lives he’d taken for her, and why he’d done so. “Did my father hire you to come find me?”

  “No,” he said bluntly. “He can’t do that.”

  “So who hired you? Because the CIA told me that if I got captured, they wouldn’t negotiate for my release. And they said that the South African government wouldn’t either.”

  “Did you see any negotiating?”

  “No.” She rubbed her arms at a sudden chill, despite the heat. He pointed to the floor by her feet, where a blanket was rolled up. As she draped it over her shoulders, she asked, “You’re not with the CIA, then?”

  “Fuck no.” He glanced at her. “Disappointed?”

  “Best news I’ve heard all day,” she managed, and he gave a curt nod.

  He was big. Fierce and determined, with gray eyes that were someplace between liquid steel and granite, a gaze that missed nothing when he glanced over at her. Even when he attended to her, he was watching everything around him, including where the truck was headed.

  “You know what my father used to do?”

  “I know. Nuclear physicists are all the rage nowadays.” There was an edge to the sarcasm, and she noted his hands tightened on the wheel when he spoke, but only for a second, and then they relaxed again.

  “He’d retired from all of that. He’s a high school teacher. We live in Dar es Salaam under new names.”

  “Forced retirement, no?”

  “Ja,” she agreed. “South Africa stopped its nuclear program and left men like my father exposed.” Something she wasn’t supposed to reveal to another living soul. Because her father had worked on nuclear weapons, he was considered equal parts pariah and high-value target. She was his biggest liability. “We were well hidden. I don’t know how the CIA found us.”

  Her rescuer snorted. “Yeah, they’re good like that.”

  A swell of panic washed over her. “Did the CIA finding us trigger my kidnapping?”

  “Yeah, I think so, Kasey,” he said, almost gently. “Breathe.”

  She drew in a few shaky ones at his reminder. It was as if the adrenaline rush keeping her going until this point had also been stopping the panic. “My father never thought the CIA would try to force him to work with them.”

  He glanced at her for a brief second, his jaw clenched, but he didn’t say anything except, “He was wrong.”

  “Did they force him by saying they’d turn him over to the terrorists?”

  His answer was careful. “The CIA protects their country’s best interests.”

  So then, yes. Fuckers. “They made promises. I followed their rules. That nearly got me killed,” she said bitterly.

  He didn’t say anything about that. Instead, he gestured to the back. “Grab some water. Go slow—I’m guessing they gave you the bare minimum.”

  She reached over the seat to grab a couple of bottles. She handed him one and then opened one for herself. She did as he said, even though instinct nagged at her to swallow the entire bottle in one large gulp. He had food and water for her. She ate and drank gratefully, was hungrier than maybe she should be after such an ordeal, but he seemed pleased that she had an appetite.

  After another half an hour, she was much calmer. He reached toward the radio, but before he touched the button, he said, “Rules are usually in place because they help the people who made them, more than the people who have to follow them. Same goes for people who have questions they want you to answer. Keep some shit just for you. Gives you an edge.”

  Then he turned the knob and the low beat of the local music filled the truck. That plus the rumble of the truck lulled her to sleep. When she woke, she was in a hotel room. Tucked into bed. Safe.

  But she wasn’t alone.

  The woman who’d been sitting in the room with her introduced herself as Special Agent Lawler and explained that someone had called them with Kasey’s loca
tion and told them to come and guard her.

  “Do you have any idea who that was?” Agent Lawler asked.

  Kasey pulled the covers up like a shield. “He rescued me. I don’t remember him bringing me in here—I was asleep.”

  “Did he drug you?”

  “No.” She actually felt wide-awake, with none of the residual fuzziness she’d had from the initial kidnapping. “He saved me. What will you do for me?”

  “You’re safe here. There are guards at the door.”

  Kasey glanced between the closed door and the agent. “There were guards last time too.”

  Agent Lawler’s face tightened, and she ignored Kasey’s words, instead asking again, “The man who rescued you—who was he?”

  She blinked. “He didn’t tell me his name.”

  “Did he say who sent him?”

  “No.”

  “But he knew about your father.”

  “He said he did.”

  Why the man had helped her was a mystery. Why the CIA hadn’t been able to find her on their own was another, and they weren’t too happy with her when she’d pointed that out. They weren’t happy that she didn’t expand on what she and her rescuer had talked about either, but Kasey didn’t see that it was pertinent.

  Later that day, she heard Agent Lawler whispering into her phone, “This is the fourth one this month, and she also won’t give any answers about him.” Her back was turned away from Kasey. “How the hell does this asshole engender such goodwill?”

  Kasey couldn’t help but smile. Some people were just born like that.

  From: Tom_B_1@EELTD.com

  To: testingpatiencedaily@gmail.com

  Subject: Eritrea

  It’s hotter than hell here. Reminds me a lot of home. You know, my Cajun voodoo home. I used to spend hours tracking my way through the swamps. I could go in there blindfolded and still know where I was. Could lead myself in the dark, based on the sounds around me. The feel of the bark and moss on my fingers. How the ground felt under my feet.

  Hint: walk away from the squish or you’re headed into actual water. Seems simple, but people tend to panic in the dark. I don’t think you would. You take action.