by SE Jakes
Prophet glanced up at him steadily. “No.”
Okay then. Tom went to the hallway to retrieve his bag from where he’d thrown it earlier before he’d tackled Prophet. As he waited for Phil to answer, he picked up the blanket and pillows from the floor, put them on the couch, then carried his bag to the bedroom to switch out clothes.
“Go,” Phil barked. His usual greeting. Granted, at five in the morning it was rougher than normal.
“It’s Tom. I’m going out of town with Prophet for a job.”
There was a long pause. “Who’s in trouble?”
“Some guy named Dean, brother of Proph’s old CO?”
Phil muttered several strings of curses, then ordered, “Talk him out of going.”
Wow, no love lost there. “Seriously, Phil?”
“Do I sound like I’m joking? You have influence over him. Use it.”
For a brief second, Tom understood how bulls must feel when a cape was dangled in front of them—a flash of red clouded his vision, and he wanted to smash the phone against the wall. He took a deep breath and told Phil through clenched teeth, “We’re going.”
Phil cursed. “At least make sure LT doesn’t ask Prophet for anything more after you get Dean out. You think you can do that much for him, Tom?”
Phil hung up then, obviously not requiring an answer, which was good, because he wouldn’t have liked what Tom wanted to say. Phil, like Prophet, expected Tom to follow orders without question, and even though Phil had asked Tom to bring Prophet back into the fold, he still kept Prophet’s secrets close to his vest.
Prophet had quit EE nearly nine months earlier, and from the looks of things, he had no intention of going back. No matter how badly Phil wanted him to. And Tom had only agreed to remain working at EE in order to get more training, so he’d be a better partner to Prophet, no matter what they decided to do, work-wise, once all this John crap was finished.
Whether Prophet’s quitting EE was for better or for worse remained to be seen, but Tom never worried about stuff like that. The specifics didn’t matter—following the path was what did. Everything that happened was part of his life with Prophet—a path, the next step. Tom refused to miss a moment of it.
At this point, Tom’s return to EE after all was said and done was probably on shaky ground as well.
He moved into the shower, the water cool to fully wake him up. Whatever was happening with Mal and Cillian on the John Morse front was being handled well enough that LT’s brother could take precedence for the moment.
At times, it almost hurt to watch Prophet’s loyalty in action. Obviously, Phil thought so too.
A few minutes later, Prophet slipped into the large, glass-door–enclosed shower. He was already in planning mode, Tom could see, because he absently grabbed for the soap and missed. Three times. And then started rubbing his chest with his hand, until Tom moved his hand, made the water warmer, and soaped him up.
This—the showering together, the taking care of Prophet when his head was someplace else—was familiar. Routine. Tom liked to think of the shower as his way of bringing Prophet back down to earth. And when he was like this, Tom didn’t treat him gently—the way he rubbed Prophet down with the soap was brisk, a different kind of foreplay. And even though Tom understood how Prophet got when he was planning, the subtle pullback still brought him back to the time when Prophet hadn’t let him in.
“Phil’s good with me taking the time,” Tom semi-lied as he rinsed Prophet’s hair.
Prophet snorted. “He wants you to tail me, get me the fuck away from LT as fast as possible, and talk me into going back.” Prophet opened his eyes. “And no, I didn’t spy on you. But come on, it didn’t take much to figure out. Especially when your jobs are so short and easy.”
Tom bristled. “Easy?”
“It’s not like you’re fighting your way through an international incident,” Prophet pointed out. “You haven’t even been able to use a flashbang or a grenade. It’s not a mission until that happens.”
And yes, Prophet was still an asshole. It was almost comforting.
Almost. “So don’t fucking bring me then. Unless I’m just coming to carry your bags.”
“Is that all you can do?”
Tom sighed. “You’re deliberately pushing my buttons. Any particular reason?”
“Yes.” A warm, flat palm landed on Tom’s chest. “Just fucking accept it, Tommy.”
“That you’re a dick before a mission?”
“Yeah.” Prophet’s eyes flashed, a warning signal that Tom had seen before.
Dealing with Prophet wasn’t entirely unlike dealing with a live grenade or a Claymore mine. You had to know when to ease off the pressure and when to stay firmly planted and unmoving so you didn’t die in the explosion.
Then again, Tom supposed that Prophet would say that dealing with Tom wasn’t all that different. “That’s good. I wouldn’t recognize you otherwise.”
Prophet snorted and just like that, they were on an even keel again.
As they bypassed security in favor of the passenger entrance for private jets, Tom asked, “Is this your favor?”
Prophet shook his head. “All LT’s. We’re not flying in close to where we need to be, though. We’re going to have to drive a good way in, to avoid being spotted.”
“I’m guessing you’ll give me all the details on the flight.”
“After you sleep,” Prophet agreed. “Because you’ve clocked, what, maybe twenty-four hours over the past six days combined?”
He wasn’t wrong, but Tom fought the urge to point out that Prophet didn’t sleep much either. Instead, he nodded, because keeping the peace was easier. And to be fair, he had a lot to learn from Prophet, no matter how you sliced it. A lot to learn, and he was more than willing to learn it. Because as teachers went, he couldn’t do better than Prophet.
They headed to the tarmac where the private planes were kept. He’d take this over coach any damned day, not the least because he could keep some of his own weapons on him.
Prophet apparently had an arsenal. He clinked when he walked and had two large bags slung carelessly over his shoulder as he moved easily through the crowds. They thinned as they got closer, and Tom was grateful to not be one of the harried-looking suits they were passing. Once they boarded the small plane, the captain came out and gave Prophet a semi-tackle hug. “Man, it’s good to see you.”
Prophet smiled. “Mitch, this is Tom. Mitch and I did a few joint missions when he was in.”
A Navy pilot. That made sense.
Another wiry man poked his head out. “Hey, Prophet.”
“How’s it going, Jin?”
“We’re good. Be ready in a few,” Jin assured him. “We’re just checking to make sure that we’re prepared for any and all eventualities.”
He said that last part casually. Too casually. It was something Prophet had said before as well, and Tom glanced at Prophet, who raised his brows innocently when Tom said, “That doesn’t sound like a normal part of airline travel.”
Mitch clapped Prophet on the shoulder. “No worries, Tom. We’ve done this before. Sometimes landing’s a little tricky since we’re not officially registering the flight, but with the extra precautions, we’ll be fine.”
Mitch walked out of the plane, and Tom told Prophet, “It’s you, isn’t it?”
“Me? You’re the one who causes the problems on our flights, Voodoo.”
“You let me think it was me. But maybe, the whole goddamned time it was really you.” Tom thought back to the flights they’d taken together. A near–heart attack victim on one. Another, a stalled engine—while they were taxiing down the runway. And then the drunken passenger who’d had to be subdued on the flight they’d been moved to . . .
Jin slipped by them. “Everything happens when Prophet’s around. Wheels come off—they don’t deflate, mind you. They come off. And we lose landing gear off the wings. Ducks walk onto the plane. You know, shit like that.”
“Ducks?
” Tom asked, and Prophet gave a put-upon sigh.
“That wasn’t me and you know it,” Prophet told Jin. “I don’t know how the duck got in there.”
Tom groaned. All this time, he’d thought he was the issue, when in reality, he was working with one of those walking, talking disasters, an angel of death in the flesh. “So basically, when this plane drops out of the sky . . .”
“Blame him,” Jin said, jerking a finger a Prophet. They all paused to watch a guy dump parachutes by the entranceway before saluting and leaving. “Those are just in case.”
“He’s kidding, right?” Tom turned to Jin. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Sadly, no. But don’t worry—we’ve only had to do it twice.” Prophet steered him to their seats, a set of four grouped in a square pattern. He went to the window seat and pulled Tom to sit next to him, so they could put their feet up on the seats across from them.
“You know I’ve never actually jumped out of a plane,” Tom pointed out. “Not since the academy, anyway.”
“What are they teaching you boys?” Prophet asked. “No matter. You can just clip yourself to me. I had to do it for the last guy too.”
“No wonder no one wanted to be your partner.”
Prophet snorted. “You’d fucking love it. Don’t tell me that you’re not ready to vault out the emergency exit once we hit the right altitude.”
In truth, that was exactly what Tom wanted. But he muttered, “Asshole,” at Prophet anyway, leaned back, and closed his eyes as Mitch called out, “Takeoff in four,” at them.
Tom snapped his seat belt on and put his earbuds in. Turned up his music to drown out his own thoughts during takeoff, which was smooth and without incident. As they reached cruising altitude, the Fasten Seatbelts sign turned off. Both Tom and Prophet clicked theirs off, and when they did, the plane dipped sharply to the right, so much so that Tom slammed against Prophet, who had to grab Tom’s seat arm to keep them both from falling out of their seats.
Cackling from the cockpit traveled through the speakers.
“That’s not funny, Mitch,” Prophet called.
“You have to make your own fun around here,” Mitch called back.
“You’re all goddamned crazy,” Tom announced.
“Co-sign,” Jin said as he walked by and tossed Tom a pillow. He succumbed to the sleep Prophet practically forced on him and woke eight hours later much more clearheaded.
“Hey, Sleeping Beauty—you hungry?” Prophet asked.
Tom ran his hands through his hair. “I could eat, yeah. Something semi-healthy.”
“Any food on this plane?” Prophet asked loudly.
“You know where to find it,” Jin called. “I’m not a stewardess.”
“They like to be called flight attendants,” Prophet corrected before stalking to the galley. There was a lot of rifling and some banging around, and finally he came back with donuts, soda, and a bagel that he tossed to Tom. “You said something healthy.”
“This is healthy to you?”
“Very. Especially without butter.” Prophet nodded sagely. He left again and came back with coffee for both of them, and they ate as Prophet pulled up maps on the laptop and began to trace out routes. He’d obviously been going over this for hours, in his mind and on paper.
“I’m guessing you know who’s got him and why?” Tom finally asked.
Prophet nodded grimly. “Rebels. Money. Kind of their new income stream. They know the government won’t intervene unless the guy’s someone big. And they figure the family will pay anything.”
Tom shifted, his booted feet hitting Prophet’s as they got comfortable again. “Do they know he’s former military?”
“I’m guessing that’s pretty well hidden. But LT and Dean’s family is really wealthy. And that’s not something Dean can really hide, since his family funded his foundations. He’s the face of the foundations, does a lot of speaking engagements. And he spends as much time as he can actually working in the clinics.” Prophet blew on his coffee and took a few sips. “Perfect. Just the right amount of sugar. Yours too—try it.”
Tom stared at his cup, which was basically sugar with a little coffee. “So Dean’s a target. Bodyguards? Why not use EE?”
Prophet shook his head. “Dean and LT like to use guys who’ve just gotten out.”
“And so they fell down on the job?” Yeah, heads should be rolling.
Prophet waved his hand—the one holding the donut—the sugar starting to take obvious effect. “One was killed and the other was taken with Dean. Once the rebels made up their mind to take Dean, there’s not much they could’ve done. From what I know, it was a big group and they threatened the entire community, and after the first shooting, Dean went quietly. The rebels left the rest of the hospital and facilities alone.”
Tom nodded, handed Prophet his coffee, which Prophet drank half of immediately. “You said LT’s been contacted for ransom.”
“Yeah. He’s coming in on another flight, directly into Djibouti. So they can track him and the money he’s bringing. And we’re bringing up the rear.” Prophet chewed thoughtfully, but his body was practically vibrating. How he’d spend another hour, never mind at least four more on this plane, was beyond Tom.
They were landing in the middle of the night, which could actually attract more attention, but Prophet had a plan. He also had aerial views of the place Dean was being kept. As the hours passed, Tom studied them while Prophet pointed out paths. They discussed weapons. Strategies. Different MOs. The what-ifs.
“LT’s going to try to lead this, and I can’t let him,” Prophet warned at one point.
“Because he’s too close to it?”
“He’s also been out of the game awhile,” Prophet explained. “He’s going to be a bear about it. Not the good kind.”
Tom raised his brows. “Didn’t know you were into that.”
“Like I told you, I’m full of surprises.”
Tom rolled his eyes. “I’ll give you a surprise,” he murmured.
“I count on that.” Prophet turned serious then. “Are you worried?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Me too.” Prophet leaned back, eyes closed, and immediately fell asleep. It amazed Tom how trained he was to do that, how he barely needed any sleep. No matter how many times his mentor, Ollie, had tried to show him, Tom had issues with shoving himself into a deep sleep. Prophet had offered to help, but so far he’d declined.
So he studied the map on Google Earth, then pulled back to trace a broader route from the airport to the hotel. From there, they’d head out to LT’s.
Prophet hadn’t told him much about LT, beyond the fact that he and Dean had a great deal of family money, and that it was public record. They all knew that paying the kidnappers was a slippery slope, setting up the possibility for a second kidnapping for a higher amount.
Prophet had also mentioned that Dean had only had two bodyguards with him. Tom hadn’t questioned it because, at this point, it was too late for twenty-twenty hindsight. But no way two bodyguards were enough, and if the family was wealthy, spending money on bodyguards shouldn’t have been an issue. Sometimes, even having extra muscle for show was enough to dissuade this kind of kidnapping. But this was shit that certainly LT would’ve known too.
He wondered briefly if that kind of cavalier planning was one of Phil’s issues with LT, or how much deeper the problem went.
“I can hear you thinking.” Prophet’s voice was rough from sleep. He stretched, then instead of asking Tom to move, basically walked over him. When he came back, he was carrying coffee for both of them. Instead of letting Prophet climb over him again, Tom was ready to move; but Prophet was too fast, handing him the hot cup of coffee, which forced him to balance it, while Prophet vaulted over him.
Of course, Tom could’ve moved to sit across from Prophet, avoiding the issue entirely, but, much like the “break into the apartment and get rolled” game, this was one of those Tom enjoyed playing. Even if it meant a nea
r scalding. “So you met Dean through LT?”
“Yeah. After Dean got out, though. It was the end of my first year in.”
He took a sip and found that Prophet had actually made the coffee the way Tom liked it this time. Because just when you could kill the guy. . . “Did Dean know John?”
“No, never met him.” Prophet glanced at the Google Earth images Tom had been studying. “Deal with this in the FBI?”
“Several.” It took a light hand and a lot of judgment calls to figure out how savvy the kidnappers were.
“Ever have it go bad?”
“Once,” he admitted. “But not for the woman who was kidnapped.”
“A partner?”
“Yeah.”
Prophet nodded. “Did you warn him?”
“Yeah.”
Prophet dragged his gaze along Tom’s arm, to the bracelet that hid the tattoo. “I’m not that partner, Tommy.”
“You going to remind me of that every time?”
“I think I probably need to. Haven’t you gotten the whole ‘worried you’re going to kill your partner’ shit out of your system yet?”
“You’re such an asshole,” Tom muttered.
“And yet it surprises you every time. Good for our relationship, right?”
“I don’t know whether to punch you or kiss you.”
“A combination of both is usually the best,” Prophet advised. “Might want to wait until later, though.”
They were about to start their descent, according to Mitch’s call over the loudspeaker. But Tom gave Prophet a quick, hard slam with his fist to Prophet’s biceps before grabbing his face and yanking him close . . . and kissing the shit out of him. He pinned Prophet against the seat, ground against him . . . both knowing they didn’t have much time before they’d need to be officially seat-belted.
A hard, hot grind, and both of them yanked their pants down. He caught their cocks in his hand and stroked them together. Prophet reached down and tweaked one of Tom’s piercings and that was enough to make him shoot. Prophet was right behind him, shuddering, murmuring into Tom’s mouth, since they hadn’t stopped kissing at all.
Tom only pulled back slightly to breathe—they remained, foreheads together, panting. Smiling.