If I Ever

by SE Jakes

  Nico nodded. “As long as the surgery’s over, we go in. We’ll have an easier time of it if the boy is alive when we take Doc and Cope back.”

  “The back way’s easiest—two guards to go through.”

  “Majority up front,” Nico agreed. “Let’s start quiet.”

  Tom’s hinky feelings went into overdrive, but nothing about them indicated imminent danger. On the contrary, it was more of a go now response screaming in his brain.

  So he did. When Nico slit the first guard’s throat, the second, dressed in battle BDUs, had turned toward him. Tom used his knife in the man’s neck, pushing down toward the carotid, twisting fast and hard until he crumpled to the ground. Tom searched him, found a gun and a knife. He pocketed them, dragged the men into the brush so they wouldn’t be seen at first glance and kept moving. Nico was already using the keys he’d taken from the first guard to slowly open the door. He motioned Tom in behind him and together they moved silently through the dimly lit hall, stopping outside the first room.

  There was a small window in the door, and Nico ducked under it so he could wait on the other side. From their positions, they could look in but not be immediately seen.

  It looked like the outer room of an OR, with a big metal sink and shelves of medical supplies. Doc was in there alone, sitting on the floor with his bag at his side, his head back, eyes closed, scrubs bloody. He appeared to be exhausted.

  He’s not asleep, Nico mouthed. Both men moved back slightly when a guard came through a side door and into the room with Doc. He didn’t look menacing, seemed to be just walking through . . . but in seconds, Doc was up, grabbing the guard by the throat, hitting the spot on the man’s neck with such precision that had him passing out and hitting the floor with a solid thump before looking at Tom through the window.

  “Is he going to be happy to see you?” Tom asked, palm on the door.

  “Doubtful.” Nico said the word like it didn’t matter, but every bit of the man’s positioning said it did. “Let’s go.”

  Tom pushed the door open and held out a weapon to Doc, who took it and grabbed his bag simultaneously. He stared at Nico, a bit like he was seeing a ghost. He quickly shook it off in favor of clapping Tom on the shoulder and saying, “Thanks.”

  There was no time for awkwardness. They were on the move, taking down more guards, although the majority of them seemed to have vanished, and grabbing Cope—who wasn’t tied at all and the door to where they’d kept him wasn’t locked, as evidenced by his meeting them in the hallway—and headed out to the LZ.

  It was too fucking easy. None of them said it as they hustled out, but based on the quiet that surrounded them, they were all goddamned spooked.

  He was already at the door, opened it to sweep the hall. When he motioned to the others, he noted they were all lined up behind him. They moved down the hallway as a unit, no one speaking.

  “I think we need to move,” Prophet said suddenly. He’d had one drink, three hours ago, and since then he’d been sitting on the couch next to Dean, eyes closed, thinking about Tom and relaxing. But suddenly, the need to get the fuck out of there was intense.

  Dean didn’t argue. “I’m ready. I’ll have Reggie get the truck packed. Should take ten minutes.”

  “Do you have a safe house?”

  Dean nodded. “The only ones who know about it are me, Reggie, and Nico.”

  Not LT. Prophet wanted to ask why but hell, Dean had his reasons to not want his brother to even consider Dean’s need for a safe house. Not after last year’s kidnapping. And that’s why Prophet suspected Dean put the measure into place after all.

  Prophet nodded. “New car too.”

  “Got one of those. Plates registered to a diplomat.”

  “Great. Either no one will fuck with us or we’ll get kidnapped.”

  Dean shrugged. “Hopefully kidnappings are like lightning strikes.” He walked off in search of Reggie and Prophet tried—and failed—to shake off the feeling of John. He went into the room he’d shared with Tom, grabbed his go-bag that he’d packed earlier, and met Dean back in the main room.

  “Reggie said five minutes and he’ll pull around back,” Dean told him. “Want me to tell Nico?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You don’t want Tom to follow.”

  “One of us needs to be free, for Remy.”

  Dean frowned. If he suspected Prophet’s plan, he didn’t say anything about that except, “Remy’s a lucky kid.”

  “Nah, I’m the lucky one.”

  “Then stop waiting for fate to take it all away.”

  “You first,” Prophet told him. And got no answer but silence.

  The ride was a long, bumpy, dusty-ass one where Reggie went behind the wheel and Prophet’s brain worked overtime in an attempt to tamp down his PTSD tendencies on these types of roads . . . and even still, some part of his brain was living the Hal fiasco, over and over.

  The shots. The time discrepancies he couldn’t reconcile. The trucks coming out of nowhere to ambush them. Ending up hanging by his wrists and later, in a CIA cage.

  “Come on back, Proph.” Dean spoke quietly, calmly, talking the feral wolf that lived in Prophet’s brain back into its cage. A gentle coax, a prod, the promise of safety . . . it all brought him back. “Prophet, we’re here, in the house. In the garage. All clear.”

  “Christ,” Prophet muttered when he realized how much time he lost. How much risk he put Reggie in, the only one with good vision—and one arm—in charge.

  Reggie didn’t seem to mind, just nodded at him and pulled a gun. “Going to check the house. You both stay here.”

  What a crew. “Fuck.”

  Dean handed him a bottle of water. “You would’ve come out of it if there was danger.”

  “And if I didn’t?”

  “The way you looked, all I had to do was hand you a gun and tell you to fire.” Dean shrugged. “We’d have been fine. Do you think he’s close?”

  “Probably, but not enough. He was always last with the chase. It bored him,” Prophet explained.

  “So you turned around and made it your strength purposely.”

  “I’d rather be hunter than prey. John actually thought that prey had the majority of the power. He’s onto something.”

  It was still light outside. Tom, Nico, Doc and Cope continued to move fast through the single-floored but surprisingly intricate clinic. Doc pointed to a closed door and mouthed, Patient’s room and Tom swore he felt Nico’s desire to enter.

  He put a hand on Nico’s arm and shook his head and Nico complied, but didn’t look happy about it.

  After what seemed like an hour, but was under ten minutes, they were all out the back entrance and into the bush, crouched low, checking to see if they were being followed.

  Which they weren’t.

  Again, spooked.

  They got maybe halfway to the truck before Nico turned to Doc and demanded, “What the fuck happened? Elliot said you just complied—no arguments. You let yourself be taken. Trying to be a fucking hero to the locals, or you’ve got a sudden death wish?”

  Nico’s voice was low and angry, and for a brief second, anger flashed in Doc’s eyes, quickly replaced by a false calm before he answered, “My job.”

  “You’re losing it, old man.” Fighting words, and Nico was definitely looking for the fight. Whether Doc would give him the satisfaction was another story.

  Cope frowned, looked to Tom. “Guess they’ve got unfinished business. Fucking drama. Maybe we could finish the rescue first? Although this is entertaining.”

  Doc ignored him. “‘Old man’? That the best you can do?” Doc’s tone was the quiet kind that forced a chill through Tom. “I’m sure you could be more creative than that.”

  “Of course,” Nico countered. “But why would I bother?”

  “Shit, meet fan,” Cope muttered.

  “I took an oath, Nico, in case you’ve forgotten.”

  “You should’ve killed him,” Nico said.

/>   “You should’ve captured him when you had the chance,” Doc said blithely, and Tom guessed this was an old score.

  Nico hadn’t mentioned he knew the man on the operating table in any capacity but was now pushing past Doc. “Right. Do no harm’s a convenient motto when you feel like it.”

  Tom wanted to strangle both of them, because the pain was so obvious, so thick it was visceral. “Let’s go,” he said decisively in a What Would Prophet Do moment, jerking his head toward the path. He didn’t wait to see if they’d all comply. His tone left no room for anything but.

  They made it to the truck without further incident, Tom behind the wheel again, Nico in the passenger’s seat and Doc and Cope in the back seat.

  By the time he pulled onto the main road, it was dark. It made for better cover but it also kept them targets . . . albeit a moving one. None of them spoke for a while, until Doc finally said to him, “How’d you escape Prophet’s protectiveness?”

  Tom gave him the side-eye in the rearview and Doc whistled. “Must’ve been some fight.”

  “You have no idea.” Tom glanced ahead.

  “Can we discuss what a fucking setup that was now?” Nico demanded and no one argued with him.

  Tom glanced in the mirror again and met Doc’s eyes for a brief second. “Maybe John?”

  “Are we telling Phil?” Doc asked quietly.

  “No, that’s Prophet’s business.”

  “Which turned into ours,” Nico pointed out.

  “Leave it, Nico.” The sharpness of Doc’s tongue surprised Tom, but clearly not Nico.

  “I don’t take orders from you,” Nico shared blandly.

  Tom’s phone beeped. He took his phone and Nico steadied the wheel while he checked it.

  It was a text with coordinates . . . and a link to a GPS.

  “What’s wrong?” Nico asked.

  “They moved.” Tom handed him the phone and took back the wheel. “Left us a trail.”

  “Fuck. Now I’ve got to hear it from that idiot brother of his.”

  “Takes one to know one,” Doc said, eyes still closed. “Just saying.”

  “But if the shoe fits . . .”

  “You want to discuss my shoe size?” Doc asked, and how the hell had Tom ended up surrounded by dysfunctional relationships?

  “So is faking death a common operator thing?” Tom asked Nico.

  “Doc knew I wasn’t dead. So did Prophet. He just likes to give me shit when he sees me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he’s Prophet,” Nico pointed out. “Because he blames me for my breakup with Doc.”

  “And he shouldn’t?”

  “Doc broke up with me, Tom. Two weeks after we got married.”

  “Nico,” Doc said warningly, just as they pulled up to EE’s opening gate. Saved—by Elliot.

  Doc and Cope exited the car and Tom followed suit. Elliot would drive them the short trip back to the helo, so Nico stayed put.

  “Tom, thanks again,” Doc said and Cope pulled him in for a quick, hard pat on the back hug.

  “Good save, T.”

  “Keep in touch,” Doc warned him.

  “I’ll try,” Tom said and got into the back seat.

  Within twenty minutes, he and Nico were back up in the air.

  “Well, that went well,” Nico said irritably.

  Tom was too busy checking his phone . . . to find more coordinates. “Nico, they’re not stopping.”

  Nico cursed. “His brother’s definitely going to kill me.”

  “Well, Dean’s with Proph so . . . right. See your point.” Tom glanced at him. “I’d like to swing by the house first.”

  “Did Prophet tell you to do that?”

  “No.”

  “Then that’s what we’ll do,” Nico agreed.

  In the time it took Tom and Nico to get back to Dean’s house, the texts with coordinates had stopped. Prophet’s phone was turned off and Tom was telling himself that Prophet knew what he was doing.

  Didn’t make him any less pissed though.

  “Place looks deserted,” Nico noted as he punched in the numbers on the gate and it opened. He pulled in, gun drawn until it closed. And then the large dogs, mainly King Shepherds, came racing around the property toward him. He whistled and they stopped just short of climbing into Tom’s car window, teeth bared.

  “Thanks for stopping them from killing me,” Tom muttered.

  “They would’ve just taken a few bites.” Nico petted the biggest one on the head. “They’re great backup.”

  “And Dean left them behind.”

  Nico nodded. “He knew I’d be back here for them. I’m sure there are others on the property. I’ll take the dogs—can you drive the truck in farther?”

  Tom got out, the dogs surrounding him momentarily before following Nico and his pied piper whistle away from the vehicle. He pulled the truck up under the carport, a protected area right against a doorway that led inside.

  When he walked into the familiar main room, he saw one of the cooks who’d been there early, setting out food.

  “I’m gonna grab a shower,” Tom called to Nico.

  “Food’ll be ready by then.”

  And it was. They ate, realized they couldn’t chase coordinates that might not be correct, and they left their phones on and got some sleep.

  When Tom woke, the sun was long up and he felt more rested than he had in months. Probably because he actually slept instead of watching over Prophet for his nightmares. Not that he minded doing that, but he was slowly losing his mind from lack of sleep, a fact Prophet kept trying to hammer into his head.

  Finally, he dressed and went into the main room, where Nico was sitting with food and a weapon.

  Tom nodded and then stopped cold when he saw who was standing across from Nico. With a weapon of his own. “Cillian?”

  “Who were you expecting?” Cillian asked. “I’ve already met Nico.”

  “Fuck off,” Nico told him as he ladled more eggs onto his plate.

  “I can see why you’re a good match for Doc.”

  Nico went to get up but Tom moved forward and held him down with a light hand on his shoulder. “What the fuck, Cillian, because I know you didn’t come all this way to throw insults.”

  “I was looking for Prophet,” Cillian said.

  “You’re not the only one.” Tom moved to sit next to Nico, but Cillian remained standing. “Can’t find him?”

  “No, but John’s a step closer. He was here.” Cillian crossed his arms.

  Tom narrowed his eyes. “You saw him?”

  “If so, he’d be lying here with a bullet in his skull,” Cillian assured him. “The locals saw him. ID’d him.”

  “Prophet and Dean left, probably leading him on a wild-goose chase,” Tom said. “They won’t tell us where they are.”

  “Not yet. But they will,” Nico said.

  “Yes. Probably just when Prophet decides to take all the trouble on himself,” Tom muttered.

  “Give the man a prize,” Cillian said.

  “I guess assholes all hang together.” Nico stood and stalked through the house, brushing a little too close to Cillian as he did so, but Tom didn’t stop him.

  “Seems like a sweetheart,” Cillian called over his shoulder.

  “Not as big of one as you.” Tom let an edge of anger show through now that they were alone.

  Cillian, being Cillian, didn’t miss it. “You’ve chatted with Mal, I see.”

  “Prophet doesn’t know.”

  “Yes,” Cillian added. “What would you like me to do, Tom? Commit hara-kiri to atone for my sins?”

  “I’m not going to help you by telling you anything.”

  “Right. One crisis at a time. Prophet’s been in touch.”

  “With you?”

  “Yes. And Nico? Your company’s been requested ASAP at Dean’s newest safe house,” Cillian called.

  “Come on, Tom,” Nico said.

  “Tom and I have other plans,” Cilli
an told him.

  Nico stared at Tom, who nodded. “I’m good. I’ll check in.”

  “I’ll do the same when I get to Dean’s.” Nico was shouldering his bag. “I’m guessing Prophet will wait with Dean until I get there?”

  “He didn’t really specify.” Cillian looked at Tom.

  “He won’t be there,” Tom told Nico. “Or else I’d be going with you.”

  “I’d better hurry then.” Nico jerked his chin at Tom. “Nice working with you, T.”

  “Same, Nico.”

  “Well, nice to see you’ve got a new bromance going on.”

  “Cillian, I’m this close to killing you,” Tom warned.

  “Perhaps your blood sugar’s low. I suggest you eat something to ease your pissy mood.” Cillian sat, opened his computer, and motioned to a chair near him, ignoring the audible grind of Tom’s teeth. “We’re staying put for a bit.”

  “Listen, asshole—I don’t take orders from you.”

  “Only from Prophet? I’m guessing you enjoy that.”

  Tom lunged toward him but suddenly Nico was behind him, stopping him. “Not worth it. Trust me—I already considered stabbing him with a dull butter knife, just for fun.”

  Tom let Nico keep an arm on him but told Cillian, “We’re going to find Prophet. We’re not sitting here waiting for shit.”

  “I’m waiting for Prophet to give us coordinates, Tom. I thought you could be civilized.”

  “And I thought you knew I don’t trust you still,” Tom hissed.

  “I’ve had opportunities to kill both you and Prophet, and you’re both still alive,” Cillian pointed out.

  “Ditto,” Tom told him. “So chew on that for a while.”

  The wait for Tom to arrive at the newest safe house seemed to take forever. Granted, Tom and Cillian were flying in from Dean’s house part of the way to just outside of Khartoum, which wasn’t exactly a walk in the park, and Prophet was trying not to drive everyone else crazy, but he was distracted . . . and that was the worst thing he could possibly be at a time like this.

  It got so bad that Mal took him by the back of the neck and forced him to sit down on the back porch and just chill.

  “Chill?” Prophet asked. “Since when do you chill?”