Daylight Again (Hell or High Water, #3) by SE Jakes

Author:SE Jakes [Jakes, SE]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Riptide Publishing
Published: 2014-05-02T04:00:00+00:00

The flashback was quieter this time—just John, sitting in his usual spot, smoking a cigarette. Watching him while he remained in that half-sleep, half-waking stage.

“You knew it was going to happen, Proph,” John drawled. “Not such a shock.”

“Go fuck yourself,” Prophet muttered.

“I’ve tried, but it’s not nearly as fun as what we used to do.”

Prophet turned away, turned his back on the guy in a way he hadn’t been able to do in real life. “Maybe when I lose my sight I won’t fucking see you anymore.”

“You have bigger things than me to concentrate on than me,” John continued. “Deal with your shit.”

“That would be convenient for you.”

“It would be. But that’s not why I’m telling you.”

It was quiet then. Prophet finally yanked himself out of the dream, and found himself sitting up on the edge of the bed, his back to the window. And he was shaking.

He cursed his weakness and swore he could still smell cigarette smoke. He was moving toward the window when his phone beeped with a text. And something told him to look at it, right fucking now.

Confirmed.

Prophet stared at the text, which could’ve been about anything. But it wasn’t. It was telling him something he’d already known for years. It was the reason he’d gone UA all those years ago, roaming third-world countries, risking life and limb, throwing the CIA off his trail at every opportunity.

He knew they’d questioned King, Mal, Ren, and Hook extensively while he’d been gone. That the men had been in limbo, awaiting a possible court martial. That the CIA had dragged them in and then informed them they could only go free, or a reasonable facsimile thereof, once Prophet came home.

And that was the reason he did come home. Because those guys would’ve taken the brunt forever. And he couldn’t have lived with that guilt.

He punched the numbers on the secured line and waited for all the men to hook in. Mal tuned in on Skype and Prophet lay there, surrounded by his team, looking at the spot John had lectured him from moments before.

“You alone?” King asked.

“For now, yeah,” Prophet said, resentment building that King was still questioning Tom. He shoved it down where it belonged and turned to Mal. “How?”

Two of Cillian’s informants had the same intel, Mal signed. I traced it.

“We’ve traced things before,” Prophet said.

Mal’s expression hardened. I heard his voice, Proph. I fucking heard his voice. Twice.

Prophet closed his eyes for a second and sighed. “We wasted a lot of time trying to prove something I’ve known since day one.”

“No choice,” King broke in.

“What else did you find out?” Prophet asked Mal.

Cillian’s informants were on John’s payroll. They met him. And they were tasked with killing Cillian.

“Does Cillian know this?” Prophet demanded.

Mal shook his head. Not yet. I don’t have plans to tell him. He’s pretty well freaked out at the moment. And I’m not done with him yet.

Ren jumped in. “Now we go get John. And we fucking kill him. Although I think we should torture him first.

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