The Belial Stone (The Belial Series #1)(10)

K-Dogg sneered. “Yeah? What about you, ‘big brother’? Ain’t seen or heard you since you bolted, what, eleven years ago? You go see him much?”

This time Jake looked away. K-Dogg was right. It wasn’t like he’d been any better. He’d lived next door to Tom and his grandmother, Ceilia Jeffries, since Tom was a baby. Tom’s grandmother took him in when his mother had been murdered. Jake had only been fourteen. Tom had been six.

When he’d left four years later, he’d promised Tom he’d keep in touch. And they had for a few years. Then Jake had started getting more overseas missions with the SEALS. The letters got fewer and fewer, before they stopped altogether. And Tom had found a place with the G7s.

“So if something happened to Tom - and I ain’t saying something has - it ain’t got nothing to do with us. You need to go look at that new family of his, over at the church. But you know what, man? He probably just skipped. Won’t be the first time.”

Jake turned his back on K-Dogg and headed for the street.

“What? That’s it? Ain’t gonna say thank you?” K-Dogg called after him, but made no move to follow.

Jake ignored the taunt and turned left on Main Street. He tugged up the collar of his fleece. It was getting cooler. He noted how much more rundown the neighborhood looked. Or maybe, through his more weary eyes, everything just looked less rosy.

Jake had already spoken with Tom’s parole officer and the police, but they’d both been less than useless. K-Dogg had been his next stop. He’d hoped Tom had gotten back with his old crew. That would have been easy.

But nothing about this was easy. Definitely not the ‘what ifs’ that weighed him down: What if he had stayed in touch with Tom? What if he’d gone to see him as soon as he was released? What if he’d come home as soon as he’d heard about Mrs. Jeffries’ death? What if he’d been the big brother he should have been? What if? What if? What if?

He shook his head. It was too late for ‘what ifs’ now. He’d raced to Albany right after Tom’s pastor tracked him down. His boss at the Chandler Group put the company plane and resources at his disposal. But even with the resources of a global think tank at his fingertips, he still couldn’t find a single trace of Tom. It was like he had completely disappeared.

A shudder ran through him. “Damn it, Tom. Where are you?”





CHAPTER 7



Airborne over the United States



Tom Jeffries woke up slowly. Pain twisted through his stomach and his tongue felt like sandpaper. He lay on his side on a vibrating metal floor. It was loud. Really loud. Something soft collided with him, and his eyes flew open.

A man stared back, his face contorted with confusion and fear. Tom recoiled. With his hands bound, though, he only managed to put a few inches between them. His eyes darted around what appeared to be the hold of an old military plane. At least, that’s what he thought it looked like based on what he’d seen in the movies. He’d never actually been on a plane before.

Forty other men lay similarly bound around him. Some were still lying down, unconscious, while others had managed to sit up. Everybody was in rough shape. Stubble, rumpled clothes. Tom took in a breath and almost gagged. Damn.

He rolled onto his back to release the pressure on his left arm, which had fallen asleep. A sharp pain shot through his shoulders as he rolled onto his bound hands. He quickly flopped back onto his side and sucked in a deep breath as a wave of dizziness washed through him.

He managed to wiggle his way into a sitting position. His stomach gave another painful lurch. God, he was hungry. He glanced to his left and met the eyes of the man who’d rolled into him. He’d also managed to work his way to a sitting position.

Tom swallowed a few times, trying to get some moisture into his mouth before he spoke. “Where are we?” He was shocked by how weak his voice sounded.

The man shrugged nervously, his eyes wide. “No idea. Last thing I remember, I was on my way to visit my parole officer. Two guys jumped me and threw me into a van. Next thing I know, I’m waking up here.”

Tom struggled to think through the molasses of his thoughts. “I was leaving my P.O. and hurrying to catch my bus. And then this.”

He looked at the rest of the men that littered the cargo hold. They were different races and ages, but most were dressed like him: old jeans, t-shirt, a light jacket or sweater.

And they had one other thing in common: they’d all been in prison. He was sure of that. Some had tats that gave them away. Others just had that attitude. Once a guy had done time, there was something stamped on him that he could never shake.

Small windows rimmed the fuselage. Getting to his feet on shaky legs, he weaved his way through the mass of prone bodies until he reached one. My first time in a plane, he thought in disbelief.

Panic began to overwhelm the confusion in Tom’s mind. It’ll be okay. You’ll figure this out. The words sounded good, but they weren’t doing much to reduce the fear bubbling in his chest.

He stared out the window as if the answers to his current situation were somehow hidden behind the clouds. He remembered heading for the bus after leaving his P.O.’s office. He’d been worried he was going to be late for choir practice, and he’d really wanted to see Cleo. He’d picked up his pace so he wouldn’t miss the bus. And then what?