Free Falling

by SE Jakes

Overview

Sometimes falling in love is the most dangerous thing of all.

Blue is a thief who lives for adrenaline and danger. And when he meets Mick, a mercenary, he's hit with a buzz of attraction like the rush of a high-rise job without a safety rope. But after making plans to get together, Mick leaves him hanging, and Blue vows never again.

A year later, Mick watches helplessly as Blue stumbles into the middle of one of Mick's jobs. Risking his cover and their lives, Mick saves Blue and cares for him as he recuperates, but neither man has any idea how to handle the intimacy this forces them into.

Once Blue is safe, Mick redoubles his efforts to take down the drug lord responsible-and disappears. Blue goes after him, determined to return the favor and rescue the man he loves, no matter the cost.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781626491373
Publisher:	Riptide Publishing
Publication date:	03/10/2014
Series:	Extreme Escapes, Ltd.
Edition description:	Revised ed.
Pages:	132
Product dimensions:	5.25(w) x 8.00(h) x 0.31(d)

Read an Excerpt

Free Falling

---

By SE Jakes, Sarah Frantz

Riptide Publishing

Copyright © 2014 SE Jakes
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-62649-137-3

---

CHAPTER 1

Present day

Bogotá. Land of opportunity. Especially for someone like him.

In an upscale bar that catered to gay and straight, Blue had a beer and tried to relax. The job he'd accepted here was worth a hell of a lot of money, and he'd demanded three-quarters of it up front. It involved a substantial amount of risk, which was why he'd given himself several weeks to complete it.

A good night's sleep tonight, final recon tomorrow, recovery of the item, and on the plane by this time tomorrow evening, and things would be all good.

He was pretty sure the sculpture's owner would scour the earth looking for him after he pulled the job off. And he could deal with that, since he lived for that kind of thrill.

He scanned the bar area and nearly choked. Because things had gone from the promise of all good to definitely shitty in five seconds flat.

Mick stood at the outer left rim of the bar, talking with four men, all dressed in a casual show of wealth. Their conversation was quiet, no doubt all business, although to an untrained eye they were simply men enjoying a drink after a work meeting.

Blue knew better. Mick's stance meant this was a job, and Blue tore his eyes away. No matter how much he hated the guy, he'd never fuck up anyone's work.

He wanted to slide off the stool and leave, but he snuck another look at the big man. Mick wore dark pants and a thin, dark-gray sweater that could easily be cashmere and made him look more powerful, like a rich man. And maybe he was, for all Blue knew about him.

Would've known more if he'd been there to handcuff you.

That night ... Jesus, his whole body flushed at how Mick had humiliated him. In the last year, Blue had managed to convince himself that the man wasn't all that handsome. But no, the bastard was even more gorgeous than Blue remembered.

Mick must've thought he was really pathetic. Needy.

You're usually not that bad a judge of character.

"I guess there's always a first time," he muttered to himself now through clenched teeth, then took a long drink from his dark draft beer.

Concentrate on your damned job, old man Wilson—his mentor—would've lectured him. But Christ, he was frozen with indecision because Wilson had died so goddamned alone. So Blue remained torn between leaving and waiting to see if Mick would approach him.

To what, explain? Just leave ...

And he'd been about to when he noticed one of the men in Mick's group noticing him. The man with the salt-and-pepper hair nodded in his direction, raised his glass, and Blue gave a small nod and glanced back down at his beer.

Just a come-on. You can handle it. You can still get out of this, he told himself, even as his stomach tightened as Salt-and-Pepper moved toward him. Mick and the other men followed suit, and even though Blue prayed they'd just keep moving to the door, they didn't.

The group stopped right next to him. Blue glanced coolly over them all, his gaze settling on Mick.

"I'm Erik." Salt-and-Pepper had an American accent, and as he spoke, he touched Blue on the shoulder. It was only then that Blue dropped his gaze from Mick.

Mick, who'd looked at him with stony eyes. Blue wasn't sure why he was surprised.

"You two know each other?" Erik asked, noting the tension.

Mick shook his head slowly, and Erik seemed to accept that, breaking from Blue for a moment to order a round of drinks.

"My private bottle," he told the bartender, who obviously knew Erik to be a regular. He turned back to Blue, introduced him to the other men. Blue told them his name, shook each of their hands, Mick's last, and fuck yeah, that attraction wasn't going anywhere.

Mick pulled his hand back first, and Blue hoped to hell Erik hadn't noticed that he'd held Mick's hand too long.

He never fucked up like this. Never. But with Mick, it was apparently a regular thing.

"Have a drink with us, Blue?" Erik asked.

"Sure," came out of his mouth before he could stop himself. Mick was standing close to him, almost protectively so, and took two glasses from Erik. He handed one of them to Blue as Erik put out a hand toward him.

The unease Blue felt strengthened, but Erik hesitated for a brief second, his hand hovering before reaching further and grabbing a napkin from the bar. "Sorry for the reach."

"No problem," Blue said, but there was a problem. He just didn't know what it was, and to cover the fact that he'd noticed something he wasn't supposed to, he clinked his glass with Erik's and took a gulp.

It tasted like shit. He didn't want to offend Erik, especially when he clinked his glass against Blue's a second time and finished his own drink. Blue did the same, put the empty glass down on the bar, then got up.

"Leaving so soon?" Erik asked. "We were just getting started. I promise, you're in for a very good evening."

"Sounds great, but I've got an early morning," he lied. He stopped for a second because the ground seemed to move under him. He looked around to see if anyone else registered some kind of earthquake. But everyone was business as usual, so Blue moved forward and found it hard to put one foot in front of the other in a steady rhythm.

The drink ... had tasted funny.

Shit.

"Let me help you," Erik said, his arm snaking around Blue's waist as a sudden surge of arousal flooded through him and left just as quickly, leaving Blue to wonder if he'd imagined it. Erik reached out to stroke his cheek, and through the ringing in his ears, Blue swore he said, "This one's going to love it. Make sure we get it on tape."

He shook Erik's help off and headed to the door as fast as he could.

Outside, he took gulps of fresh air to clear his head. It didn't help. He looked around for a cab, not wanting to wobble the walk back to the hotel. Besides, Erik would no doubt attempt to follow him.

An arm wound around his waist, and he went to jerk away when he looked up and saw a familiar, handsome face.

Mick. "I've got you."

Blue suddenly didn't care that the man hadn't called him, although he worked his mouth to curse at him just the same. His words came out muttered, garbled, as his vision blurred.

"I know, Blue. I know. Just fucking stay with me for now," Mick muttered, looking serious as hell, and Blue felt like such shit he had no choice.

CHAPTER 2

The night had started out promising and ended on a note that shook Mick to the core. The situation was dire, held a sinister edge that he'd come to expect with Erik after working undercover to break up his organization for over a year.

But he'd never considered that Blue would be caught up in it.

He had no doubt that Blue had been drugged badly and that the drink had been meant for him, not Blue. He'd known it when Erik reached out instinctively to grab it back from Blue. And Mick had also known that stopping Blue from drinking it would've had far worse consequences for both of them.

Erik and the other men were outside as well now.

"Mick, if the boy's drunk, let's make sure he gets home safely," Erik said, as though he were some kind of fucking fairy godfather.

There was nothing safe about the drug Erik had slipped into the whiskey. DOB5 was a potent drug that combined sexual arousal and a loss of control that was far more intense and effective than GHB or roofies alone. If given often enough, the victims would lose themselves in the constant, maddening arousal and have little choice over anything that happened to them.

"Why the hell would you give him the drug in a public place?" he growled, keeping his voice low. Blue was already out of it, half-collapsed against him, eyes closed.

Erik looked casual as he shrugged, but something was off in his expression. "A little sample. Should we help him to his room to test it?"

"People saw us with him."

"I pay enough to buy alibis. You worry too much."

"It happened fast enough for people to take notice. The boy is a liability."

Erik turned to him, his eyes as dead as a shark's. "Then you should dispose of the problem."

"You've left me no choice."

"I don't like to give the hired help too many choices. I find it gives them too much of a sense of the power they don't have in my organization." Erik paused. "Are you feeling okay, Mick?"

The group of men Mick was currently working with was not to be fucked with. Thank God Erik had been drinking more than he should've and mixed things up. That slip had actually saved Mick's ass. Literally.

He would do the same in return for Blue.

Are you feeling okay, Mick? "I'm feeling just fine, Erik," he said through clenched teeth. He shook Blue a little to get him to open his eyes and then half dragged him away from the men who wanted him dead. That motion roused Blue, who tried to struggle away as Mick held him tight.

"Keep moving," he murmured now, hating the mixture of anger and fear on Blue's face.

"I want to fucking hate you," Blue whispered, and Mick's heart broke.

"I know. Fuck, Blue, I know."

His heart was ready to pound right out of his goddamned chest. He went straight to the hotel Erik thought he was staying in, just in case they tailed him, but then went along the back of the building and stole a car. He forced himself to take a very roundabout route back to his safe hotel room, adding an extra twenty minutes to what would've been a five-minute drive. Finally, though, he pulled Blue through the back lot of his hotel, pretending they were both stumbling drunk.

Pissed-to-the-wind tourists were frequent in this strip of hotels, given their proximity to the bars, so Mick got some smiles, a wink from a woman, and was otherwise basically ignored.

Once in the privacy of his room, he laid Blue down on the bed, then set the cameras up so he could see anyone coming down the hall or approaching the balcony from any direction.

It was only then that he made the call. "Prophet, I've got trouble."

Prophet sighed on the other end of the phone. "You sound fine. Are you bleeding? Because unless there are bullets or bones sticking out—"

"They drugged Blue, and no, I had no clue he was here." He prepped a saline IV.

"I did," Prophet admitted. "There's a big exhibit and every major and minor thief is circling, looking to make a name for himself, never mind the CIA and SAS."

The network of top-notch thieves was small enough that Blue's name came up consistently. The fact that he was almost model-pretty didn't hurt. He was handsome, with dark hair and dark-green eyes and full lips that managed not to make him look feminine despite their lushness. He was tall and lanky and young ... but behind those eyes, Mick felt as though he was looking at an old soul.

Mick glanced over at the sleeping boy. "I've got him in the safe room. We're hidden, and he'll be okay. They think it's being taken care of."

He had to be careful of what he said, in case Blue was registering any of it, but Prophet would know that Mick was supposed to kill Blue for Erik.

"I'll stop by so we can give Erik proof that it's done." Prophet paused. "When the drug wears off, you can't just let him go. For all our sakes."

"I know." He thought about the fake ID in his bag. "I'll take care of it."

Although they'd only met a little over a year ago, Blue had been on his radar for years before that. At one point, Mick had even been assigned to track him down and stop him from pulling off a major job in Belgrade involving a top government official and his collection of Roman artifacts, but Blue had eluded Mick's grasp.

The next time they'd met, Mick was seemingly on the other side of the law. That was his specialty with EE, Ltd.—getting in with the criminals and taking them down from the inside. Why he worked so well in that role, he had no idea, but it was a fit for him. He was even-tempered, and he could let bad things happen to good people for the greater good. But right now, he couldn't sacrifice a man who'd taken a proverbial bullet for him.

After stripping Blue's shirt off, Mick's gaze went to the tribal tats along his shoulders and biceps. Some men looked good with tats, others not so much, but Blue definitely fell into the former category.

He couldn't help but run a finger along the black ink.

Blue was passed out, making him completely pliable, total putty. Mick took Blue's jeans off and debated putting sweats on him but decided not to. If he was wrong about the drug, he'd have some explaining to do, but he doubted they'd be that lucky.

This op was so close to being blown because he had no way of knowing whether Erik and his men were testing his loyalty or they were on to him. By pretending to kill Blue, he'd gain back some trust and hopefully prove that he was upset with Erik for not being cautious.

If his cover had been blown, he'd lost two years of work for his agency. Two years of his life making sure DOB-5 never hit the streets or the hands of the many drug lords and other powerful men who wanted it. Hell, it had taken a full year just to get close enough to Erik to confirm that the drug really existed.

He sat in semidarkness and cursed his circumstances.

He was thankful that no one knew what hotel he was really staying at, and that no one had followed him. The night clerk was paid well for deniability. He'd never let Mick down over the past five years he'd been dropping in and out of Bogotá. This large hotel was tourist heaven, provided big rooms and a great way to stay invisible. Even so, if there'd been more time, less pressing circumstances, EE's protocol would've dictated he take Blue back to the States that night.

Twenty minutes after the phone call, Prophet was at the door, and Mick handed him Blue's wallet, sans a couple of things that looked irreplaceable, like Blue's passport. He pocketed that and Blue's phone, then cut himself to put blood on Blue's clothes. He'd put some of the blood on Blue, snapped a picture of him with his neck at an odd angle, done a little doctoring of the photo, and Erik would have the proof of death he needed. It would go to Erik through the bartender who was on Erik's payroll.

Prophet would drop it without being seen.

Mick would text Erik after Prophet made the drop, telling him Blue's body had been weighted and thrown into the river for the crocodiles to deal with him.

Prophet glanced at Blue, passed out, IV running. "You think that's going to do any good?"

"Can't hurt."

"It's going to hurt no matter what, Mick."

Mick had seen the effects of DOB-5 firsthand, knew that Blue wouldn't have the coordination to even jerk himself off. Even if he did, he'd be raw by the end of this. There was no real way to push it out of his system faster—Mick was trying saline and sweat in the small hope it would help a little. "What would you do?"

"Is this one of those morality questions? 'Cause I got 'Unsatisfactory' on my last few official psych evals when I answered the so-called morality questions."

Mick pressed his thumb and forefinger to the bridge of his nose and squeezed, like that could stop the pain of Prophet's rambling. "Not a morality question. What would you do?"

"Me as me? Or me pretending to be you?"

"You cannot be serious. You are fucking killing me, Proph."

"Very dramatic. Okay, look, I'd help him be comfortable, any way I had to. That's always the right thing to do." After all the bullshit, then he gave answers like this. Made Mick feel like a goddamned idiot.

"Thanks, man."

"Anytime. Use condoms."

"I fucking hate you."

"Get in line. And you owe me for tonight—that makes your tally like a zillion favors."

"Isn't this what you get paid to do?"

"So says you. I have different ideas about my job description," Prophet told him. "What's your real issue with this kid? Because I know fucking him isn't what's causing all this angst."

You should never have asked Prophet for advice—you knew he'd see right through you. "He steals."

Prophet's brows furrowed in a frown. "Dude, so do we. Why the roadblocks?"

"Come on, Proph—it's different for us. He's not undercover or doing it for any noble purpose. He just likes it."

"He's not living like some rich asshole, right? What does he do with the money?" When Mick couldn't answer, Prophet nodded, like he knew he'd hit on a lightbulb moment. "While you try to figure that out, lock up behind me."

As if he needed any reminding.

If anyone came for them, he had knives and tranqs. Guns, too, but they were too loud in this setting. For the moment, his biggest problem was Blue. Because although the handsome boy wearing a St. Nicholas pendant necklace was sleeping peacefully, he wouldn't be for long. The thought of how the drugs were no doubt running through his system, preparing to wreak havoc, made Mick's gut clench.

(Continues...)

---

Excerpted from Free Falling by SE Jakes, Sarah Frantz. Copyright © 2014 SE Jakes. Excerpted by permission of Riptide Publishing.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

---