Long Time Gone (Hell or High Water ) Read Online Free PDF

prepping to be the big bitch she was and would even out that score soon enough.
    And he’d climbed out of hell for this, using Tom’s emails as a lifeline. Maybe just in time too. Because if he’d gone any deeper, he would’ve been unreachable in a way that no email could fix.
    And that’s what he’d been going for, of course. Dig deep, forget anything that happened above ground. Even now, he could turn around. No one was actually expecting him up ahead, so he wouldn’t be missed. But his conscience wouldn’t allow it.
    Goddamned motherfucking thing. If he could’ve cut it out with a knife, he might’ve.
    He’d already argued with himself (and lost, obviously) that he wasn’t fit for human company—and by human, he meant civilian—and that’s who he’d be facing when he drove into New Orleans and the French Quarter and . . . Tom’s wealthy Aunt Della.
    Did she know about him?
    He didn’t know much about Tom’s past, beyond the jobs with the FBI and the sheriff’s department, but what little he did know made him angry. And he was in a really bad place inside his head to be around people who made him angry.
    Who the hell had Tommy been fighting in that ring four months ago? Had to be family. Prophet had seen that same fury too often in John not to know that. And now . . . to have to face someone who had to have known what Tom had been going through as a kid . . .
    Another Carole Morse, who saw nothing but an angry son and didn’t investigate further.
    Another Judie Drews, who couldn’t do anything.
    He mulled that over as he pulled into Della Boudreaux’s driveway but kept the truck running.
    The house was old but refined, well tended, and cared for. Obviously, someone with money lived there, because this was one of the wealthier sections of the city. And he sat in his truck in the driveway, unable to get out and approach the door.
    He hadn’t thought much beyond getting here to help Tommy’s aunt. But that was a start. He would help her because Tom’s words had helped him.
    I’m not sorry. I’m trying to take care of you.
    But I could take better care of you if I was with you. I realize that now.
    I’ve also realized that it’s really never too late. For anything.
    For now, that would have to be enough. He finally shut off the truck, got out, and walked up to the porch.
    There was so much opportunity here, but Tom had grown up in the parishes of the bayou, not in the French Quarter. So why would he be so concerned about Della, who could probably afford the queen’s security?
    He knocked on the door and was greeted by a shotgun to the chest. He stared down at the barrel and then the woman holding it. She was pretty. Cultured. And still somehow fierce, in ways that had nothing to do with the shotgun pointed at him.
    And still, you didn’t protect Tommy.
    He froze his anger, stopped thinking about Tom’s scars and his temper. He’d just have to use what anger he wasn’t able to tamp down to fuel his hurricane prep. “You’re doing it wrong.”
    “Son, I’ve got a gun to your chest and you’re telling me that I’m doing it wrong?”
    “Yes.”
    “How?”
    “Closer isn’t better.” He disarmed her with a swift motion, then offered the weapon back to her. “Further away you are, the less unpredictable I can be.”
    Della’s eyes had opened wide with surprise, but she recovered fast. Took the shotgun back and said, “Okay. Knock again so we can start over.”
    “I’d rather spend time getting you ready for the hurricane.”
    She tilted her head and assessed him. “Friend of my nephew’s?”
    “Tom and I worked together.”
    “Think I won’t notice you avoided the question?” Prophet raised a brow, and she shook her head. “Tom didn’t tell me you were coming.”
    He held up his phone to show the list of messages from Tom, proof that he actually knew the man well. “My name’s Prophet. And that’s his work email, right?”
    “I thought he was busy with work, but I see