LEIF (Blake Security Book 3) Read online

  LEIF

  Blake Security, Book 3

  by Celina McKane

  Copyright © 2016

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER ONE

  NEW ORLEANS

  PRESENT DAY

  LEIF

  It was my first day off from Blake Investigations in weeks. My boss, Blake Donovan, was trying to recruit new guys, but he was really picky about who worked for him. I laughed as I thought about that. Considering that I work for him and I didn’t even apply for a job before he offered it to me, I think got lucky (I guess) and caught him in a rare mood. I was new in town and drunk off my ass when he met me. I was so drunk—in fact—that if five more minutes had passed, the bartender probably would have called the police to have me removed. I’m sure if he hadn’t shown up I would have ended up in the New Orleans Parish jail drunk tank because I was really close to passing out right there at the bar.

  I’m not much of a drinker, and before Blake walked in and found me, I’d already downed at least six shots and four beers. I don’t know how long it had been before that since I ate. I was in one of my downward spirals—and Blake saved my life. To this day I’m not sure why. I have no idea what compelled him to take me out of that bar that night, give me a place to stay, and offer me a job. I vaguely remember talking to him about why I was in that condition. Maybe it was just the army connection. Maybe it was simply because I was so pathetic. I hadn’t run across too many people in my life who wanted to help me. I was grateful to him, and over the course of the year I’d worked for him, I’d also come to have a deep and abiding respect for the man. Apparently Blake has some deep, dark secrets of his own that he’s dealing with. Maybe that was why he didn’t turn me away after he heard mine. The difference between Blake and me was that I bared my soul to him that night…a complete stranger. Blake would never do that. My other boss, Ryder Grant has been Blake’s friend for years, and he’s always frustrated because Blake won’t talk to him. He says that Blake used to be the life of the party, the class clown. That’s a really hard one for me to wrap my head around. I could probably count on my fingers the amount of times that he’s smiled since I met him. I’d have to use both hands since I was missing a few of my fingers.

  While I was still drunk, I told him what I had done and what demons were still chasing me. He’d listened, or at least pretended to, and then he’d taken me into his home and offered me a job the next day. None of that made sense to me, but I wasn’t complaining. I love my job—and the guys I work with are already the best friends I’ve ever had. None of them judge me for my past, which surprises me considering what I did.

  ***

  Helmund Province, Afghanistan

  2012

  LEIF

  I received a letter at mail call. Most people wouldn’t be surprised by that. But me, I never got letters. The only mail I ever received came from the army—and usually that was in the form of a memo. I stared at the envelope for a long time before I even opened it. The return address listed an address in New Orleans, Louisiana. I’d never even been there, but the letter was addressed to me, so once I got past the initial shock of receiving it, I opened it up and started to read. I was even more shocked when I saw that the letter was from a woman—and I realized that it wasn’t me she thought she was talking to almost at once. Hindsight is truly twenty-twenty, and I know now that I should have taken it back—right away—to the mail clerk…but I didn’t. I finished reading it, and then I read it again…and then one more time. I lay there on top of the itchy wool blanket on my bunk inside the sweltering building and tried to imagine something good for a change. I imagined that the letter was really for me and that sometime when I was on leave I had actually met her or a woman like her. I imagined the weekend we spent together—and by the fourth time I read the letter I almost had myself convinced it had really been me. Some people might say I need medication—and they might be right. But besides that what I needed most in the world was hope. I needed something to look forward to. Oddly enough, reading that letter caused a tickle of hope to flare up inside of me, and once that happened, I really couldn’t let it go.

  Hope has always been elusive in my life. When I joined the United States Army, it was because I needed a place where I could finally belong. I never knew my parents. They died in a car accident when I was just over a year old. The cop who responded to the accident found me buckled into a car seat in the back, peacefully sleeping. I’ve always been able to sleep anywhere and through anything, I guess that’s why. I was adopted when I was two. Those parents divorced when I was three, and Dad took off for parts unknown. Mom started drinking. She drank so much that she forgot to feed me and change me sometimes. They took me from her when I was four, and for the next fourteen years, I traveled from one foster home to another. I wasn’t ever mistreated at any of them, at least not in an abusive sense, but nobody ever paid me much mind. The other kids and the ones at school, however, were a different story. There was more than enough abuse there to go around, and I got more than my fair share of it. By the time I was eighteen and had aged out of the system, I was such an introvert that I could hardly speak to myself let alone to other people. A gnat had more confidence than I did, and on top of that, I had no idea what to do, where to go, or how to even get a job.

  One day as I was walking the streets of Oklahoma, the ones that I lived on at that time, I saw a recruiting booth for the army. I walked up to it, but as soon as the big guy in the camo uniform asked if I needed help, I took off. I stalked the booth for the next week, and one day, as the officer was breaking it down, I went over and just started helping him.

  He didn’t say a word until we’d finished loading it all into a truck he had waiting and then he simply said, “Thinking of signing up?”

  I nodded. My heart was pounding in my chest with that simple interaction. He looked me over, I was tall but definitely underweight. When his eyes made it back to my face, I wanted to turn away almost more than I’d ever wanted anything, but I forced myself to look into his hard gray eyes. He looked skeptical, and I didn’t blame him, but out of duty, honor, or pity, he took me under his wing and set about making a man of me.

  That was three years ago. I’ve done three tours to Iraq and Afghanistan since then, and I was just about to get sent to Kuwait for my last tour before I got the letter. Maybe it was my last tour. I wasn’t sure. I waffled back and forth about re-enlisting. I really had nothing to go “home” for and no home to even go to, but I was good at being in the army. I was eighteen and skinny and scared to death when I went in, and now I’m twenty-one, packed with about fifty pounds of muscle, and no longer scared of much of anything…except women, they still scared me. The last woman I was with told me I was her best-looking client…but I guess when you conside
r that it came from a woman whom I was paying by the hour, it didn’t amount to much. I haven’t ever been with anyone other than a “working girl,” so I’m not really sure what “real” women think of me. I have no idea what to think of myself—other than I’m good at my job and what I do is important. I have no clue how to function in society as an adult. In the army, I just had to function as a soldier…and I know that I’m pretty damned good at that.

  So good—as a matter of fact—it’s all I do most of the time. I pass up on leave when I can get away with it and give it to someone else…someone with a family or at least a life. My command forces me to take it twice a year though for my “mental health”—and then I pick a random place on the map and spend two weeks in a hotel room alone or with a very costly call girl. I use call girls and not hookers because…well, I’d have to actually approach a hooker on the street. I hadn’t been able to work my nerve up to do that yet.

  Anyways, all of that might explain to anyone that questioned it why I would want to hang on to the letter for a little while. Of course, they might think I was crazy, and maybe I am, but in my imagination, when I was with her, I wasn’t this dorky, shy guy. I was cool and smooth and she couldn’t get enough of me. When I really stopped and wondered what the heck I was doing, I told myself that these crazy thoughts were coming to me because of a head injury I’d gotten a few months prior. An IED blew up not too far from our patrol, and I was kicked back about a hundred feet and into a tree, headfirst. I had a concussion, and I’m sure that had to do something to me in the long run, right?

  Whatever caused me to have these warped thoughts, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I didn’t know what she looked like, sounded like, or smelled like…but the girl in my imagination was perfect in all respects. It’s insane, I know. But even as I had that thought, I was on my bunk and reading it again.

  “Dear Leif,

  I hope this letter finds you. I’m honestly not sure how you will feel about it if it does…but I had to write it. The weekend we spent together was so much fun and went by so quickly that I suppose the fact that I got your last name and that you’re in the army somewhere in Afghanistan, is a lot. I did some research to find out the rest. I hope you don’t think I’m a stalker, ha ha! I also hope that you believed me when I told you that I wasn’t the kind of woman that would normally do that sort of thing. I’ve never done that sort of thing and to this day am not sure what got into me. My only excuse is that when I looked into your big blue eyes I felt like I’d fallen into the deep end of the ocean. I couldn’t breathe nor could I think rationally.

  First it was a drink and then a dance…I never should have had that rum. The more I drank, the more I talked. The wonderful thing was that you listened. You made me feel important and interesting and right at that moment in my life, which was what I needed most. When I finally took a breath you swept me back out onto the dance floor…and then you kissed me. There was so much passion in that kiss, and at that point, I felt like there was no way I could possibly resist. I didn’t believe I was capable of having a one-night stand. I didn’t believe I even had that in me. But apparently, I did. Like with anything else, it had its consequences. Leif, the reason I’m writing to you after all of these months is that I just had a baby. It’s your baby, Leif. I know you probably have no reason to believe me, but if you’re interested in knowing the truth, there are easy ways to prove it these days. I just looked into his big blue eyes when he was born, and I knew you had a right to at least choose for yourself if you wanted to be involved or not.

  Since it’s easier to say things in letters than in real life I am going to say this… I have this dream that you think of me as often as I think of you. I know that I have no right to think that when you come home you’ll want to be with me, even if you do want to know your child. It’s been almost a year since I saw you and your choice not to see me or call me should be all of the evidence I need that you weren’t as enamored by me as I was you. So please know that I am not asking you for anything. I have no pre-conceived expectations. I just hope for your sake and our son’s that you might be interested in knowing him. He’s made my life complete whether I ever find love or not. I’d be willing to bet he could do the same for yours as well.

  So, my address and phone number are on the back of this letter if you want to contact me. If not, that’s okay too. I doubt you had any intent on getting a girl you don’t even know pregnant. After all, we did use protection…but things happen, and this one is my miracle, so regardless of your decision I thank you for giving him to me. I would be remiss as a parent to not at least give him the chance at having a father.

  So, this letter is partly for me and partly for you, but mostly for Hunter. Oh, that’s his name, Hunter. Anyways, a woman that sleeps with a man she doesn’t know is probably not who you would have chosen for your wife or the mother of your children. But I’d like to at least believe that you know that’s not all that I am. I’m also the girl that danced with you in the parking lot to the Spanish music blaring out of that man’s classic low-rider. And I’m the girl who made houses out of waffles in the middle of the night at the Waffle House and made you laugh. I’m the girl you made love to in the shower and begged to spend the night. I’m the one you walked along the Mississippi River with and shared a Beignet with the next day while we watched the ships come and go. I had so much fun with you. You made me feel beautiful and sexy—and that night, before you left, when we looked at the moon and you told me you would always be close because we’d be looking at the same moon was the best night of my life. Every night now I say good night to you while I look up at the moon. Please know that whatever you decide to do or wherever you go in your life, I will always cherish that memory. I will always hold your son in my arms and you in my heart.

  Be safe please and thank you for fighting for our freedom,

  That night I fell asleep with the image of her and me, or at least my version of her, dancing in a parking lot to Spanish music. We were laughing, and I was holding her tight. It felt so good, and I felt so loved…and then I woke up. I read the letter again on my way to the mess hall, and for some reason, that time the guilt really began to eat away at me. This woman had a child and some man had a child, and if I did nothing, that child would never know his father. I knew that in spite of how lonely I was and how much I’d love to pretend to be this guy and write back to her so that when mail call came once a week I would have something to look forward to, I just couldn’t do it. This guy had a right to know he was a father.

  I stopped off at the sergeant major’s office on my way to eat. I asked my buddy Sam, who was the sergeant major’s clerk to see what he could do about tracking down another guy in the army, in Afghanistan, with my same name. Then I went and ate and went to work and hoped like hell I could shake this feeling I had that fate was tapping me on the shoulder and this might be my only chance.

  *******

  In Afghanistan, when we weren’t on special assignment, I drove a SPARK. That’s a Self-Protection-Adaptive-Roller-Kit, or in plain English it’s a modified Humvee that’s designed to seek out hidden mines and clear them before our guys roll over them in a regular vehicle and end up in pieces. It was one of the riskier jobs—and I’d volunteered for it. It wasn’t as if I really had much to live for anyways. I wasn’t suicidal, just apathetic. Somehow I always seem to come out of things in one piece. I liked to think that maybe it meant that God was saving me for something important someday.

  About two hours into our day, the red light began flashing on the vehicle. That was supposed to mean there was an IED in the area, but we usually got a warning from our gauges before that happened. I looked over at the tech guy in the seat next to me. His eyes were wide as he said, “The gauges aren’t registering, anything.”

  “Lawson, what’s the frequency?” I asked into my headset. Lawson was in the far back of the vehicle looking at the computer screens. He monitors and measures radio waves, electrical activity, and radiation. He never mi
sses anything either.

  “I’m getting a remote signal,” he said.

  “Remote like a manual detonator?”

  “No sir, more like something is down there, but buried really, really deep.” I guess that would explain why the gauges still weren’t picking it up. We had sweepers underneath us, and there was constant pressure on them from the vehicle. I thought maybe we’d gone down into a little sand drift and that’s why they were missing it, so I shifted into reverse and just let the vehicle roll a few feet back.

  “The signal is going crazy now,” Lawson said into my headset.

  “I’m gonna roll forward and see if we can detonate it,” I told him.

  “Copy that, it’s one hell of a spike,” Lawson said.

  “Okay,” I said, “Brace yourselves, here we go…and don’t forget to say a prayer to whatever God y’all are worshipping these days.” I pressed down on the accelerator and thought about Karli, my imaginary girlfriend. I realized at that moment I had already planned on looking for her when I got out of here. Who knows? Maybe I got that letter for a reason.

  “Ticking!” Lawson announced in a slightly pressured voice.

  “Copy.” As I rolled forward again, there was a popping sound, and the vehicle rattled and shook, and then it was over and we were alive. It was very anti-climactic, except for the part where I had decided to become a stalker.

  CHAPTER TWO

  AFGHANISTAN

  2011

  LEIF

  “Hey, Okie Joe, I got that info you wanted!” Sam is from New York and my Oklahoma accent provides him with many hours of entertainment. This coming from a guy that says “Youse” and “Stoop.”

  “Did you find him?” Sam handed me a thin file. When I opened it, the first thing I saw was the other Leif Thompson’s face looking out at me. He was in Special Op’s too, but they were out on assignment. That would explain why the letter found me and not him. His location wouldn’t be listed anywhere while he was out. He was wearing a green beret in the photo, and even I had to admit that he was a good-looking guy. He was about ten years older than I was, and his eyes were definitely blue where mine were green. There was no resemblance that would give me the idea that I could impersonate him. That was probably a really good thing because I might just be desperate enough to do it when I got out of here. A guy can only exist on temporary purchased love for so long. I lifted up the picture and read over the copy of the report underneath it. I was in shock by the time I finished reading it. I thought that I’d misread it, but when I read it again, it was exactly the same. I felt almost lightheaded as I turned to the third page and finished reading his demographics.