A Good Samaritan Read online

  A Good Samaritan

  Brotherhood Protectors World

  Jesse Jacobson

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Epilogue

  Murder in Tranquility

  Chapter 1

  Also by Jesse Jacobson

  Original Brotherhood Protectors Series

  About Elle James

  Copyright © 2019, Jesse Jacobson

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.

  © 2019 Twisted Page Press, LLC ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this book may be used, stored, reproduced or transmitted without written permission from the publisher except for brief quotations for review purposes as permitted by law.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please purchase your own copy.

  Brotherhood Protectors

  Original Series by Elle James

  Brotherhood Protectors Series

  Montana SEAL (#1)

  Bride Protector SEAL (#2)

  Montana D-Force (#3)

  Cowboy D-Force (#4)

  Montana Ranger (#5)

  Montana Dog Soldier (#6)

  Montana SEAL Daddy (#7)

  Montana Ranger’s Wedding Vow (#8)

  Montana SEAL Undercover Daddy (#9)

  Cape Cod SEAL Rescue (#10)

  Montana SEAL Friendly Fire (#11)

  Montana SEAL’s Mail-Order Bride (#12)

  Montana Rescue (Sleeper SEAL)

  Hot SEAL Salty Dog (SEALs in Paradise)

  Brotherhood Protectors Vol 1

  Preface

  Author’s note: “A Good Samaritan” is part of the Rainhorse series, but can be read as a standalone.

  A list of Jesse Jacobson’s other novels can be found at the end of this book.

  If you enjoy cozy murder mysteries, please check out Murder in Tranquility, Jesse Jacobson’s new novel. A free excerpt of Murder in Tranquility is provided at the end of this book.

  A Good Samaritan (definition)

  1. A person who goes out on a limb to help others,

  with no expectation of reward

  2. A person who gratuitously gives help or sympathy to those in distress.

  Luke 10:30–37.

  Thank you, Elle James and Susan Stoker

  Prologue

  Wednesday, 3:30 pm

  Sana'a, Yemen

  Aden Al Wasabi answered his cell phone.

  “You know who I am?” came the voice on the other end.

  Al Wasabi covered the earpiece with his hand and turned to his son, Samir, “It is the man I told you about,” he whispered in Standard Arabic. Samir nodded and leaned forward. Al Wasabi put his phone on speaker.

  “I do,” Al Wasabi answered, in flawless English. Our mutual friend said you would call, and so you have.”

  “This line is secure?”

  “I pay a great deal of money to make it so,” Al Wasabi answered.

  “There is a man in your country I want dead.”

  “I know this. Our mutual friend told me who it is,” Al Wasabi grumbled. “I thought he retired long ago.”

  “I have a long memory.”

  “He would be a difficult target. It will not be easy. It will be quite expensive.”

  “You know this man?”

  “I certainly know of him,” Al Wasabi admitted. “He has a reputation for being quite formidable.”

  “But you can do it,” the voice went on. “You have Aretas.”

  “I see Aretas’s reputation precedes him.”

  “It does. I have admired his handiwork from afar for some time now. He is unrepentant, efficient and makes his targets suffer.”

  “Ah, it sounds as though I am not the only one who does his research.”

  “I need this done tomorrow,” the voice asserted. “Thursday, at five o’clock your time.”

  “Tomorrow? I cannot do this on such notice. Even with Aretas, these things require planning—three weeks minimum for a target of this nature.”

  “I am on a timeline,” the voice informed. “It must be tomorrow. I will double your asking price.”

  Samir’s eyes opened wide and his mouth gaped open. He nodded at his father, encouraging him to accept the arrangement.

  Al Wasabi paused. “Do you know precisely where this man is?” he asked.

  “I do, and he will not know you’re coming,” the voice claimed. “He has been living a clean life with his wife in obscurity for years. He believes his enemies have forgotten him. It should be a piece of cake for a man like Aretas.”

  Al Wasabi looked at his son, Samir. He smiled at his father. Al Wasabi returned the smile.

  “For the use of Aretas on such short notice, it will cost three times the normal fee.” Al Wasabi stated.

  “Done,” the voice agreed. “I will text you his address.”

  Al Wasabi’s smile broadened. Samir quietly clasped his hands together and looked up in a silent celebration.

  “You know the drill,” Al Wasabi concluded. “Half now. Half when the job is done.”

  “I will wire the funds as soon as we hang up,” the voice indicated.

  Al Wasabi heard a beep, ending the call.

  “This is amazing, father,” Samir switching back to Arabic. “This will be our biggest single payday yet.”

  “The target disturbs me, though,” Al Wasabi replied. “He is not a man to be messed with.”

  “You heard what he said. The target has been retired for years. He believes no one knows where he is at. He’ll never see it coming.”

  Al Wasabi nodded, “Yes, but there is another matter.”

  “What matter?”

  “I cannot use Aretas for this assignment.”

  “What do you mean?” Samir asked.

  “I cannot risk this going wrong, Samir,” Al Wasabi cautioned. “And this mark will have a special meaning for Aretas. It will cloud his judgment. It’s not safe.”

  “What special meaning, father?”

  “Aretas comes from a line of assassins,” Al Wasabi began.

  “This I know,” Samir interjected. “His father and his grandfather before. I don’t understand the relevance.”

  “Aretas’ father was a man named Abbas. He was regarded as the most lethal assassin of his time.”

  “I know these things, father,” Samir contended, “but I still do not understand what you are . . .”

  “Our target killed Abbas,” Al Wasabi interrupted. “He killed the father of Aretas thirty years ago, when Aretas was an infant. He is the reason Aretas grew up without a father.”

  Samir sat back and sighed, giving the matter thought, “Couldn’t that be a good thing? Revenge can be a powerful motivator.”

  Al Wasabi shook his head, “You know Aretas. The news will sen
d him into a rage. We have an agreement with the Yemeni authorities. We cannot conduct this type of business here in Yemen. The target is American—it’s very sensitive. If we must break our agreement, we must do so . . . delicately, quietly. It cannot involve Aretas. Do you understand?”

  “I see your point, father,” Samir acknowledged. “Aretas has never done anything delicately or quietly. But your client expects Aretas. He is paying for Aretas.”

  “If the target is dead, who is to know?”

  Samir thought for a moment and chuckled.

  “I will send Kateb and the Mohammed brothers,” Al Wasabi concluded. “They are good men and will follow instructions. They have never failed me.”

  He began dialing the phone.

  “What are you doing, father?” Samir asked in Arabic.

  “I am calling the Mohammed brothers.”

  “What about me, father?” Samir asked.

  “What about you?”

  “I am your best man after Aretas.”

  “No,” Al Wasabi maintained.

  “I am ready for this assignment.”

  “No, you are not,” Al Wasabi argued. “This target, he is dangerous.”

  “Please, father, allow me the honor of doing this,” Samir insisted.

  “You have not made a kill of this magnitude,” Al Wasabi cautioned.

  “I will take Yasser, Alam, and Kateb,” Samir explained. “The client said the target is unaware anyone seeks to harm him. I will bring three times the firepower needed. I want to do this, father.”

  “Four men for one target?” Al Wasabi noted. “It seems excessive, even for a man of his reputation.”

  “If you wish, I will take fewer men,” Samir offered. “I will go alone if you say the word.”

  Al Wasabi considered his son’s proposal for a moment and smiled, “No. Take all three men with you. It’s better to be safe. I do not wish to tell your mother that her son was killed. Do not take any chances.”

  “We will go in with . . . how do the Americans say it—all guns blazing. He will never know what hit him.”

  “Samir, as we discussed, this must be done discretely,” Al Wasabi noted.

  “Don’t worry father, we will use noise suppressors.”

  “Good.”

  Samir smiled, “This will catapult my name to the level of Aretas,” he boasted.

  Al Wasabi smiled, “It will my son. It will.”

  Chapter 1

  Friday, 5:04 pm

  Plentywood General Store, Plentywood Montana

  The young, tall Cheyenne sat on the ancient barnwood steps of the general store looking out over the vast arid grasslands of the Great Plains. It was unseasonably hot, even for Montana. He was shirtless wearing only khaki workpants and sandals. His long, jet-black hair flowed nearly half-way down his golden-brown back.

  Patches of white clouds chewed away at the distant rolling hills. A soft breeze made the tall grass sway back and forth.

  Behind him appeared another Cheyenne, not as tall and muscular as the first, but equally striking in appearance. He was carrying two large boxes of groceries and supplies. He sighed as he looked at his friend.

  “Anything I can get you?” the smaller Cheyenne asked. “Lemonade maybe? Iced Tea?”

  “Oh, sorry,” the larger man replied, flashing an embarrassed smile. “Are we ready?”

  He held up the two boxes, “Matty, are you going to help me or what?”

  “Sorry, Red. Little Jackie is asleep in the back seat,” came the reply. He nodded toward the Jeep. “I’m watching him.”

  “Yeah, right. And the fact that there is no one else in the store and no one as far as the eye can see in any direction didn’t make you feel safe enough?”

  The large Cheyenne flashed a blank stare at his friend, “Lindsay said I could not take my eyes off him, not even for a second. That was a direct quote.”

  “And I would never suggest otherwise if we were in downtown Bozeman, but we’re in the middle of nowhere. Besides, I’m here now. I’ll load these boxes in the back. There are two more on the counter inside the store. Go get them and let’s hit the road. We stayed in Plentywood too long.”

  “Jackie likes the merry-go-round,” Matty pointed out.

  “Oh, really?” Red replied in a smug tone. “A small child who enjoys the merry-go-round? Who knew? C’mon. It’s a long drive back and we are already very late.”

  “I know. Lindsay is going to fry my ass in butter,” Matty sighed.

  “You need to control your woman better,” Red jibed.

  “Summer Rose would be just as pissed,” Matty insisted.

  “Not at all,” Red insisted. “Summer Rose has been late from work three times this week. I had to make dinner on her nights as well as mine. I have a ‘get out of jail free card.’”

  “Lucky bastard,” Matty scoffed. “Why are you so anxious to get back, then?”

  “It’s date night,” he replied. He smiled; it was a mischievous grin.

  “You dog.”

  “Ok, move it,” Red snapped. “Chop, chop.”

  “I’m on it.”

  Mathias “Matty” Yellow Wolf and “Red” Red Feather loaded the last of the supplies into the black Jeep Wrangler. Red slipped into the passenger seat. Matty hopped into the driver seat and started the Jeep. He glanced back at his sleeping son. The child looked like a sleeping angel. The five-year-old had raven-colored hair and golden skin like his father, but the rest of the young boy’s facial features all belonged to his wife, Lindsay. It could not have suited him better. Jackie was perfect.

  The toddler woke a little fussy but Matty knew what to do. He handed his young son a set of headphones and a portable DVD player. Red saw what Matty was doing and shook his head.

  “You know Lindsay hates him watching DVD’s so much,” Red said.

  “You’re right. She would kill me if she saw it,” Matty replied, “but when he gets cranky this is the only thing that works. Do you want to listen to him cry and complain?”

  “Not my first choice, no.”

  “Okay then, let’s go. He’s happy, I’m happy and you’re happy. I’m driving.”

  Twenty minutes into the drive from the General Store in Plentywood to the Ft. Peck Indian Reservation, the hum of the Jeep’s tires and the warmth of the sun on his face, was causing Red Feather to drift off to sleep.

  Yellow Wolf poked him with his finger, “Red, dude, wake up. You need to talk to me. I’m getting tired.”

  Red Feather jerked at the rude arousal, and sat up, startled, “Sorry, Matty, what do you want to talk about?”

  “I don’t know,” he replied, “Anything.”

  “Well . . . how about those Yankees?” Red joked.

  Matty looked confused, “You know I don’t follow football.”

  Red chuckled, “The Yankees are a baseball team.”

  “I knew that,” claimed Matty.

  “Yeah, right, of course you did,” Red countered with abroad smile on his face.

  “Tell me this,” Matty continued. “Have you heard from your uncle?”

  Red shook his head; the smile disappeared, “No, I haven’t. Lindsay asks me at least once a week. She is pissed.”

  “Royally pissed,” Matty replied. “It’s been five years, dude. Five years since Lindsay has spoken to Rainhorse. No call. No card, no way to reach him—radio silence.”

  “Welcome to my world,” Red said. “You remember how long it was before I saw him again when he first took off.”

  “Eighteen years, I remember. And Jackson is the man we named our son after.”

  “His real name is not Jackson,” Red pointed out. “It’s a nickname Lindsay gave to him. So, in effect, she gave my uncle a new name and then named your baby after the nickname she gave him.”

  “Whatever,” Matty muttered. “The point is, Rainhorse has never even met our son and he’s five now. It’s been very stressful for Lindsay. She misses him. I never know what to say when she brings his name up.”

/>   “Part of me understands. He spent thirty years of his life as a paid assassin, never allowing anyone to get close, always alone, making sure no one knew where he was or what he was doing. Old habits die hard.”

  “Well, you’d think Neha would stay in contact, though,” Matty argued.

  “They both work for UNICEF, Matty,” Red said. “They’re in a third world country trying to eradicate diphtheria or build a sewer system. I don’t think they have cell service in Algeria.”

  Matty looked at Red, confused, “He’s in Algeria? I thought he was in Azerbaijan.”

  “I think it’s Algeria,” Red guessed.

  “Algeria is no longer a third-world country,” Matty rejoined. “Are you sure they’re in Algeria?”

  Red’s face went blank for a moment, then he shrugged, “No, I’m not sure at all. Hell, he could be on the moon for all I know. It’s been several years since I actually knew where he was at. At any rate, I know Neha was very passionate about their work, too. I’m sure we’ll hear from them sooner or later.”

  Matty sighed, “Lindsay doesn’t do well with the lack of communication. She created the Lindhorse Recovery Foundation so she could keep all her peeps within arm’s reach, especially Rainhorse.”

  “That part is Lindsay’s own fault,” Red insisted.

  “How so?”

  “If she had asked me beforehand, I could have told her it wouldn’t work,” Red alleged. “Rainhorse reporting into one place at nine o’clock every day was never going to last long. He is a rolling stone. UNICEF was perfect for him, and for Neha, too. They can be together and still be bouncing around the world saving lives . . . all at the same time.”