Shadow Ops: Danger's Desire (Kindle Worlds Novella) (A Shadow Ops Novella Book 1) (5 page)

“Sure you know where we’re going?” Hollywood asked.

“I grew up in these swamps—Turtle Bayou was my stomping grounds.” Voodoo fought the steering wheel and clutch. Her arms flexed to keep the Wrangler out of deep ruts. Jarred with each jolt, Hollywood clutched the padded roll bars.

“How about turning down the music so we can go over our cover story.” He reached for the satellite radio receiver. “I know we got back up but they’re too far out to be any good.”

“Maybe they can drop a bomb from the surveillance plane. For what it’s worth, last night was fun.” A brilliant smile flashed as her face covered by sunshades showed a genuine satisfaction.

“Gee, thanks. Just fun, huh?” Hollywood switched off the body wire so the cover teams couldn’t hear their conversation. What he and Voodoo did wasn’t Task Force business. Plus he wasn’t sure of her and Lawless Boudreaux’s relationship and he sure didn’t need his protection team leader raging in a streak of jealousy.

“Okay, Hollywood, you’re the greatest fuck I’ve ever had. I beg you—do me again and again.” She tossed her head back so her short hair snapped.

The sarcasm incensed Hollywood and drove him wild for her. The way she grunted—even if the reply was sassy.

“Let’s get back to reality for now, but when we do get to make love without being interrupted by Bonny or Rose, it’ll be the best you’ve ever known.”

“Who’s Rose?”

“My boss.”

“Who you work for anyway?”

“An intel unit based out of DC. Nothing special.” He wanted to tell her the truth. But now was not the time.

“So that’s how you knew about this Carvaka group of terrorists? You a spy?” She cut him a look as they approached a grove of oak trees covered in Spanish moss.

“Not a spy. Just a former squid that now sits behind a desk. Why you looking at me like that?”

Hollywood’s blond hair hadn’t been washed in three days and he ran his hand against the wind’s effects. He leaned out of the open-side Jeep and didn’t recognize the man glaring back at him from the passenger’s mirror. His usually tanned, taut face looked grey and exhausted. Red eyes revealed his lack of sleep over the last three days.

“I don’t know what it is about you—Hollywood, but you ain’t a paper pusher. I might just be some down-the-bayou Sheriff’s deputy, but I know people. You’re someone special.” Her hand left the stick shift to trail fingers through his hair. She scratched her nails along the angular features of his now bearded face.

“I was.” He pressed his face into her touch—it made him feel vibrant. He’d never known that feeling of being so alive.

“Baby, don’t say that. Sooner or later you’re gonna tell me what that shit between you and Fats is all about. He’s the best homicide dick there is, and what he says, he means. So, I know you’re some sort of fucking hero, and that’s making me…”

He waited for her to continue. She stayed silent. “Making you what?”

Finally, she met his gaze. “…so freaking horny.”

The Jeep lurched as it decelerated. The foliage canopy swallowed them from sight. Hollywood knew the risk of ducking surveillance units and he twisted to tell her to move out.

“There’s something about you that I haven’t been able to shake since kicking your ass yesterday.” Her green eyes shone through the tan-lens sunglasses. Long bangs swept away from her face. Her teeth nipped at her bottom lip.

The afternoon’s shaded breeze and her sweet smile transported his thoughts to liberty in Coronado. A rare sigh of contentment slipped between his full lips. Tough times were made tolerable thanks to moments of peace like this. The day’s circumstances faded as his heart melted for her.

He fidgeted in his seat as the Jeep sat parked in the shade. It was quiet except for the slight breeze, the occasional bird. BUD/S training had proven to be only the beginning of many hell weeks through the course of Hollywood’s career. But right this second, with this woman at this calm and quiet spot wasn’t one of them. His shoulders relaxed against the soft seat back. His eyes filled with the reality of the most exciting woman he’d ever known. Heart racing, he wondered if it was too soon to tell her how he felt.

“Krystal, can I tell you something?”

“Sure. Is it about the mission, cause it’s been very quiet.”

“No, personal.” His fingers twisted, jittered, danced along the jeep’s metal skin, baring agony over confessing emotion. He’d only ever been encouraged to bottle them up—no room for feelings in his line of work. He sucked in gulps of humid air, swatted at the gnats that bombed his nose and mouth and tried to figure out how to begin. “Umm…”

“You okay? I understand you being nervous and all, but this isn’t your first undercover op is it?” Her inked art came alive as her right arm slid around his shoulders. “I’ll protect your paper pushing ass.” She closed her eyes and drew him in for a kiss.

His skin razed at the electricity of her mouth against his. His right hand released the pistol beneath his thigh as fingers dove into her kinky, leaf-smattered hair. The greyish-green crown of foliage and deep line of swampy forest became their oasis. A timeless location that held all of life’s secrets—the right time and place to open his heart to her.

“Voodoo—I mean Krystal—don’t think I’m nuts. We just met, again, and I realize how soon it is, but…” His chest heaved, making the yellow, green and purple Mardi Gras colors on his t-shirt come alive. He wiped the moisture from both hands across his tattered denim jeans.

He’d known two years ago when they first met how he felt about her. That single kiss never left his lips. And here she was, again. It had to be destiny. His heart was full and he didn’t care.

“What is it?” She glowed as if she already anticipated his confession, but was it mutual? How could it be in so short a time?

“I, umm, I just want to say that…” He heard nothing but felt a change. Started to turn to tell her exactly how he felt.

“Put your fucking hands in the air or I’ll blow your brains out,” Demanded a camouflaged figure who pointed a long barrel shotgun at them.

Hollywood struggled. Tape stretched his shoulders apart and fused hands together. His left eye stung. The strip of industrial adhesive smashed across his face had caught the eyelid halfway open. He stumbled across lime-covered terrain with only a loose hand to guide him. There was no sound of Voodoo.

I know better. Let my damn guard down and these bayou boys snuck up on us.

He tried to speak, but tape sealed his lips shut. He recoiled as his left shin crashed into what felt like a cypress knee that shot from the soil. Soon, he felt still-chilly March waters soak his boots. He lurched forward across wetland waters that submerged each thigh. Even his dick tucked tight at the nip of the cold brackish bayou.

The sounds of two others—one along his side, the other to his rear—moved quickly and whisper quiet through this marsh. They were locals. Possibly even knew Voodoo. Hollywood didn’t know if that would hurt or help their chances for survival. If these were the Preacher’s disciples, how could they have detected him so quickly?

Birds beckoned along with teeming wildlife so Hollywood assumed the waters were still too frigid for snakes and alligators to have fully awakened from winter hibernation. He grunted as a tangle of gnarled vines tore at his neck. Shit, if he could only see. He stopped once his feet were slanting down. How deep was it going to get? The thought of walking into a watery grave wasn’t appealing.

Hands shoved against his back. He fell face first. Hollywood rocked his shoulders side to side once submerged. He needed a point of reference. Which way was up? No air in his lungs. Navy SEALs were best equipped in a water environment. A quick panic eroded as BUD/S training became instinct. The hours of deep-end pool drills and drown proofing could be the difference this day.

Finally, he touched a bottom—murky and soft—but a bottom. Careful not to drive his feet into the muck with a hard push off, he tapped the soil to begin a path toward surface. His body pulsed rhythmically until he felt the fresh flash of air break surface tension. He gasped and cursed behind the duct tape.

Finally, hands snatched him up by the hair. He was dragged forward until he skidded against soil. Hollywood forced himself to remain calm. Their intent wasn’t to drown him, which meant he had more time to figure this out, more time to rescue Voodoo. Just keep a cool head he repeated. They jammed his body onto his knees.

“Just stay relaxed,
cooyon.
This won’t hurt if you do as you’re told.” The tape lifted, and tore beard hairs from his face. He gasped, filling his lungs with air. Fuck the mosquitoes that got in. They’d have to deal with the hot fury boiling inside.

“What the fuck you doing, dude?” Hollywood’s temper raged like a volcano.

A hard-knuckled fist smashed against his chin, sent his skull up and backward. Light speckled behind his eyelids. He wobbled off balance until he toppled from his knees.

“T-Boy what the hell you doing, dumb ass? We need his face to show up.”

“Fuck him. I told him to cool. Curse at me and I’ll crack his pretty ass again.”

T-Boy. So this was them.

Hollywood flinched again at the jerk of tape from his brow. The glue and yank tore at his left pupil. Floaters danced in his left eye. He blinked them into a corner, but the damage was done.

“Where’s the girl?” Hollywood squinted, scanned the dense foliage.

“You here alone boy. Now smile pretty.” The short, thin hillbilly wore a tank top with ripped woodland camouflage BDU pants. Not military, but hunter’s type. His muscled arms were covered with a mixed mash-up of homemade and probably prison tattoos.

“Smile?”

“Yeah, just do what I tell you and you might not get killed.”

The other one, older and much larger, captured his image on a Wi-Fi laptop computer. He also wore the camo pants but had a BDU blouse to match. Military surplus. The original names had been crossed out with Marks-o-lot. A symbol was drawn on his shoulder where an embroidered patch would have gone. It was smeared but Hollywood made out the bold print – Carvaka militia.

“Why would you kill me for answering your ad? Ain’t you looking to hire a marksman? Fucked up application process.” Thick fingers clawed into Hollywood’s face to force it still for another angled photograph.

“Just wait mister. We checking your picture in a database. We know all the undercover cops. If you in it, well…I’m sure you can guess what’s next?” He jabbed his thumb deeper toward the woods.

Hollywood’s gut wrenched. He saw a corpse bound with barbed wire against an oak tree. Its head hung by the spine, the bottom torso mauled by wildlife. Hollywood mashed his mouth together. He assumed it was another federal agent.

His pulse spiked—Voodoo was being vetted elsewhere, he was sure of it. She’d been an undercover Task Force agent in Louisiana for years which meant she was at higher risk. SEAL training had included reading people’s involuntary reactions such as eye and mouth movements. He strained for clues as the man’s face glowed from the computer screen’s flicker. His mind darted, trying to recall if his identity might somehow be in the database. He tried to detect reactions but gained no response from their cold, dead eyes.

“Where’s the girl?” He demanded in a guttural bark that snapped their attention. It was the voice of the hard-ass warrior he used to be, back before he allowed someone else’s notoriety to force him underground.

“Let’s worry about you right now, mister.” The other one, referred to as T-Boy by his partner, meandered between the laptop and Hollywood. He tapped a long serrated blade against his palm.

“Who’s that tied to the tree?”

“Secret agent man. Thought he’d answer our ad and slip in here to spy on us. Joke’s on the feds—we know who you are.”

“I’m just a retired grunt looking to make quiet cash.” Hollywood’s eyes burned what description he could of the corpse into his mind. He was sure the government had a missing agent investigation already in process. Shit, he bet Rose knew about it too. Why the fuck hadn’t she shared that information?

“Bingo,” popped between thick greasy lips. The one called Tater laughed as his torso clenched rigid.

Hollywood prepared for the gunshot.

“Last chance, mister. Fess up and we might make it hurt less.” The blotches of cheap ink needled across T-Boy’s exposed arms twitched under the strain of the pistol aimed at Hollywood’s head.

“You’re making a mistake. I’m just a soldier looking to pay bills and avoid the VA. Either one of you in the service—we’re brothers. You know how hard it is. I’m not a fed.” He smashed his eyes shut at the press of the barrel against his temple.

“Last chance.”

“Fuck off, you got the wrong man.” He sat straight off his knees, pushed his taped palms together in prayer and said, “Please let the girl live.”

“Dwight Harriman.” Tater gasped. “I remember the news stories and reports in the paper. You’re freaking Dwight David Harriman.” He clapped his hands together and stomped around in the small clearing. “T-Boy, you know who this is?”

“Dwight David Harriman is what you said.” T-Boy rubbed his calloused palm over his nicked up shaved scalp. “Who’s he?”

“This is the man that shot Osama bin Laden.”

“What?” T-Boy’s eyes exploded from their sockets. His face drained pale.

“As I live and breathe, this is the greatest American hero. Oh my, God, Mr. Harriman, it’s an honor to meet you. Please, we’re so sorry. The job’s yours.” Overwhelmed, Tater danced until he bumped the computer.

T-Boy sprung up to grab Tater by the collar of his BDU. “Damn it fool, Rougarou gonna skin you alive if you break this damn computer.”

“Cut my hands free, now,” Hollywood snarled. Half pissed at his blown identity, and half glad his identity wasn’t on the Preacher’s list, he was fully anxious to save Voodoo.

“You really shoot that bin Laden?” T-Boy looked with a slanted skepticism.

“Right between the eyes.” Hollywood pointed his right index finger and simulated a pistol.

“Rougarou going to be pleased I discovered him,” Tater boasted. His weak-handed salute to Hollywood was an insult to anyone who’d ever attempted to salute another for honor or respect.

“Take me to the girl.” He commanded.