Shadow Ops: Danger's Desire (Kindle Worlds Novella) (A Shadow Ops Novella Book 1) (4 page)

Voodoo rocketed across the rock-topped levee toward the Task Force headquarters just outside of Chalmette. Glimmers of sun bounced off of the Mississippi River. Dust spewed from beneath four-wheel drive Wrangler tires, while sunshine baked her dark hair and face. She stole glances at the mirror as she eyed the next slide of gravel and oyster shells that led to the warehouse.

“Not today,” she said, looking at her reflection. “That damn hunk gonna be in the house and I look like shit.” Voodoo rarely fussed to fix herself up for duty. Sure, a dab of deodorant and fingers through her hair, but no need for makeup among the group of Task Force agents. She’d been raised to hunt and fish—no waiting on Mr. Right to take care of her, she was a true bayou brat.

She shoved the stick shift forward. Her body lurched as the transmission ground back a gear for the descent. Voodoo smacked moist lips, her mouth opening to expose a set of perfect pearly whites.

The thought of her grandmother, who’d labored three jobs to pay for braces, brought a smile to her face. Her mawmaw had passed away before Voodoo could afford to repay, or thank, her. Then thought of Hollywood shooting his cum all over her teeth caused her tongue to slide across them like ice coated by oil. She shut off her thoughts, unwilling for the cop and Mawmaw to share space in her head. But a rumble echoed in her throat. She throbbed at the thought of him, and it wasn’t easing up.

The Jeep skidded across the oyster and gravel Task Force parking lot. One last flash in the rearview mirror and she was set to face Hollywood.

“Good morning, Krystal. Glad you could join us.” The Task Force Commander didn’t look glad. Actually he was rarely glad. She’d never known anyone so intense about their work—or play. He’d give you the shirt off his back, but he’d rather rip it off someone else’s first. Captain Lawless Boudreaux was one bad ass Cajun. The warehouse was his house and the only rules were that he made the rules.

“Law, late night prepping for today’s deal. Had a scope to sight in.” She felt a flush rise. He grunted.

She moved easily through the bare space of the converted furniture warehouse. As the only female, she expected, and received preferential treatment—and taunting. Hollywood was seated behind the regular Task Force agents. He looked calm and cool, but mostly delicious. She grinned as her path was created toward him. Hollywood’s smile ducked into his palm. They exchanged lingering glances. Their eyes stopped playing coy and the intensity caused her to lose herself in thoughts of their time together.

Heat rose across Voodoo’s cheeks again. She slid behind Agent Chu and chuckled deep inside. Feigned coughs pitched her shoulders to conceal the lightheaded silliness. She snorted quick shots of air. Her forearm pressed across the seductive blouse she liked to wear during her undercover assignments. It exposed just enough of her tight tummy to send libidos soaring. Her clit throbbed. She hadn’t touched it since the shower, but energy pulsated through it.

Why can’t I stop thinking about him?

“Big day on deck. I need your best.” Lawless towered over the group, but it was his ability, not his size that earned their respect. He’d worked his way through the ranks after a tough start as a corrections officer at Angola State Penitentiary. A cop’s cop, Lawless led the Task Force like they were his family—the only family he’d speak of.

Long, tangled hair swung as he nodded. Everyone shuffled around the cypress tabletop. The rough, unstained rectangle lay across several sets of tattered sawhorses. and had seen it all. Kilos of cocaine, marijuana bales, cash, weapons and tears—mostly tears upon this rectangle.

Thick fingers tracked the distance from the bridge of his nose, along his brow and back over his scalp to rein in the locks of unkempt brown mane. His jaw twitched with each gnash of chewing gum—muscles flexed in sync. He resembled a marble statue. She’d enjoyed being fuck buddies with this Greek god since her Task Force assignment, but couldn’t get Hollywood out of her head.

Lawless’ sincere brown eyes gazed into the faces of each agent before he proceeded with the briefing—it was a silent gut check. Everyone nodded—even Hollywood. Voodoo smiled. She’d fallen for
the look
every time, but Lawless wouldn’t deploy his team unless every single agent was confident in their mission.

“Chu’s confidential informant told him about these guys trying to hire a team of hit men. Or hit women—forgive me Krystal.” Lawless’ attempt to keep it light fell flat. “They’ve been auditioning teams all week, but the CI doesn’t know who their target is or when the shot is to take place. They gotta be semi-legit because they’re paying five hundred bucks per team to audition,” Lawless said, reciting from his briefing sheet.

“Why’s Voodoo going in on this?” state police agent, Peter Oro, asked.

Voodoo sprung off the stool, her chest pressed forward in a posture to challenge. “Why, Pete? Don’t think I can pull it off?”

“I’m sure you can. But are you a sniper?” He simulated an eye to scope.

“Pete, they’re specifically recruiting for a female and male unit. My guess is they’ll need to maneuver in a public setting. Couples are less suspicious. So Voodoo’s got the green light.” Lawless eased the confrontational tone between Voodoo and the trooper. Hollywood grimaced as he thumbed messages into his smartphone.

“Who’s on scope?” Hollywood asked the obvious.

“Any sharpshooters volunteering?” Lawless asked.

“Me.” Hollywood said.

“You a shooter?” Pete’s face never turned to him, but his eyes slid sideways to wait for a reply. He sucked a toothpick, the smacking sound irritating.

“Enough,” Hollywood countered, holding himself in check.

Lawless smirked at the response and nodded. Muscles bunched in his hard-as-nails jaw. “Chu, anything else before we start the logistics of covering this rifle range u/c operation?”

Gabrielle, the NOPD detective, placed his finger inside his collar and tugged as his voice quavered. He’d earned his stripes, but Mardi Gras turned out the crazies. His plate was full and getting heaped on from his home office.

“My rat said they had to have teams on the hook by this evening. T-Boy and Tater said something about recruiting duos that fit in and they’d have to get fancied up.” Chu scratched his head to recall any other detail that might’ve been overlooked. His unkempt hair parted with each finger stroke, and then oddly returned to its place.

“The Krewe of Rex has their tableau tonight,” Pete added.

Rex, the king of Mardi Gras began the parade tradition in 1872. Along with the secretive crew of Comus it is one of the oldest and most deeply rooted traditions of the South. The tableau, known as the “Imperial Reception” back in 1873, continued until this day.

“Good call, Pete. It used to be held at the Municipal Auditorium until Katrina kicked the shit out of the place. It’s now at the Marriot Hotel on Canal Street.” Gabrielle said. The others lifted their hands in a how do you know kind of gesture.

“I sure in hell ain’t got money enough to attend. I’m beating the street on an off-duty detail there. Gotta make sure when they roll the red carpet across Canal Street Rex doesn’t get his blue-blooded ass run over going to meet the monarch of Comus.” He snarled and shrugged in surrender—then laughed, “Fuck it. It’s cash money.”

“That makes sense because the informant wasn’t sure what Rex was, but knew this group was pissed at him.” Chu fumbled pages of his investigator’s notebook to fact check.

“What group?” Hollywood asked leaning forward. He debated how much of Billy’s intel to share with this team without violating orders.

“An Indian sounding something,” Chu offered. “The snitch is a meth head. He can’t recall shit.”

“Carvaka?”

Voodoo gave an odd glare that crinkled her brow.

“Never mentioned that. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of it.” Chu confessed.

“They’re a whack group,” Lawless said. “Started off with this Indian mysticism bullshit of love and pleasure. Mostly pleasure—by that I mean sex. I ran across them working the penitentiary—they’re fucking dangerous. Don’t kill for hate—kill because they just feel like killing. Says it makes them happy.” Everyone listened, especially Voodoo.

“If assassinating someone makes them happy, then why contract it out?” Pete asked.

“They’re looking to cause chaos. Destruction is their pursuit of peace.” Hollywood peeled away from the wall he’d helped hold up. The massive empty cargo space—now briefing room—echoed with the sound of the hard plastic rifle carrying case he stumbled into.

“He’s right, they want to destroy society as we know it and rebuild based on hedonistic principles of self-satisfaction. Not public service.” More like a professor than a sheepdog, Lawless had learned hard lessons about radical groups and their ideologies. Biggest lesson—never underestimate the power of another’s passion.

“I may have an inside track on them. Let me check with my sources and I’ll brief once intel is declassified for dissemination.” Hollywood gritted his teeth knowing how that had sounded, then stepped back to watch the group.

His offer seemed to have uncorked suspicion from some Agents. He’d just appeared on the Task Force the day before and was now spouting outside sources and spy shit most of them had never heard of. More than a few eyebrows began to lift.

“Thanks, Dwight, but let’s not jump the gun. There’s nothing pointing to Carvaka’s involvement. But if so, be very careful around these fuckers,” Lawless warned. “They’re inhuman.”

“I’m not jumping the gun. I’m simply telling you what I know,” Hollywood’s voice hardened.

“If you know it, then you wouldn’t have to wait for some secret source to confirm it. Would you?” Lawless shot back.

Voodoo’s emotions mixed at this underlying confrontation between the man she used to fuck and the man she might be falling for. Her dating history hadn’t been stellar. She’d learned to guard her heart with the badass cop facade, but Hollywood threatened to change that. Had the others noticed? Either way, she had to keep her feelings in check.

“I want the truth about this operation. Everything you know.” Hollywood clenched his fist around the phone. His words spit across the connection like bullets. He’d found a small Task Force office far from the large briefing room, and made a secure call direct to Rose.

“Dwight, I’m not sure what your situation is, but I’d suggest you temper your tone.” Her speech never flexed—always in control. The only change in her voice from a once wispy, to the now deep, scratched tenor had come because of the nineteen days of horrific torture she endured at the hands of Gregor, the Razgravian dictator. Earlier in her CIA career, Rose was captured in that foreign country, abandoned by the United States government. She was lucky to have escaped—lucky be alive.

“I’ll check my tone once I know you’re no longer manipulating me. I can’t believe STR is going to hang these cops out to dry down here. We swore the same oath. We’re all family.” Hollywood had never spoken to her like that before. But he’d never before had such an emotional stake in the game.

“I’m sorry. You asked to TDY down there because of your Navy buddy Fats. How could I have imagined the Task Force would stumble into a scheme associated with the Preacher?” Her excuse sounded contrived.

Hollywood pictured her sprawled back with a grin of satisfaction because of her crafty shuffle in yet another game of cat and mouse. While most civilians would take offense at the mind games, he admired her mastery of the special ops craft.

“There’s a difference between temporary duty and a death sentence—you should know that more than anyone, Prospero.”

“Ahh, now we’re resorting to last names?” Her temperament switched to a sinister confrontation over the semantics of speech. Both skilled interrogators, they understood the value of each word spoken or unspoken. He was aware of the attacks on her leadership. Shit, it was just a month ago that Senator Susan Payne had ordered STR’s deactivation.

“Rose, I’m not your enemy. All I’m asking is for help on this operation. You know the Preacher’s disciples want to kill someone—someone important. How can you sit on your thumbs and not try to stop it?” Hollywood paced the confined office space Lawless had assigned him. He’d swept it for wires, bugs or video of course but he still felt violated. That might’ve been triggered by Rose Prospero’s refusal to help.

“Let me make this crystal clear. Because the Preacher exposed every federal operative’s identity to terror cells from Al-Qaeda to ELF, we can no longer run field ops.” Her words were pronounced as if she spoke to a child. Hollywood beat his fist against the air.

“Then what the fuck am I’m doing down here?” A chair flew from his kick and smashed into the small desk in the corner of the room.

“Enjoying the Mardi Gras as far as I’m concerned.” Her words taunted with a singsong dalliance. “Because if you’re actively involved in an investigation, you’d be in violation of a federal mandate to cease and desist all STR operations until the depth of the security breach was resolved. You aren’t are you?” Her voice cracked wicked. Rose was the master at innuendoes and contrived insinuations.

“I can’t just stand by and watch. She’s the primary undercover. They’ll kill her. I had to volunteer to go in with her—I’m her only chance of coming out alive and that’s only because of what I know.” Easing against the felt board that lined the wall, he recalled the way Voodoo’s body had felt against his. He grimaced at the thought of losing her.

“Have you lost your mind? You can’t go back undercover—they’ll kill you both.” Finally, her voice showed more than a flat-lined response.

“I’ve not been undercover, remember? All I’ve done the last two years is ride tech support behind a desk. Thanks to my team’s exposure by that selfish prick and his tell-all book. But now I don’t have a choice. Besides, what are the chances Carvaka even knows I exist?” It was true—he’d never actually operated in an undercover environment.

“ATF’s Agent Tillburn didn’t think they’d know him either. Lucky was damn fortunate to survive that ambush. I can’t risk losing you when the odds are stacked to start with.” Her words eased, but the constant firm undertone was present.

“Odds are always stacked against us in the shadow ops world.”

“Understood.”

“Thank you. So STR’s in?”

“You said you didn’t have a choice now, so why not?”

“It’s Voodoo.”

“I thought you were Episcopalian or something like that?”

“No, Agent Krystal Laveau, codename Voodoo. There’s something about her—something special.” Hollywood’s grip on the cell phone loosened. He felt relief after saying it out loud.

“It’s damn admirable, this willingness to risk your own life to save the life of someone you’re screwing. But don’t let it interfere with seeing things clearly. I’ll provide you with as much unclassified intelligence as I can, but intel is all I can do at this point.” Rose hung up without saying good-bye.