by LS Silverii
“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.
CHAPTER 7
“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.
CHAPTER 8
“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.<
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“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.
CHAPTER 9
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 y
our 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.