Operation: Recruited Angel (Shepherd Security Book 2)

by Margaret Kay

  As they reached the chopper, the Mexican guy suddenly stepped away from Razor and shot the other three guards in rapid succession.

  Fake blood packets burst from the top of Cooper’s bullet-proof vest, exploding the dark red liquid over his neck and face. He dropped to the ground. Lambchop’s body danced, recoiling as though a shot hit his exposed right shoulder as the squid in the blood packet went off causing the balloon to open and drench his arm. Then the packet in his helmet let loose and the liquid ran down his face. He collapsed to the ground. The Undertaker, in theatric glory, feigned an agony filled scream when Mother turned the gun on him. The squib opened the balloon in his pants, saturating his entire crotch with the fake blood. He crumpled to the ground as though his manhood had been obliterated.

  “Go, go, go,” Garcia yelled to Juan Carlos, pushing him towards the chopper.

  Mother pushed them both in, closing the door as he rolled in beside them. After the pilot took off, pushing the craft to its top speed, Mother unlocked the cuffs from Garcia and then Juan Carlos.

  Garcia took Mother’s hand, clasping it in his own and drew Mother in for a shoulder bump. “Thank you, man,” he said. “Juan Carlos, this is our friend, Miguel,” he introduced.

  “But you were one of the assholes who raided that warehouse,” Juan Carlos argued.

  “Yeah, took some doing to get assigned to that detail. You’re welcome by the way. If I hadn’t been there, they may have just blown you away.”

  “Miguel is my man. Sit back and relax,” he told Juan Carlos. “We’ll be in Miami and then back to Texas soon enough.” He slapped the younger man on his shoulder. “We’re back in business, my friend.”

  After the chopper was out of sight, Jackson’s voice came through the comms of the three men who laid on the ground. “And we are clear.”

  Cooper, Lambchop, and the Undertaker pulled themselves from the ground. Madison and Jackson exited the building from where they had watched the “prison break” play out.

  Madison wiped the fake blood from Cooper’s neck and face with a warm, damp cloth. She embraced him after he had removed the bullet-proof vest and shirt with the fake blood saturating it. “I didn’t like seeing you shot and dropped, even though I knew it was fake,” she whispered.

  Cooper kissed her, wanting to do a whole lot more. He pulled his lips away and flashed his trademark smirk at Lambchop and the Undertaker who had just removed their blood-splattered desert camo shirts as well. Both men stared openly at them with pleased smiles from both the success of the deception that just played out, and at the affection the couple displayed.

  Cooper and Madison had refrained from showing too much PDA since the team learned of their relationship. Even during their vacation in Aruba, the most affection they showed in front of most of the others was holding hands while walking the beach or a quick embrace. With Jackson and Angel, they relaxed and were able to act like a couple. The four of them had gotten together often since the news of their relationship broke.

  “Well, they’re away,” Cooper said, his eyes fixed on the dot in the sky that grew smaller the farther away the chopper got. “Let’s move. Garcia is counting on us and we will not let him down.”

  Lambchop, Jackson, and the Undertaker moved back within the building to grab their gear. Madison stopped Cooper as he attempted to follow. “I love you, John Cooper.” There were tears in her eyes.

  “I love you too. You know that,” he said, wrapping her in an embrace. He was confused by the tears.

  “I know I said I didn’t need a label for what we are, but I want to marry you, just us, no one from the team needs to be there or know. I want God to know that we are committed to each other. I don’t even care if we file a license with the state.”

  “Blondie, I’ve been committed to you since the first moment my lips kissed yours. Sure, however you want it, but I want our families there. I won’t disrespect your father by excluding him. He’s a good man and welcomed me with no questions asked, which if I were him, I would have had plenty.”

  She nodded against him. “You are a good man John Cooper.”

  “And you are a hell of a woman, Madison Miller. If there is a ceremony or not is irrelevant. I’m committed to you and always will be. You name the time and place and I’ll say I do.”

  Lambchop, Jackson, and the Undertaker had come back outside and stood behind the couple. Lambchop dropped his gear and wrapped his arms around them. “God knows what’s in your hearts, but if you even consider having anyone but me perform your ceremony, I’ll kick both your asses.”

  “And Shepherd will be pissed if you don’t invite him or the team,” Jackson added.

  Madison and Cooper both laughed.

  “I guess we don’t whisper too well,” Madison said when she subdued her laughter. She embraced Lambchop. New tears pooled in her eyes. “We’ll talk about it later. I don’t want a big deal made about it. It’s between God, John, and me.”

  Lambchop placed a kiss on her cheek. “A ceremony in public before your family, friends and God is so others can help uphold and support your commitment. It is a big deal, marriage. Don’t lessen the holy covenant that God ordains because you don’t want a big deal made about it. Proclaim your love and your commitment loudly.”

  Cooper laid his hand to Lambchop’s shoulder. “We’ll talk about it later. Now, let’s get back to work.”

  The three men walked down the flight line to the chopper that waited for them. Cooper and Madison reentered the building to grab their gear. Within, Cooper held her and kissed her with everything he had. “When we settle in for the night, I’m going to make love to you like I never have. I love you Madison Miller. But I think they’re right. We can’t keep this quiet from the team. We’ll talk about it later, but think about it, will you?”

  Madison kissed his lips, savoring every second. When she pulled away, she flashed him a provocative smile. “Let’s get back to how you’re going to make love to me like you never have. I’m honestly not sure how it can get any better, but I can’t wait to experience it.”

  Cooper laughed and swatted her behind. “Come on, let’s go. Garcia is counting on us.”

  The End

  Turn the page for a sneak peek at Book 3: Operation Dark Angel, to read the beginning of Razor’s mission. And look for the other books in the Shepherd Security Series. Each book is a standalone story, but they are better read in sequence.

  Book 1: Operation Protected Angel

  Angel Matthew’s day started like any other until she ran into the armed man in the hallway at her work. Enter Shepherd Security.

  Book 3: Operation Dark Angel

  Her husband murdered, on the run, and vulnerable. Will she trust Garcia and Shepherd Security?

  Book 4: Operation Fallen Angel

  In one of the most dangerous third-world shit-holes, an Angel of Mercy tends the most fragile patients. Will she let Doc and Shepherd Security tend to her in her moment of darkness?

  More books to follow. I am still working out the stories of everyone else on the team. Delta Team’s members stories will follow in Books 5-8.

  Please stay in touch. I have more books in the Shepherd Security series in process plus two more, separate stories I’m working on that I think you will enjoy.

  Visit my website at: www.sistersromance.com

  Email me at: MargaretKay@sistersromance.com

  Follow me on Facebook at: @MargaretKayAuthor

  Subscribe to my Newsletter to be kept informed of when my next books are due out at:

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  Operation Dark Angel

  Alpha

  The night air was cooler than it should have been for July in the Midwest. Here in the heartland, the corn belt, the fucking middle of nowhere. It was quiet, and the sky was pitch-black behind every sparkling star in the heavens, which twinkled like a thousand strings of bright, white Christmas lights. It was something she wasn’t used to. There were no reflected city lights illuminat
ing the sky. It was beautiful, mesmerizing, and it almost made her feel safe. Almost.

  Sienna Andrews rode in the old pickup truck as it rattled and bucked across the uneven blacktopped road, which gave way to a gravel path, which eventually became a narrow dirt trail. As the truck climbed the little rise its headlights spotlighted the gleaming chrome on the three Harley’s and the three rough-looking, leather jacket-clad men who stood anxiously by their rides. One was actually pacing.

  Michael McKnight put the truck in park and turned to the woman beside him. He had remained quiet the entire way, but now that they were here, he couldn’t hold his thoughts. His voice was tense, his eyes serious when he spoke. “You sure about this? You can still change your mind, Sienna. Let me take you to the cops instead. Surely,” he began.

  “The cops will get me killed,” she interrupted. It was a fact. “Tried that already, Michael, before I made it to you.” She grabbed his arm as the three men in the lights took a step towards the truck. He killed the truck’s headlights as he had been instructed to do upon arrival. “I have to disappear. It has to be this way.”

  “Watch yourself. This guy doesn’t fuck around,” he warned.

  She nodded. “But he’ll complete the job for the fee paid?” She asked for the third time. She was so far out of her comfort zone. Thank God, her cousin, Jimmy, had a connection like Michael, who dabbled in the less than legal, so to speak.

  “Always has, got no reason to doubt he will now.”

  “That’s all that matters then,” she said.

  Without another word, they both got out of the truck. She zipped her black leather jacket to ward off the unseasonable night chill and to hide the semiautomatic on her right hip. She shrugged her heavy backpack on and squared her shoulders, trying to project a confidence she didn’t feel.

  She caught sight of herself in the side mirror still shocked by her new appearance. Her hair was now jet black and cut in choppy sections. Her eyes had thick black lines smudged around them, makeup much heavier than she would ever wear. She pulled her eyes away from her reflection and followed Michael around to the front of the truck.

  One of the men stepped forward as they approached. He was the roughest looking of the three of them. He was also the biggest, tall, wide, appeared to be made of solid muscle. His black hair was long and unruly, windblown from the bike, no doubt. His facial features were chiseled and severe looking under the scruffy growth that hadn’t had a shave in at least a week. His black leather jacket had heavy buckles, his blue jeans were worn and held a heavy chain from his black belt to his wallet, and his black boots were heavy, big, at least size fourteens.

  “Shit! He’s scary as fuck,” she whispered to Michael.

  “Last chance,” he answered. “I’ll be gone in two minutes.”

  “You’re late,” the man barked. “Another minute and we’d have been gone.”

  “We’re here now, Razor, let’s just do this,” Michael replied with annoyance and concern. Michael pulled a fat envelope from within his jacket and handed it towards him. “As agreed, half now, the other half at the destination.” Wherever the fuck that was. He wished he would at least get confirmation from her of her safe arrival. If Jimmy ever suspected he had anything to do with his cousin getting hurt, Jimmy would kill him.

  Razor took the envelope and fingered through the bills. “I’ll count it later. It better all be here,” he warned. His voice was low and menacing, gravelly from too many cigarettes inhaled over the years.

  “It’s all there,” she spoke up. Her pale blue eyes met his. His eyes were so dark they looked black. He was of Hispanic or American Indian descent. In this lighting, it was hard to tell. She couldn’t believe she was putting herself, her fate, into this man’s hands. She turned to Michael. “Thank you. Please be safe. Lay low for a few weeks, take a vacation or something.”

  Michael winked confidently at her. “Don’t worry about me.”

  “Seriously, Michael. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” She raised up on tip toes and pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek as she embraced him.

  When they separated, he gave her a silent nod and then went back to the truck. She watched it retreat down the hill. Her eyes scanned the tree line nervously.

  “I don’t want your real name, but what can I call you?” Razor asked.

  “How about Faith, because I have faith that you will hold up your end of the deal?”

  He chuckled a short burst. “Sounds too religious and I’m an atheist.”

  “Then how about Hope, because I hope I can trust you to get me to my destination?” She suggested without missing a beat.

  His lips formed a smirk. “My grandmother’s name was Hope. That won’t work for a multitude of reasons.”

  “Then you pick a name. It really doesn’t matter,” she replied, growing impatient.

  “Charity, to help you remember the charity I’m extending to you by transporting you.”

  “You’re being very well paid for your efforts. I hardly consider it charity.”

  He ignored her. “Three ground rules. First, you be completely honest with me. This includes lies of omission and half-truths. That shit don’t fly.”

  She nodded.

  “You’re trying to disappear to get away from someone. Are you wanted by the law? And it doesn’t matter if you are, I just need to know.”

  “Yes,” she answered, but didn’t elaborate.

  “Anyone else?”

  “Yes,” she again replied.

  He nodded. “Rule number two, I’m in charge. You do what I tell you to do, when I tell you to do it. If I say jump you don’t even ask how high. You just fucking jump, is that clear?”

  “Crystal,” she replied.

  “I’m not fucking around about this, both our lives could depend on it,” he added, and then lit a cigarette.

  “Got it, can we get on with it already?” Her eyes scanned the horizon. Why was he stalling? They should have been gone the second after Michael pulled away. She felt exposed and vulnerable. Was this a double cross?

  “Third, if you’re on my bike, you’re in my bed,” he stated plainly and then blew out a big plume of smoke.

  “You have got to be fucking kidding me!” That smirk took up residence on his face again. “You are being very well paid to bring me from point A to point B. Don’t try to pull that shit with me.”

  “Those are the terms, sweetheart, take them or leave them, but there are no refunds.” He patted his jacket over the outside of where he had slipped the envelope and then took a deep drag from his cigarette.

  No, that would not be happening, any of it. “That wasn’t part of the deal. Are you trying to shake me down for a larger fee?”

  He laughed that low chuckle again. It was a sound that already annoyed the hell out of her. “No additional amount negates rule number three. Deal with it or walk away.”

  Her eyes swept the area. She’d deal with it later. The nine on her hip could take care of it if need be. They had to get moving. She’d been in the open too long. She nodded to his bike. “Let’s get on with it.”

  He looked her up and down. “Question and answer session first and remember rule number one. Besides the gun in your bag and the one hugging your appendix, you got any other weapons on you?”

  “What?” She replied in outrage “Why do you think,” she began, but was stopped mid-sentence by him suddenly drawing a gun, his arm extended, pointing it directly in her face. Her hands automatically raised in surrender.

  “Uh-uh, sweetheart, that’s not how this shit works. I ask you answer, no deflection, no answering a question with a question insulting my intelligence.” His voice sounded pissed. She remained quiet. Michael had been right. This guy didn’t fuck around. “Now, let’s try this again. You got any other weapons on you?”

  “No, just the .45 in my bag and the nine on my hip.” She began to drop her arms from the raised position they had gone to when he had pulled the gun on her.

  “Uh-uh, keep
them up.” He nodded to one of the other men, who went behind her and took her backpack from her. He stood behind her and she heard the zipper opening on her bag.

  “Got a CZ and ten plus magazines of ammo for both guns.”

  Razor holstered his own weapon. He stepped close and took hold of her jacket. He unzipped it. A lust-filled grin curved his lips as he stared unabashed at her cleavage displayed nicely from the stretchy dark blue V-necked tee she wore. “Nice,” he said aloud. Then he reached into her coat and pulled the Sig from her hip. He dropped the clip, retracted the slide to view the chambered round, then replaced the clip. He tucked it, holster and all into the top of his right boot. “Nice piece. I might just have to keep it.”