by Louis Scott
“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 Cajun. The warehouse was his house, and the only rule was 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. Pike was seated behind the regular Task Force agents. He looked calm and cool, but mostly delicious. She grinned while moving toward him. Pike’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 blouse she liked to wear during her undercover assignments. It exposed just enough of her tight tummy to send libidos soaring, and turned most bad guys slobbering idiots.
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 set atop several sets of tattered sawhorses. The table had seen it all. Kilos of cocaine, marijuana bales, cash, weapons and tears—mostly tears upon this wooden 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. Lawless’s jaw twitched with each gnash of chewing gum—muscles flexed in sync. He resembled a marble statue. She’d enjoyed the former relationship with this Greek god since her Task Force assignment, but Voodoo couldn’t get Pike out of her head.
Lawless glared into the faces of each agent before he proceeded with the briefing—it was a silent gut check. Everyone nodded—even Pike. 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. Pike grimaced as he thumbed messages into his smartphone.
“Who’s on scope?” Pike asked the obvious.
“Any sharpshooters volunteering?” Lawless asked.
“Me.” Pike 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 was irritating.
“Enough,” Pike 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?”
“My stoolie 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 crap out of the place. It’s now at the Marriot Hotel on Canal Street.” NOPD Detective Gabrielle said.
“How do you know all of that, Gabe?” Oro asked.
“I sure in heck ain’t got money enough to attend,” Gabrielle scoffed. “I’m beating the street on an off-duty detail there. Gotta make sure when they roll the red carpet across Canal Street, that Rex doesn’t get his blue-blooded butt run over going to meet the monarch of Comus.” He snarled and shrugged in surrender—then laughed, “Heck with it. It’s cash money.”
“That makes sense because the informant wasn’t sure what Rex was, but knew this group was mad at him.” Chu fumbled pages of his investigator’s notebook to fact check.
“What group?” Pike asked leaning forward. He debated how much of Jonas’s intel to share with this team without violating FORCE orders.
“An Indian sounding something,” Chu offered. “The snitch is a meth head. He can’t recall much.”
“Carvaka?” Pike asked.
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 of love and pleasure. Mostly pleasure—by that I mean sex. I ran across them working the penitentiary—they’re dangerous. Don’t kill for hate—kill because they just feel like killing. Says it makes them happy.” Everyone tuned it, 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.” Pike 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,” Lawless added. “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.” Pike 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 stuff 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 them,” Lawless warned. “They’re inhumane.”
“I’m not jumping the gun. I’m simply telling you what I know,” Pike’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 date, and the man she might be falling for. Her dating history hadn’t been stellar. She’d learned to guard her heart with the hard cop facade, but Pike threatened to change that. Had the others noticed? Either way, she had to keep her feelings in check. Her professional reputation depended on it.
Chapter Seven
Pike found a small Task Force office down the hall from the rest of the crew. He quietly slipped inside and eased the door closed. Making sure it was locked, he dialed into FORCE via an encrypted cell phone application.
“Alex, I want the truth about this operation. Everything you know.” Pike clenched his fist around the phone. His words spit across the connection like bullets.
“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 Vladimir, the Avaslavian dictator. Earlier in her CIA career, Alex 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,” Pike sucked in a deep breathe. “I can’t believe FORCE is going to hang these cops out to dry down here. We swore the same oath. We’re all family.”
Pike 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 onto a scheme associated with the Serpent?” Her excuse sounded contrived.
Pike 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, Vaughn.”
“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. Geez, it was just a month ago that Senator Eleanor Payne had ordered the complete deactivation of FORCE
“Alex, I’m not your enemy. All I’m asking is for help on this operation. You know the Serpent’s disciples want to kill someone—someone important. How can you sit on your thumbs and not try to stop it?”
Pike 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 Alex’s refusal to help.
“Let me make this crystal clear. Because the Serpent exposed every federal operative’s identity to terror cells from Al-Qaeda to ELF, we can no longer run field ops.” Her words were meticulously pronounced as if she spoke to a child. Pike beat his fist against the air.
“Then what the heck 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 FORCE operations until the depth of the security breach was resolved. You aren’t, are you?” Her voice cracked wicked. Alex 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, CW Colt, 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 Colby didn’t think they’d know him either. Barton 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.” Alex agreed.
“Thank you. So FORCE in?” He asked.
“You said you didn’t have a choice now, so why not?”
“It’s Voodoo.” Pike admitted.
“I thought you were Episcopalian or something like that?” She chuckled.
“No, Agent Krystal Laveau, codename Voodoo. There’s something about her—something special.” Pike’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 crushing on. 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.” Alex hung up without saying good-bye.
Crushing on?
Chapter Eight
Pike and Voodoo rode to the meeting location without saying a word. Their silence was more about nervous mental preparation than because the other Task Force agents were monitoring them. They knew their cover team consisted of the best cops around, but Pike also knew how dangerous this fringe group could be.
“Sure you know where we’re going?” Pike asked to break the ice.
“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, Pike 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 going to have to stay too far out to be any good if things go sideways.”
“Maybe they can drop a bomb from the surveillance plane,” She laughed. “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?”
Pike 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 current relationship status, but he sure didn’t need his protection team leader raging in a streak of jealousy.
“Okay, Pike, you’re the greatest ever. I beg you—never leave me.” She tossed her head back so her short hair snapped.
The sarcasm incensed Pike and drove him wild for her. The way she grunted—even if the reply was sarcastically sassy.
“Let’s get back to reality. Maybe next time we can spend time alone without being interrupted by Bonny or Alex.”
“Who’s Alex?”
“My boss.”
“Who you work for anyway?”
“An intel unit based out of D.C. 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 knotted 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?”
Pike’s blond hair hadn’t been washed in thre
e 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—Pike, 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 stuff 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 American 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 crazy for you.”
The Jeep lurched as it decelerated. The foliage canopy swallowed them from sight. Pike 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 butt 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. The Navy’s BUD/S training had proven to be only the beginning of many hell weeks throughout the course of Pike’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.