Special Forces: Operation Alpha: Protecting Joselyn (Kindle Worlds)

by Melissa Kay Clarke

  Text copyright ©2017 by the Author.

  This work was made possible by a special license through the Kindle Worlds publishing program and has not necessarily been reviewed by Stoker Aces Production, LLC. All characters, scenes, events, plots and related elements appearing in the original Special Forces: Operation Alpha remain the exclusive copyrighted and/or trademarked property of Stoker Aces Production, LLC, or their affiliates or licensors.

  For more information on Kindle Worlds: http://www.amazon.com/kindleworlds

  Protecting Joselyn

  Melissa Kay Clarke

  Contents

  Blurb

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  Also by Melissa Kay Clarke

  About the Author

  Blurb

  For three terrifying years, Joselyn Kendrik lived a half-life in Witness Protection hiding from a serial murderer and rapist nicknamed 'The Gardener'. After he was killed while placing a slashed teddy bear dressed as her on her father's grave, she could finally look forward to some normalcy in her life. Her newfound peace is shattered a year later when she receives a sinister gift eerily similar to others sent by The Gardener. Although assured by the police it is a copycat, she isn't as confident. Regardless of his identity, her stalker has made one thing perfectly clear; he's set his sights on her and nothing will stop him.

  Maddox "River" Benson is looking in the rear-view mirror at a twenty-year career with the Navy SEALs. Contemplating an uncertain future, River jumps at the chance to assist an old friend in the New Orleans Police Department. There is an unknown stalker zeroing in on an innocent young woman. Although there is only so much the police can do officially, River isn't as restricted. Protecting Joselyn is his only priority.

  Joselyn's schedule is a bane to River's security strategy. The feisty beauty is intent on pursuing her budding career regardless of her sexy bodyguard's advice. Although their opinions clash in the beginning, the escalating threats force them to come to a compromise. He must trust her with freedom and she must trust him with her life. Meanwhile, the growing attraction between them creates an entirely different set of issues.

  How can he concentrate on protecting Joselyn when thoughts of claiming her for his own continually distract him?

  When her stalker draws closer, will one ex-SEAL have what it takes to ensure her survival?

  Will River be able to Protect Joselyn?

  Dedication

  This book is gratefully dedicated to the men and women of the

  United States military - past, present and future.

  Through the best of times, you stand vigilant.

  Through the worst of times, you never give up.

  When others turn away, you boldly continue on.

  When the strong need help, you stand in support.

  When the weak cry out, you step into harm's way.

  Through your selfless service, you ensure the safety of others.

  With every drop of your blood that is spilled, you fulfill an oath.

  Never back down.

  Never surrender.

  And we must never forget.

  Thank you for your service.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you, God, for the talent you have given me. I pray I will never forget from whom all blessings flow.

  To my family, Robert and Rebecca, thank you for allowing me to spend all my time writing. I know you worry about me but I think I'm alright. At least the voices in my head say so - when they aren't arguing.

  A special thank you to Susan Stoker (www.stokeraces.com) for allowing me to borrow Wolf and his team as well as Tex. I appreciate you letting me dabble in your Seal of Protection world.

  For the MKC Beta Brigade: Donna, Jon, Hannah, and Holly. Once again, I couldn't have done this without your invaluable help. Thank you for keeping me on track and focused. I appreciate every hint, argument, suggestion and virtual butt kicking you have given me. Your advice is invaluable and your support priceless.

  Janet - Thank you for editing this monstrosity while you were busy working, being a mother and a wife, selling your house, packing to move, and getting ready for a trip. I wasn't sure you would be able to get it finished on my schedule, but you proved me wrong. I bow at the feet of your epic awesomeness.

  Lastly, I want to thank my readers. If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have anyone to tell my little stories to. Thank you for giving me a chance. I am humbled and eternally grateful.

  Prologue

  There were too many bodies shoved into the space causing the overwhelmed air conditioning system in the ancient courthouse to groan. Late spring in Pensacola could be warm at times but given the unusual temperature spike for April, it felt more like the midst of summer. Even the oppressive heat couldn't keep the gawkers away today. People were tightly packed into the hard wooden bench seats with even more people crowded around the walls. The air was charged with an electrical energy and a nervous buzz filled the room.

  The loud slam of wood on wood echoed through the courthouse as Judge David Rockwell called the room to order. Whispers slowly died out as all attention turned to the eight men and four women sitting quietly in the box to the judge's left.

  "In the matter of the state of Florida versus Douglas Beecher McClane, Madam Foreman, has the jury reached a decision?"

  The woman, Joselyn Kendrik, stood in front of the seat marked with a black number seven on the back. "Yes, your honor, we have," she said staring resolutely at the judge. Throughout the proceedings, she had been stoic, listening and making the occasional notes on a pad in her lap. Though she was only twenty-three, she had been chosen as foreman because of her ability to keep a cool head, not to mention the pre-law degree she obtained last year. Her ability to explain certain nuisances of the law to the others had been priceless.

  Now the bulk of the trial was over. There seemed to be a restless demeanor about her as if she couldn't wait to get it finished. She pressed a piece of folded paper into the bailiff's waiting hand and stood with her fingertips against the bar before her. The paper was delivered to Judge Rockwell who read it then had it returned to her. Clutching the verdict in her fingers, she faced the courtroom and waited as Judge Rockwell made notes on a pad on his desk.

  Nervously glancing at the cold, stony countenance of the former school teacher and accused rapist and murderer, Joselyn paled to find those hard hazel eyes boring into her. She had made it a point throughout the proceedings to only glance at him quickly in order to observe his attitude as the grisly details of each heinous act were explained. Throughout it all, he had remained aloof, as if nothing could touch him. Now he stared at her unabashedly. At his side, his attorney leaned over and whispered something into his ear. With a slow wink, McClane turned his baleful gaze back to the judge, breaking their locked stares and freeing her to focus on Judge Rockwell's words as he beg
an to explain the coming procedure and what was expected. Smoothing her fingers over the deep amethyst of her dress, she listened to the judge as he arrived at the verdict portion of his spiel.

  One by one, he read the twenty-three charges. Twenty-three heinous acts of horror perpetrated against six victims. Some of the crime scene photographs had been so ghastly, two jurors had become physically ill. The evidence was overwhelming and it only six hours of deliberation to reach the unanimous decision. Guilty.

  With the last verdict stated, a loud shout lifted into the air and several reporters rushed out of the courtroom. Judge Rockwell banged his gavel again and the noise dropped. Quickly, he polled the jury to confirm they each agreed with the verdict. Once completed, he turned his gaze to the smirking man whose dead, staring eyes were fixed on Joselyn's face.

  "Mr. McClane, you have been found guilty of all twenty-three charges by a jury of your peers. Sentencing will be in three days." He raised his gavel to dismiss the courtroom when Douglas McClane suddenly leaped over the table and threw himself at Joselyn. His momentum was stopped when his chest hit the bar. He stood there, glaring at her horrified face and clenching the wood with his fingers. Leaning forward, he screamed at her, flecks of spittle flying through the air as she drew back in fear.

  "Six blooms,

  Six goodbyes,

  Six voices,

  Six sighs.

  Six slashes,

  Six cries,

  Seven strokes,

  Seven will die."

  Pandemonium broke out as two burly bailiffs grabbed Douglas McClane's arms, yanking him away from the juror's box and down to the floor on his stomach. As the judge banged his gavel in an attempt to regain control of the situation, cuffs were produced and placed on the newly convicted criminal’s wrists. Pulling him upright again, the bailiffs and two sheriff's deputies dragged him toward the door.

  Joselyn sat in stunned silence, her face a pale ghostly white in stark contrast to her vibrant purple dress. Her fist still clutched the piece of folded paper as she watched them manhandle McClane through the door. The jury was dismissed and the judge disappeared through a different door but she didn't move. In her mind, McClane's final shrill words assaulted her as he was removed from the room.

  "I'll see you soon, Little Rose. My garden still needs tending."

  Chapter 1

  "Soul crushing" was the perfect way to describe the weight of dread pressing upon Joselyn as she sat in a folding chair facing a large, file-covered desk. The office was on the small side with gray walls and cracked linoleum popular about forty years ago. Overhead, the ceiling sported a large mustard-colored stain directly above the desk that most likely came from years of cigarette smoke. She stared at the spot and fought to bring her raging emotions under control as the man occupying the desk sealed her fate.

  "I'm sorry, Ma'am but there's nothing we can do."

  She was tired, cranky and scared; emotions which triggered her inner snark and it came out with a vengeance. "What do you mean there's nothing you can do? You are the police, are you not? Your whole 'serve and protect' motto is even written on your cars, isn't it, Detective Jameson?"

  The middle-aged police detective dropped his face into his hand and scrubbed the salt and pepper scruff there. He seemed to be in his early fifties but still in great shape. If she were to be honest with herself, she didn't know many men her own age who were as defined as this man. He must either work out like crazy or have perfect genes and metabolism to be this buff.

  Taking a deep breath, he tried again. "You don't seem to understand the problem here."

  Her eyes narrowed as she glared at him. "No, I don't think you understand the problem here." She placed the black box on top of a stack of reports and pointed at it. "My life is in danger."

  Detective Jameson glanced into the box and shook his head. "Just because someone gives you a gift doesn't mean they are trying to kill you. Most girls would be thrilled to have a secret admirer. You have to admit being who you are, it's to be expected."

  She ignored the patronizing tone when he said 'girls' and stuck her hand into the box. Pulling out a clear container she dropped it on the desktop.

  He looked at the package containing seven of the plumpest strawberries ever seen wrapped in milk chocolate and decorated with white dots. "I..."

  She huffed and leaned over the desk. "Wait, let me explain this to you again, Detective Jameson. As I told you, I'm deathly allergic to both strawberries and chocolate. This 'gift' contains both. It's a time bomb waiting for me!"

  Confusion washed over his face and he gaped at her. "Lots of people have food allergies and you can't expect everyone to know what yours are. It's a bad choice of gift, I agree but it doesn't mean the sender is out to kill you. You have to see reason here." Standing slowly, he picked up the carton and placed it back into the box. Pushing it into her hands he said tiredly. "Throw it away. You have to understand this is part of being a bestselling author. Not only are you an attractive young lady, you also have a lot of fans. This also means you are going to get attention."

  She ignored his attempt to placate her. "Attention? You call this attention. Maybe I have written a few books people like and buy. I didn't even... You don't... This is..." She growled in frustration. "I make my living using words and I can't even get you to understand." The helplessness of her situation dampened her fury until it evaporated. She felt the tears pooling in her eyes but refused to let them fall. Placing the box on the floor at her feet she sunk into the chair once again. Taking a haggard breath, she tried one more time.

  "Yes, I get gifts all the time. Things from my readers are the norm. I receive key chains, pictures...the occasional coffee mug. You see, my heroine, Deidre Cole, collects coffee mugs. Consequently, my readers send me quirky ones they find. I love that they connect to her on such a level." The brief smile left her face as she steered her thoughts back to the subject at hand. "However, that's not the point."

  She stopped and chewed her lip a moment before continuing. "Let me put it into perspective. Say this had been one of those fruit arrangement things or cookies or even something else. Anything other than chocolate covered strawberries. I would have assumed it came from my mother and eaten half of it without thinking. Anything else in this world and I wouldn't have thought twice about it. However, my mom and anyone else who knows me would also know about my allergy so getting this particular gift set off red flags. No, Detective Jameson, this came from someone else and I know who it was. I'm alive and sitting here right now because Douglas Beecher McClane doesn't know I am allergic."

  A confused frown wrinkled his brow. Sitting back he tucked his hands behind his neck, dropped his chin and glanced at her over the rim of his reading glasses. "I still can't understand why you would think this was anything other than a mistake. Wait...Douglas Beecher McClane?" His eyebrows raised as understanding dawned. "You mean the serial rapist and murderer? The one they called 'The Gardener?"

  Clutching her fingers tightly, she twisted them as she cleared her throat. "The same," she choked out. "You see, Detective Jameson, Chambers is a pen name. My real name is Joselyn Kendrik. I was the foreman for his trial."

  The shock almost knocked him off his seat. "You are Joselyn Kendrik, 'the' Joselyn Kendrik? The one he called 'Little Rose'... the woman he fixated on following his trial and escape? I remember the manhunt for him. I got a lot of overtime every time someone swore they saw him in New Orleans." Detective Jameson threw up his hands. "Okay, I can see now why you might freak out a little. I mean, getting a half dozen blood covered roses on Valentine's day from an escaped murderer-rapist would make anyone a little paranoid. The only problem is he can't have sent you anything. He's dead."

  She ignored his last comment. "To borrow from a common saying, I'm not paranoid if I know he is coming to get me." She raised her gaze and bit her lip. "I know you've seen the footage. You must have. Everyone has!"

  The news bite from Douglas McClane's verdict reading made a big splash
on both local and national news. There were not supposed to be any cameras in the courtroom but someone had taken a grainy four-minute video using a cell phone. Though the quality was poor, the look of sheer terror on her face was quite clear when Douglas McClane lunged at her, spouting his impromptu poetry. They had even managed to record his screamed promise as he was dragged from the courtroom. The video went viral within minutes of being uploaded to YouTube. She shuddered every time she saw it.

  "Nobody took it too seriously. Not at first, anyway. He was locked away in prison, waiting on death row. I remember watching the news when the story broke of him escaping during a prison transfer. It never occurred to me he would try to follow through on his promise from the courtroom." She shivered. "But those roses came along with its poem and suddenly my life was turned upside down." Closing her eyes, she recited the words burned into her retinas.

  Roses are red

  Or so goes the rhyme

  Pink and white blossoms

  On trellises do climb.

  But my Rose has hair

  The color of silk

  Eyes of sweet caramel

  And skin like milk.

  So beautiful to pluck

  As she blooms on a vine

  Essence deep red

  Like the finest of wine.