by Heather Long
Covering Coco (Special Forces: Operation Alpha)
Special Forces & Brotherhood Protector Series 7
Heather Long
Contents
Series so Far
Covering Coco
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
About the Author
Also by Heather Long
Books by Susan Stoker
More Special Forces: Operation Alpha World Books
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
© 2018 ACES PRESS, LLC. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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Series so Far
Securing Arizona
Chasing Katie
Guarding Gertrude
Protecting Pilar
Wrangling Wanda
Shielding Shayna
Covering Coco
Covering Coco
Life between the cross hairs
Retired Navy SEAL John Jacob “Jacko” Johnson earned a reputation for being cool under pressure, having more kills from behind the scope of a sniper rifle than anyone else active on the teams, and being a total smartass. Some things don’t change, and not even a traumatic brain injury sidelining him keeps him from kicking in when his friends need it—most recently a top-secret mission to retrieve a lost asset.
Bolt action is louder than words
Coco Adler’s military career ended abruptly on a dishonorable discharge. Or so reads her military file. Recruited for a top-secret program, she digs in deep. When her cover is nearly compromised and she can’t reach her handler, she goes dark but stays on mission. The last thing she expects is a lunatic in a Hawaiian shirt to take her down a moment before a sniper’s bullet would have.
Forced to work together, Jacko will do everything to cover Coco’s extraction—even if it kills him.
Chapter 1
Monte Carlo. The gorgeous crown jewel of Monaco’s tourism perched on the edge of the Mediterranean Sea. The brochures described it as popular for its casinos, glamorous palace, Formula 1 Grand Prix, numerous resorts, and the nightlife. For the past three weeks, she’d combed every inch of the city and ventured out to check out the nightlife. She’d even gotten chummy with some of the local security forces. The climate of security reigning over the city created a safe place for residents and visitors alike.
Who knew she could both appreciate the limitations the intense security provided—including a system of 24-hour video surveillance spanning the entire surface of the principality—and resent it in the same breath? The fact her target made his way to Monte Carlo in the first place created a cluster fuck of epic proportions.
Pacing over to the window, she checked the beach with her binoculars. The target hadn’t left his cabana since he’d settled in. The tent obstructed her view of anyone he might be meeting. After Berlin, she couldn’t afford any mistakes and she was flying below the radar and had to stay there. Her handler missed three of her last check-ins, and her calls seemed to just land in a void.
Had she been left out in the cold?
Maybe.
Pulling her hair up, she looped it into a fat braid, and then covered it all with a floppy hat. The sundress didn’t offer much in the way of protection, but the wavy fall of the dress let her hide the knives strapped to her thighs and she tucked a small pistol into her oversized canvas bag hidden beneath a heavy towel. None of it had the easy access she wanted, but if she ended up needing them—well then she’d be screwed anyway.
Crime in Monte Carlo was low, and kept that way by a police force where there was one to every one hundred residents. You could probably walk down the middle of the street wearing the crown jewels unmolested for fear of the penalties exacted by their judicial system.
Fantastic for the residents, and absolute shit for anyone trying to gather intel on an arms dealer.
Suck it up. She met her gaze in the mirror for a fraction of a second, then inspected her appearance. It suggested tourist or at the very least dilettante out for a walk. The big hat would help her avoid some of the cameras. The sunglasses she slid into place would do the rest. They fucked with facial recognition.
If she had her way, the target would leave Monaco for somewhere more accessible—Northern Africa would work. Even France itself would offer more appeal. Until then, she’d watch and she’d wait. Ready, she exited the hotel room then took the elevator to the first floor. Everything she needed was in the tote and she had stash boxes across Europe with different IDs. Every time she walked out of the hotel, she prepared for the moment she had to bolt.
The warm breeze teased her as she followed the white stone path to the beach. The sandals weren’t her favorite, but she could run in them. Hell, she could run in four-inch heels if necessary. Not that she enjoyed either experience. Too bad combat boots were not an option. Of course she could have gone barefoot, and jogged along the sand, but the point was to get a good look at who might be meeting with Eric Percival.
The breeze swirled her skirt, but the weight in the hem kept it from blowing upward or revealing her blades. The sand crunched beneath her feet, even as the waves lapped against the shore. If she were on vacation she might admire the postcard perfection of the location. Of course the mental snapshot she took said something like Wish the target was dead. Sorry I’m here.
Shaking off the melancholy following that thought, she crossed the sand toward the water’s edge and kept a hand on her hat to discourage it flying away. The scarce population on the beach was a problem. Crowds made blending in easier, particularly when you didn’t want a target to know you were observing them.
Turning, she cut her gaze to the right. The angle let her see the rented cabana’s empty interior. Surprise cut through her. Where the hell had Percival gone?
Tipping her head up, trusting the wind pressing on the edges of her hat to help hide her face, she studied the length of the beach. The only time she’d taken her gaze off the cabana had been when she left the hotel room. Five to seven minutes was a long time, but the car he’d arrived in was still parked above. She’d clocked it when she made her way to the stone path.
Cursing mentally, she scanned the beach as she walked. The slow strolling pace that of a woman just out to enjoy the sunshine, the water, and the languid pace of a gorgeous locale. The target was nowhere in sight. His long ginger locks stood out like a red flag. The fact he dressed in hobo chic just added to her ability to find him in dense populations. So where the hell was he?
After weeks of being out in the cold, losing her target was not an option. Altering her route, she headed for the walking path closer to the resorts. He was staying in a detached bungalow at the sam
e hotel she’d booked a room. If he’d gone anywhere, hopefully it was there.
Ten minutes of ambling later, she arrived in the vicinity of the bungalow. No discernible activity revealed whether he’d returned or not. Loitering wasn’t an option. Nothing in the area would serve as an excuse for why she lingered. Pivoting, she debated whether she should head back to her room or walk away.
She’d found Percival before. After weeks of treading water here, coupled with the lack of contact from her handler suggested she’d been burned. No one would blame her if she walked. It was her call.
Therein lay the bigger problem.
The mission was the job. She didn’t walk away from the job.
No matter what her jacket said about her dishonorable conduct discharge.
Leaving the bungalow, she followed a path between the buildings to leave the illusion she’d merely gotten lost or at least turned around. Ahead of her, a man strode along the same path coming directly at her. His bright red Hawaiian shirt with fat dancing pineapples had to be the ugliest thing she’d ever seen.
Tourists.
Probably a visitor from one the many cruise ships which made port at Monte Carlo to allow the passengers a day’s excursion before continuing its circuit of other Mediterranean luxury destinations. Canting her head to the left, she checked her six. No one followed her, and only the tourist ahead of her, she focused somewhere past his left shoulder. It let her keep an eye on him without making eye contact. The sunglasses assisted in the cool affect.
He, on the other hand, grinned wide. The sharp, rectangular, semi-rimless frames he wore added to roguishness of the faint beard decorating the hard angles of his jaw. Couple the even planes of his face, with a sexy full mouth pulled into a smile and she almost regretted this wasn’t a vacation.
Clearly, he was checking her out. Men. They all thought they were the gift every woman was waiting to enjoy. In ten steps, he’d be abreast of her so she angled her path to the right. Most women would surrender their place as they walked, a conditioned response to avoid confrontation with men in general, and particularly with men they didn’t know.
Coco didn’t need the hassle right now, because apart from the obnoxious shirt, he really was damn good looking. Those dark eyes tracked her, too. Shaking her head, she hoped he got the message and kept her gaze forward.
Two steps away, he made his move and she braced for the impact. Taller, with wider shoulders, and what turned out to be hard packed muscle beneath the too large shirt, he hit her like a freight train.
She hooked her leg around his as they went down, intending to flip him. But he avoided it—what the actual fuck?
Elbow up toward his adam’s apple only earned her a twisted arm as he caught her arm, turned her and then they hit the ground—her face down in the trimmed grass with his whole body atop hers. Seconds later, bullets sprayed the concrete.
“Get off.” She ordered as she pushed upward. They were in a kill box, trapped between two buildings with no damn cover.
“Down,” he retorted, hand on the back of her head as another spray of bullets kicked up the grass next to them. He grunted, and a shockwave of force rippled over her.
Shit. One of the bullets had hit him.
“Play dead,” he whispered, his lips near her ear. He went limp and all the air whooshed out of her. The man weighed a damn ton.
She went still, playing dead. Trapped beneath him, she couldn’t see the path. In the distance sirens kicked up, and shouts came from the road.
“Get off,” she repeated the earlier order. “We have to get out of here.”
“Sixty seconds.”
Sixty? Was he insane? “There is wide angle CCTV coverage everywhere here, we have to go.”
No question, mister hit like a damn linebacker was a pro. Of course, whose side he was on was anyone’s guess. “Forty seconds for the camera ahead to swing away.”
And he just took a bullet for you. Ignoring the snap of her conscience, she bucked her hips to his. A mistake, because damn he was solid everywhere.
“Come with me if you want to live,” he grunted, and then he was on his feet and had her up with him. Laughing, he tugged off her hat and she snagged it from his hand, stuffing it into her bag and pulling a scarf around her hair before they’d even made it three steps back the way she’d come.
“What the hell is so funny?” What was wrong with this guy? And where had those shots come from?
“I’ve always wanted to say that.” He grabbed her hand and tugged her with him. “There’s a car a half click to the east. Stay with me.”
“Let go,” she snarled, pulling her hand from his.
“Stay with me.” The clipped tone had her bristling.
“I can walk just fine without someone holding my hand.”
“We’re about to re-enter a camera line of sight, so try not to geld me.”
“What the hell are you…?” She never finished the sentence, as he pulled her against him with a rock solid arm around the back of her neck and then his mouth was on hers. The thick body armor he wore pinched against her breasts. This close, she couldn’t miss it. It also explained the lack of blood.
The savage kiss both breath-taking and infuriating. He spread his hand against the back of her head, keeping her there even as he kept them moving. Eyes open, she didn’t miss the way his gaze angled toward their path until his tongue slid against hers.
It was one thing to use a public display of affection to distract, she got that. But his tongue invasion was too damn sensuous for business. Grazing the invading tongue with her teeth, she shifted the kiss enough to latch onto his lower lip. The bite drew a hint of blood and he arched his head back.
Instead of snarling, though, he just grinned. “Damn. That was hot.”
He was insane.
Arriving at a range rover, he clicked a button and unlocked it—then he opened the passenger side. “Get in Ms. Adler. We have a lot to talk about.” Even as he spoke, he glided his hand down her spine to her lower back.
“Touch my ass, and the bruise on your back will be the least of your problems.”
Undeterred, he kissed the tip of her nose. “Get in or I’ll throw you in, darling.”
Asshole.
She got in, but she also put her hand into the tote and gripped the gun. He slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine. They were pulling into traffic and away from the resort as the flashing lights of the police arrived.
A block later and with no pursuit, she aimed the gun at him but kept it low and out of sight of any passing cameras.
“Who the hell are you?”
“My name is Jacko Montoya. You’re my asset.” The blasé attitude riled her on every level. “I’m here to rescue you.”
What. The. Fuck.
Chapter 2
Jacko divided his attention between the road in front of him, the possibility of a tail, and the lethal woman sitting next to him. If he hadn’t been briefed on her skill ahead of time, the maneuver she pulled when he’d tackled her might have left him nursing bruised and broken nuts for a week. Instead, he only had the impact bruise on his back from taking the shot. Deep breaths were going to be a while, so he concentrated on deepening the shallow breaths he could take.
“Try again,” she said, her tone dropped ten degrees and threatened frostbite despite the gorgeous weather outside.
“Damn, did you miss the class on a sense of humor?” He checked over his right shoulder before changing lanes. The sooner they cleared the roundabout, the faster he could get them on a route out of Monaco. “You need to lose the gun. The last thing we need is to give the border guards a reason to detain us.”
“Last chance to answer the question. I may get injured in a car crash, but you will definitely be dead.” Unflinching, relentless, and stubborn. He liked her already.
That said, there would be no way to explore the affection if she did shoot him. No doubt existed within him that she’d deliver on the threat. “Did you bring an umbr
ella?” Ugh. It sounded like something out of a bad Bond ripoff.
“Of course, when one visits London regularly, it becomes a habit.” Code word phrase answered, some of the chill evaporating from her voice.
“Habits shouldn’t dictate fashion.” Identify. Respond. Confirm. Spies were so asinine with their protocol.
She lowered the gun. “Next time lead with that.”
“Sure…of course the laser sight on your chest didn’t leave me much time.” It had only been dumb luck he’d seen it. Had they been in full sunlight, he might have missed it and the rapidly winding down clock on his mission would have ended with a bang.
As if echoing his thought, she rubbed a hand against her breast bone. “Take the next turn off.”
“No,” he said, refusing to relinquish mission control. “I have one directive. Get you out of here.”
“My mission is unfinished. Percival is back there at the resort.” She twisted in the seat and glanced behind them.
“I don’t care if he is one car over. We’re not turning around. Wagner says you know all the major players on the map in Europe.” An asset they couldn’t afford to lose was what Wagner began with, and an asset he wasn’t certain hadn’t turned. Either way, extraction and back to the States for a full debrief.
“Fuck Wagner.” The blunt response had his lips twitching.
“Well don’t hold back, sweetheart. Tell me how you really feel.”
“Not sure you have code word clearance.” She pulled wipes out of her bag. “Where are we going?”
