Covering Coco (Special Forces: Operation Alpha) (Special Forces & Brotherhood Protector Series Book 7)

by Heather Long

  The background noise, which had seemingly faded, suddenly rolled in like a storm front. The clatter of plates, the murmur of conversation, a horn honk in the distance, and the rumble of vehicles passing the little café. How many people had passed right by while she lost herself in their very ordinary moment of connection?

  Too many. If he hadn’t kept her foot trapped she would have removed it. As it was, heat licked along her flesh from the warmth of her toes trapped against his denim-clad thighs. What would it be like if it were bare skin?

  A shiver of awareness crept up her spine, and she glanced over to find him watching her with an unreadable expression.

  “What?” She murmured, discomfited by what he might be seeing when he studied her. They were strangers. Intelligence operatives working in different areas and he’d come to bail her out of a problem she hadn’t fully defined yet. At the same time, he was comfortable, not as funny as he thought he was, yet brilliant. No other way to frame his cleverness. None at all.

  “How long have you been under?” He’d built another slice of bread, this time adding some fruit and a drizzle of honey to the cheese and meat before he passed it to her.

  So they were continuing the charade of lovers engrossed in each other, she prepared one for him—choosing a savory meat with a sweeter, creamier cheese and some figs. They traded their prepared gifts like a hostage negotiation. The combination he created for her was both sharp and very sweet, with the fruit giving it a tanginess that had her almost groan aloud. It was perfect.

  Taking her time with another bite, she was aware of his every motion and he made no pretense of his exuberant moan when he finished his first bite of what she’d made for him. “Damn, that’s good.”

  “Cheese, wine, and bread—we’re in France.” Spending so much time in foreign countries had given her a deep appreciation for their cuisine and an absolute gratitude for her astringent workout routine.

  “The company is the pièce de résistance.” His French was terrible, and the accent even worse, but she couldn’t help her grin.

  Lifting her coffee, she mimed toasting him. “Right back atcha.” Then before she offended anyone for toasting with java rather than champagne or wine, she washed down her last bite and added, “Five years, give or take.”

  Surprise creased his expression. “No breaks?”

  “No…building connections takes time and finesse. Blending in means you don’t surface, or you risk losing your equilibrium.” Not her first choice, but between Wagner and her handler, she’d come to realize that going home meant shedding the skin she’d created—or at least the one she’d had before Percival began trekking all over two continents. She’d worked hard to burrow through layers of secrecy to even learn his name.

  If she acclimated to home, then tried to burrow in…the discordant lives could have sabotaged her. Better to stay under until she had a reason to get out. The fact she was leaving with the job unfinished didn’t sit well.

  “That’s not healthy,” Jacko told her, and he dropped a hand to her ankle. The firm weight of his grip both grounded her and curbed the unease sliding through her system. “Even deployed teams need to be rotated, downtime is critical to mental health.”

  Shrugging, she finished her slice and began to prepare another one for him. Hunger gnawed along her backbone. “How long until our train?”

  “We have time. It’s a late one.” Letting them travel under cover of darkness. A good idea she supposed. But since it was evening, that meant they had time to kill.

  “Maybe we should shop.” An itch between her shoulder blades warned her they’d been sitting still too long. “Or go for a walk.”

  “Finish eating first.” He piled together another couple of slices and set them on her plate. “Want more coffee?”

  No. Her kneejerk reaction slipped beneath the ease he wrapped her in and she studied the street. Had she missed something? “No. The water is enough.” She wasted no time eating the next two slices quickly. They quieted the grumbling of her stomach, but she didn’t want to eat too much. Being replete might be pleasurable, but it also threatened to dull her responses.

  “C’mon, darling,” he murmured, massaging her calf beneath the table. “Relax. We won’t be late.”

  “I’m restless,” she tugged her leg away, and he released her. Once she slid her foot back into her sandal, she glanced around the café. Numerous couples and some families occupied the other tables. They were all laughing, chatting, or eating. A generous dollop of normalcy, and she’d spent too much time with her feet on the first step of that pool already.

  This wasn’t a date or a romantic escapade. They were on the run for some reason and Jacko hadn’t debriefed her on what was going on.

  He sighed, but rose and peeled off a few francs and set them on the table. It was more than enough to cover their meal and a tip for the waitress. “Whatever you want, sweetheart.”

  Shouldering her tote as he slung his backpack over one shoulder, she almost refused the hand he offered. If she let him hold her right hand, it trapped her shooting hand, but left his open. Yes, she’d noticed he was right handed. The tote bag was on her left shoulder, though, and her knives were in it. Overall, it would cost her seconds in response time.

  “Relax,” Jacko murmured, gliding his fingers between hers and dipping his head for a kiss. The murmur of his lips across hers added fresh static to the racing thoughts in her brain. “We can handle this. Trust me to have your back.”

  Weirdly, she did trust him. Yet, even as she let him guide her from the café and out to the street, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.

  “We’re not alone.” She said, leaning her head against his shoulder as she’d seen many couples do as they strolled. It also let the lower pitch of her words carry to him.

  “No,” he agreed, seeming unconcerned. “We’re not.”

  What the hell had she missed? Though they kept it to a sedate pace, her attention swiveled as she watched the street, and checked the windows of shops as they passed them. Who was following?

  What did they want?

  Most importantly—when would they strike?

  Chapter 4

  They had three hours until the train departed. The overnight passage would let them catch some sleep, but like his companion Jacko couldn’t relax. Their backup in Nice had orders to keep their distance. The path he took from the café toward the station took them past several shops—including one that reminded him of a department store. Bigger would be better for blending, but they needed something with few access points. He had no intentions of walking her into another kill box.

  A twinge behind his right eye made him squint. The headache he’d been nursing all day surged. His meds were in his backpack, but he wouldn’t risk taking any until they were safely aboard the train. Wolf’s team—their backup he hadn’t fully explained to her—would be in place. At least there, he could sleep. She would be trapped on the train and they would be able to watch his back.

  Win. Win.

  “There,” she said, lifting her head from his shoulder. Damn, he missed the contact as soon as she pulled away. “They have what we’ll need.”

  The shop she guided him toward was exactly what they needed—a little touristy, but also with regular clothes verging on trendy. The interior was bright, a little too bright. He shoved the glasses up his nose, and kept his gaze lowered. The dusk on the streets was far preferable.

  When she tugged away as if to release his hand, he tightened his grip. “Don’t go far,” he murmured, and lifted her hand to brush a kiss to her knuckles.

  “You’re funny.” There was just enough heat below the comment to remind him she didn’t take orders, no matter how well she played the game. Game. Jacko took a deep breath. Nausea was a secondary symptom, and he didn’t have time to deal with the after effects of eye strain coupled with the TBI. Later, he promised himself. Later he would sleep and ease the jagged edges of fatigue the mission had already earned him.

/>   Letting her go, he rolled his shoulder. The pull against his bruised back another reminder he hadn’t done much for his injury. Filing it away for later, he skimmed his gaze across the shop. They did need a couple of changes of clothes as befitting a couple on their honeymoon. Trailing behind her, he snagged a couple of button downs off one rack. The light was beginning to play tricks on him, so glasses or not, he didn’t try to read the tags eyeballing the cut of the fabric instead.

  Ahead of him, Coco pulled a black and white dress off the rack and held it up to herself as she seemed to study the effect in the mirror. Her gaze wasn’t on herself though, instead she looked up—studying the street visible through the shop’s front windows.

  A woman approached and rattled off a greeting in French. His grasp of the language let him catch three of the words—he was better at reading it than speaking. Coco pivoted, and placed a hand against his chest, her palm above his heart. She replied in what sounded like flawless French to him, and he caught a couple of words. Avoir and mon mari. Was she talking Star Wars? Shaking off the inane thought, he closed his eyes for a moment. He really needed to adjust to the brighter overhead lights in here.

  The shopkeeper laughed, then motioned to another area of the store before she moved on.

  “You okay?” Coco asked, leaning up to nuzzle his ear, the obvious display of affection titillating even if it was just their cover.

  “Fine,” he said, then showed her the shirts. “Want to look like Twinkies?”

  She rolled her eyes. “How is your back?”

  The fact she wasn’t easily dissuaded amused him, but they didn’t have time for it. “I’ll live. Let’s get what we need.” She wasn’t looking at him anymore, her attention angled past his shoulder. “Stop looking so jumpy.” Even with his vision wavering, he could read the tightening of her lips and the way her eyes narrowed. “If they come, they come.”

  It was easy to appear blasé. He expected pursuit. He also expected her to try and escape. Wagner wouldn’t have sent him if there wasn’t a real concern about Coco’s loyalty and precarious positioning. The fact he’d narrowly averted her assassination lent more credibility to the dangerous situation they were in.

  Fortunately, he was no stranger to hazardous situations.

  Gliding a hand up her back, he settled it at her nape. Rubbing his thumb along one rigid muscle, he pressed his lips to her forehead. “We’re going to be fine. Move that sweet ass of yours.”

  Irritation radiated off her, but she moved. A hint of fabricated laughter flowed out of her.

  Damn, she was good.

  His jeans would do, and he wasn’t going to spend too much time looking at pants. Instead he followed her as she made several selections—or at least it felt like several. They weren’t genuinely shopping, but the mere fact she put on such a show kept him at high alert. Did she plan on dumping him? Or was her worry about someone following them affecting their judgment?

  “I’m going to try these on,” she told him. “There’s a changing room in the back.” Before he could comment, she added, “Come with me? I might need help with the zipper.”

  The invitation curved around him like a physical caress. The blood pounding in his head surged southward, and the dazzle to his gaze decreased a notch. Lust as a balm for a vicious headache? Good to know.

  “Of course,” he followed along, and as if by unspoken agreement, they took turns checking the store behind them. Once at the curtained area, he stepped inside with her. As much as he would enjoy seeing her naked, he settled against the wall where he could use a slit in the curtain to watch the door.

  Outside, darkness had fallen and they appeared to be the only customers. The rustle of clothing pulled his attention and he glanced right to in time to catch her stepping out of the skirt even as she tugged the top off. The nude bra she wore only emphasized the curve of her breasts, and the matching nude panties moulded to her form.

  Muscled and firm everywhere, she possessed the athletic build of a woman used to training, and honing herself. It was the knives strapped to her thighs that captured his attention.

  “Fuck me,” he whispered, then jerked his gaze up to meet her amused brown eyes. The halo effect surrounding her face warned him his headache wouldn’t remain in the background for much longer. “We need to move.”

  The outfit she slid into lacked the flow of her earlier one—the black skirt hugged her hips, but flared over her thighs. Four slits gave him plenty of leg to admire. How the hell did she plan to hide the blades in that? Stripping off her bra, she ignored him—or at least didn’t care that it gave him another good look at those beautiful breasts. His palms itched to replace the fabric, and tease a groan out of her.

  It took an act of will to angle his gaze back to the curtain. The lack of movement among the racks only emphasized the movement next to him. Dipping his fingers beneath his glasses, he pinched the bridge of his nose. Hang on until the train. Dropping his hand, he reached for the phone in his pocket. If they ran into trouble, he wanted to alert Wolf and his team. The SEALs were playing backup on this, they were out there, waiting—watching. The active nature of the assignment meant Jacko had to keep it from his own team.

  “Ready, sexy enough for you?” The challenge pulled him around, and he blinked once. She’d switched the nude bra for a black one, and covered it with a white net top that hid nothing, and drew the gaze to the fullness of her breasts and the black bra cupping her like a pair of dark gloved hands.

  All the moisture evaporated. She slid on a long coat over it, and despite the warmer weather it was light but full coverage, which made every peek of flesh even sexier. She had all the tags in hand.

  “Sold.” He took them and nodded to her stuff. “Put your shoes on.”

  Then he left the changing room before he forgot all about the mission and just dove headfirst into their cover. The urge test the sturdiness of the walls and whether she’d shed her panties followed him all the way to the counter.

  Halfway to his goal, realization hit him. The store was too silent. The shopkeeper was absent.

  “Coco,” he called and twisted as a man lunged out from behind the racks. Dropping the shirts, he caught the knife wielding attacker’s arm and twisted. Training kicked in, and thrust an elbow downward, connecting with the elbow joint. The knife went skittering across the floor. Movement behind him was his only warning before a thick wire garrote came around his head. He got an arm up to block the wire from sinking into his neck.

  Already regretting it, he slammed his head back and the crunch of broken nose filled his ears. The man cursed. Kicking, he caught the first attacker in the face, and then took advantage of the second attacker’s pain to break that hold. Twisting, him around and flinging him into the first.

  Cutting his gaze to the right, he found Coco out of the changing room, wrestling with three attackers of her own. A foot to the crotch of one probably sent the guy’s balls to his throat. She was grace in motion, a twist and slam of her elbow not once, not twice, but three times to another man sent him staggering away and then she faced off against another.

  Jacko processed the scene in the blink of an eye—she’d wrapped one hand in fabric and used it to strike with her knuckles, and then whipped the clothing out to wrap around the other guy’s arm. The twisting effect let her turn his knife away from her and she got two more knee kicks into his side.

  Trusting her to have the fight in hand, he returned to his own battle. Snagging a scarf off a nearby rack, he blocked blow after blow, wrapping his assailant’s wrists, then twisting as he pulled him around. The impact against his already bruised back, left him grimacing, But the crack of a collarbone had the man in front of him going limp. One man down, he took another blow to the back before he rolled, and kicked to the side and up. His heel hit the side of the kneecap.

  Cursing, the brute raged as he dove at him. Jacko went to the side and through the clothes’ rack. He came out the other side, with another shirt. Snapping it out like a whip, he
caught the guy right in the eye. It threw his attacker’s aim off as the guy tried to punch him. Grabbing his wrist, he stepped into him, then locked his arm around the guy’s neck.

  Applying pressure to the chokehold, he took him down. Blood pulsed in his head, and his heart beat a vicious tattoo inside his ears. The migraine he’d been fighting was about to take the upper hand.

  He located Coco as she went airborne, scissoring her legs around her last attacker. There was a distinctive wet crunch as the man’s neck snapped. She was still on the ground, when another figure staggered a charge toward her.

  “Behind you,” Jacko called. The warning gave her enough time to pull a blade from her thigh and she flung it.

  The blade impacted with a meaty thunk and the last man went down even as Jacko’s capture went limp. Dropping him, he was up and wiping down any surface he touched. Phone in hand, he sent a message.

  Need clean up in clothing shop. GPS the phone.

  “Shopkeeper’s dead,” Coco said, her voice aggrieved. She reached a hand down to him and helped him to his feet. “You’re bleeding.”

  “I’ll live.” The sway to his vision warned him he’d told a lie. “Let’s go. Get your knife.”

  “Already have it. We can’t leave this…” She turned to the disaster around them.

  Finding his backpack, he slid it over his shoulder, then snagged a hat off the counter and stuck it over his hair. The snapback wasn’t his style, but it would have to do. “Leave them. I called for clean up. We need to go without spending hours in a police station. You have to be on the train.” And he needed to be on it.

  “Wait.” She wrapped something around his arm, a makeshift bandage. Fuck, even his head was getting foggy and it would slow his reaction time. Then Coco gripped his chin and studied his eyes. “You took the blow to the head?”

  More than he cared to count. “I’ll live. We can nurse our wounds on the train.”