Operation Bayou Angel Read online

  Operation: Bayou Angel

  Shepherd Security Book #6

  Margaret Kay

  Sisters Romance

  Copyright © 2020 Sisters Romance

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  This book is dedicated to those involved in an organization by the name of Imerman Angels. It is a one-on-one cancer support community, matching up volunteer Angel Mentors who have survived cancer or been the caregiver for someone with cancer with those in the process of fighting this horrible disease as the patient or as a caregiver. Find out more about this amazing organization at www.imermanangels.org.

  Shepherd Security Organizational Chart

  Classified: Top Secret

  Colonel Samuel ‘Big Bear’ Shepherd, Retired U.S. Army

  Alpha Team

  John ‘Coop’ Cooper

  Alexander ‘Doc’ Williams

  Anthony ‘Razor’ Garcia

  Ethan ‘Jax’ Jackson

  Madison ‘Xena’ Miller

  Delta Team

  Landon ‘Lambchop’ Johnson

  Danny ‘Mother’ Trio

  Gary ‘the Undertaker’ Sloan

  Brian ‘the Birdman’ Sherman

  Charlie Team

  Jimmy ‘Taco’ Wilson

  Mike ‘Powder’ Rogers

  Rich ‘Handsome’ Burke

  Carter ‘Moe’ Tessman

  Bravo Team

  Tommy ‘Louisa’ Flores

  Eddie ‘Needles’ Winston

  Kenny ‘Ducky’ Gallup

  Elijah ‘Kegger’ Robinson

  Operations Center Analysts

  Yvette ‘Control’ Donaldson

  Brody ‘BT’ Templeton

  Anthony ‘Wang’ Miraldi

  Caleb ‘Hound dog’ Smith

  Other Agency Staff

  Michaela Karras – TechLab Manager

  Requisition Ryan Grant – Supply Chain Manager

  Angel Jackson – Office Manager

  Elizabeth Williams – Receptionist (PT)

  Dr. Joe Lassiter – Team Mental Health Professional

  Alpha

  Beyond the dense canopy of tree branches and hanging moss, the light from the moon and the stars in the cloudless night shone brightly. It filtered through the trees, illuminating random sections. The surrounding calls from the bullfrogs harmonized with the choir of crickets and cicadas, creating a sweet symphony that filled the still night air. The concert also covered the sound of twigs cracking and foliage rustling as the lone figure made her way up to the edge of the twelve-foot high chain-link fence that surrounded the old fish cannery plant that had been refurbished into the new BioDynamix facility.

  She wore black combat boots, to help to protect her feet and ankles from possible snake bites, heavy-weight long pants, to help protect from the same as well as from insect bites. She wore a large black hoodie over her smaller frame and a black nylon face mask that revealed only alert brown eyes, eyes that cautiously scanned the area. Black gloved hands produced a set of wire cutters. She quickly cut an opening and pressed her five-foot-seven-inch frame through it.

  Moving through the tall grass that edged the inside of the fence, she was careful to stay in the corner that she knew was shrouded in shadows. There were surveillance cameras everywhere at this plant. She’d be caught on one feed or another, she was sure. It was more a matter if she could gain entry into the warehouse to get a quick look at what was there and get out before she was seen, and guards arrived.

  This was breaking and entering, most likely criminal trespass, and could possibly even be called industrial espionage. She knew if she got caught inside, it would be a trip to the local jail. She banished those thoughts from her mind, a bit too late to think about that. She crossed the open, manicured lawn and pressed her back against the metal wall of the building. She’d made it this far with no alarms, no spotlights, and no people invading this corner of the plant grounds.

  She crept along the wall until she reached the door that she knew led within the warehouse. She tried the knob. Locked. She listened at the door, straining her ears to hear any possible sounds from within or from around her. Nothing. It was past midnight, but she knew this plant had activity twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. She took a deep breath to summon her courage and fortify her will, and then she withdrew the lockpicking tools from her pocket. She’d never done this for real before.

  She inserted the tension wrench into the bottom of the keyhole. Then the pick into the top. Her hands trembled slightly as she maneuvered the tools within the lock, tripping one pin set at a time. It seemed to take forever to unlock the door, when in reality it was less than three minutes, just like she’d practiced.

  She cracked the door open, her heart pounding. Through the narrow slit she saw racks of empty shelves in front of her. The lighting was low. The area in front of the shelves was cavernous and filled with shadows. She heard nothing from within, heard only her own racing heartbeat. She slipped through the door and soundlessly reclosed it. She paused there, her back pressed against the metal wall. Still no alarms, no lights clicking on, no sounds of running feet converging on her location.

  She moved further inside, following the line of tall black metal shelving racks towards the two massive garage doors. The last shelf was piled high, from the floor to the top shelf ten feet in the air with flattened boxes of all sizes, packaging material, bubble wrap, peanuts, and rolls of clear shipping tape. Otherwise, all the other shelves were empty.

  Peeking around the end of the shelf, she was shocked to see no boxes at all on the warehouse floor. Nor were there any stacked along any of the walls. She hurried back to the door she came in, cracked it open and peered back into the quiet night. She half expected to find guards waiting for her. But no one was there. She rushed out, soundlessly closing the door, and then she retraced her steps back towards the southeast corner of the building. She quickly crossed the distance to the far corner and slipped back through the cut fence, disappearing into the dense undergrowth beneath the gnarled branches of the cypress and oak trees.

  Even though it was sixty-two degrees out, the sweat poured down her body. The nylon facemask was soaked and clung to her face. But she didn’t dare remove it yet. She followed the route back the way she’d come. Besides the snakes, coming across a gator was always a possibility too. She kept her eyes alert.

  Five minutes later, she made it back to the dilapidated one-room shack that hung over the edge of the bayou. The pirogue, the small flat bottom wood boat, was tied up there, waiting for her. She glanced around and listened. There were no sounds to indicate anyone had followed her. But then she heard the engine of a car echo from the road to the east. Shit!

  She was startled when a figure emerged from the shadows of the porch.

  “Quick, give me the hoodie. The cops are just arriving,” his whispered voice said.

  She tore the hoodie over her head, revealing a black long-sleeved shirt beneath. It too was drenched with sweat. She pulled the wet black nylon mask from over her head, revealing thick, long black hair secured in a ponytail. She handed the hoodie to Bobby, her best friend and accomplice. She shoved the facemask into her pants pocket.

  Bobby pulled the earplug from his left ear and handed it and the radio to her. He’d been tuned to the police channel.

  “You’re sure about this?” She asked in a whis
per, guilt already gnawing at her.

  “Just go, Brielle,” he said. “I’ll be fine. Hide out as planned and I should be there within forty-eight hours, seventy-two tops.”

  “Be safe. I love you, Bobby.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek and then crossed the shack’s porch and climbed into the pirogue, making sure to check for snakes. She grabbed the pole and pushed herself away from the bank as Bobby unfolded the piece of paper. She heard his inhale through his right nostril as he snorted the line of coke. Then he walked in the direction towards the road and where the police cruiser had just pulled up.

  Upon reaching the far bank, she steered the small boat into one of the many finger streams that ran away from the main channel of the bayou. She quickly disappeared from view behind the trees and brush. Once she was a good distance down it, she placed the wire cutters and the gloves into the mask and dropped it into the middle of the channel, watching it instantly disappear below the dark water.

  Further downstream, she pulled the boat over to the porch of another shack, tied the boat up, and climbed out. Then she made her way through the trees two-hundred yards east to the dirt path that led to the main road, to where the parked car, her escape vehicle, waited for her. By this time, she was chilled, the cool night air and the damp clothes a bad combination.

  She pulled the keys from her pocket and unlocked the door with a shaking hand. After turning the engine over, she pulled her damp shirt from her and then grabbed the white fleece shirt that sat on the passenger side seat, pulling it over the lacy red bra she wore. She hoped the car would heat up quickly.

  She was careful to drive the speed limit. Getting pulled over by the Parish Sheriff’s Office was not part of the plan and would not be good.

  Bobby heard the rustling of the underbrush before he saw the lights of the approaching searchers. They were heading in his direction. Showtime! He could feel the coke energizing him. He was mentally very alert. He had the black hoodie thrown over one shoulder, his skin beneath it was on fire, the rest of him was heating up. He slowed his gait, wanting to give the drug a few more minutes to fully dilate his eyes before he crossed paths with those searching. The question was, who would be searching? Would it be just the Parish Sheriff’s Office or would the guards from BioDynamix be there too?

  The dots of light appeared in the brush, getting larger as they got closer, until Bobby could clearly identify five separate flashlights. He purposefully walked into their line of sight.

  “Freeze, Sheriff’s Department!” A male voice called.

  “Oh, hi,” Bobby replied with a smile and a wave.

  “Boy, I said freeze! And get your hands up!” The voice with a distinct Jersey accent repeated.

  “Sure,” Bobby said, raising his hands into the air. He kept a smile plastered on his face.

  The five lights came in close. They were bright, blinding. Bobby dropped one of his hands to cover his eyes.

  “I said hands up!” The voice yelled.

  “Dude, you’re right beside me. Do you seriously have to yell? And those lights are so bright,” Bobby complained.

  Someone pulled his hand away from his eyes. “Bobby Sherman. What the hell are you doing way out here?”

  He recognized the voice. “Delroy, buddy, hi man, I don’t know where I am. I’m just wandering.”

  “You’re high. Damn it, Bobby, you stayed clean for so long,” the baritone voice of Deputy Delroy Hebert said.

  “We haven’t arrested him in a while, we don’t know if he’s been clean,” another voice said.

  “You got any weapons on you, Bobby?” Deputy Hebert asked.

  “No, man, you know I don’t carry weapons.”

  Bobby felt hands patting him down. He felt the pipe and a small bag of crack get pulled from his pocket. “And what do we have here?” Another voice asked. “Looks like a trip to jail.”

  “You’re lucky you didn’t walk into a gator or into the bayou,” Hebert said. “Damn it, Bobby, you trying to get yourself killed?”

  “No, man, just, hum,” he said blissfully, pretending to be higher than he was.

  “Where is she?” The Jersey accented voice he knew was the new Sherriff asked.

  “Her who?” Bobby asked, laughing euphorically, exaggerating the effects of the drugs.

  “You know who. Your friend, Miss Jarboe.”

  “Don’t know, haven’t talked to her in a few days.”

  “Uh-huh,” the Sheriff said skeptically. “Get him in cuffs and read him his rights.”

  Brian ‘the Birdman’ Sherman felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Checking the display, he saw the number he didn’t want to see. The phone number from Thibodaux and the Lafourche Parish lockup could only mean one thing. His brother Bobby got himself into trouble again. “Oh fuck, man,” he swore beneath his breath. The timing couldn’t be worse. His team was in the garage subbasement level of their headquarters packing up their SUVs, getting ready to head out on another DEA Partner Mission. He’d be gone a week. Bobby would have to cool his jets in the lockup. “This is Sherman,” he said into his phone.

  “We have a collect call from Bobby Sherman, will you accept the charges?” The electronic voice on the phone asked.

  “Yes, I accept,” Brian stated clearly.

  “Brian, thank you for picking up,” Bobby’s panicked voice came across the line a second later.

  “What is it this time?” Brian asked.

  “I need you down here, Brian. It’s bad this time, criminal trespass. But I didn’t. I was high, and I just wandered onto this property, didn’t have no criminal intentions,” Bobby whined.

  “Did you have drugs on you they recovered?”

  “Just a pipe and a tiny amount of crack.”

  “Crack! Jesus Christ, Bobby! What the hell?” He swore under his breath. “When’s the arraignment?” Brian asked.

  His boss, Landon ‘Lambchop’ Johnson stood nearby. His eyebrows raised hearing Sherman’s question into his phone.

  “My PD can get it postponed till tomorrow if you can get down here.”

  PD, public defender. Brian Sherman knew that Bobby was already as good as incarcerated with one of the back-bayou public defenders as his counsel. “This is really bad timing, Bobby. I was just packing up for a mission. My boss is gonna be none too happy about this.” He locked eyes with Lambchop. He moved the mouthpiece away from his mouth. “My dumb-shit brother got arrested again,” he whispered to Lambchop.

  “Your boat is hooked up at the marina. I left the AC running. It needs tending. I got no one else to call, Brian. No one I can trust. I just need to get back into rehab. I don’t deserve jail and they’re talking real jail time, state lockup. I can’t go up state, Brian. Please, you gotta come down here and help me.” Bobby actually cried.

  “Fuck,” Sherman moaned. The bill he’d get for power to his boat for even a week of the AC running full blast would be ridiculous. “Okay, I’ll come,” Sherman agreed. His eyes went back to Lambchop. He moved the mouthpiece away again. “I have to go,” he whispered to his boss. “Can someone cover?”

  Lambchop nodded. He immediately took his phone from his pocket and called Shepherd, Colonel Sam Shepherd, the head of the agency, his boss. He knew Shepherd would be very unhappy about this, especially because there had just been another last-minute change of personnel to the mission. Lambchop had just been notified that Gary ‘the Undertaker’ Sloan, another teammate, had just gotten pulled from this mission and replaced with Doc, another medic, as Sloan was suddenly slated to cover a different mission in Cleveland. These kinds of changes, he knew, bothered the shit out of Shepherd. Too many moving pieces.

  “Shepherd,” he answered.

  Lambchop relayed the issue. “Sherman is requesting emergency leave and I think it should be granted.”

  “I’ll notify Jackson he’s on your mission now and you’ll be dropping Sloan and Kaylee in Cleveland on your way. Sherman will have to fly commercial. I’ll get Angel on booking him a ticket,” Shepherd said.
<
br />   “Thanks, Shepherd,” Lambchop said.

  Sherman watched Lambchop carefully, listening to Lambchop’s conversation as he also spoke with his brother. Bobby was babbling on about the boat some more, but not really apologizing, which annoyed the hell out of Sherman. Bobby wasn’t supposed to be using his boat. “I’ve got it, you were high, and you left the AC on. The bill for even two days is going to suck,” Sherman groused.

  Just then, Sherman’s best friend and partner, Gary Sloan, came into the garage. Sherman wished he would have a minute to talk with Sloan about him diverting to Cleveland. This wasn’t going to be pleasant for him or his girlfriend, Kaylee. But there wasn’t time to talk too much with him now. He closed the distance quickly, coming up to Sloan.

  “What’s up?” Sloan asked him.

  “My little brother’s gotten himself arrested again, drugs. If I don’t go back and flash my badge to get him into rehab, again, it’s a long stint in the state lock up this time. He also told me my boat needs tending, it’s hooked up to power at the marina, running the AC. I’ll get a hell of a bill for that if I don’t go shut it down. He’s got no one else to call. I’ve never heard him sound so desperate.”