Operation: Healing Angel Read online

  Operation: Healing Angel

  Shepherd Security Book #9

  Margaret Kay

  Sisters Romance

  Copyright © 2021 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 my brother-in-law Terry, who we lost just before Christmas 2020. He was a retired federal agent, who served our country with pride, honor, and distinction. He was a loving husband, father, grandfather, and he will be missed by many. Terry lived with a terminal illness for several years, knowing what his future held. He approached his life and his death with more courage than most people could. He has been an inspiration for many of my Shepherd Security characters.

  Shepherd Security Organizational Chart

  Classified: Top Secret

  Colonel Samuel ‘Big Bear’ Shepherd, Retired US 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

  Echo Team

  Brody ‘BT’ Templeton

  Michael ‘Bubbles’ Cooper

  Sebastian ‘Crash’ Roth

  Laura Lee ‘Lah-lee’ Saxton

  Operations Center Analysts

  Yvette ‘Control’ Donaldson

  Anthony ‘Wang’ Miraldi

  Caleb ‘Hound dog’ Smith

  Brad ‘Circles’ Dupont

  Other Agency Staff

  Angel Jackson – Office Manager

  Michaela Karras – TechLab Manager

  Elizabeth Williams – Receptionist (PT)

  Brielle Jarboe-Sherman – Special Projects Manager

  Requisition Ryan Grant – Supply Chain Manager

  Dr. Joe Lassiter – Team Mental Health Professional

  Alpha

  Shepherd pulled in vain at the chains that held him in place. Four chains were bolted to the dirty cement floor. Shackles were around his wrists and ankles. The skin on his wrists was sliced into by the shackles. They stung like a sonofabitch. Blood dripped from both arms. His abdomen was on fire. He was sure a few ribs were broken from the repeated punches he’d suffered. And several wounds on his face bled as well. He could taste the metallic sting seeping into his mouth from his split lip.

  He was hyper-vigilant for the slightest sign the team was near. He calculated that they had to be closing in due to the amount of time that had passed. The danger to Angel had become too great, though. He had to act.

  “Okay, enough,” Shepherd said. “I’ll cooperate.”

  Angel shook her head at him. Her eyes were locked onto his; had been during the entire time she’d suffered the horrendous abuse that he was powerless to stop. His mind was focused, evaluating the situation as it evolved. He knew she wouldn’t understand. Hopefully, they’d both survive, and he could help to make her understand later. In this musty, hot, and humid hangar was not where he wanted to die.

  “First, location and strength of the force sent after my men?” The man Angel had identified as Mr. Clean demanded.

  Shepherd caught sight of a flicker of light in the high window at the far end of the room. “Two choppers, ten men in the assault force, an abandoned structure in the UP of Michigan near the Ottawa National Forest,” he answered.

  Mr. Clean shot off a dozen more questions, each of which Shepherd answered slowly, stalling as long as he could. He listened carefully for any sign the team was on site, that the flicker he’d seen was from his team as they moved into position. They would be performing recon. Cooper would be formulating the attack plan. He hoped they’d execute it before the shit hit the fan.

  Then Mr. Clean stepped behind Angel and wrapped his arm around her abdomen, pulling her back against his chest. “You can thank Mr. Shepherd for finally coming to his senses, my dear, by being the one to pull the trigger on him. I have all the information I need, and his usefulness has come to an end.” Mr. Clean pulled his gun and placed it in her hand, pointed it at Shepherd, his hand holding her fingers and wrist tightly. Shepherd saw the terror on Angel’s face.

  Angel put her finger on the trigger. Suddenly and purposefully, she fell against Mr. Clean with all her weight, which was just enough for the gun to shift, the barrel pointing at one of Mr. Clean’s henchman, identified as Mr. Asani. She squeezed the trigger repeatedly, the rounds striking the big man in his chest, dead center. He dropped to the ground, an expression of disbelief on his face.

  In that split second, Shepherd watched as Mr. Clean reclaimed control of the gun and fired it at him. He felt a searing pain in his abdomen. All he heard was Angel’s scream, overtaking the blast of the gunshot. Then his world went black.

  He woke with a start. He sat straight up in bed and glanced around the dark room while fighting to calm his ragged breaths. His face was slick with sweat. He was as hot as he had been that humid July evening. It took a second to gain his bearings. He was in his bedroom. Severe nerve pain radiated down his left leg. He pulled his legs with his hands until they both hung over the edge of the bed. Through the thousands of pins and needles in his right foot, he was sure he felt the floor, though he could never be sure what was an actual sensation and what was a memory.

  He flipped his hand palm up and viewed his watch. It was zero four forty. His alarm would go off in twenty minutes. He saw the date and reminded himself that horrible event had happened nearly five years before, four years, eight months, and ten days, to be exact. It had been just another night terror.

  He took a drink from the water bottle on his nightstand and turned the dim bedside light on. He ran his hand through his short-clipped black hair and then scrubbed it down his face, feeling the scruff on his jaw. He’d shave after a good workout, which he now had an additional twenty minutes to add to it.

  He lifted his phone from the nightstand and checked for messages. None. He dialed into Ops, two floors below his penthouse apartment.

  Operations Analyst, Yvette ‘Control’ Donaldson answered on the first ring. “Good morning, Shep.”

  “Good morning. No messages, no calls. I assume all was quiet.”

  “Affirmative,” she replied. “The Lear picked up Echo and Charlie Teams at zero one forty as planned. They are en route for an on-time arrival in Bull Shoals, expected to arrive onsite at the dam at zero seven thirty. Bravo Team reports all is well with their protection detail in Miami. Alpha and Delta Teams will report at zero eight hundred for their briefing with you. I’m working on your tracker report right now. No issues.”

  “Thank you, Yvette,” Shepherd said. “I’m going to get in a long workout. I’ll get to my office shortly before the briefing.”

  “Roger that,” she replied.

  He pulled himself into his wheelchair,
which always sat beside the bed. After making his bed, he rolled into the master bathroom suite to relieve himself. He was very fortunate that he had partial feeling. He suffered only partial paralysis at L-4. He could still control his bowels and bladder. It was little humiliation to pee sitting down like a woman. It would be far worse to be catheterized or have to wear depends. He transferred himself onto the toilet and pulled his shorts down at the same time. He always slept in his workout wear. It was easier, and he worked out every morning when he woke.

  His life was built on expeditious routines and protocols. His long military career had been a model of performing tasks with logical thought and execution. It had been something that was ingrained in him, so that when he’d suffered the catastrophic injury, those habits kicked in and provided a semblance of normalcy for him.

  He transferred back to the wheelchair, using the muscles in his arms and abs. Despite the gunshot wound and invasive surgery, his abdominal muscles had repaired, and he was in tremendous shape. He had more muscle mass on the upper half of his body now than before the injury. The large scar on his abdomen nearly blended in with the defined muscles and neither bothered him physically nor did it bring on negative emotions when he saw it.

  He rolled into the gourmet kitchen next and grabbed a protein shake from the refrigerator. He downed half of it and then returned it to the shelf. He rolled into his personal gym, which was off his bedroom. He sent three text messages before transferring himself to the weight bench.

  The first was to Dr. Joe Lassiter, the team shrink, requesting an appointment. This was the third time he’d woke this week with the memories that wouldn’t leave his dreams. He knew it was time to talk to Lassiter again. He knew that PTSD was a sneaky bastard. He thought he’d battled and defeated the devil, but it was becoming clear to him that he had been victorious in skirmishes, but the war was yet to be won.

  The second text was to Alpha Team’s Alexander ‘Doc’ Williams, requesting that Doc get in a half-hour early and report to his quarters upon arrival. Doc had been treating the painful sensations he had been plagued with for the past six months. He knew that Doc wanted him to make another trip to Walter Reed National Military Medical Center for a reevaluation. He’d agree to it. The pain had increased over the past few months and he was in pain more than he wasn’t.

  The last text message was to Vic Thielen, his physical therapist, to ask if Vic could come earlier than eleven hundred, when he was due. Vic was a fit and trim kid in his late twenties. Shepherd had acquired him shortly before he graduated with his doctorate in physical therapy and sports medicine, shortly after Shepherd’s injury. He came highly recommended for private in-home care for basic physical therapy at a licensed doctor’s direction and to perform massage therapy, which was pivotal in Shepherd’s recovery and continued maintenance. He also acted as a work-out buddy and physical trainer. He grew into the role he now held. Shepherd was one of four private duty client’s that Vic administered to at their residences on a daily basis.

  Then he got to work with the weights and put himself through his normal grueling workout. An hour later he transferred himself into the harness and hit the controls to the lift that would string him up so that he was standing with his legs straightened out and his feet resting on the treadmill. ‘Walking’ helped to alleviate some of the leg pain. He found that just being strung up on the harness was usually enough to do the trick, which made sense. Just stretching his form out and getting him in a different position than sitting had to be good for his spine.

  He started the treadmill very slowly. The muscles in his pelvis and legs acted through muscle memory. But he had to start out each day slowly or injury would be the result. He’d sprained and twisted his ankles and knees on more than one occasion until he figured out the correct pace and acceleration schedule. By the time four minutes ticked by, he was able to increase it to a comfortable walking speed.

  He kept an iPad on the tray. He turned it on and read his email. Then he brought up and began to review his morning reports as he did every morning. Yvette had delivered the tracker report as well as several other reports that the lead Ops analyst was responsible to provide before zero seven hundred. Each member of Shepherd Security and their immediate family members were injected in the back of the shoulder with a tracker. The children wore tight anklets with the technology. His R&D person, Michaela Karras, had developed the trackers, which used the body’s electrochemical system to supply energy to keep them functioning for four months before replacement was necessary. She was working on enhancements that would lengthen the life of the tracker to six months.

  He scanned it, noting that Alpha Team’s Anthony ‘Razor’ Garcia had spent all night in the building. He’d been assigned to Ops until zero one hundred. Yes, he was due in at zero eight hundred for the briefing, but he thought Garcia would have gone home. He had a one-month old son at home, Anthony Junior, or Little T as they called him, though no one ever called Garcia, Tony. He wasn’t sure why Garcia had stayed at HQ, but he’d make sure he went home after the briefing. The mission the team would leave on the next day, would be the first Garcia would be assigned to since his son was born.

  He also noticed that Delta Team’s Lead, Landon ‘Lambchop’ Johnson had spent all night at Michaela’s residence again. They had gotten together just over a month earlier. He once had a strict no fraternization policy in every team member’s employment contract. He didn’t enforce it when Ethan ‘Jax’ Jackson got involved with Angel while protecting her was the mission, nor when John ‘Coop’ Cooper broke the protocol with new employee Madison ‘Xena’ Miller, or so on or so on through the teams’ ranks as each of the men fell in love with someone associated with a mission.

  That was irrelevant at this point, and all the team members still executed their missions with professionalism and dedication. Still, Michaela becoming involved with one of the Operators did bother him. He knew her past and how that influenced her relationships with creating serious trust issues. He knew their relationship had the potential to implode unlike anyone else’s. He’d make sure that Lassiter continued to meet with Michaela. Both Michaela and Lambchop were too valuable to the organization to risk losing either due to personal shit gone bad.

  A few twinges of fatigue came to his legs. He increased the speed of the treadmill to push his physical limits. He grabbed the towel and swiped at the sweat on his forehead. He scanned the remainder of the report. Nothing noteworthy. Then he opened the Daily Briefing Report that Ops recorded any issues or observations, including secure entries and exits from the building of agency personnel. There was nothing noteworthy there either.

  He pulled up the Expense Summary Report next that tracked all agency assets and expenses, including purchase requisitions and receivables. This report was not prepared by Ops, but he did review it daily. The agency was contracted with the DEA and Homeland to provide specific services on a monthly basis. They did contract work on request from other government agencies, provided personal security to dignitaries, and took on jobs for private citizens. Shepherd owned the building and rented several suites and offices out to nonaffiliated third parties. He had three offices with no tenants, a situation he wanted to resolve quickly. He had decided to hire a realtor to get the vacancies filled. Her quote for services was included in the report.

  Next, he opened up the final report on the equipment retrofit in Dallas as part of the Power Grid Protection Project that Charlie and Echo Team had completed the previous day. This work was being done for Homeland Security. The equipment installed were devices that Michaela had modified for use in concurrence with software his Digital Team had developed. It was a proprietary package that his agency installed and sold licenses to the federal, state, and local governments to prevent their equipment from falling to hackers that wanted to bring the power grid down. His team installed it and when needed, serviced it. They earned a nice retainer for doing so, which paid a lot of the day-to-day expenses of the agency.

  He had redu
ced the treadmill’s speed and was into his cooldown before Doc entered the room. “Thank you for coming in early,” Shepherd said. He glanced at the time on his watch. “You didn’t need to come this early though.” It was only seven hundred hours.

  “That’s okay. I was up. Looks like you had a good workout.”

  Shepherd toweled off the coating of sweat that glistened on every visible inch of skin. His shirt was soaked. He stopped the treadmill, slackened the tension on the harness by half, and held his own weight up. He usually could for short periods before the pain and weakness overtook him.

  “How is the pain this morning?”

  “Tolerable at the moment. It was bad when I woke this morning. I text messaged Vic to see if he could come early. I’m going to need treatment earlier this morning to keep the pain at bay.” He’d found that physical therapy and a massage helped to mitigate the pain. “But I’m ready for you to make that appointment at Walter Reed any time after this next mission. I’ll talk to Cooper after the briefing this morning.”

  Doc nodded. “I’m glad. I think it’s time. This has been going on too long and the pain is increasing with both intensity and frequency.”

  “If I could just stay strung up like this all the time, I would be fine. I still think it’s too much time sitting in that damned chair.”