Alpha Mike Foxtrot Read online

  Witness Protection 3

  Alpha Mike Foxtrot

  Holly Copella

  Copyright © 2016 Holly Copella

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 0997106433

  ISBN-13: 978-0997106435

  In loving memory of

  Zack Kinsley

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Copella Books: First Paperback Edition 2016

  Printed by CreateSpace, An Amazon.com Company

  Cover Artist: DXPO

  PUBLISHER’S NOTE

  This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.

  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Other books by Holly Copella!

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Chapter One

  The mansion ballroom was filled with men and women dressed in expensive formal wear and designer evening gowns. Some of the guests socialized at the bar while others waltzed to the live orchestra. The happy bride and groom danced in the center of the crowded dance floor, unable to take their eyes off each other. The wedding reception resembled something straight out of a fairy tale. Dozens of neatly dressed waiters and waitresses carried trays of hors d'oeuvres through the crowd while others sought out the massive buffet surrounding a large ice sculpture of a bride and groom. The impressive four-foot-tall wedding cake adorned with edible pearls sat on a table near the back for all to envy.

  An attractive woman in her mid-twenties danced with a handsome, distinguished gentleman in his early fifties. Jackie Falcone wore a stunning, teal evening dress, which held her curves. The thin-strapped dress allowed for maximum cleavage and a daringly high slit rode halfway up her right leg. Her long, dark hair was worn elegantly in a French twist with a sprig of baby’s breath for an added touch of class. Her gentleman friend, Ross Madrid, wore a conservative black tuxedo with a gray vest and matching tie, which further accented his moderately graying full head of hair. The couple seemed comfortable dancing with each other at a respectable distance while gazing into each other’s eyes. Their gaze was loving, although far from romantic.

  “When you asked me to attend this wedding with you, I was a little apprehensive. You know, having to wear a dress and all,” Jackie announced while grinning at her handsome date. “I’m glad I came along.”

  “You were my first choice of dates, my dear,” Ross replied then lifted her hand and suavely kissed it.

  Jackie blushed slightly at the romantic gesture and held back her grin. “Oh, Ross,” she announced with a dreamy sigh. “You can certainly lay it on thick when you want something.”

  He chuckled softly at her honesty. “Would you believe me if I said I just want to enjoy our dance at this moment?”

  She considered the question then smiled more naturally. “Actually, I would.”

  “You know, if I had a daughter, she’d be just like you,” he announced charmingly then sank into his own fantasy. “Beautiful, smart, and a major pain in the ass.”

  Jackie grinned at the comment, taking it as a compliment from her fatherly friend. “Without a doubt.” She casually glanced around the room, although she was looking for something in particular. “What sort of trouble do you suppose the guys are getting themselves into?”

  He groaned softly. “You had to go ahead and ruin my perfect evening.” Ross gently tapped his ear, containing a micro ear transmitter, and then returned his hand to Jackie’s hand on his shoulder. “Guys, mother hen wants to know what sort of trouble her boys are getting into tonight.”

  Several grunts and groans were heard through Ross’s well-hidden, ear transmitter. Ross made a face and eyed Jackie, who gently touched her own ear transmitter to listen as well.

  “I’m guessing the usual sort of trouble,” he casually replied.

  †

  The handsome, well-built man in his late twenties suddenly grinned right before a fist struck him in the face. Bogart took the hit better than his pretty boy face suggested he would. Bogart, dressed in black combat attire, was a ‘hunky’ handsome man with flowing golden-brown hair and sideburns nearly a shade darker. Despite the hard hit and his bloodied lip, Bogart looked back at his assailant and offered a dimpled smirk.

  “Is that the best you’ve got?” he demanded with a hint of arrogance.

  Another fist found his face and he stumbled back a step this time. He honestly didn’t know when to keep his comments to himself. To his left within the basement storage room, his partner was taking a beating alongside him. Monroe, who was also dressed in black combat attire, took a moment to glare at Bogart.

  “Wisecracks only work if you have the brass balls to back them up,” Monroe lashed out at Bogart.

  Monroe ducked as another fist nearly found his face. He punched the estate security guard in the abdomen then, as he doubled over, Monroe followed through with an elbow to the back of the guard’s neck. Monroe straightened, turned to Bogart, and arrogantly indicated the fallen man.

  “See? Brass balls,” Monroe announced firmly.

  “You might want to--” Bogart began.

  As Monroe turned, another man punched him in the groin. He clutched himself and doubled over in agony.

  “--watch those brass balls,” Bogart muttered while grimacing, almost feeling his pain.

  Another estate security guard came at Bogart. He instinctively blocked the man’s fist and punched him in the abdomen. He regained some of his earlier cockiness and attempted to flip the guard over his hip. The guard was reluctant to be thrown off his feet, surprising Bogart. Bogart cried out as the guard grabbed him by the shoulder and the thigh, picked him up in the air, and power-drove him to the floor. Bogart groaned as he writhed around on the floor then let out a slight chuckle.

  “You’re so going to pay for that,” he gasped at the man then muttered more to himself, “How the hell does that little shit do that kung fu crap?”

  Two of the four guards descended upon Monroe, who was still on his knees recovering from his groin shot. As the men stood over him, Monroe suddenly came to life and gave an uppercut shot to the first man’s groin. Intensity and angle both worked simultaneously with the hard hit. The man was launched into the air and barely had time to clutch himself as he fell to the floor. Monroe bolted upward, leading with his shoulder, and rammed the second guard in the chest, casting him across the floor with his powerful hit. Monroe straightened proudly, adjusted his combat jacket, and turned to Bogart, who was now fending off his own two guards.

  “It’s all about angles and impact,” Monroe casually informed his friend.

  Monroe Dallas was a tall, lanky man in his mid-thirties, who sought a stylish flare to his wardrobe. Despite not being overly muscular, he was more powerful than most suspected. Monroe’s light brown hair was neatly trimmed, although not nearly short enough to constitute a buzz cut, deeply contrasting in looks of his less than appearance conscious counterpart. Bogart was a country boy and his lack of refinement was easily noticed. Monroe looked around then down, as if suddenly realizing his counterpart was missing.

  Bogart was now on the floor, taking a beating from both guards. He finally found his moment and, from his position on the floor, kicked the first man in the knee, dropping him. Bogart then pulled a hunting knife from his boot and stabbed the second man in the foot through his leather work boot. The man cried out in agony. Bogart pulled the bloodied knife free, sprang to his feet, and punched the man across the face. As the injured guard fell to the floor, Bogart turned to Monroe and grinned charmingly.

  “I’m better at fighting dirty,” Bogart replied.

  Monroe shook his head with disapproval. “Ross specifically said no lethal force,” he casually reminded.

  Bogart tilted his head and grinned charmingly. “Hence ‘fighting dirty’.” He then frowned and turned defensive. “Besides,” he announced and pointed demandingly a
t the guard with the bloodied knife. “Does he look dead to you?”

  Monroe groaned giving up. “Let’s just get these four tied up before something else goes wrong.”

  †

  Within one of the mansion’s elegant upstairs bedrooms, a man and woman collapsed to the large bed together while kissing and groping each other. The woman was in her late forties and, judging by her elegant gown, she was possibly the mother-of-the-bride. Her visit to the hairdresser that morning was ruined nearly two seconds after the couple hit the bed. Stray locks of her excessively auburn tinted hair fell from their place despite all the hairspray and bobby pins. The muscular man on top of her, at least ten years her junior, was an imposing 6’4” with broad shoulders and biceps the size of tree trunks barely hidden beneath his black waiter’s uniform. His buzz cut and thick facial stubble made him look moderately intimidating, which possibly explained the woman’s attraction. Kirk Mandel broke off the kiss and looked at the woman beneath him with concern while both panted.

  “We’re liable to ruin that dress,” he insisted then grinned. “You can’t return to the party looking bedraggled. Your husband and guests will be suspicious.”

  Before she could protest, Kirk moved off her and easily pulled her to her feet. She was slightly surprised by the concern over her dress then grinned her approval.

  “Good idea,” she announced then playfully pushed the hired waiter back onto the bed. “You make yourself comfortable while I slip into something more durable.”

  She pulled him partway up by his tie, surprising him, and kissed him aggressively on the mouth. He barely had time to return the kiss when she broke it off, pushed him back down to the bed, and headed into the bathroom. Once the door shut, Kirk sprang up from the bed and touched his mostly invisible ear transmitter.

  “Guys, how much longer?” Kirk demanded in a hushed voice so his conquest wouldn’t hear him. “This isn’t exactly my field of expertise.”

  “Come now, Kirk,” came a calm, reassuring voice over his ear transmitter. “Don’t sell yourself short. You’ve been known to leave a woman satisfied every now and again.”

  Kirk suddenly sneered and allowed his hostility to surface. Obviously, his intimidating appearance wasn’t just for show. “Don’t piss me off, Gil,” he snarled softly. “I’m not in the mood.”

  “Well, you better get in the mood,” came another male voice through his ear transmitter. “You need to keep mother occupied another ten to twenty minutes.”

  Kirk threw his broad shoulders back and straightened. “Oh, so now the pretty boy needs to weigh in, huh, Beck?” Kirk demanded, losing his sense of humor. “Maybe it’s time for one of you to start playing the boy toy to cougar trophy wives.”

  The bathroom door opened, catching his attention. Kirk tapped his ear transmitter and turned to face the mother-of-the-bride where she stood in the bathroom doorway. She had changed into a leather bodice and held a soft, sex toy whip.

  “I think this is more durable,” she announced then slapped the whip against her palm.

  Kirk stared at her with surprise, whimpered softly, and then muttered under his breath, “Where the hell is Zack when you need him?”

  Chapter Two

  Two men wearing black waiter uniforms stood in the dimly lit mansion study with a small penlight aimed at the wall safe behind a framed portrait. The faint sounds of the orchestra could be heard through the closed door. Beck Larue lined the right and left edges of the safe with explosives. His casual attitude regarding the explosive material gave more of an impression of a child playing with Play-Doh. Beck was in his mid-thirties, stood over six feet tall, and maintained an impressive athletic build. His light brown hair was moderately rumpled and his rugged good looks and sturdy gaze lent a perfect balance between intimidating and cuddly.

  “Can you believe those two whining about their assignments? Civilian life has made Monroe and Kirk soft,” Beck casually announced while shaking his head with moderate disgust for his teammates. “I remember when they used to enjoy this cloak-and-dagger bullshit.”

  The second man casually shrugged and showed little emotion while holding the penlight for Beck to see the edges of the safe. “They’re too uptight,” Gil casually remarked in his usual, unruffled tone. Gil Rafferty was a ruggedly handsome, tall, well-built man in his late thirties or possibly his early forties. His short dark hair, peppered with gray, gave him a slightly distinguished look. “Those guys don’t know how to relax and go with the flow. They lack a certain maturity.”

  Beck stopped working and performed his best damsel in distress impersonation. He squealed and shirked defensively while holding the explosives in his hand. “Oh, a bad guy’s hitting me,” he cried out softly in a high-pitched voice. “Someone get my balls out of Jackie’s purse.”

  Gil could barely hold back his laughter and nearly dropped the light. “That’s a good one.”

  “You know we can hear you,” came Jackie’s stern voice through their ear transmitters.

  Both men jumped with surprise and exchanged looks as well as defensive gestures. Beck forced a smile and returned to his explosives.

  “Oh, good evening, Jackie,” Beck announced cheerfully, resuming his polite demeanor. “Is Ross light on your feet?”

  “Save it,” Jackie snarled through his earpiece. “The whole team knows you two are whipped by your girlfriends, so you don’t really have much room to talk.”

  Both men exchanged puzzled looks, shook their heads, and shrugged. Gil mouthed the word ‘whipped’. Gil casually waved him off as if indicating Jackie didn’t know what she was talking about. Beck finished applying the explosives and took a step back.

  “We’re just about ready here,” Beck announced while gently clearing his throat.

  Both moved away from the safe and stood behind the large, heavy wooden desk. Gil ran his hand along the expensive, elegantly carved desk, which was possibly an antique.

  “Pity to ruin such a beautiful desk,” Gil muttered.

  Beck raised the remote in his hand and grinned. “Fire in the hole--”

  Gil casually placed his hands to his ears and ducked behind the desk with Beck as he pushed the button on the remote.

  †

  Within the crowded ballroom, the wealthy men and women continued to dance and socialize. Still on the dance floor, Ross suavely dipped Jackie, held her there a moment, and smiled charmingly.

  “Get ready,” he announced.

  The explosion wasn’t very loud to those within the ballroom, more like a low rumble. Although not loud, it was forceful enough to vibrate the mansion, causing the chandeliers to clatter and ceiling dust to fall to the floor. The lights suddenly went out, leaving the room mostly dark, causing everyone to cry out with alarm. Those working security within the ballroom quickly directed everyone to the nearest exit, although it was hard to see where they were going through the dim moonlight shining in from the wall of windows. Ross held Jackie back from the pushing, chattering crowd of refined people now reduced to panic induced creatures slipping into survival mode.

  “Go outside and wait with the car,” he announced to Jackie. “I’ll make sure the guys get out.”

  “Maybe I should come along,” she announced with concern.

  “No, Jackie,” he commanded in an authoritative tone, revealing his true personality. “If something happened to you, Holden would never forgive me. Just wait with the car.”

  She reluctantly nodded, although it was against her better judgement, and followed the herd of guests pushing and shoving their way outside. As she glanced back, she saw Ross disappear through one of the nearby side doorways into the darkened mansion.

  †

  Meanwhile, within the master bedroom, a woman’s loud cries of delight filled the dimly lit room. Kirk, obviously naked beneath the covers, was securely tied to the posts of the large bed while the lady of the house, dressed in her leather bodice, wildly bounced on top of him. She firmly caressed his bare, massively muscular chest. The headboard slapped the wall with a loud banging that almost matched her cries of ecstasy. Kirk pulled against his restraints in an attempt to free himself. His expression was a cross between delight and agony from the rough ride. When the house rumbled, he looked around, knowing all too well what was happening, and then looked at the woman on top of him.