by Amy Jarecki
“And that’s why you’re here. ICE is building assets that will be unsurpassed by any country.”
“You’re talking about operatives and spies?” He knew the answer but still wanted confirmation. The duchess could stop with her elitist bullshit. From what he’d learned thus far, they’d both been brought onboard because they were talented individuals. They brought different skillsets to the table, and he wasn’t about to downplay his years of service.
“Yes,” she answered.
He turned in a circle, liking what he saw—a group was jogging around a track on a mezzanine. “So, what made you decide to become a spy?”
Something flashed through her eyes, hurt, hate, determination all rolled into a subtle glance. “You ask too many questions.”
“Isn’t that what makes a good sleuth?”
She turned and led onward. “Not when it’s personal.”
“Oh…I’m being personal,” Logan mumbled. “Sorry.” Prima donna and goddamned touchy.
Everything in the training center was cutting edge from the gym to the pool to the soundproof shooting range. The place was like an entire military base, but it was all underground. “Are there any exercises outside?”
“Skiing, search and rescue, that sort of thing, and only when satellites are out of range. We don’t want anyone spying on us. The more transparent we make ourselves, the more effective we are in the field.”
Logan nodded. “So where do you call home?”
“It’s best for us not to get too familiar, Commander.”
“Fine.” Add frigid to prima donna and goddamned touchy.
They continued to the lab where Asa was working, wearing a pair of safety goggles as she used a soldering iron. She looked up, the goggles making her eyes appear enormous. “Hey, how’s initiation going?”
“Great, but my head’s swimming. I have no idea if it’s day or night. My stomach is telling me it’s time for breakfast but my head says it’s time for bed.”
“Jet lag.” Asa checked her watch—the same minicomputer Logan had been issued with. “The evening meal is in a couple hours.”
“Dinner?” Logan asked. It was morning when he arrived. But he’d spent hours with Dr. R. Together with the meeting in the sit room, time must have slipped away.
“That’s life at ICE. Without the sun, one day rolls into the next.”
He didn’t like that one bit. Logan was from country with fresh air and jaw-dropping scenery. He preferred the out of doors and being at sea with nothing but surf and sky as far as the eye could see.
Olivia tapped his elbow as they returned to the corridor. “I’ll show you to your suite. You can take a bit of R and R before dinner when you’ll meet the rest of the team—at least those who are here. Tomorrow, Garth wants to go over our training and start specialized regimens for us.”
“Good.” He’d only been there a day and was ready to ship out.
She gave him a once over, her gaze stopping at the crown of his head. “And let your hair grow. That cut screams military.”
He liked his hair the way it was—crewcut on the sides and bit longer on the top. “Any other requests, your grace?”
“Smart ass.” God, the woman looked tempting when she grinned. Stopping outside a door, she pointed. “This one only opens with your retina, or Tawney’s retina and keycode.”
“My bunk?”
“Suite, this isn’t the Navy.”
“I’m painfully aware of that.” He leaned over to allow the reader to scan his eyeball. The door clicked but before he opened it all the way, Logan turned. “Why did you decide to come to ICE?”
“I guess the Prime Minister thought it would be a good move for me.”
“Why?”
Olivia shrugged. “Sometimes we all need a change.”
Logan bet there was far more to the reason than she’d let on. Her assignment with Khalil spoke volumes about her usefulness as an asset for Britain. There had to be something more. But Olivia had already proved she didn’t have much interest in sharing secrets. He squinted and met her gaze, battling his urge to reach out and brush his fingers across her cheek to see if her skin was as soft as it looked. “Are you glad to be here?”
Twisting her mouth, she crossed her arms as if she were erecting an invisible wall between them. “If it means nailing terrorists and shutting them down, then yes.”
Logan added tough to his litany of descriptors for the woman. “Good answer.”
She started to walk away, giving him far too much time to check out her backside.
He cleared his throat, his gaze meandering up to the swish of her blonde hair swaying gently below her shoulders. “I have one more question.”
Stopping, she regarded him over her shoulder. Blue eyes, sharp as the edge of a razor.
“Why did you pick me?”
“I didn’t.”
Chapter Five
Olivia hadn’t given Logan the complete truth. But a good spy never showed her hand. And she’d meant what she said about not getting too close.
She hastened down the corridor to her suite. In her opinion, her quarters weren’t far enough away from Logan’s, but neither one of them would be living at ICE much, at least not at the same time. She preferred the field and solitude, though she had to admit training was a part of a spy’s MO. Olivia was trained by the best in Britain and, though Logan may have been a SEAL, he knew bugger-all about being a spy.
Working undercover ate a person from the inside out, and it had cost Olivia more than she wanted to admit. Regardless, the pain involved in living with herself didn’t mean she’d give up. Not ever. She hated people asking her why she’d become a spy. She didn’t want anyone to know the truth. To know what really haunted her in the middle of the night.
All anyone needed to know was she’d dedicated her life to ridding the world of evil. Though her precious earned time off was usually spent in Africa doing missionary work, she maintained a townhouse in London. It had been her parents’. At one time a happy home for a family of old money. A family that spread their wealth helping others, which had led to their demise. Now Olivia’s only family was the team, whatever team she happened to be on, which often meant she played her role alone, like the last assignment…which Rodgers had blown to hell.
After the botched job, she’d wanted Rodgers’ ass on a platter, but the more she dug, the more she learned about the man. He’d earned top marks at the Naval Academy. He’d led an impressive resumé of sorties that resulted in the capture or death of terrorists. He’d saved lives and the only black mark against him was Mission Red Riding Hood, which had gone awry due to faulty equipment. The commander acted quickly and his action had saved her life.
If only he could have saved my soul.
Later, because of the complaints from her government, Rodgers was shipped stateside for retraining. And then her transfer hit her like a brick to the face. Though what she’d seen at ICE had been impressive. Garth Moore proved to be as badass as a drill sergeant; razor sharp, tough but fair.
Garth needed a military ops specialist—someone with nerves of steel who could stay calm in the midst of any kind of fire. Olivia had initially thought of Rodgers. Hell, she’d thought about him every day since Khalil. He’d handled himself like a pro. He handled his men like a pro, too.
That’s what she kept telling herself. He was a pro, and Oliva respected anyone who showed they were at the top of their game. And yes, Logan Rodgers had been at the top of the list she’d given to Garth with her recommendations before she’d even set foot in Iceland.
She knew Rodgers would win the job.
Why?
Because she’d never met anyone who measured up to the commander. Olivia had no doubt Rodgers had earned his Navy Cross. In addition to his professionalism, he took responsibility for the botched operation, though the MI6 investigation proved the President of the United States had sanctioned the mission. The captain of the ship had issued the orders as well. Regardless, Commander Logan
Rodgers had stood between Olivia and his captain, ready to take his poison. Ready to take a bullet for his country. And that’s what made him an ace.
She’d only spent a few days on the USS Washington but she’d seen enough. That almost made this situation too precarious, too raw. Rodgers could never know she’d liked what she saw. The only thing that mattered was the job. And the only reason they were both assigned to ICE was to fight evil in the world. Olivia couldn’t make a major misstep and let her guard down. Holy hell, she could never allow her emotions to bubble to the surface when she was on the job. No chance.
She used the retina scanner to unlock her door and slipped inside. ICE had spared no expense in designing suites for their operatives. Though compact, the suites were appointed with ultra-modern furnishings. Everyone had a separate bedroom and whirlpool bath, a lounge area with a flat screen TV. The office space was Olivia’s favorite. Wrap around glass desk, and the latest Microsoft Surface Pro and equipment.
The only problem was there were no windows. No chance to take a stroll outside. No corner pub filled with countrymen with whom she could watch the footie and pretend she was someone else.
Olivia slipped into her leather office chair and opened her e-mail, set up to appear as if she were accessing the internet from her London townhouse. Operatives were all allowed to maintain contact with the outside as if they were normal people. No, they couldn’t tell anyone what they really did for a living or where they worked, but they could pay their bills and hire people to fix things like the heating if needed.
With a click of her mouse, she deleted everything except an e-mail from The Children of Kenya Foundation. This one asked for a donation for clean water. Shaking her head, she transferred funds from her Swiss account—no one needed to know about that either. Having a soft heart in this business could get a girl killed.
A beep sounded on her wrist device. It looked like a fitness tracker, but could do so much more. Besides being water and bulletproof, it was a phone, a mapping device, a translator, a computer, and she was just learning how to use the rest.
“You’re late for your session, Commander Hamilton.” Dr R’s voice came through loud and clear.
“On my way.” She clicked off, heaving a sigh. At least she’d convinced the good doctor she was overcoming her detachment. Two years was a long time to live a lie. In her psych eval, Dr. R focused more on the effects of her last mission than her past, thank God. Most shrinks thought they could fix her, make her feel like a normal person again, but Olivia knew that would never happen. She hadn’t felt normal since the age of sixteen. The best medicine? For Garth to give her the toughest assignment imaginable.
***
Two weeks in, Logan found Command the most interesting part of his fast track regimen. There was always something going down from satellite analysis to reports from assets across the world. Watching Garth in action was an education. The man hopped from one mission to the next without missing a single detail, and he spent most of his time in front of a screen barking orders.
Most of Logan’s training took place alongside Olivia, which was frustrating as hell. She was like a sexy ice cube, nice to look at but too cold to touch. He’d get past his attraction soon…he hoped. Beautiful women always had a way of shutting down his misplaced lust. They usually pushed him back to reality by acting spiteful or disrespectful or by being insensitive to others who hadn’t inherited the gorgeous gene. Regardless, until Olivia gave him a healthy dose of the realism he needed, the old Johnson would have to suffer.
Today, he stood beside Olivia and Garth in Command while they watched ICE operative, Mike Rose, on one of the big screens. Mike, a Scot with a thick brogue, had been recruited from Britain’s SAS, and was conducting an interrogation.
The perp sat in a chair with his hands bound, looking ragged and on the edge of endurance.
“Where are they?” Logan asked.
“An old airstrip in Kazakhstan.” Garth pointed to a map on an adjoining screen. “Rose has been tracking a shipment of missing uranium.”
Olivia crossed her arms. “Where was it headed?”
“The U.K.”
Logan watched the prisoner. He’d done his share of military interrogation and knew when a man was on the edge. This guy didn’t have much left. “Who’s the perp?”
“A smuggler. Goes by the name of Bashir.”
Mike pulled the guy’s head up by the hair. “I’m going to ask one last time…”
Oliva gasped. “Wait a moment. I know that chap—but his name isn’t Bashir, it’s Fallaha.”
All eyes shifted her way. “What else?” asked Garth.
“He is a smuggler, though. Was one of Khalil’s best suppliers.”
“That fits the MO. Is he ISIS?” asked Logan.
Olivia shook her head. “Taliban, but he works with them all. He’s bad news.”
Garth gestured toward the screen. “Got that right, and he’s been tough to crack.”
Logan studied the gruesome face. Fallaha’s eyes were unfocused and his mouth slack. “How long has he been under the light?”
“Going on thirty-six hours.”
The man was sleep deprived and starved. If he didn’t spill it now, they might not get what they wanted even if Mike was an ace. Logan raised his chin. “Tell him the man who exterminated Khalil is on his way to pay a visit to his family…in…”
“In Kabul,” Olivia finished.
Garth turned on his mic. On the screen, Rose released his grip on the perp’s hair and gave a nod to the camera. Bending down, he whispered into Fallaha’s ear. The man’s head snapped up as he started to yell, pleading and shaking his head.
“Where’s the damned shipment?” demanded Rose sounding like a Highlander.
“In a truck.”
“Where’s it headed?”
“Iran.”
“al-Umari?”
“Yeah.”
Logan’s gut twisted. The asshole was two steps away from delivering uranium to ISIS. He clamped his fingers into the back of a chair. “Ship me out now, dammit! I want in on this.”
Garth sliced his hand through the air. “We have the border covered. We just needed confirmation the shipment was headed to Iran and not North Korea.” The old Marine grinned. “Good work you two. Fallaha, huh? The bastard.”
Olivia shifted her gaze to Logan. “What are you planning to do with him now?”
“Hand him over to Interpol—with the right name.”
The duchess shook her head in disgust. “He’ll just be replaced by the next viper.”
“Unfortunately, you’re right.” Garth pointed to Logan’s sternum with a sly grin. “But Hamilton just gave me an ass-whipping idea. Give me some time and I’m going to turn Rodgers here into an arms dealer.”
Logan thrust his finger toward the screen. “Why not start with this load of uranium?”
“Yes, sir.” Garth smirked. “Word’s going to spread you took it off Fallaha’s hands and sold it to the North Koreans.”
Now he’s talking. “What’s my alias?”
“Leave that to me.”
***
Logan had clocked seven miles for his evening run around the mezzanine when he heard the gym door slam closed. Running to the other side of the track, the operative came into view. He should have known it was Olivia. Truth be told, that woman would make a good SEAL—tough, disciplined. She pushed herself to her limits, just like Logan did to himself.
He stopped and stood in the shadows, watching her execute a martial arts form while he used the towel around his neck to wipe the sweat off his face.
Wearing a tank top and bike shorts, she moved like a cheetah—fast, precise and deadly. Fairly tall for a woman, Olivia was built like an Amazon, a fact that didn’t elude him every goddamned time she managed to be in his line of sight. Logan couldn’t help but stare, watching the definition in her lithe muscles flex with her movement.
Damn, his mouth went dry while his heart sped—and not because he’d ju
st run seven miles.
Olivia’s hands blurred as she executed punches and jabs that could kill her target. Her kicks were lightning fast as well. Her roundhouse could break a man’s jaw, but she wasn’t all show. Kicks snapping like whips, she aimed for imaginary knees, groins and kidneys, all while making it part of a mesmerizing dance.
Once his body cooled and he wasn’t sweating like dog’s drool, Logan silently made his way down from the mezzanine and grabbed a bottle of water and another towel. He was still annoyed that she hadn’t recommended him for this new assignment. Nothing like being forced to join an international spy ring for no reason. True, there had been the letter from the President, but Logan could name a few other SEALs who would have made good candidates. He’d been wracking his brain, and all he’d come up with was the suits who’d interviewed him at Miramar. Someone in the mix must have been associated with ICE.
Olivia finished her form with her back to him and bowed. “Hello, Commander. I’m surprised to see you here after the day you put in.”
He was about to say the same. Had she known he’d been watching all along? “The only way to stay in shape is to keep pushing.”
“My thoughts exactly.” She assumed a defensive stance. “Want to spar a round?”
Logan cracked the top of his water and guzzled half of it. “Best of three?”
“If you’d like.”
Recapping the bottle, he moved onto the mat and raised his fists. “No need to go easy on me.”
She stepped sideways while a bead of perspiration trickled between her breasts. “I must have been absent when they issued the go-easy lesson.”
“That so?” Foot over foot, Logan moved around her, waiting for her to make the first strike. He’d sparred with women before and knew the pitfalls. If he played too rough, he’d be called out. If he let her win, she might grow overconfident. His plan? Let her dictate the level of difficulty, and then exert enough force to ensure she didn’t win.
