by Amy Jarecki
Anxious to contact ICE in the privacy of the flat, Olivia pushed the pram about five blocks when a local man fell in step beside her. He stank of stale beer and made her hackles stand on end. “Your kind have no business here. You should go back to the Middle East and leave us alone.”
Watching him out of the corner of her eye, she lowered her head and sped her pace, trying to look authentic. Besides, such misogyny didn’t deserve a reply.
Unfortunately, the jerk followed. “Did you hear me?”
“Oui,” she replied.
“I ought to take you and your infant and chain the pair of you to a barge heading for the Mediterranean.”
She slowed, gripping the pram’s handlebar with white knuckles while a maelstrom brewed inside her chest. “What would you accomplish with such a mindless act of barbarism?” Olivia knew she was on the precipice of taking things too far, but she couldn’t abide prejudice or bullying in anyone no matter their nationality.
“I ought to—”
She stopped the pram and looked him in the eye. “What?”
He smirked. Moseying too close, he used his bulk to back her into an alleyway.
An abandoned alleyway.
“Please, sir.” She tried to fill her voice with fear, though all she heard was contempt. “I beg you to leave me alone.”
Olivia maintained complete control until he grabbed her shoulders and shoved her behind a dumpster.
In the blink of an eye, hot, searing ire shot up her spine.
Sweat broke out across her skin.
She inhaled so sharply, Olivia couldn’t release her breath. Her arms and hands tensed as her instincts readied her body for a fight.
This yahoo needs to be taught a lesson.
The lout reached for her niqab and tugged it away from her mouth. “Why are you hiding your face? I’ll wager you’ve been beaten before—I’ll bet a whore like you likes being roughed up.”
Her lightning strike of anger flared into rage.
Hot. Burning. Uncontrollable rage!
Olivia reacted with the speed of a viper. Reflexes honed by years of disciplined training kicked into overdrive. She snatched his wrist, applying pressure in exactly the right spot to cause excruciating pain. “You motherfucker, I asked you to leave me alone,” she hissed in English through her teeth.
Fear flashed through the man’s eyes as she drove him to his knees. “Bitch!”
A thread of sanity tickled the back of her mind. “If I release you, will you be on your way?”
“Fuck you!” Cringing, the man reached to his back pocket.
He has a weapon!
She twisted his wrist, adding more pressure, forcing him lower, watching his free arm, anticipating a strike.
The bastard resisted. He snarled like a caged devil. In one move, he swung at her face with a switchblade.
Olivia arched away as the knife hissed a fraction of an inch from her face. But not fast enough. As the blade nicked her shoulder, she caught his hand. Using his downward motion, she took charge of the handle and tore the switchblade from his grip.
He stumbled. Olivia took advantage, throwing an elbow to the man’s temple. The jerk dropped to his knees, but he hadn’t suffered enough. A grunt ripped from her throat as she issued a chop to the back of his neck, sending him face-first to the pavement.
She shoved her heel into the middle of his back. “I’d stay down if I were you, ’cause I’m just warming up.” She pocketed the switchblade. “Unless you want to be pussy-whipped by a badass woman in a niqab.”
***
Logan tried not to laugh when Olivia filled him in on her afternoon’s intel, especially the pussy-whipped part. But this was serious. She’d come too close to blowing her cover with the Frenchman. Though they both doubted the jerk would report he’d had the shit kicked out of him by a woman wearing an Islamic veil. Regardless, they decided it might be best if she changed her routine.
“I wanted to hurt him bad.” She pulled the niqab off her head. “I hate racists. I could have ripped his face off.”
Logan’s humor took a dive. “Did he touch you first?”
Her lips thinned.
“Did he?”
She nodded. “He tried to pull off my veil.”
“And then you snapped.” he said with a sternness he used when disciplining sailors.
“Shut up. That goddamned niqab is driving me mad.”
He pointed his finger at her sternum. “I don’t think it’s the veil.”
“You would have done the same if it had been you.” She slapped his hand down. “Except there would have been blood and a lot of it.”
She was probably right. But still, the twist of Logan’s gut told him Olivia hadn’t overcome her demons. She could still lose it at the wrong time. In fact, she could have blown the operation. “You going to be okay?”
Olivia snorted like his question was ridiculous. “I’m always okay, cowboy.” She coughed out an unconvincing laugh. “The old woman knew about Mathilde’s kidnapping. It’s like there’s an urban war on both sides here. The French are afraid of the Muslims and it instills hate in the hearts of everyone.”
“Just a minute.” Logan held up a finger. “Don’t forget Muhammed is a Muslim, and he represents the majority. There’s only a handful of fanatics who are giving the good guys a bad name.”
“And we need to nail them before I kill somebody.” Olivia unfastened the snap at her collar. “This thing is smothering me.” She yanked the abaya over her head and dropped it on the couch.
Logan took in a sharp breath. The woman wore a tight-fitting tank top and a pair of bike shorts. Olivia filled out a tank top like an Amazon. And, damn it, she posed a fine picture—smooth skin, wispy hair, looking as tempting sex on a platter. Until he saw the laceration on her shoulder.
“Jesus, you’re cut.” Thank God he had something other than boobs and beauty to focus on.
Olivia hissed. “I didn’t feel it until you said something.”
“I’m going to touch your elbow.”
She looked at him like he’d lost it, not her. “You think I can’t handle it if you grab my goddamned arm? Hello? You’ve touched me plenty.”
“I’m taking you into the bathroom to tend your wound.” Grumbling under his breath, he took her elbow gently and led her to the sink. “Got a first aid kit in the drawer.”
“You’re such a Boy Scout.”
“I am.” Before he thought, his fingers sunk into her slender waist as he picked her up and sat her on the counter. Their gazes met with a heart-stopping crackle of electricity, and she didn’t even flinch. Her tongue slipped to the corner of her mouth while they both stared, connected by the intensity of the unspoken passion ricocheting between them.
Logan forced himself to look away. Maybe he was wrong about her reaction to the French dude.
He busied himself by holding a cloth under the faucet. “I can’t believe the guy came at you with a switchblade.”
“After I dropped him with a pinch to his ulnar nerve.”
Logan wiped away the blood, only to make the cut start the bleeding again. “Paralyzed him with a Spock move, did you?” Grabbing a gauze bandage, he pressed it against the wound. “Hold this.”
She complied. “Do you think it needs stitches?”
“I’ve got some superglue. That’ll fix you up.” He had Olivia hold the gauze just beneath the wound as he applied antiseptic followed by a line of glue. Then he pinched the skin together, but not without getting his fingers soaked with blood. “You sure know how to make a mess.”
A low chuckle rumbled from her throat. “Sorry.”
He gave her a look then blew on the glue. “Once this sets, you’ll be good as new.”
“Like a shiny penny, my dad used to say.”
After testing to ensure the skin would hold together, Logan used another bit of sterile gauze to clean the blood away. “What happened to your parents?”
She blinked, her lips forming a white line, erecting
a wall of instant awkwardness between them.
“Not to worry, you don’t need to tell me.” He applied more antiseptic, then taped a bandage in place. “The past is painful. My mother ran away with another man when I was still in diapers and my dad died of lung cancer two years ago.”
“And you inherited the ranch in Montana?”
“Yeah.” Logan busied himself with cleaning up. “It reminds me of the old man every time I visit home.”
Olivia sighed, her long breath filled with sad emotion. “I know what that’s like.” The woman held in too much, but he figured she’d open up about her past in her own good time, if she ever did.
He gave her thigh a pat, but his hand stayed put, unable to resist her warm skin, soft as velvet. “That ought to heal in a few days. Let me know if the glue tears and I’ll apply another coat.”
“Yes, Doc.” Logan started to pull his hand away, but she caught him by the wrist. “Thanks.”
A spike of heat shot through the tip of his cock. Jeez, he’d let his hand rest on her silky-smooth thigh one second too long. Olivia’s gaze dropped to his lips, telling him what she wanted. God knew he wanted it, too. There they were, posing as a married couple and abstaining. The past weeks had nearly killed him. Christ, living with a woman as sexy as Olivia Hamilton would kill just about any red-blooded sailor.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him between her legs. “I want you,” she whispered.
He tapped his forehead to hers, his cock standing at attention. “Me, too,” he managed to croak.
“But we’re working together.”
“Then Garth should have thought about that before he put us in a one-bedroom shoebox.” How much was a man supposed to bear before he cracked? He was already living a lie, smoking e-cigarettes and playing the lazy shopkeeper. Sooner or later he’d forget who he was. A SEAL, a decorated commander, and a goddamned, red-blooded American male. He didn’t need to think. His balls were on fire and a gorgeous blonde was staring at him with the most beautiful blue eyes on the planet. His heart raced like a jackhammer as he crushed his lips against hers and gave in to the wicked desire that had been torturing him since he’d rescued her from the yacht.
“Mm.” Olivia’s deep moan sent his mind into a maelstrom of desire as she pulled his hips flush with hers and met his kiss with a passion as fierce as his own.
She tasted like spring rain and smelled like heaven and hell wrapped in one irresistible package. He slid a hand up her waist until a soft breast filled his palm. With a deep groan of his own, he rubbed his thumb over her nipple—a hard, suckable pebble that stood proud only for him.
Trailing kisses down her neck, she sighed like a purring kitten. Oh, yeah, he kneaded her breasts, pushed them together, giving him a good eyeful of creamy flesh. He circled his tongue over the skin right above the tank top’s neckline.
Olivia threw her head back, thrusting her crotch flush against his aching cock. “Yes!”
He grabbed the hem of the shirt while both their phones buzzed and the ping from ICE on the computer blasted through the apartment.
They froze. Wide eyes met with alarm.
She dropped her head to his chest. “Shit.”
“Yeah. Shit.”
Hopping off the counter, she tugged his hand. “Come on. It sounds urgent.”
Chapter Eleven
“What the hell took you so long?” Garth barked from the screen.
Olivia rolled her eyes at Logan. It had taken them what? Five seconds to move from the bathroom to the living room.
Logan pointed his thumb her way. “Had a minor patch-up job.”
Garth leaned in closer, making his nose appear gargantuan. “Jesus Christ, by the size of the bandage, it looks like you were cleaved by a pickaxe. How in God’s name did you get that?”
“Seems the locals are taking out their fears on innocent Muslims,” Olivia said.
The CO scowled. “The world is full of morons.”
“I can’t disagree with you there, sir,” said Logan. “Sounded like you have something urgent?”
Thankfully, someone changed the subject. Olivia nodded. “Yeah. What’s up?”
The screen shifted to Asa. “The DNA results for the hairs are in.”
“You did nice work there,” said Garth, always getting a word in.
Asa smiled. “Interestingly, in addition to Mathilde, there were strands from two other girls.”
“Anything on who they are?” asked Logan.
The CO shook his finger. “We’re just getting to that.”
“They’re both French,” Asa continued in her clinical manner. “One’s from Mâcon and the other from Bourg-en-Bresse.”
Olivia spread her palms. “Why are we just finding out about this now?”
“No one tied these two disappearances with a terrorist so the news wasn’t sent up the wire.”
“It would have been nice to know,” said Olivia. “Are there suspected terrorists living in those two cities?”
Garth leaned too close to the camera again. “No organized septs in our intel, but there are unknown recruits everywhere. Christ, there could be a dozen recruits sitting dormant in Reykjavik.”
Clicking sounds came from Asa’s computer as her eyes swept back and forth. “There’s more. News just came in. There was a kidnapping in Munich, Germany. This says the suspect caught on the school’s security cam could have ties to ISIS.”
A full-body picture of a girl walking beside the suspect came on the screen. He had his arm around her shoulder and, if anything, they seemed rather chummy.
“She doesn’t look like she’s been kidnapped,” said Logan.
“The report says police are treating it as a kidnapping,” Asa explained. “Says the girl’s parents had never met the guy—didn’t even know he existed.”
“Shit.” Olivia pushed the heels of her hands into her temples and sat forward. “We need an army.” She went on to tell them about her conversation with the old woman in the park, careful not to expand on the altercation with the Frenchman. “Maybe I should hop a flight to Munich while the trail is hot?”
“Keep to the plan,” said Garth. “You’re just starting to chip the ice there and my hunch is you’re on to something with Hakim. Rodgers, report—what’s the latest?”
“I put the ball in his court. Gave him my David Mason card. Invited him to visit me at the shop, but he was a no-show this morning.”
“Find a way to weasel your way into his operation ASAP. Tell him whatever he wants to hear.”
Oliva thwacked Logan’s arm. “The fastest way is guns. I have first-hand experience with that.”
He arched his brow her way. “I already gave him the website. Told him I’d taken over where Khalil left off.”
“I know, but a guy like Hakim needs a carrot. Tell him you have a shipment of a hundred M4s with ammo you need to offload because the buyer didn’t come through. Give him a good price. You could even pour it on by telling him the reason you moved from the UK was because things were getting too hot for you there.”
“I need intel, Asa.” Logan drummed his fingers. “Where does this Hakim live? Exactly how far do his talons reach? Is he the thug I should be targeting? Where the hell is Taaha Kahn holding Mathilde Petit?”
“On it,” she said clicking away. “But you know Kahn’s dropped off the face of the earth.”
The screen shifted to Garth. “Focus on Hakim—we already know he’s an al-Umari loyalist. That means he’s trying to weasel his way to the top of the ISIS chain of command.”
Logan shifted his gaze to the CO. “Can we make good on our promises—look authentic and get our hands on the guns? Like now?”
“I can get you anything you need. Fast track inside. I’ll pull the necessary strings from here.”
A big grin spread across Logan’s lips. “I think I’m gonna like this.”
Olivia snorted, rolling her eyes. “The cowboy returns.”
***
By the following mo
rning, Asa had sent Hakim’s address. Logan waited outside the suspect’s apartment building with two cups of coffee. When he appeared, the man didn’t recognize Logan at first, or else he tried to ignore him as he turned west and headed off at a fast walk.
Logan fell in step, holding out the paper cup. “You said you’d come by my shop.”
“Huh?” Hakim gave him a sideways glance. “You’re the idiot with the dead phone.”
When they came to a bus stop, Logan again offered the coffee. “Take it. It’s good.”
The man snorted his indifference but, this time, he accepted the offering. “Why are you following me?”
“After our chat on the wharf, I thought you might be the best person to handle my offer.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
Logan turned his lips to the perp’s ear and lowered his voice. “Guns. Lots of American guns.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Oh?” Logan looked down the traffic-jammed street. The bus was stopped at a light two blocks away. “I have one hundred American M4s to offload. My sale fell through. If I’m not wrong, such an inventory would be of interest to you.”
Hakim grabbed a fistful of Logan’s shirt. “You don’t talk about shit like that on the street. What are you? A cop?”
“You didn’t look me up, did you?” Logan batted the man’s hand away and turned full circle. “There’s plenty of traffic noise. There’s no one close enough to hear me, and no one in Lyon has a clue who I am.”
“That includes me.”
“True, but I’m telling you about this deal first. Did you hear that? No one else in France has been given the gift I just placed at your feet.” A bus screeched to a stop in front of them. “Take it or leave it. I can find someone else—a friend of al-Umari.”
Hakim’s eyes grew so round they could have popped from their sockets. “Shut your mouth right now.”
“Look me up. Now that Khalil is gone, there isn’t a single dealer out there with access to the shit I can supply.” Logan stuffed another David Mason card in Hakim’s shirt pocket. “I’ll be at the shop until ten tonight. If you don’t come around, I’ll find another buyer.”
Game on.
