Their table at Le Safari overlooked the French Riviera. Picture perfect with lingering daylight, Logan might have enjoyed the evening if they weren’t on a mission. But they ordered and made small talk while tension swelled in the air between them. He didn’t like going into a mission without a plan. Sure, he could run an op in complete darkness, but he always had a plan. This time, the bad guys were calling the shots and Logan aimed to rectify that ASAP.

Tonight, he packed his Glock in a holster under his arm and wore a Kevlar vest. If Olivia was going in deep, he was her best chance at coming out the other side alive.

Across the table, she played her part like a pro. The woman was made for undercover work. She wore her hair down and straight, framing her face with blonde wisps. She alternated between pushing her food around the plate and texting with her phone, giggling often. She smiled at him as if she weren’t about to step over the threshold of international terrorism. Next, she twisted a lock of hair around her finger. “I can’t believe you drove me all the way down here just for dinner,” she said in French.

“You’re a beautiful girl, and beautiful women deserve nice things.”

“Thank you.” She giggled.

He sipped a cappuccino. No wine tonight, and coffee would ensure he kept his edge later when it counted.

They stared at each other across the table, a candle flickering and making her face surreal. They’d already made their peace, and anything endearing they might say in this public place would only put the op in jeopardy.

He glanced down at his empty plate. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment.”

She gave an eager nod, picking up her phone like she was going to change her status on Facebook from “single” to “in a relationship”.

Logan pushed open the door to the men’s room and swept his gaze across the space before stepping inside. One man was using a urinal while a pair of legs with black shoes showed below a metal stall.

He moved to the mirror and ran a comb through his hair while the man from the urinal zipped, washed his hands and left. Needing to relive himself, Logan moved to the urinal while keeping an eye on the stall in the mirror.

A man of Middle Eastern descent opened the door. Without a single glance toward Logan, he pulled an envelope out of the breast pocket of his suit and set it on the counter, then he left. Logan quickly washed his hands then read the instructions:

Prote de Villefranche-sur-Mer

Third pier.

Last boat.

2200

Failure will result in death.

Stuffing the note in his pants’ pocket, he let out a long breath. No matter how much he wanted to change places with Olivia, his hands were tied. Though she was difficult and hard as nails, he cared for her more deeply than he wanted to admit. If only there were something he could do to take down al-Umari’s harem without sending in an asset, he’d gladly pay a visit with a truckload of C4.

But the only easy day was yesterday.

When he pushed through the door, Olivia looked up from her phone. She smiled like there was cotton candy between her ears. Yeah, she was born for this type of op. But Logan? He was born to be stealthy, slip in, set a bomb and kaboom.

He threw some euros on the table and beckoned her with a nod of his head. “Let’s take a drive to the marina. I hear the submarines are putting on quite a show.”

The man who’d left the note was nowhere to be seen, but that didn’t mean they weren’t being watched. In fact, Logan could put money on it.

It wasn’t until he revved the engine of his rental car that he shared the contents of the note.

“Let’s roll, then.” Olivia was a diamond—strong and gorgeous. She dialed Garth on her ICE phone, scrambled and untraceable. “Delivery’s at Prote de Villefranche-sur-Mer.”

Logan raised his voice to be heard. “Can you get me on a craft?”

“Working on it now. All eyes on you.”

Logan looked at the night sky. Lightning illuminated clouds rolling in from the west. He’d have better luck if he could stay on the ISIS boat or if he could get his hands on something non-threatening like a fishing trawler.

Funny, he would have enjoyed the drive though Nice if it weren’t for the op about to go down.

***

Olivia ran through a mental checklist. Name: Olivia White. From London. The team at ICE had decided it was better for her to play the part of an English girl on holiday in France. As far as they knew, there hadn’t been any English girls kidnapped, and if Olivia went in with a French alias, one of the victims might figure out that she wasn’t from Lyon. Given that they didn’t know what she’d be walking into, they’d all agreed on the English alias together with a complete dossier and fake ID.

Logan sped through the winding backstreets. He focused on the road with tension in his jaw.

A splatter of rain hit the windscreen while a gust of wind made the car shimmy. Leaning forward, Olivia peered at the sky. “Looks like a squall.”

“Maybe we should abort.”

She gave him a look. “Are you off your trolley? We’re too damned close and if we blow it now, we mightn’t have another chance.”

The wheels peeled as he took a corner too fast.

She glanced at the time on her track phone. “Slow down. We have a half-hour.”

He glanced up, looking at the sky. “By the time we reach the marina, satellite tracking will be toast.”

“That’s why I have a microchip at the back of my skull.”

“I’m going to try to stay with you.”

“That would be nice, love, but don’t push it. You could get us both shot. I don’t have to tell you al-Umari’s men are trigger happy.”

“I’ve seen plenty of their handiwork.” The car sped up again. “And that’s why I don’t want you going inside. It was one thing to be on the fringe with Khalil, but now you’re going to be in the center of the heat.”

“As far as we know.”

“They don’t care about human life.”

A shot of fear pumped through her veins. Blinking, Olivia quickly dispelled it. “I know.”

The car started down a zigzag hill, the Mediterranean spreading in front of them like a black abyss. Logan turned on the wipers as the clouds opened with a deluge.

They proceeded slowly along the waterfront until Logan pulled into a car park near the marina entrance. He cut the engine. “I know I don’t need to say this, but don’t try to put on any heroics. As soon as we know your location, we’ll be on them like flies on shit.”

“You sound like you’re talking to a mob of Navy SEALs.”

“Yes, ma’am. It worked for me for ten years and now’s no time to change.”

She reached across the console and grasped his arm. “For what it’s worth, I like knowing you have my back.” If only she could kiss him—show him how much he meant to her. But that would be a grave mistake.

“You ready to roll?” he asked.

“Right-o. You’re showing me your yacht and I’m having a smashing time. Love the rain. After all, I’m a Londoner.”

“Roger that.” Logan looked at his watch. “Might as well head to the end of the pier.” When Olivia opened the door, he stopped her. “See you on the other side after we’ve taken them down.”

“You’ve got it, cowboy.”

Arm in arm, they hastened through the marina. Not a soul was out—good for the bad guys. They turned up the third pier. The rain made the footing slippery, but they laughed like a pair of lovebirds pretending not to notice.

As they approached, Olivia got a good look at the boat. She’d known it wouldn’t be a yacht like Khalil’s had been. But this thing could hardly be seaworthy. It was a rickety trawler that looked like it might have been in use since the 70s. A light flickered behind the glass of the wheelhouse while shadows passed across the pane. The low rumble of the motor cut through the patter of the rain.

They both grew silent.

A streak of lightning lit up the craft.

“That heap of plywood hardly looks like its fit to sail,” Logan grumbled under his breath.

“And you’re not supposed to care,” she whispered.

As they approached, the hairs on the back of Olivia’s neck stood on end. She didn’t know where the perps were hiding, but they were being watched for certain.

Beside her, Logan tensed, too.

“Which boat’s yours?” Olivia asked, trying to sound younger.

“Up ahead,” Logan said brusquely.

Before they reached the trawler, metal clicked.

They both knew the sound of a bullet entering a gun’s chamber.

Logan pulled her behind him.

“What are you doing?” Olivia shouted, playing her part.

Four gunmen stepped from the shadows. “Stop right there,” said a fifth, coming from behind.

Olivia screamed and grasped Logan’s arm.

“Why all the guns?” Logan asked, spreading his palms. “We could have climbed aboard without an armed escort.”

“You know these men?” Olivia shrieked, filling her voice with fear though ready to kick the AK47 from the nearest thug’s hands.

Logan took her hand and pulled her forward. “I don’t want her hurt.”

One of the men stepped in and grabbed Olivia by the hair.

Her hands flew to her crown. “Help!”

Another goon snatched the purse from her shoulder.

“David!”

“Shut up,” said the gunman from behind while another bound her wrists with zip cuffs.

“David, help me!” she shrieked while they hustled her aboard by the hair.

“There’s no need to be barbaric,” Logan bellowed.

A gunman jabbed him in the stomach with the butt of his rifle. “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

Olivia escaped from the man pulling her hair, giving her a second to turn and lean over the boat’s rail. “David! Don’t leave me here!”

Clutching his gut, Logan shuffled toward the trawler. “Let me come aboard, mate. I can help.”

“We don’t want a damned thing from you.” The goon aimed his AK47 at Logan’s skull. “And you’re no longer needed.”

The gun clicked as the man pulled on the charging handle.

Logan’s eyes flashed.

“No!” Olivia shrieked.

Short blasts of gunfire emitted blinding flashes as Logan disappeared into the water behind the neighboring boat.

She leaned further over the rail frantically searching for any sign of him, but the water was inky black. “David!”

The sky opened with a downpour as a thug smacked her in the back with his gun. “Move it.”

Instantly drenched, Olivia’s teeth chattered with the cold. Dammit, why did Logan try to board? That wasn’t part of the plan. Shit! Before they led her down the steps, she scanned the inky surf for any sign of Logan…and any sign of blood.