Logan’s brain registered a flash from the gun’s muzzle. But his instincts had already kicked into hyper drive. As he dove into the sea, a bullet grazed the outside of his arm. Hopped up on adrenaline, he barely noticed the sting. No way he’d let a flesh wound slow him down. Not while those murderers marshaled Olivia up the gangway of a trawler that looked like it would sink in a healthy squall.

Water rushed in his ears while he swam under the hull of the nearest boat and slipped to the other side where they couldn’t see him, though he’d lose sight of Olivia and the trawler. If only there was a way aboard that rickety craft.

When Logan came up for air, footsteps on the pier clomped to his right. The shadow of the gunman’s muzzle inched around the bow. Careful not to make a splash, Logan took a deep breath and ducked beneath the boat, running his hands along the bottom of hull as he guided himself aft. The greatest thing in his favor was his agility in the water. As comfortable swimming as running, he could elude them better in the tempestuous sea, and moving under the craft made him invisible to the shooter.

Reaching the stern, Logan gradually surfaced. Rain pelted the top of his head as he rose up enough to breathe only through his nose.

A stream of bullets pelted the water along the boat’s starboard side. Sharp splatters spewed within two feet of his head. Clinging to the motor’s exhaust housing, he didn’t move a muscle.

“Where are you, asshole?” shouted the gunman.

“Leave him,” another said while outboard motors rumbled to life.

Still unable to see the trawler, Logan silently pulled himself portside. After he passed the second outboard, the boat’s hull came into view. A half-dozen shooters leaned over the rail, training their weapons across the water. Damn, he was too close to see anything on the trawler’s deck. To make things worse, he could hear nothing over the pelting rain in concert with the buzz and grind of poorly maintained dual outboard engines.

The gunman walked up the gangway then gave the order to cast off.

Not but eight feet ahead of him, a fish jumped. AK-47s opened fire. Bullets pummeled the surf and splattered saltwater into Logan’s eyes. He held his position. If he tried to move any closer, he’d be shot. No question.

The boat reversed.

Diving deep, Logan swam toward the shore. He came up for air in the shadows of a sailboat. Through the blur of rain, the back of the trawler’s deck propelled low in the water—sailing southeast while gunmen patrolled the stern. And Olivia was nowhere in sight.

It wasn’t pretty. And he’d had no opportunity to smuggle aboard. Though it hadn’t been part of the plan, Logan hated seeing Olivia disappear in the clutches of those vultures.

Once the grinding of the trawler’s motor became a distant hum, he pushed the button on his ICE watch and watched it illuminate. “This is Batman. Project Cat House underway.”

“Roger that,” Garth’s voice came loud and clear, and a damned mite perkier than Logan felt.

A streak of lightning fingered overhead. He needed to get out of the water before he was lit up. Thunder boomed. “Where’s my backup?” he asked.

“Patrol boat dispatched. Will arrive at 02:30.”

“Four hours?”

“Had a hiccup. Hold tight.”

Logan swiped the rain out of his eyes. What else would go wrong? “Do you have eyes on the craft, sir?”

“Eyes in the sky are blind. Tracking on. Target traveling southeast at twenty knots. I reckon they’ll cruise for a good long time.”

Logan didn’t like it. Even if the patrol boat could max out at thirty-five knots, the bastards would have a four-hour head start. If anything malfunctioned with Olivia’s chip, she’d be lost. Worse, he had nothing to do but stay out of sight for a hell-of-a long time. After signing off, he climbed up the sailboat’s ladder and scurried across the boat toward the pier. He hopped to the timbers, stooping into the shadows. He pulled the Glock from the holster under his arm. Looking toward the shore, an overhead lamp cast an eerie glow through the rain, but there wasn’t a soul in sight, at least as far as he could see.

Wasting no time, he made his way toward the car.

But two parking spaces before he reached the rental, his gut gave a twist.

Logan froze in a crouch, searching for movement. He hadn’t seen a living thing, but he knew better than to discount his gut. As he ducked behind an SUV, he listened for footsteps. He heard nothing but the rush of the rain making it impossible to discern any other sounds. The only certainty was Logan needed to keep moving.

Glock cocked and ready to shoot, he dashed to the driver’s side door. His mind on full alert, Logan kneeled and illuminated his watch, moving it under the car like a flashlight. A silvery flicker caught his eye. Something too clean. Something that didn’t belong.

Dropping to his shoulder, he moved his arm closer for a better look.

His heart jolted.

An IED was wired to the starter.

Rocking back on his heels, he looked left then right. The rain had lessened to mist and, with it, a fog was rolling in. Probably a good thing. Someone wanted him dead. And right now, his ass was exposed. The perp might be nearby—waiting and watching especially since this looked like an ISIS hit.

Logan eased his way to the rear of the car and peered toward the parking lot entrance. A white van idled at the street corner.

He pulled out his smartphone and selected Jon’s heat seeking app. The screen homed in on the engine first. At 220 degrees, it had been idling for a while. He panned the phone back. Two warm bodies sat in the cab—a driver and a passenger. And panning toward the rear of the vehicle revealed no other life.

Logan pocketed his phone while his blood boiled. He should have known ISIS radicals would stab him in the back. It wasn’t enough that he’d supplied them with a victim and guns. The bastards were insane.

Damn. He was a seasoned SEAL and there he stood in the rain playing the patsy. They’d planned this all along, rubbing their hands and waiting for their IED to blow him to hell.

Not tonight assholes.

Moving like a cat, He ducked around the front of the car, darted to the edge of the lot, and climbed down to the beach. The sand came clear up to the five-foot cement embankment, giving Logan both cover and the ability to move in silence. He ran further than necessary to ensure he’d traveled well beyond the van. Logan’s heart thundered in his ears as he inched up and peered toward the street. Fifty feet ahead, the vehicle hadn’t moved. No surprises there.

Behind a hedge, he climbed to the street. Damp clothes hindered his flexibility, but he rolled to his feet and readied his weapon.

Approaching from the rear, Logan crept to the driver’s side door.

He took two deep breaths before rising high enough to see inside the cab. A spike of fury shot through his chest. Yeah, betrayal served up bitter bile.

Hakim.

The jihadi terrorist sat in the passenger seat like he was waiting for the latest blockbuster to burst in live action before him. But the only thing about to be busted was the jerk’s traitorous skull.

The men’s heads were turned away, watching Logan’s rental car. The storm outside may have ebbed to a mist, but the storm inside Logan’s chest exploded into a raging tempest. He ripped open the door and slammed the butt of his gun against the driver’s temple. The force behind the strike was meant to be immediate and lethal and Logan’s years of training didn’t disappoint. A grunt was the last sound the man made as he slumped sideways.

Hakim whipped his head around but Logan had already launched himself over the dead man. He jammed the muzzle of his Glock in the terrorist’s temple. “What the fuck asshole? If they didn’t murder me on the pier, you had a backup plan? You think I’m that easy to kill?” he snarled in American-accented English.

Hakim’s eyes grew wide. “You’re not—?”

Logan swung with his left.

Hakim blocked, raising a Beretta with his far hand.

Logan caught the man’s wrist, pinning it to the door, applying savage pressure to the bastard’s ulnar nerve. “Did you think you could ice me and take my business?”

Cringing in pain, Hakim clamped ahold of Logan’s arm. “Traitor!”

Logan continued to squeeze until the Beretta clattered to the floor. Hakim shrieked with the pain, but struggled like a frantic cage fighter. The man’s will to live was strong. His grip was like iron as they locked in a battle of wills. But Logan didn’t intend on losing this fight. Not with Olivia sailing off in the hands of heinous barbarians.

“You’re not only a traitor to your country, you’re a cancer on the ass of the human race.” Baring his teeth, Logan attacked with a head-butt. Hakim’s grip eased. Logan swung back, broke free and smashed the butt of the Glock into the terrorist’s skull. Bone crunched. Blood splattered, then Hakim’s head lolled forward.

No shots fired. No loud noise made. Logan’s gaze shot up and down the street and then checked the mirrors. The rain had resumed and not a soul was in sight.

Quickly, he dragged the corpses into the back of the van. Hopping into the driver’s seat, he revved the engine. Once he pulled out onto the road, he contacted ICE.

“Speak,” Garth’s voice came through like a fog horn.

“IED waiting under my rental car. Caught the perps—Kadir Hakim and one of his goons. They lost. Heading northeast on M6098. Need a new location to pick up my ride.”

“Head to Saint-Jean-Cap-Ferat. End of first pier.”

“Roger that.” Logan punched the new location into his GPS. “Send a bomb unit to Villefranche-sur-Mer.”

“On it.”

“Over and out.”