“Commander Rodgers, report to the sit room at once!” Garth’s voice echoed through Logan’s bedroom.

Not certain if he’d been dreaming, he opened one eye and regarded the speaker on the ceiling above his king-sized bed. “Sir?” he croaked, shifting his gaze to the clock: 0530.

“You heard me.”

“Yes, sir.” Rubbing his eyes, Logan hopped out of bed, ran a damp cloth over his face and under his pits and shoved a toothbrush in his mouth. He needed a shave, but “at once” meant one thing—now. And with luck, Mike Rose needed help securing that uranium shipment. Today.

In five minutes, Logan pushed through the sit room doors.

Asa put a cup of coffee in his hand. “Good morning.”

“Mornin’.” He half-saluted with the cup. “Thanks.”

Olivia arrived on his heels and received her cuppa joe. “You’re a lifesaver,” she said, closing her eyes, inhaling and then sipping like the coffee was manna from heaven. Even without makeup, the woman could make the slightest gesture sexy. In fact, she looked better without the makeup.

“Take a seat people,” said Garth, motioning to the head of the table where Anders Lindgren sat.

Electricity fired across Logan’s arms. Something just hit the fan.

“What’s up?” Olivia whispered, sliding into the seat beside him—a surprise after her knee-jerk rejection from the night before.

“No clue.”

Garth tapped a laser pointer in his palm. “I’m sure you’re all curious as to why I called you so early.”

“I need a team in Lyon straight away,” Anders interrupted.

With no more information than that, Logan and Olivia raised their hands, exchanging head-shaking, disparaging looks.

“I need to get out of here more than you, cowboy.”

“I doubt that.”

“I’ve been here longer.”

“Ahem.” Anders cleared his throat. “You’re both going.”

“Whether you like it or not,” added Garth.

Logan gave her a smug look. The idea of heading out on assignment with Olivia wasn’t entirely unpalatable, though he had concerns about her psychological wherewithal. Before she’d disappeared into her suite last night, he’d caught the look of terror in her eyes. One kiss and she’d totally freaked out. It didn’t take Dr. R to tell him the woman had PTSD. Commander Hamilton needed R & R and a turn at Bellevue. Sooner or later she’d crash, and that couldn’t happen in the middle of a mission. He crossed his arms, ready to throw in an objection.

Anders picked up a remote and gave it a click, bringing up a blurry picture of a dark-haired man leading a teenaged girl by the arm. “One of our informants in Lyon took this picture yesterday.”

“Who’s the guy?” asked Olivia.

“Suspected jihadist, Taaha Kahn. Someone we’ve been watching.”

“al Qaeda?” asked Logan.

“We’re not sure,” said Garth. “Since the US nailed bin Laden they’ve dispersed—have loyal supporters everywhere.”

“But they no longer control septs of population, right?” asked Logan.

“It’s worse,” said Olivia. “They have the backing of the population in more Arab states than anyone realizes. And they’ve been flocking to ISIS. Europe’s becoming a hub for recruiting jihadists, and they’re all joining forces. It doesn’t matter if you’re Taliban, al Qaeda, ISIS or whatever’s the flavor of the month.”

The room fell silent for a moment while Anders’ expression turned grim.

“They’ll rise again.” Olivia looked around the room. “And when they do, it will be an apocalypse.”

“That’s why ICE was formed,” Anders agreed, cutting her off. “We aim to stop them.”

Logan sensed they’d gone off topic. He leaned forward on his elbow. “So, what’s the deal with the girl and the suspect?”

“I ran her picture through the database. Her name’s Mathilde Petit.” Asa took a seat across the table. “Turns out she went missing a week ago, walking home from school. The picture doesn’t show it, but from the angle of her arms, my guess is her wrists are bound.”

Logan didn’t like where this was heading. “Isn’t kidnapping something the local police should handle?”

“Ja, I notified them as soon as Asa ID’d the girl, but that’s not why I want assets in Lyon. We need to look at the situation from another angle.” Anders took Garth’s laser pointer and steadied it on the perp. “Why would a jihadist risk bringing attention to himself by being seen in public with a pretty white girl whose face has been all over the news?”

Logan peered closer. “Looks like he was escorting her into the van in the background. My bet’s he wasn’t in public for long.”

“Probably not,” Garth agreed.

“Have there been any more kidnappings of girls in Lyon?” asked Olivia.

“We’re not sure if it’s a kidnapping. Asa’s only guessing that Mathilde’s wrists are bound.” Anders chopped his hand through the air. “What I’m interested in is finding out what’s going on between this girl and jihadists and determining if it is something we need to spend ICE resources on. I want to know what they’re up to. I want you to spend some time blending in with the locals—put your ear to the ground.”

“I can set up a search macro and throw it at the wall,” said Asa. “See if Mathilde Petit has been seen with other suspected terrorists. Delve deeper in to Kahn’s activities, as well.”

“Good.”

Garth placed his palms on the table. “Both of you have told me you’re going stir crazy. This is a good place to get your feet wet.”

“I assure you, I am not in need of a beginner course on fieldwork,” said Olivia.

Garth gave her a sober stare. “Didn’t say you were, but neither of you have worked together before.”

Biting his lip, Logan shot a dubious glance to his new partner. “So, how will this go down?”

“As you’re aware, I’ve been filling the pipeline with chatter about your dossier as an arms dealer under the alias of David Mason,” Garth said. “It’s time we make use of it.”

Anders looked between them. “Go in as a couple. Hamilton speaks the lingo. She’ll pose as a Muslim, and Rodgers will act as her converted British husband—a thug.”

“Why not American?” Logan asked, wondering how the hell Olivia was going to pull off the spouse part without trying to murder him.

“It’s more believable if you’re from England, and you’d better be able to affect the accent.”

“Cheerio, mate.”

Beside him, his new work-wife snorted and rolled her eyes.

“We’re putting you in the midst of the Muslim population. Blend with the locals,” said Garth. “Get them to trust you.”

Olivia turned her coffee cup upside down. Finding it empty, she snatched Logan’s. “Bloody hell, that could take months.”

“We don’t have months.” Logan stopped the cup midair and pulled it back, then grinned when she gave him an evil eye.

“We’re making arrangements for you to pose as the new lessors of a small convenience store that caters to Islamic tastes,” Anders continued. “It’s your front for arms deals and is only a block away from where this picture was taken.”

“So, we’re supposed to be running a shop while we’re trailing bad guys and selling them guns?” asked Logan.

“Got to be seen as trustworthy before you start peddling,” said Garth. “Muhammed will run the shop. He’s legit. Works for NATO.”

“Not ICE?” Logan asked.

The corners of Ander’s mouth twisted. “Never forget that ICE does not exist outside these walls. Muhammed doesn’t have the right clearance.”

“That’s code for he’s not a kick-ass operative or a PhD,” said Asa.

“Thank you for your succinct but crude commentary.” Anders pointed his thumb at the map of the world illuminated on a screen behind him. “NATO has informant assets all over the globe who provide support when needed. Muhammed is trusted and vetted, and that’s all you need to know. And as far as he’s concerned, you’re a pair of NATO operatives on a fact-finding mission.”

Garth took charge of the remote. “So, ladies and gentlemen, you’ll be reporting directly to me…”

For the rest of the morning Logan and Olivia went over the plan. The flat where they’d live, their aliases, how long they’d been married, how they’d met, why they’d leased the shop, and where they were from. Once the plane touched down in Lyon they would assume the roles of David and Oma Mason, underground arms smugglers.