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Sitting in an antique, French Provincial chair in her hotel room, Henri clicked off an encrypted video call with Garth. She couldn’t help but take a moment to revel in her achievement. First job out and she’d gotten a dynamite lead. And now they had proof ISIS was in the middle of the bank’s security system install. She’d know it from the moment Richard Laplante had mentioned the work had been done. The concerning part was that Melvut Amri seemed to have disappeared along with the gemstones. Since the heist, there had been no major arms purchases or movements, at least none that ICE had uncovered as of yet.

From the intel provided by Asa, the local police hadn’t turned up anything either. For the time being, Henri had opted to stay away from local law enforcement and Garth agreed. The sooner the cops found out that Amri was involved, the sooner every journalist in the free world would be turning him into a celebrity headliner. If Amri hadn’t gone underground yet, he’d go into hiding when his face popped up in newsfeeds across the world. Then they’d never find him.

Now that she had a picture of his face on her phone, she could do some snooping of her own, maybe uncover a line on Amri’s whereabouts before Mike arrived.

Yeah, Mike.

Her stomach fluttered. Rose was already on a jet headed for Avignon. And she didn’t want to come across looking like a rookie twiddling her thumbs waiting for the seasoned operative to arrive. She might be new to ICE, but she had years of warfare under her belt, which included being a sleuth.

She shook her head. So, Garth thought she needed backup. Didn’t he know she could handle herself? Delta Force soldiers routinely handled sticky situations. She had firsthand experience in interrogation and surveillance. Heck, her education at ICE had only served to enhance skills she’d already honed years ago—aside from walking into a foreign bank pretending to be an Interpol officer—and she’d pulled off that ruse just fine, by the way.

Wearing a pair of jeans, black boots with two-inch heels and a light jacket, Henri headed out. While she’d been waiting on information to return from Asa, she’d spent some time walking the streets of Avignon. It was a relatively small city with much of its medieval architecture unchanged—in fact the city was awe-inspiring, a cool place to explore even if she was on the job.

She headed for a café she’d found in the shadier side of town. Middle Eastern music had resounded out to the sidewalk and as she’d gone past, she saw women wearing hijabs inside. At least it was a place to start.

When she arrived, it was 4 p.m. A little early for dinner, but that also meant they wouldn’t be busy. And she was right. A group of men sat at table in the back and when she stepped inside, their conversation stopped. All heads turned her way. Henri smiled and waved at a woman standing near the cash register and wearing a pink hijab. “Bonjour,” she said doing her best to impersonate a tourist. “This looks like a cool place to eat. Mind if I take a seat?”

The woman glanced back to the men before she picked up a menu and gestured to a table. Henri sat in a chair where, if she turned her head right, she could see the men and, to her left, she had a clear shot at the door. After ordering grilled eggplant with feta cheese and pomegranate sauce, she pretended to use Instagram while she took a couple of pictures of the men who had reverted to their conversation.

The waitress brought her food and Henri licked her lips. “This looks delicious.” When the woman glanced sideways with uncertainty written on her face, Henri gave her rudimentary French a try. “Merci. Il est tres bon.”

“Bon appétit,” she responded, though she didn’t smile.

The meal was good and Henri took her time. Another man came in and, after giving her a once-over, headed back to join the men. They were speaking Arabic, though not loud enough to make anything out. Her biggest language focus at ICE had been Arabic.

To buy time to draw out her surveillance, she ordered dessert and more water. By the time the woman brought the bill, she even smiled. Henri paid in cash and, right before she stepped outside, she showed the waitress the picture of Melvut Amri. “As-tu vu cet homme?” Have you seen this man?

The waitress’ eyes widened and she glanced back to the men before she shook her head with no trace of a smile. In fact, there was no mistaking the fear in her eyes. “Non.”

Henri pocketed her phone. “Merci.”

As she left, the hair at the back of her neck prickled. Obviously, the woman had lied. Moreover, something sinister appeared to be brewing. Before Henri crossed the street, she glanced over her shoulder at the café, then again when she turned the corner. It wasn’t until she reached the next block that she saw him—a man following. Of Middle Eastern descent, he stood about her height, stocky, sunglasses, black slacks, white shirt with a collar.

Thinking fast, she slipped into a pub. The air was hazy with cigarette smoke. The patrons had their eyes glued to a game of soccer on a big screen over the bar. Henri spied the Toilette sign and strode toward it with purpose. She even smiled and waved at a complete stranger on the way. The bathrooms were down a dimly lit hall that ended with a door to the alleyway. Henri pushed outside and looked both ways. The man on her tail wasn’t in sight. She ran westward, taking a circuitous route to her hotel, checking all directions at every turn. She didn’t see the tail again.

At the café, she’d paid in cash and hadn’t given her name. If those men were friends of Melvut Amri, there was no way they’d be able to find her. On the other hand, if they had been watching the bank, there could be a remote possibility that someone involved in the heist had seen her there.

But people go to banks, even tourists.

After Henri was absolutely positive she’d lost the tail, she walked in the door of the Hôtel La Mirande. The place was fancier than any accommodation the army had ever supplied, and stepping inside was like traveling back in time to an era that moved at a slower pace. Classical music softly floated through reception. Antique furniture filled the vestibule. Even Henri’s room had been decorated with French Provincial furniture; it even had quaint, yellow wallpaper with roses.

Regardless of the relaxed atmosphere, she remained on full alert. As she headed for the stairs and straight up to her room, every flicker of movement processed through her mind with the speed of a microchip. Adrenalin still pumped through her blood. She needed to send the pictures she’d taken to Asa to run through ICE’s system. First thing in the morning, she’d set up surveillance of the café. Good thing Mike was coming in. He could help with that.

After swiping her keycard, Henri opened the door and switched on the light.

A flicker of movement made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end. Gasping, a jolt of electricity shot through her blood. She ducked. But her flinch wasn’t fast enough to completely avoid the thrust of the fist aimed at her face. As she moved, knuckles grazed her ear.

In a heartbeat, four things about the assailant flooded her mind: a ski mask, a man, her height, sixty pounds heavier.

Henri blocked his next strike with a downward heel pump while she threw an elbow into his temple.

As the man recoiled, she went on the assault with a jumping side kick to the ribs. He doubled over with the impact and spun away. She lunged, aiming a karate chop to the jugular.

Blocking, he caught her wrist midair and twisted her arm up her back. Henri fought to unwind, but the man was stronger than an ox. Gnashing her teeth. She ran the heel of her boot down his shin and stomped on his arch. Grunting with pain, the thug only tightened his grip.

“At last I will watch the life drain from your face,” he growled in her ear.

Henri’s blood ran cold. The accent was Middle Eastern—but it wasn’t his accent that made his words menacing, it was the pure hatred in his voice. Braving the pain from her arm being wrenched up her spine, she twisted and reached for his mask. Stars darted through her eyes while she ground her teeth against the agony of stretching sinew. His hand reached for her neck. She had no choice but to abandon her escape and block the choke hold with her fingers.

Gaining the upper hand, the man tightened his grip like a boa constrictor as he pressed his lips to her ear. “I like women with fight.”

She gasped for air, her temples pounding. Unwilling to quit, her gaze shifted side to side as she planted her feet. Bucking, Henri threw an elbow to his flank, nearly dislocating her arm from her shoulder socket. With his jerk to the side, she bent her knee and flipped him onto his back. He released her wrist. From the floor, the bastard threw a side kick to her knee. Henri jumped away. He sprang to his feet. Leading with his shoulder, he tackled her. As her back crashed into the floor, pain didn’t register.

Arching her spine, she slammed a heel punch to his nose. He countered with a jab as he straddled her, forcing the wind from her chest. Henri parried his hand away. Again, he caught her wrist. With all her strength, she levered her arm toward his thumb, caught the back of his elbow and hyperextended his arm as she rolled. Straining, he kept the upper hand. The ass was too damned strong and too damned stupid as she bent his arm to the point of breaking.

Henri’s muscles burned. Fighting with every shred of strength, they struggled in a battle of brutal force and wills while Henri gasped for air under the attacker’s crushing weight.

The door swung open.

A new surge of power shot through Henri’s limbs as Mike bellowed like a madman, pulling the attacker to his feet and pummeling him with a barrage of fast jabs.

Henri dove for the man’s mask and yanked it off.

Shit!

Omar Fadli shot her a look of pure hatred as he broke away from Mike and ran for the window. Glass shattered with a deafening crash.

“We’re two stories up!” Henri ran.

Mike reached the window a step behind her.

Down on the sidewalk, Fadli was already up and escaping with a limp. He jumped into the passenger side of a black Mercedes. The car’s wheels screeched as the car sped away.

“God damn,” Henri hissed still catching her breath. “He’s the last person I expected to attack me. I-I’m hunting him, not the other way around.”

Mike stuck his head out the broken window. “Was that Omar Fadli?”

“Same likeness as his picture.”

“I thought it had to be Melvut Amri until you pulled off his mask.”

“It’s unbelievable.” She’d never forget the steely-eyed glare of the man who framed her for murder.

“Now there’s no question.” Mike pulled his head back in. “Those two must be in cahoots. But how did he ken you were here?”

“Don’t know. They might have a feed from the bank cameras.” Rubbing her jaw, Henri shifted her gaze to Mike. “Thanks for the help.”

“You okay?” his voice sounded a little choked up. He reached out like he was going to pull her into an embrace, but only placed his hands on her shoulders.

“Yeah, nothing a soak in a tub of ice won’t fix.” Her gaze trailed aside as she clenched her fists to stop the damned shaking—she wasn’t the type to lose it. Ever. And now that she wasn’t fighting for her life, it was damned awkward to have Mike Rose, spy extraordinaire, burst into her hotel room and rescue her from her nemesis. She didn’t need rescuing. What she needed was to keep it together and act like a Delta Force badass.

Mike gently tilted Henri’s chin toward the light and hissed. “We need to get some ice on that.”

She looked up and met his gaze and suddenly nothing hurt. Her mind blanked. Jeez, when blue eyes like that were looking at a woman, who needed painkillers?

Then those blues grew dark and dangerous. Mike’s jaw twitched. “I could have killed that bastard.”

She chuckled. “I tried.”

“It’s a good thing I came when I did.”

“I nearly had him.”

“Aye. That’s why he was on top of you.” The big Scot’s jaw twitched as he pulled her into his arms and pressed his lips to her forehead. “I dunna ever want to see that again.”

Henri’s next breath came with a shiver. Her skin tingled with the feeling of his warm breath on her forehead. All she wanted to do was melt into him, feel those brawny arms surround her, listen to him promise to protect her.

But she forced her muscles to stiffen. God, she was an idiot. When in her life would she not fall for the wrong guy? Mike was her co-worker. She couldn’t melt into his arms and turn gooey.

But she was too spent to push him away. Sighing, she settled for resting her head against his shoulder, a well-muscled, powerful, protective shoulder. The next thing she knew, her arms were around his waist. “We should go,” she said, despite her heart demanding the contrary.

“You’re right. I need to get you someplace safe, ASAP.” He inclined her chin upward with the crook of his finger. Warm lips kissed her ever so softly. Though just a peck, Mike’s lips imparted more emotion than a sonnet. Warning lights flashed in the back of her mind as her heart won the battle—just this once.

“I missed you, Eagle Eyes.”

Shit. She’d missed him, too.