Olivia’s eyes flew open when a blast of white light burst around her. Sweat streamed from her brow and seeped into her pillow as she panted. Fear cradled her in its hideous grip. Christ, the entire bed was wet.

Gaping at the ceiling, she willed the horrid nightmare away. Bad men. Bombs. Fighting for her life. It was always the same. Taking in consecutive calming breaths, she swiped her damp hair away from her face. As she relaxed and came fully awake, her deep breathing brought a new smell. A pleasant one for a change.

Coffee.

Feeling like she’d just run a marathon, she wanted to roll over and go back to sleep. But that wasn’t happening. She had to pee. Crossing her legs, she reached for her phone.

0730?

She tossed it down and closed her eyes.

Five more minutes.

But her bladder put on the pressure.

Shoving away the bedclothes, she swung her feet over the edge of the bed and sunk her toes into the plush carpet. The flat might be small, but it was modern with posh furnishings.

Still, her head was in a fog. Olivia hated mornings—especially mornings after a nightmare. She needed two cups of coffee before the cobwebs cleared enough to think.

Only one thing trumped coffee. She stumbled for the loo and opened the door.

Holy shit.

She should have known better.

A high-pitched squeak pealed from her throat. Closing the door might have been the right thing to do, but how could she turn away from perfection? Completely naked, Logan bent over the basin. Olivia cocked her head. Never before had she seen a bum sculpted with such tempting exactitude. And she’d seen a lot of bums. She adored masculine tushes. Logan’s, however, was nothing short of magnificent. It totally took the biscuit with deep dimples dipping into rounded glutes, a slim waist, powerful shoulders like Thor’s. Her fingers itched to give his ass a squeeze, though with her next blink, he whipped around.

“Olivia?” He snatched a towel from the rack, but not before she’d seen everything.

Dear God, her knees grew weak. The man had just rendered her speechless—a very difficult thing to do. Heaven help her, it had been a whole lot easier resisting Logan Rodgers when he’d kept his clothes on. But starkers? Mm, mm, how she loved black pubic hair with tight curls. Even better, the man’s equipment didn’t disappoint, and he wasn’t even hard.

With her next blink, a white towel blocked her view.

“I’m nearly done,” he mumbled with a toothbrush in his mouth.

She snapped her gaze to his face. Those same teal eyes brooded over dark stubble, looking as delicious as morning crepes with strawberries and cream. “Sorry.” She wasn’t. The word sorry may have been uttered by her lips, but that was the extent of her remorse.

He stood there for a moment then gestured with his palm. “I need to shave, then the bathroom’s all yours.”

Her bladder reminded her why she was standing there staring at a hot guy who was supposed to be her work-spouse. “Can I borrow the loo for a sec?” She glanced toward the commode. “It seems last night’s wine is rather anxious to make an exit.”

“Right.” The man blushed—no, he hadn’t flinched when she’d caught him naked, but as soon as she mentioned peeing, he turned as red as a schoolboy. He spat and rinsed. “Ah…maybe you could knock next time?”

“Why didn’t you lock the door?”

He skirted past her, holding that damned towel around his hips tight in his fist. “It’s broken.”

“Fancy that. A posh new flat with a broken lock.”

“It’s not posh.” He stepped out and closed the door, his voice carrying through. “It’s not like there is any place I could have been hiding in this shoebox.”

“Roger that,” she said loud enough for him to hear. “Next time I’ll drum out the secret password.”

“Thanks. You want coffee?” he asked.

“That’s next—where did you find it?”

“Picked some up on my run this morning.”

“Already?” She washed her hands. “How long have you been up?”

“A couple hours.”

After drying her fingers, Olivia regarded herself in the mirror. Mussed hair, no makeup, bags under her eyes. She looked about as sexy as a turnip. Stepping back, she regarded her figure. She was in great shape, but wouldn’t be if she didn’t start an exercise routine soon. She pushed her breasts together and gave herself a bit of cleavage. “Maybe I should buy a negligee with a built in underwire,” she mumbled to herself.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” She raised her voice while regarding her profile and wondering why Garth hadn’t sent her to Lyon to work this case alone. She worked better alone. And how was she supposed to wipe the image of Logan’s bum from her mind?

They had to put me on assignment with a guy who looks like a cover model for Men’s Health Magazine.

“Olivia?”

She opened the door, shifting her gaze to the kitchen. “Where’s that coffee?”

***

During the first weeks on assignment they’d taken a gazillion pictures and the intel was flowing. This evening, Logan and Olivia sat together on the couch reviewing the photos on screen with Garth and Asa dialed in.

“Just about everyone who’s come into the shop has been friendly,” Logan said.

“Expected that.” Olivia gave him an elbow nudge.

“Just a minute.” Asa leaned away from the camera for a moment. “The results from my facial recognition traces have come in.”

“Anything hot?” asked Logan.

A picture of a man flashed on screen. Logan didn’t recognize him, but he’d taken so many pictures, it could have been any number of patrons. Eyes too close, with thick black hair and a sparse black beard, the man looked like he could pass for a terrorist.

“The report says this is Kadir Hakim. He’s suspected of being involved with the militants who organized the Paris attack.”

“Why hasn’t he been arrested?” asked Olivia.

“His role was unproven—though he has been seen in the company of militants,” said Garth.

“Does he have any ties to Taaha Khan?” asked Logan.

The CO leaned closer to the camera. “That’s something you need to find out.”

“Roger that.” Logan pointed. “Any other pictures come back with dirt?”

“Not yet,” said Asa.

Garth shifted his attention to Olivia. “How are things at the park?”

“Nothing new.” She shook her head. “There are a few regulars I’ve started waving to. The school’s quiet so far.”

“It’s not enough.” Garth slammed his fist on the table. “Dig deeper. The trail’s getting colder and, meanwhile, no one has a clue why a suspected terrorist was seen with a girl who apparently has no ties with al Qaeda or ISIS. For all we know Mathilde Petit could be dead by now.”

Logan crossed his arms. “Or in Baghdad.”

“Any news on the DNA from the hair?” Olivia asked.

Asa shook her head. “Nope. It hasn’t quite been two weeks yet.”

“Two weeks is a frigging eternity,” Garth barked.

“All right,” Logan said. They weren’t getting anywhere and it was no use making the boss testier. “I’ll keep my eyes peeled for Kadir Hakim.”

Olivia nodded. “I’ll start up conversations with an elderly lady I’ve seen every day in the park. She probably sees everything.”

Garth leaned in. “Why have you waited?”

“You’re an American.” She shorted. “The fastest way to make one of the locals suspicious is to appear overly anxious to befriend them.”

“Yeah, and in the meantime the world’s greatest threat is plotting to kill us all.”

Logan shifted his hand to the touch pad and moved the pointer to the end-call button. “Same time tomorrow?”

“Sooner if you hear anything,” said Garth.

“Over and out.”

Beside him, Olivia sat back and heaved a sigh. “I’m starved.”

“Do we have anything to eat?”

She gave him a pointed look. “I don’t cook, remember?”

“You like Chinese?”

“Love it.”

He stood and stretched. “I’ll be back in a jiff.”

***

Just as Logan was about to reach for the door to the restaurant, Kadir Hakim pushed past him carrying a bag of food.

Nothing like a shot of instant adrenaline.

Hunger forgotten, Logan followed, keeping to the shadows. The garlic wafting from the man’s Chinese was enough to turn him into a bloodhound.

Hakim didn’t even glance over his shoulder as he made his way down to the Rhône where river cruise ships were moored. Along the waterfront were park benches and workout bars like the beaches in California. Unfortunately, the place was lit up like a football field during the Super Bowl, adding an extra challenge to the need to remain stealth.

The suspected terrorist met up with a group of men who were sitting at a picnic table, beckoning him with boisterous shouts. Whatever they were up to, they didn’t seem to mind drawing attention to themselves.

Logan pulled his cellphone from his pocket and opened the sound recorder. Then he jogged past and set it in the shadows of a garbage can near Hakim. Once he was sure the device was recording, he ran straight for the workout area, snapped a few pictures with his e-cigarette and started doing pullups. While they dug in, the banter continued, but the tone grew serious. Logan was too far away to make out what they were saying, but at least was confident his phone was picking up everything. Continuing with his exercise, he moved to a pair of parallel bars. Too bad there wasn’t a set of weights, he could really waste some time.

He did sit ups, jogged down the wharf and back, more pullups, pushups. If the men didn’t head for home soon, he’d be too sore to move come morning.

But they finally left, leaving their garbage behind. After waiting a good five minutes, Logan retrieved his phone. He pushed the button and the damned thing was dead.

“Shit,” he whispered, shoving it in his pocket.

“Ne bougez pas,” a gravelly voice told him not to move while something hard pressed against Logan’s kidney—the muzzle of a gun.

Ready to make a countermove, he regarded his assailant out of the corner of his eye.

Hakim.

“As salaam alaykum,” peace be unto you, Logan flawlessly uttered the Islamic greeting.

“You speak Arabic?” Hakim asked in French, blatantly ignoring the expected reply.

“No, just a loyalist.” Logan transferred his weight to his front foot, bracing for a quick escape.

“Were you following me?”

“Why should I follow you?”

Hakim shoved the gun harder against Logan’s kidney. “I saw you when I was leaving the restaurant.”

“I was out for a run.”

“I don’t believe you. What did you put in your pocket?”

“My phone. I set it down to work the bars.”

“Take it out, nice and slow.”

“Lower your weapon first.”

Hakim jammed the muzzle of the pistol harder against Logan’s back. “Do it now or I’ll put a hole through your kidney!”

Logan did as instructed, holding the phone up in his palm where Hakim could see it from behind.

“Now turn it on.”

“I can’t. It’s dead.”

“You lie.”

Logan demonstrated, then looked over his shoulder as he covertly slid his other hand to his back where his fingers brushed cold steel, preparing for a counter move. “See? Nothing.”

The man twisted his mouth as if he were thinking. “Who the fuck are you?”

“David Mason.”

“I’m going to ask one more time. Why were you following me?”

Might as well go for broke. If the bastard got any friendlier with the gun, he’d be forced to break the shithead’s arm. “All right, I’ll come clean. You were recommended to me by a friend.”

“Recommended? By who?”

“Someone who knew you’d want what I’ve got.” He slipped the phone back in his pocket.

“What’s that?” Hakim growled in Logan’s ear.

The jihadi wanted to have a good old talk? Well, they could continue this conversation on friendlier terms. Snatching the gun’s muzzle, in a single move Logan whipped around as he disarmed the thug in a nanosecond. He stood nose to nose, looking down into the black eyes of his new best friend. “Sorry, mate, but I can talk a lot better when there’s not a gun in my back.”

The man’s panicked gaze slipped to his Beretta. “What the—?”

“If I wanted you dead, your blood would be washing the pavement.” Logan ejected the magazine and the bullet from the chamber. Once sure it was clean, he returned the weapon. “I’ll say this once. I’m new to Lyon, and I’m looking for buyers.”

“What are you selling?”

“Let’s just say I acquired some of the clients from Jamal Abdullah Khalil.”

The chump’s eyes widened.

“I could make you a popular man, my friend.” Logan grinned. “Why don’t you come to my shop for a coffee tomorrow? No hard feelings?”

“Where are you from?”

“Moved here from England.”

“Why?”

“My wife wanted to get away from the rain, and…” Logan glanced over his opposite shoulder.

“And?”

“I wanted to be closer to the action in Europe. I’ve grown angry with westerners wielding their power like tyrants.”

“Hmm.” Hakim holstered his weapon inside his jacket. “I don’t trust the English.”

“Me, neither.” Grinning, Logan slipped him a card. “Check out my website. It’s encrypted. The password is Umari with a capital U.”

“All right.” The thug crossed his arms.

“You can find me at my shop.” Logan pointed. “Address is on the card.”

Hakim turned it over. “I still don’t trust you.”

Logan brushed past. “Didn’t think you would.” Splaying his fingers, he headed up the stairs to the street. He didn’t look back either. He knew Hakim was standing there watching, and if he hadn’t removed the magazine, Logan would probably have taken a bullet by now.

A rush of vim pulsed through his blood.

Finally.

This was what he’d been trained for, both as a SEAL and as a spy. He was about action, not surveillance. Leave the waiting and watching to the cops. Logan wanted to be fed intel so he could act. His country needed him? They needed him to take action, not to sit around like a dupe.

Once he entered his apartment building, Logan took two steps at a time before he unlocked the door, then headed straight for the phone charger.

“What took you so long?” Olivia asked from the bedroom.

“Kadir Hakim.”

“Beg your pardon?”

After plugging in, Logan powered on the phone. “He was leaving the restaurant just as I was going in. I followed. He met up with a bunch of guys down on the Rhône—they were speaking Arabic I think.”

“Did you get any dirt?”

“Recorded on this, but the damned thing ran out of juice.” Logan tapped the playback button and turned up the volume. The sound was scratchy at best. “What are they saying?”

“It’s hard to tell. Everyone’s talking at once.” She held up her palm. “What is that in the background? Traffic noise? Couldn’t you get any closer?”

“No.” He plugged the e-cigarette into the USB port on his laptop. “Snapped a few pictures, too.”

Olivia kneeled and inclined her ear toward the phone. “Damn, it cut out.”

“Got any idea what they were talking about?”

“It’s hard to make it out exactly, but something about virgins and rewards.”

“Not surprising for a mob of thugs.” Logan turned his laptop so Olivia could see. “You recognize any of these?”

“They’re too dark. I can barely make them out.”

Logan clicked the upload button to send them to ICE. “Maybe Asa can work her magic. Send the convo as well.”

“Roger that.” Olivia used her thumbs to send the recording from Logan’s phone. “Where’s the food? I’m starving.”

As if on cue, his stomach growled. “Shit.”

“You didn’t get it, did you?”

“I kinda got distracted. Sorry.”

She punched him in the arm. “At least you’re good for something. Coming up with a lead will buy you a pass this time.”

He nodded toward the fridge. “I brought home some brie and bread from the shop. Will that suffice?”

“Got any wine?”

“This is France. Of course we have wine.”

“Then serve it up.” Olivia leaned back and put her feet on the coffee table.

Now that the excitement was over, he gave her a good look. “That a new negligee?”

She fingered the lace. “You like it?”

“You didn’t answer me.”

“No, it’s not new.”

He gave her a look. “What do nice Islamic women wear to bed?”

Olivia threw up her hands. “You have one stonking meeting with a suspected bad guy and all of a sudden you want to start telling your work-spouse what she can wear. Put a sock in it. This is our safe house and I can wear anything I damn well please.”

“As long as no one’s peeping in the windows.” Logan got up and pulled the food out of the fridge. “This is also our front for infiltrating the terrorists responsible for Mathilde’s disappearance. You should be acting like a good wife at all times.”

“That means lots of sex and no wine.”

He held up the bottle. “If that’s what we need to do, then so be it.”

“I think I’d prefer to be a naughty wife.”

Hesitating for a moment, he looked at her and blinked. Too right she looked like a naughty anything reclining on the couch in a negligee. Christ, he’d thought a gazillion times that she could pass for a Miss Universe contestant. Though she was right that the apartment was considered a safe house of sorts, the longer they stayed in Lyon and the deeper they delved into society, the more they would be expected to behave like they belonged. Moreover, Logan didn’t know how much more he could take of Olivia draping herself across the furniture in sheer lace. And every time he entered the apartment, he was attacked by her perfume. How much was a man supposed to endure before he snapped?

“Stop with the long face,” she said. “When the time comes, I’ll sleep in the damned niqab if need be.”

He sliced the cheese, forcing the knife through the brie with ten times more force than necessary. “What about lounging around the apartment in a pair of sweats and a t-shirt? It would be far less distracting.”

“You’re not the one who has to run around in a niqab all day.” She guffawed and gestured downward. “This reminds me that I’m a girl.”

What goddess needs to be reminded of her femininity? “Yeah, too much so.” Grabbing the box of crackers, he threw a handful onto a plate.

“Aw, does Davie want his wifey covered up all the time?” Jeez, she’d never used his alias outside the apartment.

He pursed his lips and gave her a heated stare. “I’m just saying sexy nightwear and holding down the fort in a spy operation don’t mix.”

She stood and sauntered forward, taking a seat at the breakfast bar. “You’re no fun.”

He poured her a glass of wine. “You have no idea.”