Hunt for Evil (ICE Book 1)

by Amy Jarecki

  He still didn’t like it. The whole thing stank.

  As an officer in the Navy, Logan had been trained to fight for his country, to fight for women and children and families. Yes, he’d worked with women before, but had never been pseudo-married to one. Maybe Olivia had him wound so tight around her pinky that he was no longer capable of rational thought.

  For some stupid reason, he thought the woman might return his affection, especially now that he knew she’d recommended him to ICE. He was such a bull-brained idiot. Why couldn’t he recognize that she’d merely seen him as a good SEAL? A man who could run an op and think on the fly.

  Olivia was right. Al-Umari needed to be taken down. The kidnappings must stop. If any of the girls were still alive, they needed to be rescued.

  And if any spy in the world could worm her way inside, it was Olivia Hamilton. She could pass for a teen. She could pass for any damned thing she set her mind to.

  The lead in his heart sank to his toes.

  Logan set the knife on the counter and shifted his gaze to the bedroom door. She was in there fighting her demons. And he’d acted like an alpha asshole, bringing her an offering of good food and then letting his emotions boil to the surface.

  Footsteps stomped from the bedroom.

  She flung open the door and glared at him, her face red. “Why the hell aren’t you married?”

  “Ah…” That wasn’t remotely close to what he expected to come out of her mouth.

  “Don’t act like you don’t know what I mean. Guys like you get married.”

  “Like me?”

  She marched forward and jammed her finger into his sternum. “Yes. Like you—guys who are thoughtful, who remember things like a girl’s favorite meal. Guys who are fit and cracking hot, and own ranches in Montana. Guys who look like a million quid in a uniform.”

  Logan gulped back a grin. Maybe she did like him. “I guess I’ve never been home long enough to find the right girl.”

  “Oh, please, don’t feed me a line of tripe. Navy men get married all the time.”

  Logan nodded. He had plenty of friends who were married.

  “Hasn’t there been anyone special in your life?” She shook her finger under his nose. “And don’t you dare lie to me.”

  There was no reason to lie. “I’ve had my share of girlfriends. Just never met anyone who I thought would make me happy for the rest of my life.” He spread his palms. “Besides, it’s not easy for a girl to wait for nine months while her boyfriend is on maneuvers halfway around the globe.”

  “Ah ha! You have been in love.”

  His eyebrows drew together. “What’s this about?”

  “I’m bloody trying to figure you out.” She flung her arms in a circle, casting her gaze from wall to wall. “This. Is. Not. Real.”

  Logan took a step toward her. “You’re right.”

  “That’s the problem with our line of work. Assets are thrown into situations where they’re forced to live a lie.”

  Her words cut, but he nodded. She’d sure proved an ace at the living a lie part of the job. “It’s hard not to go in too deep. Not to get caught up,” he said.

  “It is.”

  “But you and I. We’re on the same team.”

  She gave a nod, though her eyes filled with pain.

  “Didn’t you feel anything?” he asked, not sure if he wanted to hear her answer. “When we…”

  “God.” With a tsk of her tongue, she crossed her arms over her ribcage and averted her gaze. “Of bloody course I felt something. Isn’t that why we’ve been at odds?”

  Heavy weight lifted from his shoulders as he closed the distance and pulled her into his arms. “Do you know what the SEAL motto is?”

  She shook her head.

  “The only easy day was yesterday.” Squeezing his eyes shut, he buried his nose in her hair. “And I live by that creed.”

  Her sharp inhale made his skin tingle. “I-I suppose I do as well.”

  He cupped her face between his palms. “This whole mess is tearing me apart. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to try to stop you. We both know it’s an ugly job that must be done. And we’re the ones to do it because we are the sheep dogs.”

  She chuckled. “Dogs?”

  “That’s right. When everyone else is running away…when the herd is running from the wolves, we face them down, charging into battle, and we fight. Our job is to keep the flock safe at all costs.”

  She regarded him while her tongue slipped over the bottom of her lip. Her eyebrow arched up as if thinking. “But what you said about being a whore…”

  “Words of a jealous man, spoken in malice.” He brushed a lock of her hair away from her face. “Please forgive me. If I could take them back I’d do it in a heartbeat.”

  Finally, Olivia slid her hands around his waist. “You’re a good man.”

  “I try to be.”

  “You’re too good for me.”

  “Sh.” His heart ripping from his chest, he clung to her as if it were life and death.

  She strengthened her grip as well. “Will you promise me something?”

  “If I can.”

  “If those bastards chop off my head, promise you’ll blow them all away.”

  “You got it. And I won’t stop until al-Umari is six feet under.” He cupped her cheek with his palm, too many emotions firing under his skin. “But I’m not going to let them hurt you.”

  Her lashes fluttered as she watched his lips lowering to meet hers. And then the warm pressure of her mouth imparted more emotion than she’d ever uttered. The woman was full of passion, yet she refused to give in to her heart, and he adored her for her strength. No matter if it killed him, he adored her. Languid, sweet and possessive, their kiss lingered while they imparted feelings neither could own to.

  Chapter Twenty

  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.

&nbs
p; 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 s
kull. “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.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  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.