Page 11 of Missile Strike

A round, red dot of light appeared on his forehead a millisecond before crimson spray exploded from the back of his skull.

The sharp retort of a gun followed.

Isabella recoiled.

The man’s body crumpled to the deck.

Two more shots rang out.

The men flanking her father and brother went down.

Brooks let out a frightened wail.

The terrorist guarding Isabella, her mother, and Annalise dropped to a crouch, frantically scanning the upper deck.

His gaze swung back, connected with Isabella’s, and narrowed in fury.

He straightened, the barrel of his gun swinging toward the two Strickland men.

Like a shadow, a figure in a black hooded wetsuit appeared.

Cold blue eyes stared from a face covered with black and green war paint.

Black metal flashed in the waning sun as the diver grabbed the terrorist by the shoulder and drove a knife into the base of his neck.

The man dropped the terrorist’s body unceremoniously to the deck and slipped away toward the boat’s stern.

Isabella stared open-mouthed as another man—a giant also clad in scuba black—used a knife to cut the bindings from her father and brother and help them to their feet.

The first man in black returned. “Clear. The captain and crew are locked in an aft stateroom.”

American.

Relief made Isabella lightheaded.

“There’s another gunman,” she said.

The man glanced her way. “Not anymore.”

Recognition jolted her.

Why did his eyes look so familiar?

She swallowed and looked away. The metallic scent of copper laced with death settled in her nose, despite the breeze.

The man helping her dad and brother removed his hood to reveal spiky, dirty-blond hair. He had blue eyes as well, but his were so pale they reminded her of arctic ice set against the black of his camouflaged face.

“Sir,” he addressed Isabella’s father, “Admiral Dane sent us. Your location was compromised. I’m sorry we didn’t get to you in time to prevent”—he glanced at the bodies at his feet—“this.”

Whatever her father said in response faded into the background as Isabella’s gaze snared on the second man, who had also peeled off his hood.

Tousled, shaggy blond hair, a shade darker than she remembered. His shoulders were broader, his body lean and muscled like a swimmer’s. There were lines at the corners of his eyes that hadn’t been there before.

Those eyes.

Blue as a summer sky.

And staring directly at her.