Double Impact: Never Say Die\No Way Back (37 page)

Michal advanced on him then, going toe to toe, eye to eye so there would be no misunderstanding. “This discussion is over. If—” he continued when Carlos would have argued “—you broach this subject again, I will consider it an outright act of insubordination.”

Deep, dark red rose from Carlos's neck all the way to his forehead, but, to his credit, he remained silent.

“You will keep me informed as to any further CIA activities in Marseilles,” he added in case there was any question. “Unless, of course, you no longer wish to pursue this working relationship. Am I clear?”

The standoff lasted all of ten seconds.

“You have made yourself crystal clear.”

Carlos walked out of the room as if all was understood, but Michal had the distinct feeling this battle had only just begun. He hoped for Carlos's sake he was wrong. His
gut told him that the issue went far deeper than Ami's presence.

Whatever the case, if the man forced his hand, it would not bode well for him.

 

A
MI GINGERLY DRIED
her body. Every reach, every bend, was agonizing. When she'd swabbed herself dry as best she could, she wiped the foggy mirror with the towel and studied her reflection. Most of the swelling had gone down in her cheek, but the bruise was an ugly shade of yellowish purple.

Varying shades of purple and green dotted her arms and sides. The worst of which was where the jerk had kicked her in the ribs, fracturing one, making even a deep breath uncomfortable. At least she could hear again. The proximity of the gun blasts had all but deafened her.

Ami closed her eyes and braced herself against the basin. The events of the past thirty-six hours shook her to the very core of her being. She was certain she had never known such brutality. She flinched at the memory of that gun barrel aimed directly at her face. It was insane. Michal had given that man his freedom and he'd used it to try to kill her.

Michal had explained that the group the man represented hated Americans in particular. To die while attempting to rid the earth of one made him a hero.

Ami shivered. This was crazy. She wasn't indifferent to the happenings in the world. She watched CNN from time to time. But seeing it flash across a news screen and living the actual events were two entirely different things.

How could people live this way?

She had seen Michal murder a man with her own eyes. She'd witnessed his cunning when they had traveled to Libya. There was no doubt in her mind that he could be incredibly ruthless when he chose to be.

But he had saved her life.

He'd stepped in front of that bullet with no consideration whatsoever of his own survival.

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that he had released the man in part to appease her.

And it had almost cost him his life.

She shuddered when the pictures flashed one after the other through her mind. Blood…there had been so much blood. She'd seen blood before. She was a nurse, for God's sake! But this had been Michal's blood. An inch or two lower and slightly to the right and he wouldn't have survived.

No amount of training or experience as a nurse had prepared her for that moment. Even the remote possibility of his dying had been more than she could bear.

How could she hope to follow through with Tanner's plan?

Her hand went to her stomach and she pressed it there, trying to quiet the anguish twisting inside her. He was her child's father…the man she loved in spite of all she knew about him.

Hurt tore through her. There was no way to win. No matter what she did, someone would lose. If she refused to follow Tanner's orders she would never see her son again. God only knew what would become of him. Foster homes…adoption. She couldn't be certain Robert would take care of him once he'd moved on to another relationship.

If she did as Tanner told her, she was effectively thrusting a knife into Michal's back.

Either way she was probably going to die.

Hot, salty tears rolled down her cheeks, but she made no sound. Her throat had closed with hurt. She didn't want to die. Michal dying was an even more devastating thought. But the most horrible part of all was never seeing
her baby again. She closed her eyes and summoned the memory of his sweet baby scent and his chubby arms and legs.

What she would give to hold him just one last time.

“Let me help you.”

Ami's head came up and her breath left her at the sound of Michal's voice. Instinctively she covered her nude body with the towel she'd abandoned on the basin.

“I didn't hear you come in,” she said, embarrassment flushing her skin.

“You were deep in thought,” he agreed. He touched her and slowly tugged the towel away. She shivered. He'd seen her nude before…but she felt somehow vulnerable this time. The pained look on his face as he surveyed her various bruises made her heart contract.

“Is the pain tolerable?” he asked softly as he picked up the wrap for her ribs.

She nodded, too uncertain of her voice to speak.

“I'll take care of this.” He reached around her, his body brushing hers, and wound the bandage around her torso.

Her respiration grew rapid as his long, strong fingers moved over her skin. She watched him in the mirror, her heart fluttering wildly in her chest. He was so beautiful. She knew with every fiber of her being that Nicholas would look so very much like him.

For one long moment she could hardly restrain the urge to tell him about his son. To share that blessed gift with the man who had somehow broken down her every defense with the same ease and boldness that he had saved her life.

She bit back the words. To tell him would be to sentence her son to this survival-of-the-fittest, kill-or-be-killed existence. She couldn't…wouldn't do that.

The tips of his fingers grazed the underside of her
breasts and she gasped. He froze, his gaze colliding with hers.

“Did I cause you pain?”

She shook her head. “I just…” She moistened her lips. Why lie? “You touched me and…” She had to look away from that penetrating gaze. “You made me want you.”

He tucked in the end of the bandage, the corset-like wrap pushing her breasts high, the pebbled peaks confirming her admission. Slowly, stealing her breath once more, he trailed one finger over the swell of her breasts, first one and then the other and the dip in between. “I want you, also,” he murmured, then leaned down and pressed a kiss in the tender valley he'd teased. “But I won't risk causing you discomfort. I can wait until you're well again.”

Challenge stirred. She inclined her head and studied him. “And what about you? Don't we need to wait until you're healed, as well?”

A wicked grin tugged the corners of his lips upward. “Nothing short of death could stop me from making love to you.” His gaze roamed the length of her nude—save for the bandage—body and he growled his approval. “However, you must rest now. I will have to be satisfied with merely lying beside you.” He picked up the gown she'd tossed carelessly across the bench and lowered it onto her as she lifted her arms. The silk slid down her arms, over her breasts and hips, to swirl around her thighs. He admired the fit, not bothering to hide his approval or his need. When he would have turned away, she stopped him with a tentative hand on his muscular arm.

“Michal.”

He looked back at her, the desire in his eyes very nearly undoing her all over again. “Yes.”

“Thank you for saving my life.”

He looked at her so intently, as if he were trying to
see inside her, to read her thoughts. A twinge of fear pricked her.

“Saving your life was like saving my own.”

With those words he turned and walked away.

Sealing her fate by claiming one single thing: her heart.

M
ICHAL LISTENED
to the church bells clang, inviting those within hearing distance to come and observe their Sunday-morning Christian ritual. He wondered if they knew that an infamous terrorist loitered nearby…close enough to touch any one of them.

Close enough to rain down more deplorable acts of inhumanity than their small minds could possibly fathom. The mere mention of his name elicited utter fear in the strongest of men. He was the Executioner. He loved only one thing—money. And his only loyalty was to himself.

That was the sacrifice he had made for his country. But the events in Tripoli had made one thing very clear. He would not sacrifice Ami, not in word or deed.

This morning he would initiate the required action, discover the price of her freedom.

Ron Doamiass mingled among the crowd gathered outside the sixteenth-century chapel, speaking to first one and then another as if he knew them personally, which, of course, he did not. A master of public relations, he moved farther and farther from the fringes of the milling throng smiling and offering pleasant greetings like an eager politician.

Admiring the beauty of the gardens, he eventually moved toward the reflective pond and Michal's position amid the nearby thicket of trees.

“You risk a great deal calling me here again so soon,” Ron admonished sagely.

“You are here,” Michal returned just as sagely. “I am obviously worth the risk to your safety as well as my own.”

Ron's usual amiable expression hardened slightly. “I am here because you are a friend, not because I am your superior.”

Touché, Michal mused. “Well, as my friend I sincerely hope you can answer my questions.”

“First you will answer mine,” he countered. “What happened in Tripoli?”

“The mission was a success.” Michal leveled an unyielding gaze on his. “What else do you need to know?”

Ron did not appear pleased with his attitude. That was good, because Michal was far from pleased himself.

“Your work was sloppy this time and you were injured.” Ron looked pointedly at Michal's right shoulder, though the bandage was not visible beneath his shirt.

Michal expected no less. Ron had eyes and ears everywhere. That was part of his job. Part of the way he kept Michal alive when others plotted against him.

Silence thickened between them for a time. Impatient for the truth, Michal demanded, “I will know the whole story about Amira. I believe there are things you have kept from me. I will know what they are and the reason.”

Ron averted his gaze, something he rarely did. His straightforward manner had always been one of the traits Michal respected most about him. “You ask a great deal.” Ron looked over his shoulder at Michal. “There are some things that even I don't have clearance for.”

Michal cocked one eyebrow. “I have faith in you. You will overcome that mere technicality.” He shook his head then, mulling over the inconsistencies he could no longer
deny. “Something is not as it should be. This is not the same woman I knew two years ago. There is…” He searched his mind for the right words, but could not assimilate the proper definition for his instinct. “Something is very wrong.” He pounded his fist against his gut. “I feel it too deeply.”

“She suffers from amnesia, no?”

Michal huffed a breath of impatience. “It is more than that.” He considered what Carlos had told him. “Some of my men have picked up on CIA activity in this very city.” Michal looked directly at Ron. “Do you know anything about that?”

The CIA usually kept the Mossad abreast of any activities near one of their ongoing missions. But then again, Michal's cover was so deep he doubted anyone in the CIA even knew about it—anyone other than the director himself.

Concern pleated Ron's brow as he considered this turn of events. “I will look into this matter.” His gaze settled on Michal once more. “As for the woman, I'm sure the depth of her amnesia is the reason she appears so different from before.”

Michal shook his head thoughtfully. “It is much more than that. She is softer somehow…nothing like before.”

Ron looked away again, but not before Michal saw the flash of guilt in his eyes.

“You know something,” Michal growled under his breath. “I will not allow harm to come to her, so don't bother issuing such an order. Whatever it is you are keeping from me, I must know it.
Now.
”

Ron sighed, his shoulders slumped, another uncharacteristic reaction. “My orders were not to pass along this information for fear that it would prevent you from remaining focused on your assignment.”

“What information?” he demanded, sick to death of someone else making decisions about his life.

“While she was away,” Ron confessed reluctantly, “she bore a child.”

Michal blinked. “A child?”

Ron nodded. “A boy. His name is Nicholas. He is sixteen months old.”

Michal didn't have to consider the dates involved, he instinctively knew the child was his. The nudge in his gut evolved into a tautness in his chest. “She didn't tell me.” Lines formed along his brow, bearing out his confusion. “Does she remember having the child? Surely she has not forgotten that she gave birth.” The whole idea shook him. Amira was a mother.

He
was a father.

“She has spent the past two years living with a man—a psychiatrist who treated her briefly for the amnesia. He has provided a home for both Amira and the child. He cares for the child now.”

Something savage broke loose inside Michal. He wanted to tear this man apart with his bare hands. He wanted to shake the truth from her…make her admit to her treachery.

“She had no memory of you,” Ron reminded him, obviously reading his mind. “She was discovered wandering in a park with no money and no memory at all. This man took her in, cared for her and the child that was born a few months later.” When Michal would have roared against the logic of his words, Ron added, “He did so despite the numerous times she turned down his proposals of marriage.”

Was that supposed to make him feel better? She lived with the man—slept in his bed—but refused to marry him?

“I can't tell you more for that is all I know,” Ron said wearily, his concerned gaze searching Michal's face. “But
if there is more, I will see what I can uncover. The CIA activity is likely unrelated, but I will verify that, as well.”

Michal had a feeling that he'd only agreed to dig deeper into the situation because of the profound way this meager news had affected him.

He had a son.

A son he had never seen.

“Before you go back to her with anger in your heart,” Ron suggested quietly, “consider how helpless she was. She had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. She did the only thing she could to survive…to protect her child.”

“My child,” Michal argued, an unfamiliar mixture of emotions building inside him. “My
son.
”

“As true as that is,” Ron reminded him gravely, “what does she do now to protect herself and her child? Has her situation truly changed?”

His friend was right, Michal realized.

Survival would be of great importance to her…she surely wanted to return to her child.

Michal's child.

 

A
MI WAS STILL
damn sore this morning. She took her time dressing, dreading another day of endless worry. How could she betray Michal? Cost him his life? As he'd promised, he'd held her last night, held her close, made her feel safe in spite of all that had happened.

But how would she ever get back to her son?

She twisted her hair up and pinned it out of her way. She couldn't deal with it this morning. She'd stopped counting the days since she'd held her child. Tried with all the willpower she possessed to block his sweet face from her mind.

It hurt too much.

She closed her eyes and forced back the emotions. Courage was what she needed right now.

Courage and a miracle straight from God.

A little coffee would help her immediate discomfort, she decided with overwhelming resignation.

She peeked into the corridor. Usually when Michal was out of the house, which was rare, she stayed in her room. She'd had more than enough excitement for a dozen lifetimes. If she stayed in her room she was unlikely to see or to hear anything she shouldn't from any of his men. Especially Carlos.

The great room was empty, which meant Carlos and the men must be outside or in the cellar. She shivered as she considered what they might be down there doing.

If someone had told her one month ago that she would be experiencing all that she had in the past two weeks she would have laughed at them, insisted they were crazy. That she may have lived this sort of life in the past she couldn't remember was ludicrous. She was not like these people.

Guilt stabbed her for lumping Michal in with the rest of them. Somehow, despite all that she had witnessed in his presence, he was not like the rest of his men. She knew it deep in her heart. The heart he now owned.

She groaned and dragged open the refrigerator door. She had to eat. Though she had no appetite. She had to stay healthy…had to be ready for anything. Nicholas needed her; she had to find her way back home. There had to be a way.

She poured a glass of milk and grabbed a banana from the bowl on the table. Barefoot, she padded into the great room to enjoy the view. It was about the only pleasure she had these days. When the memories of making love with Michal abruptly filtered through her mind, she shivered.

Forcing her attention back to nourishment, she con
sumed the milk and the banana and decided she should have gotten two. When she would have headed back to the kitchen for another piece of fruit, the sight of a car winding up the long drive jerked her back to the window. It wasn't the military-style Hummer that Michal used, or any of the other vehicles she had seen on the estate.

Setting her glass and the empty banana peel on a nearby table, she eased back a step out of sight of whoever was approaching. When the car stopped, the driver's side door opened and a woman wearing an elegant hat—the kind one wore to church on mornings like this—emerged.

Ami frowned, studying her movements as she made her way to the front door. A soft-sided briefcase in hand, she wore a fashionable broomstick skirt in a deep gray and a flattering double-breasted matching jacket. A frilly white collar flounced around the neckline, but the down-turned brim of the tasteful hat partially shielded her face from view. Ami wondered vaguely why Carlos or one of the others hadn't interceded by now. There were always guards outside monitoring the grounds. Still, the well-dressed lady forged fearlessly ahead, climbing the steps as if she were on a mission of supreme importance.

Two things struck Ami simultaneously. Judging by the briefcase and the woman's manner of dress, she decided she must be on some sort of religious mission, a door-to-door evangelist maybe. At the same time she wondered if she ran out the door and dragged the woman back into her car, could they make it away from the house before being shot?

The woman's knock on the door snapped Ami from her fleeting fantasy.

She stood stock-still as the knock came again. No one stormed up the cellar stairs. No one came running into the room from some other part of the house. Nothing.

Anticipation soared through her. This could be her chance. The reminder of what had happened during her last escape attempt had dread, as well as the milk she'd drunk, curdling in her stomach despite the seed of hope sown by the anticipation. She couldn't just stand there. Ami moistened her lips and summoned her courage. She walked straight over to the door, held her breath and pulled it open. No alarm sounded. She frowned, remembering the security system.

Before she could ponder that oddity further, recognition slammed into her.

Fran Woodard stood on the other side of the threshold, a pleasant smile stretched across her Katharine Hepburn good looks. “Good morning, ma'am,” she said in a strong Southern drawl that startled Ami almost as much as her unexpected appearance. The woman she'd met before had spoken alternately with an authentic French accent and a vague Midwestern twang.

“What're you doing here?” Ami demanded, glancing quickly around her. Her heart thundered into overdrive, pushing a new blast of adrenaline through her veins and an unholy fear up her spine. Maybe the alarm was silent…most systems had that option, didn't they? If Carlos or one of the others discovered this woman here—

Fran made a magnanimous gesture with one hand. “Darling, I'm a member of the Texas Christian Ambassador Program and I'm here to save your soul.” She kept that brilliant smile pinned in place as she added under her breath, “Invite me in.”

Ami jerked at the fiercely muttered order. She nodded and quickly stepped back. “Please,” she said, a little too loudly, a little too stiffly, “won't you come in?”

“Don't overdo it, honey,” Fran chided softly.

Ami nodded again, the movement spasmodic. “I'm not
sure your program is for me.” Her voice quivered just the slightest bit, but she did manage to keep her own smile plastered in place.

“Well, dear, there's a place for everyone at T.C.A.P.” She reached in her case and withdrew a brochure. “We believe that all people are God's children.” She eased closer to Ami and opened the brochure as if to show off its colorful pages. “Arad has a mission in two days,” Fran whispered, nodding and pointing to the pages as if that were the subject of their hushed conversation. “Tanner has all the specifics already. All you have to do is lay low and then insist on going with Arad. Keep him distracted. Our people will take care of the rest.”

Ami's heart beat violently. The blood roared deafeningly in her ears. This was it…her last chance.

“I can't do this,” she admitted in a rush, despite her fear of what the admission would cost her. She couldn't. She simply couldn't do what they wanted. Tears filled her eyes and she prayed this woman would somehow understand. “You have to help me,” she pleaded, desperation mounting. “I need to get back to my son.”