Double Impact: Never Say Die\No Way Back (38 page)

Fran's smile sagged just a fraction and the subtlest shift in her eyes told Ami that she sympathized at least to some degree. “They're going to kill him,” she whispered gravely, confirming what Ami already knew. “There's nothing any of us can do to stop that. His number's up. They need him out of the way for whatever is next on the agenda.”

Ami clamped down on her bottom lip to hold back the cry of anguish that burgeoned in her throat. There had to be a way to save him. She grabbed onto her courage with both hands. “I won't help them do it. I can't.”

The older woman's eyes searched hers for two long beats. “Well,” she finally said beneath her breath, “I
won't tell anyone if you don't. Do what you have to.” She folded her brochure and manufactured that ten-thousand-watt smile once more. “I'm so sorry to hear that, sugar,” she said with an exaggerated sigh. “We all turn to God sooner or later.” She moved toward the door. “Thanks so much for your kind hospitality.”

Ami followed her onto the portico, uncertain what to do next. Would she tell Tanner that Ami had refused to cooperate? What about her son? “Will you be back?” she asked, her voice shaking now. “What will they do?”

“I'm afraid I won't be back this way, dear,” she said with exaggerated regret in that
Gone With the Wind
voice that would have made Scarlett herself proud.

Ami shook her head, unbearable desperation sucking at her ability to stay calm. “What about my baby? I don't know what to do? Michal can't be what they say he is.”

“Your child is safe,” Fran said quickly, glancing covertly from side to side. “As for the other.” She reached into her briefcase and pulled out a black, leather-bound copy of the Bible. “Study it, darling.” She thrust the book at Ami, smiling widely again. “There's nothing better for the soul.” Her gaze latched onto Ami's. “Read Revelation 19:11. The truth is there…seek and ye shall find.”

Ami stood rooted to the spot, too stunned to call out after her as she hurried away, too afraid that Carlos would be standing right behind her to move. She clutched the Bible close to her heart and prayed that Fran Woodard would stand by her word and keep her secret.

Ami couldn't betray Michal.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Carlos jerked her back across the threshold, peering out, instantly noting the car leaving a trail of dust as it sped down the long, curving slope.

A new kind of fear roared through Ami's veins. She
stared up at the evil man manacling her arm and saw the sheer hatred in his eyes.

“A missionary,” she stuttered. “She…left me…this.” She held out the Bible, her fingers suddenly ice-cold.

The rest of the men filed out of the kitchen and into the entry hall where she and Carlos stood.

Ami looked from him to those passing through on their way to the great room and realization hit her like a physical blow. Carlos and the others—all of the others—had been in the cellar. With Michal gone there was only one reason why he would rally the men into a secret meeting.

“Planning a little coup?” she said, her tone openly accusing as fury replaced the fear she had felt only seconds before.

“Shut up, whore!” He shook her hard, sending a shard of pain through her middle, then kicked the front door closed, no doubt for deafening sound effects. “I have only one plan.”

Uneasiness slid through her again.

He yanked her closer and sneered down at her. “Getting the truth out of you.” He glared at the others. “Make sure the security system is activated this time, you fools.”

Leaving the rest of the men standing there in stunned silence, Carlos dragged her into the kitchen and shoved her against the table, sending a chair toppling over. Trying to catch herself, the Bible slipped from her hand and flew across the floor. She prayed Michal would return. Carlos had been looking for an excuse to hurt her…he would use the woman's visit as the reason.

Ami braced herself against the table, buying time as she desperately searched for a weapon within reach. She suddenly wished there had been a weapon tucked in the Bible that Fran had given her. Her jaw hardened and a zing of something like anticipation went through her, awakening
a primal survival instinct. She couldn't just let him kill her, she had to stop him. Her gaze landed on the only thing within reach.

Before she could grab the coffee mug abandoned on the other side of the table, he jerked her around to face him. “Who are you working for?” he demanded, his fingers biting into the flesh of her arms.

She cried out before she could stop herself. Her pain only fueled his bloodlust. “I don't know what you're talking about.” The anger she'd enjoyed froze into absolute fear.

“You are working for someone.” He shook her harder. “I know it.”

She couldn't stop him. He was going to kill her. His intentions were clear in those evil eyes. He'd swear she'd tried to escape again. Tried to run away with the missionary. The weight of defeat had her sagging in his grasp.

She was dead.

“Carlos.”

He whipped around at the sound of the male voice, his ironclad grip still firmly shackled around her arms.

Thomas stood in the doorway looking sorely uncomfortable and uncertain of his next step. “What are you doing? Michal will be—”

“Get out!”

Thomas retreated half a step at the force of the words.

In one lightning-fast move, Carlos pulled his gun. “Get out or join her.”

Thomas backed fully away from the door. “It is your mistake to make,” he muttered as he moved from the kitchen as quickly as possible without turning his back on the madman waving the gun.

Carlos's fingers were suddenly around her throat. “Now, tell me who you are working for.” He pressed the
tip of the gun barrel to her temple and cocked it. The definitive click echoed through the room so loudly she flinched.

“I don't know what you mean,” she choked, his grip nearly cutting off the air to her lungs.

And then he did, that steel grip tightening until she couldn't breathe at all. She struggled against him, the renewed instinct to survive stronger than the defeat dragging at her. She clawed at his face relentlessly despite the weapon pressed against her temple. If she was going to die, she would damn well make him remember the deed. Determination solidified inside her…she'd leave evidence of the struggle so Michal would know that Carlos had had his hands on her when he'd killed her.

Carlos laughed at her, a cruel, sinister sound, and loosened his grip just enough for her to gulp in a lungful of precious air. She was certain it had nothing to do with sympathy and everything to do with prolonging the torture. He flattened her against the tabletop, his lower body pressing into hers. Her eyes widened in a new kind of terror when she felt the telltale bulge of arousal.

Oh, no.

Please, God, not that.

He laid the gun next to her head on the table and ripped open her blouse with his free hand. She whimpered and tried to push him away, to fight him off.

“Perhaps you require this kind of persuading,” he suggested hatefully, grinding his pelvis against hers.

She tried to scream, but his fingers cut off the air to her lungs once more.

A calloused palm closed around her breast. She twisted away from his touch, nausea spewing into her throat. Vicious laughter emanated from his chest, adding depraved music to his sickening touch.

He reached for the waistband of her pants. “Show me, bitch, what power you hold over the great Michal Arad.”

An explosion rent the air. Something splattered over the table beyond her, spewing tiny droplets over her.

A look of startled amazement claimed Carlos's face for a split second before he collapsed heavily atop her.

Gasping for air, Ami shoved him off and scrambled away from the table.

She slipped and fell to her hands and knees, her gaze glued to what remained of the back of Carlos's head.

Her throat burned…her skull throbbed…her sides ached. Tears scalded her eyes and cheeks. She scrubbed the tears and the blood from her face.

She had to think. She had to get away. Had to run…the other men—

The sound of footsteps approaching jerked her gaze upward.

Michal.

She wept, the anguish pouring out of her in soul-shaking sobs.

He offered his hand, gently helping her to her feet.

She went into his arms, unable to stop the tears. Tears for the child she would never see again…tears for the man whose life she could not save…

Nothing she could do…

Tanner had been right…there was no way back.

M
ICHAL STARED
down at her. He wanted to rant at her. To demand answers. But his heart would not allow him to press her under the circumstances. He glared at Carlos's motionless body. The traitor.

But then, what did he expect in this world of murder for hire?

Squashing all emotion so that he could do what must be done, he offered his hand. Shaking, she took it, and he assisted her to her feet. “Go to your room.”

She wiped at the tears dampening her face with the backs of her hands and nodded mutely before fleeing the scene of betrayal and death.

Michal leaned down and picked up the Bible lying sprawled on the floor. Had one of his men brought it here? Frowning, he skimmed through its pages before setting it aside on the table. He wanted answers. Carlos's treachery he had suspected for weeks now, was not surprised to see it reach fruition. The others, however, were a definite surprise.

Leaving the dead traitor where he lay, Michal stalked into the great room expecting to be met with drawn weapons and suspicions.

“I tried to stop him,” Thomas said quietly. “But he was intent on interrogating her.”

“Interrogating her?” Michal demanded, his tone as deadly as the weapon he still held in his right hand, the
barrel still warm from his recent kill. “You call his actions ‘interrogation'?”

Thomas shrugged but remained silent.

Michal scanned their faces, making direct eye contact with each one of them in turn. “Is there anyone else who would wish to
interrogate
me?” He pressed them with a long, hard look, ensuring they understood the depth of his fury. “For if you question Amira, you question me.”

Not a single word was uttered in defiance of his statement; nor was any move made to overtake him.

“A good man,” Michal said then, “is dead because he chose to betray me. If any of you—” he surveyed face after face once more “—prefers to take your loyalties elsewhere, then do so. I will not tolerate disloyalty.”

“We are with you,” the Spaniard said. “Carlos tried to convince us that you had grown weak, but we did not believe him.”

“I only have one question,” another said as he settled onto one of the sofas. “How are we going to split Carlos's cut of the Libyan mission?”

The room burst into laughter, shattering the formidable tension in a heartbeat. Whatever Carlos had hoped to achieve had vanished just as quickly as he had.

“I can assure you,” Michal said with a smile, his relief complete now, “all will be satisfied.”

More laughter punctuated the promise.

“Thomas.” Michal turned his attention to his most trusted man. The only one in the group who had even attempted to stand up to Carlos. For that, Michal was grateful. “Take two men with you into the city and see if you can find the dark-haired man Carlos spoke of. If he is truly with the CIA I want to know about his business here.” He shifted his attention to the Spaniard now. “Take
care of Carlos. Already the stench of his deceit pollutes the air.”

With a single inclination of his head, two more of his men joined the Spaniard in his mission.

Satisfied that all was as it should be, Michal left the men to their tasks.

The stunning revelation he had learned from Ron shook him once more. Why had she not told him about the child? How could she lie with him and keep that life-altering secret to herself? He considered that she had lived with the American, the psychiatrist, for two years without full commitment. Anger burned low in his belly at the thought of her with another man.

Was that what she was doing here? Holding back on him? The possibility that the CIA had had someone close by since he brought her here twisted in his gut. Could he have allowed her to fool him yet again? Was everything—the two long years of separation, the amnesia, the vulnerability—all an elaborate set up to finish what she'd started?

Maybe he was wrong about her. She might not be vulnerable at all. The woman who had fooled him once before might simply be a talented actress.

For that matter, perhaps Carlos had been right on that score.

Perhaps Michal was under a spell.

 

A
MI STRIPPED OFF
her torn blouse and stuffed it into the trash basket. She stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror and winced at the red welts left by her attacker's strong fingers. She shuddered when she thought of Carlos lying dead on the floor in the kitchen.

How many people had died here?

She trembled and chafed her arms against the chill of fear. Would she be next? She hadn't missed the fury in
Michal's eyes. Did he somehow see her as responsible for Carlos's death? She had caused Raoul's. She stilled, searching her emotions, attempting to separate fact from presumption. Was her presence what had made Carlos start undermining Michal's authority?

Closing her eyes, she forced away the thoughts. This was crazy. All of it!

Why hadn't she grabbed Fran Woodard by the arm and rushed to her car the moment the woman arrived?

There had been time. Of course she hadn't known that then, but there definitely had been. No one had been watching her. They had been too busy being brainwashed by Carlos. Dammit. She could have escaped…could have been rushing toward the American embassy this very moment. That is, of course, if Fran had gone along with the idea. Though Ami had seen definite sympathy in her eyes, the woman was CIA…she would probably have told her the same thing Tanner had: she had no choice but to stay and finish this.

She flattened her palms on the rim of the basin and sighed in self-disgust. She wasn't cut out for this kind of business. She didn't know how to seize an opportunity and make the best of it. At least, not these kinds of opportunities.

Pushing away her worries and uncertainties for the time being, she trudged to the armoire and dragged out a new blouse. Any moment now Michal would come into the room demanding answers. For whatever reason, he was angry with her. She had to deal with him first, then she could mull over the worry that Fran would most likely tell Tanner she had no intention of helping them kill Michal.

She pressed her forehead against the cool, wooden surface of the armoire and battled the emotions that threatened to well inside her all over again. She couldn't think about
her baby right now. She absolutely would not admit defeat. She would find a way to get back to him. But she would have to do it on her own.

An urge to tell Michal about his son, to share that wonder with him, clutched dangerously at her heart. But she couldn't do that. To tell Michal about Nicholas would be to sentence her son to this life.

That, above all else, was the one thing she was infinitely certain she could not do.

When the door to the bedroom opened, she stood in the middle of the room waiting for whatever was to come.

Judging by the intensity in Michal's eyes, he was still plenty angry.

“Did he hurt you?”

She shook her head. He had, actually, but not the kind of hurt she felt certain to which Michal referred. She massaged her throat, subconsciously contradicting her response.

He paused only inches away and tugged her hand from her throat. “You will have more bruises,” he commented, surveying the red welts on her flesh.

She nodded. “Thank you for stopping him.” It sounded lame in afterthought, but she was immensely grateful for what he'd done. Her fate had already been decided by Carlos.

Michal's gaze zoomed in on hers like twin piercing laser beams. “Carlos believed you were hiding something.” He inclined his head and studied her eyes, her face, more closely. “Are you hiding anything from me?”

She tamped down the automatic need to stiffen, to avert her eyes. He was watching for those very warning signals. “No.” The word didn't come out quite as firmly as she would have liked, but she'd gotten it past the constriction in her throat. That was something. Her heart knocked bru
tally against her rib cage. He knew something. She was sure of it.

There was no way to know which of her secrets he'd uncovered. If she gave away the wrong one…

“Why do you still question me, Michal?” she demanded, hoping to shift the context of the discussion. She lifted her chin and glared at him defiantly. “If you suspect me of some deceit, why didn't you let Carlos do what he would? Surely he would have extracted whatever truth you believe I'm hiding.”

Fury flashed in those midnight-black eyes. “Answer the question. Do you or do you not have something you wish to tell me?”

Though she could not recall anything about her life before two years ago, other than the dreams of her with this man, Ami couldn't imagine that she had ever used her body to keep herself out of trouble. She had lived, until quite recently, in a very safe environment with a man who believed women to be equal to men in every way. She had a respected career as a nurse and she was the loving mother to a toddler. An ache pulsed through her when Nicholas's face filtered through her mind.

The very idea of whoring herself to achieve some cause…of setting up a man for betrayal…of betraying her own father, was utterly alien to her. It simply couldn't be possible. The events she had witnessed the past two weeks were like scenes in some action-adventure movie or high-tech video game. None of it felt real.

But it was.

She looked deeply into Michal's eyes. And she had to do whatever it took to stay in the game.

No, she didn't want to help the CIA or anyone else harm Michal.

No, she couldn't bear the thought of being responsible, directly or indirectly, for anyone else's life.

But she was damn sure going to take responsibility for her own survival.

In this game, she was on her own. There was no way forward, that she could see, and no way back.

There was only now.

And right now she needed Michal Arad to need her. She wanted him to trust her whether she deserved it or not. Most of all, she longed to live at least two more days…time enough to figure out how to accomplish the two most important missions of her life.

She must find a way to get back to her child if only for a moment. To hold him just one more time before she died.

But first, she had to figure out how to save Michal's life without alerting the CIA to her new stand.

And all of that hinged on one person. Fran Woodard. If Fran warned Tanner, Ami was doomed.

For now, though, she had a more pressing matter to which to attend.

Earning Michal's trust again now that he'd had to kill his right-hand man for her.

“I have nothing to hide from you,” she told him in the most sensual tone she could muster with the image of death still indelibly seared in her brain.

Something like regret flickered in those sinfully dark pools focused solely upon her. Fear that she'd somehow said the wrong thing made her heart stutter. But she couldn't stop now.

“You pulled me back into a world of which I have no memory.” Her gaze locked fully with his, despite the worry that he would read the confusion and fear churning inside her. “You tell me all the despicable things I did before and how a good portion of the world, including you,
have reason to want me dead. But you allow me to live.” She tried without success to shake off the surreal quality that very nearly overwhelmed her. It all felt so impossible…but it was real.

He was real.

And he held the power over her very existence.

“And still you question me?” She turned her back on him, praying her ruse would work to divert his focus. “What makes you any better than Carlos?” she added for good measure as she folded her arms over her breasts.

She heard the raggedness of his breath as he exhaled. Afraid to even drag in a breath of her own, she held absolutely still and waited for his reaction.

“I trust that you will tell me anything you believe I should know,” he said finally, his tone gentler now but laced with a definite defeat that she would never have associated with the dangerous man known as Michal Arad.

Facing him once more, she struggled to read his eyes, but they quickly shuttered, refusing her access to his true feelings. Her chest felt suddenly heavy with sadness then. This was his world…a world of kill or be killed…of distrust and constantly looking over one's shoulder. As much fear as he could inspire in others, he was just a man, sentenced to a prison of living for the day with no promise of tomorrow. For that, she wept inside, her heart squeezing, bleeding for him. She suddenly wanted to know all she had forgotten about this man. Where had he come from? What had happened in his life to shape him into the ruthless killer he was today? She resisted the urge to shake her head. Not totally ruthless, she argued with herself. There was a human compassion in Michal Arad that none of the others with whom he associated possessed.

That was the part that attracted her to him.

The part that promised hope.

“There is one thing I'd like you to know,” she said as she reached for the buttons of his shirt.

He stilled her hands by covering them with his own. Her gaze bumped into his and she saw resistance there. He didn't want to be seduced. Here was a man accustomed to doing the seducing. Well, this time it was going to be different.

“And what is that?” he asked cautiously.

She twined her fingers with his and moved closer still. “That I need you more than I've ever needed you before.” She pulled his hands down to her waist and settled them there so that she could return to the task of releasing the buttons of his shirt. It startled her to realize just how true the words she'd spoken were.

She did need him.

And, as crazy as it sounded, he needed her.

She touched the bronzed skin revealed as his shirt, free of the buttons restricting it, gaped open. Her breath caught and heat instantly shot her internal thermometer into the red.

“I killed a man for you today and I would do it again if necessary. But I do not take death lightly. Do not play games with me now, Ami,” he whispered savagely, his hands tightening on her waist.