Double Impact: Never Say Die\No Way Back (34 page)

“You are right, my friend,” Michal confessed with a dash of proper humility.

Carlos did an about-face and stared at him, surprise clear on every hard contour of his face.

“However,” Michal continued, “this is the way we shall proceed this time. You and the others will go ahead of me. I will meet you at the rendezvous point in twenty-four hours.” Michal infused all the lethal finality he possessed into his gaze then. “Do you still have questions?”

The fury flared anew in Carlos's eyes. “None. I already know the only answer I need.” He pointed in the direction of the bedroom where Amira rested. “This is because of
her. I warn you, Michal, she will cost you everything. She betrayed you once before. How long before she betrays you yet again? You might not be so lucky this time.”

Michal set his whiskey glass aside and stood, facing the challenge Carlos had tossed out. Luck had played no part in his survival the last time. His men, including Carlos, had saved his life. “And if she does,” Michal suggested, his tone as calm as the sea on a summer's morn, “you will succeed me, will you not?”

Carlos looked stunned that Michal would say such a thing out loud. “That…that is not the issue. The issue—”

“Is,” Michal cut in, “whether or not you intend to follow my orders or face my wrath.”

 

A
MI BREATHED DEEPLY
of the hot, salty air and surveyed the quiet Mediterranean city Michal had brought her to late last evening. At first when he'd told her they were coming to Libya, she balked. She didn't know a lot about the country but what she did was not good. She remembered flashes of news about how Libya's ruler openly supported terrorism and, vaguely, something about U.S. sanctions levied. The headdress Michal had insisted she wear reminded her of how they treated their women, as well.

It seemed odd now to think of this place as a hotbed of evil terrorist activities as she walked the wide avenues. They had arrived too late yesterday to do any sight-seeing. Dinner at the best local restaurant and a night in the finest hotel, which was a far cry from five stars but had a charm of its own, had proved the agenda for the evening. Michal had even abstained from wooing her into sex. He had, however, held her close all night, burrowing deeper still into her heart. If she could not escape him soon he would surely own her heart completely. She closed her eyes for a moment and let the past memories of their time together
flicker by like a video on fast forward. Maybe he already owned her, heart and soul.

But the fate of her son hung in the balance.

She snapped her eyes open and forced her mind to take note of the details of the city of Tripoli. She'd decided that today would be the day. She would make a run for it today. She wasn't waiting for Tanner to rescue her. She'd likely be dead before that happened. She was going home one way or another. Whatever they expected her to help them do that somehow involved Michal Arad, they could simply forget it. She was not a spy or an undercover operative. She was just Ami Donovan. The sooner they all realized that, the better off everyone would be.

She wouldn't be able to see Robert again. A pang of hurt speared her. He had been good to her and her child. But she and Nicholas would have to disappear completely. It was the only way they would ever be safe. Ami flinched, startled, when Michal slid his arm around her waist. He glanced at her and somehow she managed to produce a convincing smile as they continued to stroll down the avenue.

Pay attention, she ordered. Details. She had to remember the details. Tripoli wasn't that large even if it was the capital city. There was a quaint, palm-tree-lined port with boats, that was one option. And the airport they'd arrived at wasn't that far away. She'd noticed the black-and-white taxis. She had a couple of options. All she needed was the right moment and a clear memory of the city's myriad lanes that formed a mazelike pattern. It wouldn't do her any good to escape only to get lost.

Tiny cafés and open-air workshops lined the wide avenue they traveled, which she presumed to be the main street. Skilled craftsmen worked at their trade. Ami slowed as they passed one who busily fashioned elaborate jewelry.
The beat of his hammer kept a steady rhythm amid the voices and sounds of negotiating and conversation she couldn't understand that carried on the air. The smell of welding mingled with the other more natural scents of the city.

The architecture fascinated her. Michal had told her that it had been influenced by various worlds over the centuries, Roman, Greek, Italian. Heavy wooden doors topped with rusty ironworks provided the only means of entry into the ancient-looking buildings painted varying shades of blue, yellow and brown. The merciless sun caressed the crumbling structures, highlighting the cracks and patches of time. Drying laundry served as makeshift shutters to the windows high above the street. Electrical wires wove a tangled web from house to house, a not so subtle reminder of the present. Barefoot children played in the streets. A dusty, beat-up car could be found here and there.

It took scarcely half an hour to travel the length of the city. They encountered numerous workshops and cafés, a disused Jewish school and well-kept mosques along the way. Turning to smile back at her as if he knew some secret, Michal led her into a mosque.

She felt a little breathless as she took in the expansive, dimly lit interior. Ancient pillars supported the vaulted ceiling of the deserted prayer room. It was so old. Ami was certain she'd never seen architecture this antiquated except for the day Michal had taken her into Marseilles. How could she have been exposed to the likes of this and not remember it?

Michal stroked a hand over one of the stone pillars, his own awe evident. “If only they could speak,” he said, amusement as well as something resembling wonder in his tone. “Roman mysteries, Byzantine feasts and Muslim
prayers.” He sighed deeply. “The deep, dark history we could learn.”

Why would such a ruthless man care about history? Each day she learned something new from him…some part she hadn't expected, didn't want to know. Such as the tender way he'd held her last night with no demands of his own despite the readiness of his male body. She'd felt how much he wanted her…but he had deprived himself for her comfort.

A paradox, she decided.

Michal Arad was a paradox she was certain she could spend a lifetime exploring and never know all there was to be learned.

Just watching him move around the large room, touching the ancient walls and speaking so reverently, made her want to weep. It was as if they'd stepped back into time. Michal fit the part perfectly. The way his dark hair fell over his shoulders, the contrast of his dark skin against the white shirt. He looked as if he'd just stepped off a proud ship, exploring this seemingly desolate land for the first time and finding its hidden treasure. The walls built by human hands. Walls that bore the marks and the whispered echo of centuries of both good and evil.

As if seeing him for the first time, Ami knew at once that Michal Arad was very much like that. Despite the evil he had seen, had wielded even, something good still existed there. She could almost touch it.

“Does this place trouble you?”

His deep, sensual voice tugged her back to the present. He was standing close enough to touch her, smiling down at her as if he'd read her thoughts and was pleased by her conclusion.

She shook her head, suddenly too breathless to speak.

“Perhaps you only need nourishment.” He slid his arm
around her waist and ushered her toward the exit. “Food would be good about now. I must leave in a few hours. You'll stay at the hotel with Raoul. I would trust your safety to few others.”

“Why are you leaving me here?” On the deserted street, she stopped and peered up at him. Her heart picked up its pace for two reasons. She feared what this meant for him. But then, this could be her chance. Only one man would be guarding her. She knew Raoul. He seemed to like her. The hopeful part of her rejoiced…but that other part of her—a part Michal had touched far too deeply—worried that this was not a good thing. Where was he going? A mission? Something dangerous?

It was then and there that Ami realized just how much he cared for her. He stared deeply into her eyes and, for the first time, allowed her to see the depth of his emotions. He raised his hand and gently tucked an errant strand of hair behind her head covering. Another epiphany struck on the heels of the first one. This man was more dangerous than she first suspected. He held the power to tear her life apart, starting with her most vital organ…her heart.

“You are not to concern yourself. I will return for you in twenty-four hours. You have my word.”

Her anxiety crossed a whole new threshold. Before she could demand more answers, his mouth swooped down and captured hers. The heat and insistent pressure of his lips soon banished all other thought. It didn't matter that they were standing in an empty street in a place where death lurked, especially for a woman, around every corner. There was only him and the way he kissed her, as savagely as a starving barbarian and yet with all the infinite finesse of a masterful lover.

It had to be the last time.

Ami knew at that instant that if she didn't go now—today—she would never be able to leave him without telling him the truth.

The whole truth.

I
N THE HOTEL
,
Ami relaxed on the bed, feigning interest in a French magazine. Michal had ordered issues of every fashion and beauty magazine available from the little tourist shop across the street, for the good it did since she didn't know any of the languages. In their former life together she must have been multilingual, though she couldn't imagine it now. Somehow, there had to be a mistake. Yes, she dreamed of him…or someone like him. Before Michal had yanked her into his world, she'd only sensed what the man in her dreams looked like. It wasn't beyond the scope of reason that she might have subconsciously superimposed his image into her dreams after the abduction. In fact, if Robert were here, he would insist that was precisely the answer to her current dilemma.

She couldn't possibly be this Amira Peres that Michal believed she was, or Jamie Dalton as the CIA insisted. Everything inside her stilled. The Israelis were wrong, as well. They were all wrong. She wasn't even a shrink and that sounded foolish to her. How could everyone else be wrong?

She shuddered and pushed the unpleasant thoughts away. It was almost time. She glanced around the room, noting the serving cart that room service had delivered. Michal had ordered the fruit, cheese and wine for her, as well, before he'd left. He wanted her to lack for nothing
during his absence. Raoul had consumed most of it at Ami's urging.

She stole a sidelong look at him now. It had taken all of her persuasive powers to talk him into partaking of the wine. He was on duty, he'd told her over and over. But her persistence had won out. No one knew they were here, she'd argued. Michal would never have left her here were it not completely safe. Raoul had nothing to worry about. He should eat, drink and enjoy his day off.

He had done just that. Now he lit another cigarette causing her nose to wrinkle, drained the bottle into the delicate stemmed glass and then gulped it down just as quickly. She stifled a smile. Why hadn't he simply turned up the bottle and saved the wear and tear on his wrist pouring the stuff?

She'd plotted her strategy all day. Michal had departed the city shortly before noon to join his men. She didn't know the rendezvous point or what the mission was, but she had garnered that it would take approximately twenty-four hours. It was almost dark now. Raoul had to have a slight buzz. If she could get out of the room she could hide out on one of the boats. The hotel wasn't that far from the port. While they had enjoyed that leisurely stroll this morning, Michal had told her that boats arrived and departed from the port at all hours of the day and night. She repressed another shudder when she considered what their cargo might be. She'd have to be extremely careful in her selection or she'd end up in more trouble than she was now.

Her plan didn't include leaving the country aboard one of the vessels, she only wanted to hide out there until Michal and his men stopped searching for her. She'd noticed one large fishing boat that was under repair, that one surely wouldn't be going anywhere.

Michal would expect her to flee the city. With that in mind, he and his men would do a quick sweep of the city and then start searching for her beyond that perimeter. She, meanwhile, would leave the boat and take a taxi to the closest embassy. Though she didn't have any money of her own, Michal had left what appeared to be a sizable tip for the room service waiter. Ami swallowed tightly. She had taken it before the cart arrived. Raoul hadn't noticed or didn't care.

Ami had never stolen anything in her life—at least in the part of her life that she remembered. But extreme situations called for desperate measures. This, she concluded gravely, was as extreme as it got.

“I think I'll take a bath.” She sprang up from the bed and gave Raoul a big smile. “Let me know if anything exciting happens.”

Raoul tamped out his cigarette. “
Señora,
I fear the only excitement will be in my imagination.” His slow perusal of her body and accompanying wolfish grin told her he was thinking about her naked in that enormous tub.

She kept her smile tacked into place as she headed toward the en suite bath. On second thought, she hesitated at the armoire long enough to take out one of the silky gowns Michal had purchased for her. When she closed the drawer, she made sure a pair of black lacy panties dangled from it. She crossed the room, the gown tossed over her shoulder, and turned on the stereo so that sensuous music drifted from its decades' old speakers. She had no idea what the words to the song meant, but they sounded sexy enough.

“You don't mind, do you?” she asked of the man staring openmouthed at her. When she started to unbutton her blouse, his eyes bulged.

Raoul's harsh intake of breath was indication enough
that he would be preoccupied while she pretended to bathe. Belatedly, he shook his head in answer to her question.

“Good.” She crossed the room, taking care to sway her hips provocatively. When she reached the door, she paused. “I'll be a while,” she purred, gifting him with another wide, teasing smile before she closed and locked the door behind her.

She threw the gown to the floor and quickly turned on the water in the lavish tub. Who would have thought that such elegant amenities would exist in a hotel that hadn't been renovated in several decades? She remembered then that Michal had mentioned that in the 1960s the place had been a hotel casino. Maybe that was why it was decorated so extravagantly. What had most likely been quite elegant more than forty years ago put a new slant on the phrase “shabby chic.”

It would serve her purpose nicely.

She pushed up her sleeves and, using the cheap stopper, since the original drain mechanism apparently no longer worked, she adjusted the drain to suit her. This would allow the water to escape to an extent but would simultaneously permit the tub to fill enough to create the volume of splashing noise she wanted. The idea was to make sure it was noisy, but didn't overflow anytime soon.

With that out of the way, she quickly dried her arms and moved to the window. The casing and sashes were old, the latch slightly rusty. But, with effort, she managed to open it. The window wasn't large, but she could fit through. Since the sashes opened inward she was able to lean fully out through the opening. The room was on the third floor, but she'd already decided on an escape route. An old rusty pipe about six inches in diameter, probably a drainpipe of some sort, was attached to the building's facade about eighteen to twenty inches from the window.
Every few feet there was a raised collar-like section that appeared to connect the lengths of pipe. That would, hopefully, keep her from sliding straight down too fast and injuring herself.

Taking one last look over her shoulder at the closed door, she said a final prayer and climbed out the window. Holding her breath, she swung one arm then one leg over to the pipe. Once she'd locked on tightly with both arms and both legs, she eased up just a little on her grip so that she would slide downward fireman-pole style. The rust bit into her palms like sandpaper, but she ignored it. She had to hold on tightly, ease down just a little at a time.

The blood roared in her ears so loudly she wasn't sure she would have heard anyone if they had screamed her name. When she reached the dusty ground, she took a moment to regain her footing before she moved. Her entire body felt weak with a numbing mixture of fear and adrenaline. But she was down. She'd almost made it to freedom!

Looking carefully left to right, she started forward through the shadows. It was nearly dark now. Too late, she wished she'd remembered the head covering. The lightness of her hair would work against her in the dark. Not to mention it was illegal for a woman to leave the house without it.

She swore softly. She just couldn't get caught, that's all. This might be her only chance.

Moving soundlessly, she edged around the corner of the building. This would be the tough part. She had to cross the street. Then she could stay in alleyways until she reached the port…but crossing this one street was necessary. Though there weren't any streetlights to speak of, there was light from windows. The businesses had closed their doors before dusk and most of the cafés were a few blocks in the other direction. The area around the hotel
was pretty deserted at this hour other than the occasional patron going and coming from its entrance. But those who lived above the shops had turned on lights.

Her gaze shifted up the block to a car parked at the side of the street. That would help. She stay pressed against the walls of the closed shops as she made her way to the car. Holding her breath again, she worked up her courage and moved swiftly across the street.

Once in the adjacent alleyway, she let go the breath that ached in her lungs. Thank God. No one shouted for her to stop. No one called out her name. She glanced up at the third floor of the hotel across the street and wondered if Raoul had noticed she was gone yet. Probably not or she'd hear him ranting all the way over here.

Peering into the darkness further down the alleyway until she was convinced no one hovered in the shadows, she began to make her way to the rear of the block that would open out onto the port side.

The unmistakable sound of a footfall a few feet behind her skimmed her auditory senses. Then nothing. She froze. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end.

Slowly, careful not to make even the slightest sound, she turned around. From behind her a hand snaked out and covered her mouth. Strong arms slammed her against a hard body.

She fought valiantly, kicking and scratching at the hand holding her. It couldn't be over this quickly. She was so close!

Her heel connected with a shin and a string of French profanities hissed past the lips mere inches from her head. Instinctively she bent her head forward then threw it back, hitting her assailant in the nose or mouth or both.

The arms suddenly loosened.

She was free.

She lunged forward.

Something hit her hard in the back of the head.

The ground flew up to meet her.

Bitch!
was the last thing she heard as the darkness swallowed her.

 

P
AIN SPLIT
her skull.

Ami moaned.

Her lids were so heavy she couldn't make her eyes open.

What had happened to her…she…?

The man grabbing her in the darkness…trying to run…the pain shattering through her skull.

She'd gotten away from Michal's guard.

But someone else had grabbed her.

Fear ripped through her chest.

Or maybe it was another of Michal's men. Someone who'd been watching from a distance to make sure she didn't run.

Carlos…or one of the others.

Now he would know.

Summoning all of her willpower, she opened her eyes.

She blinked against the dim lighting, but her eyes slowly adjusted. A rickety old fan stirred overhead. The ceiling was dingy and stained by long-term water leaks.

Not the hotel. It had been shabby, but not like this. Whoever had taken her, she wasn't back at the hotel.

She turned her head to see more. Pain sliced through her. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her teeth until it passed. When she opened her eyes once more she saw that a woman was sitting in a chair only a few feet away, her attention focused on the paperback book she was reading.

Confusion joined the pain swirling inside her brain as Ami studied the woman's features. Gray hair, the soft, glis
tening kind, was swept up and back. She was dressed in dark slacks, maybe navy or black, and a pale blouse, white or soft blue. She definitely did not look like the type Ami had expected to find guarding her. She looked like that actress…what was her name? Katharine Hepburn. Or maybe a schoolteacher.

Recognition suddenly crashed into her like a train bursting from a dark tunnel.

The waitress.

CIA operative.

Fran Woodard.

“Welcome back,” Fran said, her gaze now focused on Ami instead of the book.

Somehow, in spite of the skull-cracking pain and drunken feeling that accompanied it, Ami sat up. Her clothes were dirty, rust was smeared down the front of her blouse from where she'd shimmied down that pipe. She looked up at the woman and the room spun wildly for about five seconds.

“You don't have a concussion, but it's a pretty nasty contusion. Hurts like hell, huh?”

From out of nowhere fury ignited inside Ami. What the hell was this woman doing here? Did that mean Tanner was here, as well?

Fran stood and smoothed her free hand over her slacks to straighten the wrinkles from sitting so long watching her charge. “I'll get the boss.” She left, closing the door behind her.

Fear, stark and vivid, surged through Ami once more. What if Fran was a double agent? What if she had plans of her own for Ami? What would the Israelis pay to get their hands on her? Was there a price on her head already?

Her heart pumped so hard her chest ached, momentarily distracting her from the insistent throbbing in her brain.

She had to protect herself. Ami moved as quickly as she could, searching the meager furnishings of the room for some sort of weapon.

There was nothing.

The door suddenly opened once more.

Ami's head came up from her futile search.

Jack Tanner stood in the doorway, glowering at her.

“What the hell did you think you were doing?”

“You did this?” she accused, her breath catching as another stab of pain speared through her.

He shook his head, regret rearranged the features of his face, softening the signs of anger that had been there only a second or so ago.

“One of my men.” His temper flared again. “But he claims he had no choice.”

Ami vaguely remembered kicking and clawing, and then the coup de grace, the head butt. “Why didn't he identify himself?” she snapped, then winced. “I thought I was about to be raped—” her gaze met Tanner's “—or worse.”