Double Impact: Never Say Die\No Way Back (29 page)

“I said, prepare for dinner.”

She moved slowly, keeping him in the edge of her vision as she opened the shower door and adjusted the spray of water.

“It'll take me a few minutes,” she said shakily, her gaze still not meeting his.

“Fine,” he snapped. “I have all night.” He crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the door frame.

Her eyes widened when she realized he had no intention of giving her any privacy.

He knew his actions would prove a mistake, but he sim
ply could not help himself. He wanted to watch. No. He needed to watch.

She reached for the first button on the shirt, her hands trembling, tears welling in her pale blue eyes. He gritted his teeth against the softer emotions that threatened his control.

One button after the other, she released until there were no more. She looked up at him then and something changed in her eyes. She turned around, giving him her back, and allowed the shirt to drift down to the cold tile floor.

His breath caught in spite of his efforts not to allow it, in spite of the fact that he'd already seen her nude while she was unconscious. But this was different. She was awake, her creamy-smooth skin flushed with humiliation. The gentle curves of her feminine body all the more alluring.

With all that made him male, he wanted to touch her…to take her. He wanted to bury himself inside her until she pleaded for his forgiveness…until she screamed his name and begged for mercy. He wanted to fuck her long and hard, until he spilled out two long years of frustration and pain.

He wanted her. His loins hardened to the point of readiness in a mere instant of simply looking at her…thinking of plunging into her sweet, hot depths.

She stepped into the shower and he turned away, disgusted with himself.

Whatever good had ever existed inside him was gone. He was nothing. He had nothing but his work.

And he was very, very good at his work.

No one had ever reached this point before.

No one.

He was hated by all, feared by most, and revered by a chosen few.

He was the only link.

 

H
ER HANDS SHAKING
, Ami toweled her hair dry as best she could. She paused in her efforts and stared at the woman in the mirror. Her skin was pink and fresh from the scrubbing she'd given it. The idea that he had touched her…

She closed her eyes and told herself again that even the thought repulsed her. But, in truth, it was the heat that swelled inside her even when he looked at her that bothered her the most. He had kidnapped her. Had told her in no uncertain terms that she was going to die and still she could not completely disregard her body's reaction to him.

She shook off the awareness that plagued her when she so much as called to mind his image. She squeezed her eyes shut and cursed herself. What was wrong with her? None of this could be true. She couldn't have worked for the CIA or had an affair with this man. She certainly wouldn't have had anything to do with anyone's murder. There had to be a mistake.

She'd read about cases like this, had even seen a movie or two with this very plotline. The problem was, she must look strikingly similar to the real Amira Peres. Tanner had said as much. That coincidental resemblance had her in deep trouble. Hurt twisted inside her again when she thought of her baby. How long had it been since she'd seen him? Twenty-four hours? Longer?

It was dark now. She had to have been gone more than twenty-four hours. It had been almost dark when she'd been grabbed in the basement garage at the hospital. She'd been drugged and interrogated and when she'd awakened
it had been daylight. Yes, she was sure of it. Just over twenty-four hours had passed.

She ran her fingers through her still-damp hair and exhaled a heavy breath. She had to find a way to escape. But before she could do that she needed to get the lay of the land, so to speak. If she could keep her cool, she would eventually learn where she was being held and how many of his men were here.

She squared her shoulders and made a promise to her reflection. She would find a way out of this. She had to. Nicholas was counting on her.

Another thought crashed into her musings. That Tanner guy. Jack. The CIA guy. He'd said she was in danger, that she was one of them. Surely the CIA would be looking for her since Robert had most likely reported her missing. A glimmer of relief warmed her chest. If what Tanner said was true, which she couldn't see how it was, but still, if he thought it was, she was not only an American citizen, she was CIA. They would have to look for her. And Tanner knew where to look. He'd mentioned Michal Arad by name.

Her hopes shored up with that last thought, she smoothed her hands over the new jeans and checked her blouse to see that it covered all that it should. It was a little tight and a little revealing, but it was better than wearing that shirt of his. She shivered at the remembered scent that was uniquely his. That was definitely something she didn't need cluttering her senses.

She moved to the bedroom door but hesitated before opening it. What if she opened the door and the guard took the move as one of aggression and shot her? She forced the idea away. She was expected for dinner. Besides, it was probably locked.

To her surprise the door opened when she turned the
knob. Holding her breath she peeked into the hallway. The sight of the man holding a large, ugly weapon pointed directly at her registered instantly and she squealed before she could clamp her hand over her mouth.

“Come with me.”

Her gaze swung to the man who'd spoken. Arad waited, a few steps away. The guard immediately lowered his weapon, but his hate-filled glare stayed firmly in place.

Thankful to be free of the room, she followed Arad along a dimly lit corridor. She passed other closed doors and she couldn't help wandering if anyone else was being held prisoner behind one of those doors. Or if one of them led to the outside. Nothing she encountered gave her any indication of where she was or how she'd gotten here.

The corridor finally gave way into a large room, like a great room. A couple of sofas and several chairs were scattered around. There was a huge stacked-stone fireplace and a television. The walls were wood, the decor rustic. And not a telephone in sight. She missed a step when her gaze fell on the enormous double-entry doors. Though the doors were barred like the entry to a fortress, the desire to run toward them was nearly irresistible.

Ami bumped into Arad's broad chest as she moved forward once more and before she realized he had stopped and turned around.

“You are not to speak to any of my men. You will eat and then you will return to your room.” His next words told her he hadn't missed her preoccupation with the doors. “There is a state-of-the-art security system. If you open an exterior door, an alarm will sound and, as I told you before, the guards have orders to shoot you on sight if, at any time, you are found outside the house without being accompanied by me.”

She nodded, too overwhelmed to speak. How could she
feel anything but utter hatred for this savage? She hated him. Her fingers balled into fists as the need to do him bodily injury rushed through her veins.

He smiled, obviously reading her mind yet again. “You should have killed me two years ago.”

With a wave of his arm he ordered her to precede him into the kitchen. Helpless to do otherwise, she did as instructed. Several men pushed away from the table and filed out of the huge dining room, each glaring down at her as he passed. She counted six and there were more outside. One man, a barbaric-looking brute with long brown hair tied back into a ponytail, remained at the other end of the table. Tears burned at the backs of Ami's eyes. How could she ever hope to escape with odds like this? She couldn't.

She dropped into the chair Arad pulled from the table and admitted defeat. She was going to die and there was nothing she could do about it.

He placed a stoneware plate, laden with a generous portion of roast beef and mixed vegetables, in front of her. Even the smell made her stomach roil. She didn't know when she'd eaten last, but the idea was more than she could deal with at the moment. She was going to die, why did it matter if she ate?

Her heart lurched. Was Robert seeing to Nicholas at this very moment? Feeding him? Bathing him and readying him for bed? She blinked back the moisture gathering. Would he remind her baby that she loved him? Would he tell Nicholas as he grew older that she hadn't wanted to leave him? That some terrible man had kidnapped her?

“Eat.”

Her gaze connected with Arad's and she couldn't hold back the tears. She tried. She really did. But they would be contained no longer.

Fury tightened the features of his face, sending a new
wave of fear through her. He scooped up a spoonful of potatoes and held it close to her mouth. “Eat.”

She moistened her lips and tried to open her mouth, told herself that she had to do as he said, but she just couldn't. She shook her head. “I'm sorry…I—”

He grabbed her chin and held it firmly, forcing her mouth to open as he shoved the spoon inside. Her throat and stomach rebelled against the intrusion. She clamped her hand over her mouth to keep from spitting out the food. She instinctively knew that if she did she would regret it. After a few moments of fighting the gag reflex, she finally chewed and allowed the potatoes, little by little, to slide down her throat.

When she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, he shoved another spoonful toward her.

She couldn't do this. Her stomach contracted once more at the very sight of the food. “I can't…”

He grabbed her by the chin once more and forced her to look directly into his eyes. “You can and you will.”

Something in his eyes… The fury or maybe the other emotion she saw there. A hurt that didn't quite mesh with the evil persona.

A sob burst from her before she could stop it. “Why?” she cried. “Why do you care if I eat? You're going to kill me anyway.”

“The date and means of your death,” he snarled, “will not be your decision. It will be mine.” He released her as if touching her had somehow burned him. He barked something in a language she did not understand to the man at the other end of the table. The man pushed to his feet and stamped down to where she sat. He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her from the table, overturning her chair in the process.

Hysteria setting in now, Ami looked from the brute to
Arad and back; he only stared after her as she was dragged away. She stumbled as she tried to keep up with the man's long strides. Her heart thundered so hard in her chest she couldn't draw in a breath. When he shoved her into the bedroom where she'd awakened, relief washed over her. Thank God. At least they weren't going to kill her yet.

As long as she was alive there was still hope.

The man looked her up and down and smirked. “Sleep well, whore, for tomorrow you die.”

T
HE DREAM
came again. No matter that she tried to banish it. She couldn't escape the exquisite pull…like the ocean's tide beneath the influence of the full moon, it was destiny. He lay next to her. She didn't have to open her eyes…she could feel him there. Long, dark hair against the linens. Skin that was bronzed as much by the sun as by genetics and stretched taunt over muscle sculpted by danger.

His deep voice whispered against her skin.
You will always belong to me.
Her fingers tightened in the sheet as images evolved, moving the dream from one moment in time to the next. Moments she had spent with him…in his arms. Then she saw a new face. An older man. He stared up at her in startled amazement. Blood bloomed from the place where a dagger protruded from his chest. With one bloody hand he reached for her…

“W-why?”

Ami bolted upright in bed, shattering the final image of her nightmare, her breath coming in uneven spurts.

Her hands shook as she pushed the hair back from her face. Sweat dampened her skin. Dreaming. She'd only been dreaming, she told herself as she struggled to gain her bearings.

She squeezed her eyes shut against the vivid picture of the bloody hand reaching out to her…the broken voice asking why. Though she didn't recognize that face, she did know the other one that had haunted her yet again.

Forcing her respiration to quiet, she clenched her fists in preparation and turned her head in infinitesimal increments until she ensured that the other side of the bed was empty. She dragged in a lungful of blessed relief. Thank God. This time the dream had felt so real. It was as if he'd actually been right there next to her…touching her…whispering intimate words to her. She shivered and pulled her knees up so that she could press her forehead there.

Reality crashed in on her all over again. It was the same every morning. She would wake up from the powerful dreams, her skin still warm from the touch of his hand, whether real or imagined. But it damn sure felt real. Then she would gather her wits and she would know.

She was a prisoner.

Somewhere in France. She had gleaned that much from a glimpse of a television news program some of the men had been watching.

Three days he had kept her here. Forcing her to eat…to bathe…to wait. To obey his every order. The way he looked at her—she shivered again—terrified her on several levels. He despised her, wanted to hurt her somehow. The disgust was almost always there in those dark, dark eyes. But other times she saw something else. Pain. Need. Something along those lines. She could only assume that what he said was true and that this Amira Peres brutally betrayed him.

But she was not Amira Peres. She was Ami Donovan. The tears rose instantly, burning her eyes and reminding her of the defeat sucking at her very existence.

Dear God, she only wanted to get back to her son. To hold her sweet baby in her arms.

She tried to be strong. Looked for any avenue of escape, but they watched her every moment of every day.

The sobs started deep inside her, like the threatening rumbles of a volcano before it built to overflowing. When she could contain the misery no longer, she wept openly, loudly. Not for herself, but for her child.

She prayed again that Robert would be a good father to Nicholas. She wished for the hundredth time that she had married him as he'd asked on so very many occasions. Then she begged God to send Jack Tanner to rescue her. Surely the CIA wouldn't just forget about her.

Scrubbing her face with the heels of her hands, she dredged up a smidgen of courage and fumbled for her composure as she climbed from the bed. Lying there crying would accomplish nothing. She had to find a way to escape.

The mere idea sent hope soaring inside her. She had to escape. It was the only way. She was the only woman here, as far as she had seen. That could be an advantage.

Renewed determination steadied her trembling limbs and firmed her resolve. Why hadn't she thought of this already? All she had to do was befriend one of the guards and use him to unknowingly facilitate her escape.

She shuddered at the possibility of what that kind of maneuver might cost her, but whatever it cost it would be worth the price if she could get free. If she made it to a nearby house she could use the phone and call for help. There would be an American embassy in Paris, though she didn't know how far she was from Paris. She would find a way to get there or, at the very least, get a call through to the police. She didn't speak French, but she felt certain the word “help” was universal.

The image of her son was fixed steadfastly in her mind. She would do anything to get back to him.
Anything.

Ami showered and dressed in another of the outfits Michal had purchased for her. He had apparently decided
he would keep her alive for quite some time since he'd outfitted her with a fairly complete wardrobe. This time she would not rue the tight-fitting, revealing clothing. This time she would flaunt the assets her captor insisted on displaying.

She chewed her lip as she stared at her reflection in the steam-fogged mirror. If he really thought she was this Amira Peres who had betrayed him so cruelly, then why hadn't he killed her already? Why did he dress her like a trashy Barbie doll and toy with her emotionally and physically? She tossed the brush aside and braced her hands on the basin to think about that for a bit. Maybe he was still in love with Amira Peres.

Turning that concept over in her mind, Ami straightened and paced the length of the small room. If he was still in love with the woman he thought her to be, that made him vulnerable on some level. She hesitated midturn. She could use that…pretend to be whatever he wanted her to be until just the right moment presented itself. She swung around and stared at her reflection once more. She could do that. The images from the dreams that haunted her each time she closed her eyes sent a quiver through her.

For her son she could do most anything.

The face of the older man, the one with the knife stuck into his chest, intruded on her musings. A frown marred her brow and something deep inside her shifted painfully. Who was the man? Had she conjured up the image from the horrible tales Michal Arad had told her? Or maybe Tanner had told her that she'd helped assassinate Amira Peres's father? Was her subconscious somehow confusing fact with fiction?

She shook herself and pushed the concept aside. She had to focus here. Finally she had a plan. One that might just work. She pulled in a deep, steadying breath. One that
could just as easily get her killed. But then, she was dead anyway, right?

She had to make this work. However she had to approach this new avenue cautiously. Too abrupt a change in her behavior would give her away. She had to proceed very, very carefully. If he suspected for one second that she was up to anything…

He would kill her. He wanted to already, but something held him back. A number of his men, especially the one named Carlos, didn't like her being there. She'd have to see what she could do about that, as well. Win them over, in a manner of speaking.

You were undercover for three months…

Jack Tanner's words echoed inside her. According to his side of all this she'd agreed to work for the CIA as some sort of undercover agent. She still couldn't believe she'd done all that and had no memory of it. The last thing Robert had said to her reverberated through her with the force of a physical blow.

Whoever you were before is gone for good.

The realization hit with such intensity…such clarity that she stumbled from the weight of it.

Everything Tanner said could be true. She had no idea who she was before she was found wandering in that park two years ago. She blinked and peered more intently at her image in the mirror. Was she capable of being a spy? Setting up a man, no matter how ruthless, to die?

Tanner had said that she'd done it because this man, this Yael Peres, had her father assassinated. She supposed that revenge could motivate a person to do most anything. Somehow it just didn't feel right…but that didn't make it wrong.

Whoever she was and whatever she'd done in the past had gotten her into this predicament. It was no longer rea
sonable to assume that it was all a matter of mistaken identity. Too many people recognized her…too many verifying memories flickered through her mind for it to be mere coincidence or subliminal suggestion. This whole scenario held more merit than she wanted to admit. So she wouldn't. She would simply use the situation to her advantage. She would assume that
if
she'd worked as a spy before, she could again. That
if
she'd been her captor's lover before, she could now. That
if
she could fool them all, including her lover then, she could now.

She had to try.

She remembered now that Tanner had warned her there would be no way back if Michal Arad or the Israelis got their hands on her first. Bottom line: she couldn't count on the CIA to come and rescue her.

She had to do this herself.

For Nicholas.

 

A
T THE END
of a narrow brick-and-stone street between the tightly packed old houses and refurbished ancient buildings in the Panier district of Marseilles, Ron Doamiass stood in the shadows. But not so much so that Michal could not discern the expression on his face. Ron did not like where this conversation was going. The brooding medieval village on the north side of the Quai du port, which Michal had chosen for the rendezvous, did not help his mood.

Too bad. Michal had had enough.

“I want out.” He looked straight into his old friend's eyes and made the statement that had been a very long time in coming. “Three years is too long.”

Ron sighed and shook his head. He had worked for the Israeli Mossad twice as long as Michal's seven years. Ron had moved up the ranks quickly. His knowledge of on-
going operations and level of clearance marked him as a member of the chosen few in the hierarchy of the covert organization. His influence could very well sway the decision by those in power as to Michal's fate.

“I can no longer do this.” Michal turned away, unwilling to allow his friend to see the depth of the pain he suffered. He had become one of “them.” His entire existence sickened him. He'd lost count of the number of men he had killed. All in the name of the greater good. At first he had anticipated this assignment with the kind of excitement borne of naiveté. Wished for the occasion to rid this earth of the scum that he now lived among. His burning need to right at least a few of the world's wrongs and to serve his country to the fullest extent possible had driven him to excel beyond all expectations. The high of success had carried him the first year under deep cover. He'd utilized his American education in international law and his privileged Israeli upbringing among the politically elite to make himself indispensable to those who obeyed no man's law.

Michal Arad had not only infiltrated the international terrorist group led by the Wolf, he had become the ruthless leader's right arm. He had worked his way to the top of the food chain, devouring anyone who got in his way. Then, utilizing the intelligence he'd gathered, the Wolf had been assassinated during a particularly ingenious operation masterminded by top Israeli strategists like Ron himself. A feat neither the Americans nor the Europeans had been able to accomplish.

Michal was a hero.

But no one could ever know. He had been ordered to retain his cover…to live with those he despised and to continue to provide the intelligence no one before him had ever been in a position to know. The very people he risked
his life to protect, feared and despised him the most. The fewer people who knew the truth, the less risk to his cover. Less than half a dozen men were privy to Michal's actual status.

“No one has ever been inside this deep,” Ron, his only friend as well as superior, said, echoing Michal's thoughts. “You know how important the intel you provide is to the security of not only our country, but also numerous others. Look at the number of catastrophes we've been able to avoid in the past two years. All because you are trusted by those who wish to do harm and ravage our American friends as well as our own people.”

Michal whipped around and glared at his old friend. His posture went instantly to that of the ruthless savage he portrayed each day. It was second nature now. He had to consciously restrain the fury as well as the urge to grab his friend and shake him. “Do you think I don't know that? I have risked my life dozens of times to provide those warnings. Even now Carlos grows more suspicious of me each day. When is it enough?” He looked away, battling the rage that he so liberally unleashed on a regular basis amid his cutthroat associates.

“Michal.” Ron gripped his arm reassuringly; Michal flinched and pulled away. “No one understands more than I what you have sacrificed. But your role is far too vital to our continued stability to allow the mission to come to an end. You must not waver.”

Michal unclenched his hands and scrubbed them over his face then through his hair. Could he do this another day? Another hour? His thoughts went immediately to Amira and he forced the resulting images away. With every fiber of his being he wanted to believe that she was one of those he hated, but his heart would not allow him the luxury. His men were already suspicious of his allow
ing her to live this long. Carlos, in particular, had pushed the issue. This continued unrest among the ranks of his followers would undermine his absolute control, ultimately getting him killed. To a degree, death would be a relief. It was the other that kept him from simply shirking off all cares. The vow he had made to serve his country.

The damage control he could assert from the position he held as Michal the Executioner was priceless. Even he could see no way anyone else could match the level of power he had attained.

He almost laughed out loud when he considered how the Americans likened their CIA to the Mossad. If they only knew. The Mossad was more aggressive and more ruthless than the CIA could even imagine. Even those CIA officers who worked closely with their Mossad counterparts had no idea just how far the Mossad would go to accomplish their intended mission.