Double Impact Page 29

  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.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE 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, thou
gh 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 reasonable 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.

  AT 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 allowing 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.

  “It’s the woman, isn’t it?”

  Ron’s question brought Michal up short.

  He didn’t hide the surprise in his expression quickly enough. “I knew it was you,” Ron went on. He pushed off from the stone wall, allowing a slash of sunlight to fall over his profile. “When the woman was discovered alive and well and then came up missing, I knew.” He turned to Michal. “You know that her existence jeopardizes this mission. She could ruin everything.”