Double Impact

by Tess Gerritsen

  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.”

  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.
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br />   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.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  MICHAL 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.

  AMI 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.