Yet she was nearly certain he was.
She sighed and pushed the thoughts away. This was the first time she’d been away from the house, paying attention to the details was her top priority right now. She tucked the tender memories and thoughts of her baby into a faraway corner of her mind—far away from this horrible nightmare.
As she took in the street and the splendid view of the boats moored nearby, she wondered if she could escape and hide on one of them where she would end up. Did it even matter as long as she was out of here? She inhaled deeply of the salt air and decided that idea was worth more thought. Before their entrées were served the waitress brought fresh-baked bread with olive oil, cold meats and cheese. Ami nibbled as the men conversed about some militant group who’d made a move to corner their market in Libya.
“If their aggression continues,” Michal was saying, “we will act. They have been warned.”
Carlos nodded. “At least two of our old customers have used them recently. They work cheaper.”
Michal smiled, it was not pleasant. “They will die cheaply, as well,” he mused. The men laughed, apparently amused by the prospect.
Ami shivered, her mind again having trouble reconciling the man who’d made love to her—who’d tended her wounds from her run-in with Carlos—with this ruthless leader who plotted death so easily.
She gulped a long drink from her wineglass, needing to numb her raw nerves. Michal refilled it immediately, as if sensing her need.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“Ah.” He nodded to the waitress approaching with a tray. “You will enjoy this, I am certain.”
The bouillabaisse the waitress set in front of her looked huge, though Michal had commented that it was smaller and lighter than the others and contained only three varieties of fish rather than the usual six. If Ami had ever eaten this dish—her stomach roiled in protest—she was certain she couldn’t now. She didn’t even like fish.
As the waitress placed the final order on the table, she bumped Ami’s glass, knocking it over, the contents splashing over her blouse. She jumped up from her chair, but not quickly enough to avoid a lapful.
Michal swore hotly. Though Ami didn’t know the language he used, she instinctively understood the meaning. “What are you doing, you clumsy woman?” he demanded as he moved next to Ami and offered his linen napkin. He repeated the words in French, the harshness no less evident in the sensual language.
“Pardon, Monsieur,” the waitress cried, her expression mortified. “Je le regrette beaucoup, Mademoiselle!”
The waitress sputtered the next few phrases far too quickly for Ami to even guess what she was saying. She gestured repeatedly for Ami to follow her. She indicated the wet spots on Ami’s clothes and repeated her request.
“Go with her,” Michal said to Carlos.
Ami looked from Michal to Carlos and then to the frantic waitress and finally realized what she wanted. She followed the exasperated woman through the restaurant. A few people looked up and raised an eyebrow, but most simply continued to eat. When they reached the narrow hall that led to the rest rooms the waitress glared at Carlos and said something cross to him. He only rolled his eyes and propped against the wall to wait.
Startled that the waitress could get away with such high-handedness with a man like Carlos, Ami allowed her to usher her toward the ladies’ room. She decided it was the older woman’s gray hair and attractive matriarchal features. She reminded Ami of a schoolteacher she’d once had. Or maybe a librarian.
The moment the door to the ladies’ room had closed behind them, the kindly waitress shoved Ami against the wall, face first, and patted her down like a vice cop in an episode of N.Y.P.D. Blue. Before she could regain her voice and demand to know what the hell the woman was doing, the waitress straightened and looked Ami dead in the eye.
“Don’t say a word,” she said quietly and in perfect English. “You have five minutes, use them wisely.” Then she ushered Ami through the inner door that led from the powder room to the stalls.
Still reeling from the encounter, Ami stumbled drunkenly into the room. Six stalls lined one wall, three sinks and a long mirror made up the other. There was no window, no avenue of escape and, as far as she could see, no one else around. When she would have turned to question what she was supposed to be looking for, a stall door opened and Jack Tanner stepped out.
“You!”
He pressed a finger against his lips in reminder that her guard was not so far away. By now, maybe even right outside the door marked Femmes.
She walked straight up to him, fury exploding inside her. “What the hell took you so long? Couldn’t you get here before now? You had to know where I was.” Pain wrenched through her. “How’s my baby? Where is he? Is he okay?”
“Keep your voice down,” Tanner warned again.
Her rage burst through the softer emotion. “Listen, you bastard,” she snapped, “I want to know what the hell is going on here. I’m an American citizen. I was kidnapped. Get me the hell out of here. I’ve been waiting every single day for you to rescue me.”
Those brown eyes fixed fully onto hers and dread settled like a rock on her chest. “I’m not here to rescue you.”
“What?” Ami bit down on her bottom lip to hold back the scream that burgeoned in her throat. When she had regained some measure of control, she demanded, “What does that mean?” This couldn’t be happening. How could he do this? How could the CIA do this? It was crazy. All of it! Slashes of memory from the week’s events whipped through her mind, shaking her to the core of her being.
“We have another mission for you.”
“Are you insane?” She flung her arms helplessly. “Those men are terrorists. It’s a miracle they haven’t killed me already. They killed a man just yesterday right in front of my eyes.”
“We know.”
She shook her head. “That’s all you can say? You know!”
His patient expression remained unchanged. “Your orders are to stay put. If Arad hasn’t killed you already, he probably won’t.”
How reassuring! “Orders? Don’t you get it? I know you think I’m this Jamie Dalton person,” she allowed sharply, “and that I once worked for your company.” She shook her head, confusion only fueling her hysteria. “Even if that’s all true, I don’t remember how to be a spy! Whoever I was is gone. I’m just a nurse. A mother,” she added emphatically. “I can’t do this.”
“Three minutes,” the waitress announced in a stage whisper as she stuck her head through the door.
“Who the hell is she?” Ami demanded, infuriated all the more by the woman’s intrusion.
“She’s Fran Woodard.” Tanner nodded to the woman and she disappeared again, presumably to keep watch. “One of our top European operatives. You’re lucky she was in the area and knows the guy who owns this café. I’ve been watching Arad’s estate for days. This was the first time I’ve had a chance to get close to you, but I couldn’t have done it without Fran—”
“Look,” Ami cut him off. “I can’t do this. Do you understand? I’m not a spy.”
Tanner reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a photograph. He handed it to Ami. It was Nicholas. Her heart lurched. “Oh, God,” she cried, tears welling before she could stop them. “He’s okay.” She looked up at Tanner. “He is, isn’t he?” Whether it was the dullness of indifference in his eyes or pure intuition, realization dawned. He hadn’t shown her the picture to make her feel better…
“If you ever want to see your son again, you have to do exactly as I tell you.” Regret flashed briefly in his eyes, but it did nothing to lessen the new dread mounting in Ami’s stomach. He retrieved the photo from her limp fingers. “This is the way it has to be. I’ll give you more specific orders as soon as I can. For now, stay put, keep Arad happy.”
“Just tell me he’s okay,” she said from between clenched teeth. For days she’d prayed Tanner would show up and rescue her. Now all she wanted was to hurt him. Her
fingers curled into fists. She wanted to scream the indignity of it all to the world. But she had no choice in any of this.
“He’s fine. Your friend Robert and the nanny he hired are taking very good care of him.”
Another kind of emotion slammed into her belly at the mention of Robert’s name. She’d cheated on him. God, how could she have done such a thing? He’d stood by her all this time, treated her son as his own, and this was how she repaid him. Every ounce of emotion she possessed bled from her, left her completely numb.
“Clean yourself up,” Tanner prompted. “It’s time to go.”
Moving on autopilot, Ami grabbed a handful of paper towels and quickly dampened them so that she could dab listlessly at the wine spots on her blouse and slacks.
“It’s time,” Fran announced from the doorway. “We drag this out any longer and they’ll be coming in looking for her.”
Ami tossed the wad of towels in the trash receptacle, resurrected a calm she did not feel, and turned to go.
“Try to keep yourself alive,” Tanner urged softly. “We don’t want to lose you again.”
A new thought struck Ami, adding yet another complexity to the already insane mixture. She stopped and faced him. “Just tell me one thing.”
To his credit, his calm, casual expression never wavered. She supposed that poker face was part of his training. “What’s that?” he asked.
“Who am I really?”
For two long beats she was certain he wasn’t going to answer, then he said, “You’re Jamie Dalton, field operative for the Central Intelligence Agency.”
She blinked once, twice, absorbing that information. “And where is the real Amira Peres?”
His guard went up this time. The change was so abrupt, she blinked and looked again just to make sure she’d read it right. “That’s classified,” he said tightly, “but, rest assured, she’s alive and well.”
“We gotta go,” Fran said as she tugged Ami toward the door.
Ami’s gaze locked with Tanner’s one last time before the door closed between them and she knew for absolute certainty where she stood then.
She was on her own.
JACK KICKED THE WALL in frustration.
How the hell could he let this happen again?
He braced his hands against the wall and closed his eyes as he struggled to regain his composure. He had to keep it together here.
There was nothing he could do to stop any of this. He’d tried to keep her safe. If that damned assassination attempt hadn’t gone down and Nathan Olment hadn’t ended up in the ER where Ami worked, none of this would have happened.
She’d still be dead as far as the world knew.
That had been her only protection.
Now the only hope of survival she had was Arad.
Jack laughed a self-deprecating sound. It was just too damned ironic. Arad was the only hope she had of staying alive and she was the best shot the CIA had at seeing that Arad didn’t.
CHAPTER NINE
NO MORE…
Ami pushed back from the table and stood. She couldn’t bear another day of this.
The intense discussion of those around her, the clatter of silver against stoneware and the slosh of wine as it spilled into stemmed goblets abruptly ceased. The eyes of all those seated around the table instantly turned in her direction.
Michal’s gaze collided with hers.
Before he could put voice to the question reflected there, Ami rushed from the dining room. Blood pounded in her temples. She couldn’t think…couldn’t tolerate the perpetually building tension a second longer. She slammed the door shut behind her as she fled into the bedroom that was both hell and heaven on earth.
Night after night he lured her into his arms and made love to her so infinitely tenderly and yet with such intensity that she was certain each time that she would not survive the next. And each night she dreamed of the past they had shared, more and more pieces of the puzzle that was her former life falling into place. Then Jack Tanner’s voice would haunt her, sending ice through her veins.
They had another mission for her.
Ami pressed her fingertips to her forehead to stem the insistent pressure there and dropped onto the foot of the bed. She couldn’t do this. She’d told Tanner as much four days ago when he’d appeared in the ladies’ room of that restaurant like some kind of ghost who could materialize and vanish at will. But that wasn’t the case at all. He’d gotten to France—to her—by the usual means and he’d left that way, as well, without once offering to take her with him.
She was a hostage, dammit! Fury whipped through her, momentarily blotting out the skull-shattering tension. She was an American citizen who needed rescuing. But he’d left her here, insisting that she had to follow his orders exactly.
Or else.
No matter how hard she’d tried, she couldn’t remember being a spy. Didn’t they understand that? No. No, they didn’t. Or maybe they simply didn’t care. The only thing she knew for certain was that she had to give it her best shot. A moan of agony wrenched through her. She hugged herself and rocked forward with the fierceness of it. Her baby. Dear God, they were using her baby for leverage to blackmail her into doing their bidding.
Where were her rights? She was the victim here! How could they qualify her freedom? Her safety?
Ami looked around the room, at her prison, and a stillness fell over her. She had to be stronger than this. Survival…getting back to her child depended on her and her alone. She had to do whatever it took. She squeezed her eyes shut and tamped down another wave of agony. But the waiting… It was pure hell. She could feel herself drawing closer to Michal—couldn’t stop it. He was like an obsession. She exhaled a weary sigh. How could she feel this way about a man who committed murder for money? There was no explanation for it. Her emotions were a total wreck. Her physical reactions to the man confused her so completely that she could scarcely think straight most of the time.
The CIA was counting on that. Ami stilled again. That was it. For now, stay put, and keep Arad happy. Tanner’s words sifted through her head. Michal was some sort of weakness for her. She toyed with that concept for a moment. As she was to him. Like kryptonite to Superman. That’s why he hadn’t killed her already. Dread swelled in her stomach. He couldn’t…
Whatever her mission was to be, it undoubtedly involved keeping Michal distracted. Happy. But why? What purpose did that serve?
Ami wiped her eyes and clenched her jaw. What did it matter? She had to follow orders or risk losing her son forever. That was a risk she wouldn’t take.
Who was to say she was as much a victim as she thought, anyway. The image of the older man, a knife plunged deeply into his chest, kept clawing its way into her dreams…into her every waking thought. Was she really responsible for his death? Had he truly been convinced that she was his daughter? She shook her head. She did not know the man. There had to be a mistake. She blinked and forced the disturbing image away. She wasn’t a murderer. Nothing anyone told her would ever make her believe that.
But she could be a spy or practically anything else required if it meant getting back home to her child.
She would do anything to make that happen.
MICHAL HESITATED outside the bedroom door. He did not look forward to this confrontation. Instead of lessening, her troubles had continued to build the past few days. He had thought that taking her into the city would ease her mind, help her remember. But it had not. She appeared more ill at ease than before. Even their lovemaking had not allayed her unrest. He had hoped that with their restored physical union that she would recall their past together and that things would be as they once were. But that had not happened by any stretch of the imagination.
Though she responded to him physically in a manner that encouraged him greatly, there were still reservations. Reservations she refused to discuss at length. Though she adamantly denied his suspicions, he could feel her holding back.
Michal no longer doubted her amnesia.
But there was more. Something else stood between them—kept her from submitting to him completely.
The answer hit him with all the force of a physical blow. There had been someone else. Muscle after muscle went rigid until he felt forged of stone.
What did he expect?
Two years was a very long time. He could not claim celibacy on his part, either. Yet, the sexual gratification he had allowed himself from time to time had meant nothing…had changed nothing. Could she say the same? The mere idea of Amira with another man sent fire roaring through his veins, melting the granite-like weight that had pinned him to the spot. His movements spawned by fury, he burst through the bedroom door and glared straight into her startled gaze when she looked up.
“I will know the secret you are hiding from me.” He closed the distance between them with three long strides. “I will know it now, Amira.” The initial trepidation in her eyes morphed instantly into a fury that matched his own, the heat of it blazed from those deep blue depths as she rocketed to her feet. He leaned intimidatingly nearer and added, “If you lie to me, you will regret it.”
“Don’t call me that name,” she said with all the ferocity of a tigress. “My name is Ami Donovan.”
“Deny it until the end of time,” he shouted, “but Amira is your name. And Yael Peres was your father.”
She trembled but did not back away. “How is that possible?” She pushed up the sleeve of her blouse. “Look at my skin…and my hair.” She splayed her fingers through perpetually tousled golden tresses for emphasis. “I’m not Israeli.” She glanced at his hair and his skin to validate her point. “I’m Ami Donovan, an American-born citizen.”
The challenge remained in her stance, but the certainty in her eyes wavered when her gaze once more leveled on his.
“You are an American-born citizen, that is true enough,” he allowed more calmly as he touched her hair. She stiffened, which made him want to wrap his fingers in those long tresses and kiss her long and deep until she whimpered in submission. He tamped down his emotions, refusing to be baited by her show of will. “Your mother was fair with the same eyes the color of the sea.”
Double Impact: Never Say DieNo Way Back Page 33