Double Impact

by Tess Gerritsen

  “Did he hurt you?”

  She shook her head. He had, actually, but not the kind of hurt she felt certain to which Michal referred. She massaged her throat, subconsciously contradicting her response.

  He paused only inches away and tugged her hand from her throat. “You will have more bruises,” he commented, surveying the red welts on her flesh.

  She nodded. “Thank you for stopping him.” It sounded lame in afterthought, but she was immensely grateful for what he’d done. Her fate had already been decided by Carlos.

  Michal’s gaze zoomed in on hers like twin piercing laser beams. “Carlos believed you were hiding something.” He inclined his head and studied her eyes, her face, more closely. “Are you hiding anything from me?”

  She tamped down the automatic need to stiffen, to avert her eyes. He was watching for those very warning signals. “No.” The word didn’t come out quite as firmly as she would have liked, but she’d gotten it past the constriction in her throat. That was something. Her heart knocked brutally against her rib cage. He knew something. She was sure of it.

  There was no way to know which of her secrets he’d uncovered. If she gave away the wrong one…

  “Why do you still question me, Michal?” she demanded, hoping to shift the context of the discussion. She lifted her chin and glared at him defiantly. “If you suspect me of some deceit, why didn’t you let Carlos do what he would? Surely he would have extracted whatever truth you believe I’m hiding.”

  Fury flashed in those midnight-black eyes. “Answer the question. Do you or do you not have something you wish to tell me?”

  Though she could not recall anything about her life before two years ago, other than the dreams of her with this man, Ami couldn’t imagine that she had ever used her body to keep herself out of trouble. She had lived, until quite recently, in a very safe environment with a man who believed women to be equal to men in every way. She had a respected career as a nurse and she was the loving mother to a toddler. An ache pulsed through her when Nicholas’s face filtered through her mind.

  The very idea of whoring herself to achieve some cause…of setting up a man for betrayal…of betraying her own father, was utterly alien to her. It simply couldn’t be possible. The events she had witnessed the past two weeks were like scenes in some action-adventure movie or high-tech video game. None of it felt real.

  But it was.

  She looked deeply into Michal’s eyes. And she had to do whatever it took to stay in the game.

  No, she didn’t want to help the CIA or anyone else harm Michal.

  No, she couldn’t bear the thought of being responsible, directly or indirectly, for anyone else’s life.

  But she was damn sure going to take responsibility for her own survival.

  In this game, she was on her own. There was no way forward, that she could see, and no way back.

  There was only now.

  And right now she needed Michal Arad to need her. She wanted him to trust her whether she deserved it or not. Most of all, she longed to live at least two more days…time enough to figure out how to accomplish the two most important missions of her life.

  She must find a way to get back to her child if only for a moment. To hold him just one more time before she died.

  But first, she had to figure out how to save Michal’s life without alerting the CIA to her new stand.

  And all of that hinged on one person. Fran Woodard. If Fran warned Tanner, Ami was doomed.

  For now, though, she had a more pressing matter to which to attend.

  Earning Michal’s trust again now that he’d had to kill his right-hand man for her.

  “I have nothing to hide from you,” she told him in the most sensual tone she could muster with the image of death still indelibly seared in her brain.

  Something like regret flickered in those sinfully dark pools focused solely upon her. Fear that she’d somehow said the wrong thing made her heart stutter. But she couldn’t stop now.

  “You pulled me back into a world of which I have no memory.” Her gaze locked fully with his, despite the worry that he would read the confusion and fear churning inside her. “You tell me all the despicable things I did before and how a good portion of the world, including you, have reason to want me dead. But you allow me to live.” She tried without success to shake off the surreal quality that very nearly overwhelmed her. It all felt so impossible…but it was real.

  He was real.

  And he held the power over her very existence.

  “And still you question me?” She turned her back on him, praying her ruse would work to divert his focus. “What makes you any better than Carlos?” she added for good measure as she folded her arms over her breasts.

  She heard the raggedness of his breath as he exhaled. Afraid to even drag in a breath of her own, she held absolutely still and waited for his reaction.

  “I trust that you will tell me anything you believe I should know,” he said finally, his tone gentler now but laced with a definite defeat that she would never have associated with the dangerous man known as Michal Arad.

  Facing him once more, she struggled to read his eyes, but they quickly shuttered, refusing her access to his true feelings. Her chest felt suddenly heavy with sadness then. This was his world…a world of kill or be killed…of distrust and constantly looking over one’s shoulder. As much fear as he could inspire in others, he was just a man, sentenced to a prison of living for the day with no promise of tomorrow. For that, she wept inside, her heart squeezing, bleeding for him. She suddenly wanted to know all she had forgotten about this man. Where had he come from? What had happened in his life to shape him into the ruthless killer he was today? She resisted the urge to shake her head. Not totally ruthless, she argued with herself. There was a human compassion in Michal Arad that none of the others with whom he associated possessed.

  That was the part that attracted her to him.

  The part that promised hope.

  “There is one thing I’d like you to know,” she said as she reached for the buttons of his shirt.

  He stilled her hands by covering them with his own. Her gaze bumped into his and she saw resistance there. He didn’t want to be seduced. Here was a man accustomed to doing the seducing. Well, this time it was going to be different.

  “And what is that?” he asked cautiously.

  She twined her fingers with his and moved closer still. “That I need you more than I’ve ever needed you before.” She pulled his hands down to her waist and settled them there so that she could return to the task of releasing the buttons of his shirt. It startled her to realize just how true the words she’d spoken were.

  She did need him.

  And, as crazy as it sounded, he needed her.

  She touched the bronzed skin revealed as his shirt, free of the buttons restricting it, gaped open. Her breath caught and heat instantly shot her internal thermometer into the red.

  “I killed a man for you today and I would do it again if necessary. But I do not take death lightly. Do not play games with me now, Ami,” he whispered savagely, his hands tightening on her waist.

  Hearing him call her Ami instead of Amira sent a thrill through her. But it was the ferocity of the fire in his eyes that undid her the most.

  “Michal.” She took his handsome face in her hands and was caught off guard all over again at how very much her son looked like him. “This is not a game.” She pulled his mouth down to hers and whispered, “It’s very, very real.”

  She pressed her lips to his and kissed him with all the desperation exploding inside her. The exotic taste that was purely Michal assaulted her senses, weakened her knees. He pulled her closer, sensing her need for support.

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured between kisses.

  She pulled back just far enough to rip open his shirt and bare the rest of that amazing chest to her. “What about you?” she asked, then nibbled his full lower lip. “I wouldn’t want to cause you discomfor
t, either.”

  He didn’t bother answering with words. Instead, proving his physical prowess in spite of his injury, he lifted her, taking most of her weight with his good arm, and carried her to the bed.

  For a long while they simply stood there, next to the enormous bed still rumpled from the previous night’s tossing and turning, and stared into each other’s eyes. There was so much she wanted to know…to say…to believe. Words would never be enough to convey what she felt at that precise moment.

  When they could no longer bear to merely look, they undressed each other slowly, the urgency taking a back seat to the more tender emotions neither of them could deny. Her blouse floated down to the floor. Shoes were kicked aside. His trousers as well as her slacks joined the tangle of attire scattered around them.

  All that stood between them was the sheerest, most intimate of fabrics and soon those were gone, as well. The white bandage was stark against his dark skin, a startling reminder of how he had risked his life for hers. His broad shoulders looked powerful enough to hold up the world and she was so glad he carried the weight of hers for she was incapable of that enormous feat just now. The marvelously sculpted width narrowed into a lean, ribbed waist. The beat of her heart increased to a rapid staccato as her gaze moved over his well-endowed manhood and down those long, heavily muscled legs. Every part of him was perfectly formed.

  She looked up into his eyes once more and found the same appreciation glimmering there that she felt. Her stomach tingled with the knowledge that her body pleased him, as well. She’d left off the bandage to support her ribs this morning and now she was glad for it.

  Suddenly those strong arms wrapped around her and snuggled her body close to his. The nudge of his sex sent all sentimental thoughts and sensations scurrying away; there was only the undeniable need to have him buried deeply inside her.

  He lowered her to the tousled bed and settled on all fours above her. Slowly, one lingering kiss at a time, he loved every welt, every bruise, every scrape on her flesh. Each flick of his tongue and tease of his lips sent shower after shower of heat and desire cascading along every square inch of her. That wicked mouth brushed the silken curls of her mound and she cried out with the intensity of it.

  He parted her thighs and continued with his sensual torture. Using his tongue, his teeth and his lips, he suckled, nibbled and laved her to the very edge of orgasm. She wanted to beg him to stop, to plunge into her, but instead she urged him on, threading her fingers into this thick, dark hair, arching to meet him. One long finger slid inside her, making her feminine muscles contract wildly. She moaned her approval.

  Another finger slipped inside, circled and rubbed. With two fingers deep inside her he suckled the budding part of her sex and sent her completely over the edge. She tensed as every sensory perception froze then focused entirely on that one part of her as wave after wave of sweet satiation flooded her. Her body grew limp with the heat of it.

  She locked her legs around his and urged his hips toward hers. She needed him inside her now. To finish this the right way. Still, he held back; instead, taking more time to lave and suckle her breasts. Her fingers bit into his muscled arms, her hips rose to find fulfillment, but he denied her.

  She was ready.

  Michal peered into the blue eyes that had gone almost navy with desire. Lust glazed those wide depths, and it pleased him greatly to know he had taken her there. Her body arched like a bow once more, seeking to become one with his, but he held back, needing to see her like this a moment longer. To know, at this precise second, that she was completely his, body and soul.

  The truth she had denied him only made him want her more. Common sense told him he shouldn’t trust her if she refused to tell him about the child, but her desperation made him understand. He knew desperation. Fool that he might be, he was certain he knew her.

  She was his once more and that was all that mattered.

  If he died tonight, having her at his side would make it worth the price.

  With that thought he thrust fully into her hot, welcoming body. They cried out together and raw, primal pleasure quaked through them. He trembled and so did she.

  His body burned with the need to spill his seed deep inside her…to make her with child again…to share every step of that momentous occasion with her this time.

  Her hips rose to meet his every thrust, her gaze locked with his and in that moment of completion, when both their bodies reached the ultimate pinnacle, he knew that whatever happened tomorrow, tonight and the woman in his arms were all that mattered.

  THAT NIGHT Michal made love to her twice more. Cocooned in his arms, Ami slept deeply, her body sated from their lovemaking. He held her tightly as if he feared she might somehow slip away during the night.

  She dreamed of their time together before. Their lovemaking. The night Nicholas was conceived…on the eve of that dangerous mission.

  She moaned, pushing away the next images that surfaced, but she couldn’t stop them. They tumbled in one over the other, dampening her skin with sweat…making her heart race…

  HE WAS ON HIS KNEES. His olive skin and dark eyes contrasted sharply with his graying hair and his gauzy-white robe. Her gaze jerked back to his chest. The knife had been plunged deeply into his chest; blood soaked rapidly across the front of his white robe.

  The pain in his eyes as he looked up at her shook her. “W-why?” he croaked.

  She stared into those anguished eyes with no emotion except relief and then, suddenly she knew…

  She stumbled back a step, her head shaking with the realization forming in her brain. Her eyes connected fully with his and she whispered, “Daddy?”

  AMI BOLTED UPRIGHT in the bed, her lungs heaving against the lack of oxygen. She blinked in the darkness and the dream shattered into a thousand screaming pieces of agony.

  Michal moved up beside her in the darkness, his arms going around her, comforting her.

  “Are you all right?” he whispered hoarsely.

  No.

  Her heart thundered hard, but failed to send enough oxygen to her brain to ensure its proper function, leaving her unable to form the single syllable required to articulate that one word out loud.

  She wasn’t all right. She would never be all right again.

  She’d killed her father.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  MICHAL WATCHED Ami sleep the next morning for a while longer before he left her. Part of him wanted to hold her again and to hear her cry out his name in that sweet, melodic voice caught in the throes of ecstasy, but she had hardly slept at all after the nightmares. He didn’t have the heart to wake her now that she appeared finally to be resting peacefully. Though he’d held her and crooned to her until she dozed off once more, her bits and pieces of sleep had been riddled with more nightmares. She had sobbed, crying out frequently.

  I didn’t know. I didn’t know.

  Whatever demons had haunted her, they had been relentless. None of her mumblings had made sense. The one phrase was the only string of distinguishable words.

  When he considered all that she had been through since he’d dragged her back into his world, he supposed that was completely understandable. Even if she never fully remembered her past, her time with him had given her numerous events to evoke future nightmares.

  She was right in that regard, he admitted. He had pulled her back into his world. Selfishly. But, had he not, the people of his own homeland would have hunted her down and executed her for the murder of Yael Peres. She had been much safer with him than left on her own.

  Still, the regret he suffered was great. The idea that his son was left without his mother for all this time ate at him like a cancer. He longed to know the child, but she had chosen to keep her secret. Hurt arced through his heart. He told himself again it was fear that kept her quiet on that score.

  He hoped his emotions had not blinded him once more to the possibility of betrayal.

  Michal closed his eyes and exhaled wearily. He was so very tir
ed of this life. Every minute of every day was filled with the possibility of instant death, with the threat of betrayal from those closest to him.

  But the killing was the worst. It never ended. There was always a new name added to the list. An endless roster of Who’s Who among the soon to die.

  It was no wonder Ami did not want him to know about their son. Look what he had to offer an heir.

  Money, certainly. Money tainted with the blood of a hundred men. An infamous name synonymous with death. His son would never know that he had served his country…that Michal Arad was, in fact, a hero.

  No one would ever know.

  Sick to death of the self-pity session, Michal pushed to his feet and left the room quietly so as not to disturb Ami. Strong, bitter coffee was what he needed now. He and his men had to be ready for tomorrow’s quest.

  Another name on the list.

  More money in their pockets, which kept his cover intact.

  One more chink in his conscience. He feared that very soon he would have no conscience at all. That he would truly become like those he executed.

  He paused, one hand on the carafe. He glanced at the place where Carlos had fallen less than twenty-four hours ago. Perhaps he was already like them.

  The telephone rang, tugging him from the disturbing thought and thrusting him into yet another.

  His gaze went immediately beyond the door to the place where he kept the telephone hidden. He’d tucked it away and rendered useless the one in the bedroom after Ami’s arrival. Since he rarely received calls, its presence had gone undetected. Michal’s orders came directly from Ron, never by telephone or any other means that could be monitored or traced.

  Setting the carafe aside, Michal moved toward the sound, ticking off the names of the handful of people who knew the number.

  This could not be good.

  He opened the door to the sideboard that served as a liquor cabinet and pulled out the base, quickly picking up the receiver just prior to the fourth ring.

  He muttered a frustrated French greeting, one he and Ron had agreed upon if the use of a telephone were ever to become necessary.