She’d plotted her strategy all day. Michal had departed the city shortly before noon to join his men. She didn’t know the rendezvous point or what the mission was, but she had garnered that it would take approximately twenty-four hours. It was almost dark now. Raoul had to have a slight buzz. If she could get out of the room she could hide out on one of the boats. The hotel wasn’t that far from the port. While they had enjoyed that leisurely stroll this morning, Michal had told her that boats arrived and departed from the port at all hours of the day and night. She repressed another shudder when she considered what their cargo might be. She’d have to be extremely careful in her selection or she’d end up in more trouble than she was now.
Her plan didn’t include leaving the country aboard one of the vessels, she only wanted to hide out there until Michal and his men stopped searching for her. She’d noticed one large fishing boat that was under repair, that one surely wouldn’t be going anywhere.
Michal would expect her to flee the city. With that in mind, he and his men would do a quick sweep of the city and then start searching for her beyond that perimeter. She, meanwhile, would leave the boat and take a taxi to the closest embassy. Though she didn’t have any money of her own, Michal had left what appeared to be a sizable tip for the room service waiter. Ami swallowed tightly. She had taken it before the cart arrived. Raoul hadn’t noticed or didn’t care.
Ami had never stolen anything in her life—at least in the part of her life that she remembered. But extreme situations called for desperate measures. This, she concluded gravely, was as extreme as it got.
“I think I’ll take a bath.” She sprang up from the bed and gave Raoul a big smile. “Let me know if anything exciting happens.”
Raoul tamped out his cigarette. “Señora, I fear the only excitement will be in my imagination.” His slow perusal of her body and accompanying wolfish grin told her he was thinking about her naked in that enormous tub.
She kept her smile tacked into place as she headed toward the en suite bath. On second thought, she hesitated at the armoire long enough to take out one of the silky gowns Michal had purchased for her. When she closed the drawer, she made sure a pair of black lacy panties dangled from it. She crossed the room, the gown tossed over her shoulder, and turned on the stereo so that sensuous music drifted from its decades’ old speakers. She had no idea what the words to the song meant, but they sounded sexy enough.
“You don’t mind, do you?” she asked of the man staring openmouthed at her. When she started to unbutton her blouse, his eyes bulged.
Raoul’s harsh intake of breath was indication enough that he would be preoccupied while she pretended to bathe. Belatedly, he shook his head in answer to her question.
“Good.” She crossed the room, taking care to sway her hips provocatively. When she reached the door, she paused. “I’ll be a while,” she purred, gifting him with another wide, teasing smile before she closed and locked the door behind her.
She threw the gown to the floor and quickly turned on the water in the lavish tub. Who would have thought that such elegant amenities would exist in a hotel that hadn’t been renovated in several decades? She remembered then that Michal had mentioned that in the 1960s the place had been a hotel casino. Maybe that was why it was decorated so extravagantly. What had most likely been quite elegant more than forty years ago put a new slant on the phrase “shabby chic.”
It would serve her purpose nicely.
She pushed up her sleeves and, using the cheap stopper, since the original drain mechanism apparently no longer worked, she adjusted the drain to suit her. This would allow the water to escape to an extent but would simultaneously permit the tub to fill enough to create the volume of splashing noise she wanted. The idea was to make sure it was noisy, but didn’t overflow anytime soon.
With that out of the way, she quickly dried her arms and moved to the window. The casing and sashes were old, the latch slightly rusty. But, with effort, she managed to open it. The window wasn’t large, but she could fit through. Since the sashes opened inward she was able to lean fully out through the opening. The room was on the third floor, but she’d already decided on an escape route. An old rusty pipe about six inches in diameter, probably a drainpipe of some sort, was attached to the building’s facade about eighteen to twenty inches from the window. Every few feet there was a raised collar-like section that appeared to connect the lengths of pipe. That would, hopefully, keep her from sliding straight down too fast and injuring herself.
Taking one last look over her shoulder at the closed door, she said a final prayer and climbed out the window. Holding her breath, she swung one arm then one leg over to the pipe. Once she’d locked on tightly with both arms and both legs, she eased up just a little on her grip so that she would slide downward fireman-pole style. The rust bit into her palms like sandpaper, but she ignored it. She had to hold on tightly, ease down just a little at a time.
The blood roared in her ears so loudly she wasn’t sure she would have heard anyone if they had screamed her name. When she reached the dusty ground, she took a moment to regain her footing before she moved. Her entire body felt weak with a numbing mixture of fear and adrenaline. But she was down. She’d almost made it to freedom!
Looking carefully left to right, she started forward through the shadows. It was nearly dark now. Too late, she wished she’d remembered the head covering. The lightness of her hair would work against her in the dark. Not to mention it was illegal for a woman to leave the house without it.
She swore softly. She just couldn’t get caught, that’s all. This might be her only chance.
Moving soundlessly, she edged around the corner of the building. This would be the tough part. She had to cross the street. Then she could stay in alleyways until she reached the port…but crossing this one street was necessary. Though there weren’t any streetlights to speak of, there was light from windows. The businesses had closed their doors before dusk and most of the cafés were a few blocks in the other direction. The area around the hotel was pretty deserted at this hour other than the occasional patron going and coming from its entrance. But those who lived above the shops had turned on lights.
Her gaze shifted up the block to a car parked at the side of the street. That would help. She stay pressed against the walls of the closed shops as she made her way to the car. Holding her breath again, she worked up her courage and moved swiftly across the street.
Once in the adjacent alleyway, she let go the breath that ached in her lungs. Thank God. No one shouted for her to stop. No one called out her name. She glanced up at the third floor of the hotel across the street and wondered if Raoul had noticed she was gone yet. Probably not or she’d hear him ranting all the way over here.
Peering into the darkness further down the alleyway until she was convinced no one hovered in the shadows, she began to make her way to the rear of the block that would open out onto the port side.
The unmistakable sound of a footfall a few feet behind her skimmed her auditory senses. Then nothing. She froze. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end.
Slowly, careful not to make even the slightest sound, she turned around. From behind her a hand snaked out and covered her mouth. Strong arms slammed her against a hard body.
She fought valiantly, kicking and scratching at the hand holding her. It couldn’t be over this quickly. She was so close!
Her heel connected with a shin and a string of French profanities hissed past the lips mere inches from her head. Instinctively she bent her head forward then threw it back, hitting her assailant in the nose or mouth or both.
The arms suddenly loosened.
She was free.
She lunged forward.
Something hit her hard in the back of the head.
The ground flew up to meet her.
Bitch! was the last thing she heard as the darkness swallowed her.
PAIN SPLIT her skull.
Ami moaned.
Her lids were so h
eavy she couldn’t make her eyes open.
What had happened to her…she…?
The man grabbing her in the darkness…trying to run…the pain shattering through her skull.
She’d gotten away from Michal’s guard.
But someone else had grabbed her.
Fear ripped through her chest.
Or maybe it was another of Michal’s men. Someone who’d been watching from a distance to make sure she didn’t run.
Carlos…or one of the others.
Now he would know.
Summoning all of her willpower, she opened her eyes.
She blinked against the dim lighting, but her eyes slowly adjusted. A rickety old fan stirred overhead. The ceiling was dingy and stained by long-term water leaks.
Not the hotel. It had been shabby, but not like this. Whoever had taken her, she wasn’t back at the hotel.
She turned her head to see more. Pain sliced through her. She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her teeth until it passed. When she opened her eyes once more she saw that a woman was sitting in a chair only a few feet away, her attention focused on the paperback book she was reading.
Confusion joined the pain swirling inside her brain as Ami studied the woman’s features. Gray hair, the soft, glistening kind, was swept up and back. She was dressed in dark slacks, maybe navy or black, and a pale blouse, white or soft blue. She definitely did not look like the type Ami had expected to find guarding her. She looked like that actress…what was her name? Katharine Hepburn. Or maybe a schoolteacher.
Recognition suddenly crashed into her like a train bursting from a dark tunnel.
The waitress.
CIA operative.
Fran Woodard.
“Welcome back,” Fran said, her gaze now focused on Ami instead of the book.
Somehow, in spite of the skull-cracking pain and drunken feeling that accompanied it, Ami sat up. Her clothes were dirty, rust was smeared down the front of her blouse from where she’d shimmied down that pipe. She looked up at the woman and the room spun wildly for about five seconds.
“You don’t have a concussion, but it’s a pretty nasty contusion. Hurts like hell, huh?”
From out of nowhere fury ignited inside Ami. What the hell was this woman doing here? Did that mean Tanner was here, as well?
Fran stood and smoothed her free hand over her slacks to straighten the wrinkles from sitting so long watching her charge. “I’ll get the boss.” She left, closing the door behind her.
Fear, stark and vivid, surged through Ami once more. What if Fran was a double agent? What if she had plans of her own for Ami? What would the Israelis pay to get their hands on her? Was there a price on her head already?
Her heart pumped so hard her chest ached, momentarily distracting her from the insistent throbbing in her brain.
She had to protect herself. Ami moved as quickly as she could, searching the meager furnishings of the room for some sort of weapon.
There was nothing.
The door suddenly opened once more.
Ami’s head came up from her futile search.
Jack Tanner stood in the doorway, glowering at her.
“What the hell did you think you were doing?”
“You did this?” she accused, her breath catching as another stab of pain speared through her.
He shook his head, regret rearranged the features of his face, softening the signs of anger that had been there only a second or so ago.
“One of my men.” His temper flared again. “But he claims he had no choice.”
Ami vaguely remembered kicking and clawing, and then the coup de grace, the head butt. “Why didn’t he identify himself?” she snapped, then winced. “I thought I was about to be raped—” her gaze met Tanner’s “—or worse.”
He crossed the room and visually examined her, as if looking for other signs of mishandling. “Worse was what you were headed for.” He glared at her then. “If you’d been caught by any of the locals, do you have any idea what they would have done to you? You weren’t properly attired and—”
“I don’t want to hear it,” she cut him off. “They didn’t catch me, you did. I want to know why you’ve been following me and haven’t tried to contact me.” Pain seared through her again. What she really wanted to know was why he hadn’t gotten her out of here.
“Following you is my job,” he said tightly. “And keeping you alive, if I can.”
Yeah, right. Her own temper rushed toward the boiling point. “For how long? Until I accomplish whatever task it is the CIA needs me to do?” He wasn’t going to rescue her…not until she’d done whatever the hell it was he wanted.
He didn’t have to respond. She saw the answer in his eyes. “That’s it, isn’t it? I’m expendable. Once I’ve done your bidding, it doesn’t matter whether I survive or not.”
“That’s not true,” he countered savagely. “I will keep my word. I’ll get you back to your son. I won’t go back on that promise.”
As if she could trust him. She didn’t even know the man.
“Forgive me if I don’t put a lot of stock in that guarantee,” she tossed back at him. The whole world had gone mad as far as she could see. The only thing she wanted to do was to go home. But no one would let her.
“Why didn’t you just let me go?” she asked, the anger pulsing out of her like the blood from a severed artery. There was no need to ask him how her son was, he’d never gone back. He’d been tailing her…her and Michal.
He looked away then. “I can’t do that. Not until this is finished.”
She threw up her hands in surrender. “To hell with it. I give up. I’m never going to see my child again and we both know it.” She rounded on him then. “Why not just admit that and be done with it? I’m dead, right?”
Ten long seconds ticked by before he answered. “As far as anyone else is concerned, your survival is not essential to the mission,” he admitted wearily.
She started to shake her head, but then remembered the hot ball of pain pulsing at the base of her skull. She laughed instead, a dry, brittle sound. “I knew it.”
“But that’s not the way I see it,” he pressed. “I’ll keep my word, Ami. You have to trust me.”
She glared up at him from beneath her lashes. “Like hell. I can’t trust anyone.”
“I have everything set,” he said more quietly as if fearing someone would overhear him. “I have a backup plan that no one else knows about. Your son is safe. I’ll see that you’re reunited with him. But you’ve got to do exactly what I tell you. I can’t help you if you get me killed or one of my operatives spotted by Arad or his people. I can’t help you if I’m out of the picture,” he reiterated.
She took the final step that stood between them. “Swear to me that you won’t let anything happen to my child and that if I survive this you’ll get me to him.”
“I swear.” He started to say more but didn’t or couldn’t. Slowly, without taking his eyes from hers, he lifted his hand and stroked her cheek. “I won’t let you down.”
For that brief moment a memory surfaced—him holding her…kissing her. She blinked the image away. She remembered something he’d said that first day they’d met…something about their relationship before.
“Did we…?” Her gaze locked with his and she pleaded for the whole truth. She didn’t want any more lies. She was so sick and tired of deception.
“Yes.” He lowered his hand and backed off emotionally. She felt his withdrawal. “But that was before. Our…personal relationship ended when you went undercover.”
That meant only one thing. “He’s Nicholas’s father.” The words were scarcely a whisper, a mere breath, but the realization was so profound she staggered beneath the weight of it. On some level she’d known.
“Yes,” Tanner admitted. “He’s the father. Do you understand what that means?”
She looked up at him once more.
“If he finds out about the child, he’ll do whatever necessary to get his
hands on him. Is this the kind of life you want for your child?”
She shook her head slowly from side to side, the pain now relegated to some rarely used area of gray matter. As the rest of her hurts, it no longer mattered. “I don’t want that.”
“Then this mission is your only hope. As long as Arad is alive, you and your son won’t be safe from his reach. He’s too powerful…too ruthless.”
They were going to kill him, Ami realized. The thought seemed to come from some faraway place. She felt somehow outside her body as she watched her mind absorb the implication of his statement. She’d suspected that, as well.
“You want me to help you kill him.”
Again his eyes answered before he did. “Yes.”
How could she do that? He was her son’s father…he was her…lover. Emotion twisted inside her. She wasn’t a murderer. No matter what anyone said, she would not believe that.
“Look at it this way,” Tanner said, calling her attention to him once more, “one more sick terrorist will be dead and you and your son will be free of him once and for all.”
She backed up a step, putting her hands up in a stop fashion. “If he’s so bad, why hasn’t the CIA done this already? Why wait for me to come along? Surely I can’t be that important to the success of the mission.”
Tanner plowed his fingers through his hair, apparently annoyed that she didn’t just go along with his plan. But none of this made sense.
“It’s complicated,” he hedged.
Her fury kindled again. “Don’t let my simple mind stop you from giving an explanation your best shot.”
He held up a hand in protest. “I didn’t mean it that way. There’s just some things that I can’t tell you.”
She gritted her teeth to the count of five in hopes of slowing her anger’s ascent. It didn’t work. “Well, tell me what you can.”
“Arad has served a purpose in the past.”
Disbelief shook her. “So the CIA deals in terrorists? Let them live as long as they serve a purpose. Please, no wonder you guys got your hands slapped after—”
Double Impact: Never Say DieNo Way Back Page 35
