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, though 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.”
A muscle ticked in Michal’s tightly clenched jaw.
Ron glanced first right then left, noting the children racing after the goat that had escaped their watch. “My CIA contact says she has no memory of any of the events from two years ago.” His gaze locked with Michal’s once more. “The risk that she might remember is far too great. You must take the proper steps.”
Michal inclined his head, his barely banked fury no doubt blazing in his eyes. “And if I choose otherwise, what will you do? Kill me?” He smirked. “I think not.”
Enough talk. Michal turned away. There was nothing more to say…not even to the man who was his only friend, the only soul on earth he could trust. He walked away.
“Michal.”
Though he hesitated, he did not turn around to face the other man.
“What happened two years ago was a necessary risk. This is not. You know what has to be done.”
The warning fell on deaf ears.
Whether Amira lived or died was Michal’s decision.
His alone.
“I’D LIKE TO TAKE a walk.”
Ami stared into the cold, beady eyes of the man named Carlos and prayed he would not deny her request. Michal had allowed her to go outside for short periods each day for the past three. Since he’d been gone all morning she could see no reason one of the other men couldn’t do the same. She just hadn’t expected to find Carlos outside the door of the bedroom turned prison. Why did it have to be his turn to watch her?
His glare turned more venomous but, to her credit, she held her ground. She knew he, more so than any of the others, despised her. As with all else related to her current situation, she had no idea why. She only knew that she had to find a way to escape. Nothing else mattered.
“Go back into the room. I have no time or desire to bother with a whore such as you.”
Fear raced up her spine, but she held herself rigid against it. “I am allowed to take a walk. Michal said so,” she argued, working hard to keep her voice from quavering. “I want to do it now.”
Carlos made a dismissive sound and turned away from her. He folded his arms over his chest and propped against the wall next to her door as if that were the end of the subject.
She had to do this. Michal was gone. This might be her only chance to get outside without him watching her every move. “Fine.” She swallowed back the terror rising in her throat. “I’ll just ask one of the other men to accompany me.”
When he didn’t respond, she focused her gaze on the end of the hall where it opened into the massive great room and started in that direction. Her heart thudded so hard against her rib cage she could scarcely take a breath. One foot in front of the other, she reminded her sluggish brain. She was almost there and Carlos hadn’t demanded that she stop. As she came to the entryway leading into the great room she could see three men lounged around the room. One had been nicer to her than the others. Kolin, she was pretty sure. Kolin from Ireland. It seemed that Michal Arad’s band of terrorists were multinational.
Not merely a ragtag group of multinational terrorists. These men are highly trained, the cream of the crop. Their ruthlessness is rivaled only by their superior intelligence and innate instincts. No one has been able to stop them.
Ami jerked to a halt as the words crashed into her thoughts, shattering all else. She blinked. Where had she heard those words before? The voice sounded vaguely familiar. She frowned, concentrating with all her might.
Tanner.
His voice. Had he said those words to her in the nurses’ lounge when he’d tried to warn her about all this craziness? Why hadn’t she listened? Uncertainty turned the hardwood floor beneath her feet to mire. How could she hope to escape?
Suddenly aware that all eyes in the room were on her, Ami jerked her attention back to the matter at hand. She sucked in a bolstering breath and manufactured a shaky smile. “Kolin.” She looked directly at the only man who had shown a glimmer of kindness toward her. “I’d like to take a walk now. Would you mind—”
The rest of the words trapped in her throat when someone grabbed a handful of her hair, snapping her head back. Carlos, she realized, terror claiming her all over again. He jerked her against him and pressed his face close to hers. “You disobeyed me,” he snarled. “No one disobeys me.”
“I—I just wanted—”
“Shut up!” He tightened his fist in her hair. “When I’m finished with your punishment you won’t forget to obey me again.”
She cried out as he jerked her backward, toward the bedroom that was her prison. Begging for help would be pointless. None of the other men would dare defy Carlos. He was the second in command.
“Carlos, please…I…”
He shoved her into the room. For one second she prayed he would slam the door and leave her be. The next second she knew that was not going to happen. He slammed the door behind him and moved toward her like the evil predator he was.
Fear sent her stumbling backward. Her heart stuttered to a halt in her chest as the fury in his eyes turned to a sinister gleam. Her throat closed in fear. He was…
He slapped her hard, knocking her off her feet.
“You may have Michal fooled,” he bellowed, “but I know what you’re up to.” Her jerked her to her feet when she tried to scramble away from him. “You’ve come back to finish the job you started two years ago.” He pounded his chest with his free hand. “I know this. I am not blinded by your whorish temptation.”
She tried to claw his fingers away as they closed around her throat. The coppery tang of blood leeched from her lip into her mouth. “Stop,” she whimpered, his punishing grip very nearly overpowering her ability to speak. She tried to knee him in the groin, but he twisted away from her feeble effort. He slammed her against the nearest wall and jabbed the barrel of his weapon into her temple.
“Who sent you here?” he demanded, his face only inches from hers, the stale smell of whiskey on his breath.
She tried to shake her head. To deny his accusations. But his brute strength pinned her helplessly to the wall.
The barrel of the weapon bore more deeply into her skull. “You will tell me or you will die.”
“Laissez-la partir.”
Though she didn’t understand the words, the stone-cold voice belonged to Michal.
“I said, let her go,” Michal repeated.
Relief flooded Ami, making her legs so weak beneath her that she collapsed to the floor the instant Carlos released her. Her chest ached with the harsh banging of her heart.
Carlos turned on Michal. “She makes you weak,” he accused, the pitch of his voice rising to match his fury.
Ami cradled her bruised throat with her hands, gasping to fill her lungs more fully with life-giving air, but her gaze was locked on the two men squaring off only a few feet away. Carlos still held his gun in his hand. Michal stared him down, his own hands empty but clenched into hard fists at his sides.
“Your orders are only to see that she does not escape,” he said firmly.
Carlos waved his gun at her. Ami gasped and curled into herself protectively. “She makes a fool of you, my friend. She was sent here to destroy us…just like before.”
Michal’s dark gaze remained steady on Carlos, his composure never faltered. “That is for me to decide. You—” he moved a step closer to Carlos “—will never touch her again. Is that understood?”
For three long beats Ami wasn’t sure if Carlos was going to back down. His fingers tightened around his weapon as the face-off continued for another seemingly endless second, then he said, “You will regret this day, my friend.”
Carlos walked out of the room, not waiting for Michal to say more.
Thank God. A sob burst loose from her chest. She closed her eyes and tried hard to hold back the tears, but it was impossible. If Michal had not arrived when he had…
Strong arms suddenly scooped her up. She tried to escape, but he held her firmly against his chest. What was he going to do with her? Fear pumped through her veins once more. She stared up at Michal and tried to make her lips form the words to ask that very question, but she didn’t have the strength.
He carried her into the bathroom and settled her on her feet. She seized the opportunity to put some distance between them, moving around to the far side of the sink. She pressed against the wall, trying to make herself small and unnoticeable. Some of the panic had receded, but the fear lingered still. He planned to kill her…he’d made no bones about that. She couldn’t fathom why he’d bothered to save her from Carlos.
Unless…he wanted the honor for himself.
She shivered uncontrollably. That was it. He’d said as much. It would be his decision. He would no doubt do the deed personally.
Emotion brimmed behind her lashes as she thought again of her sweet baby and the idea that she would never see him again. Another sob wrenched from her heart.
Michal moved toward her, trapping her between the wall and his powerful body. Her fingers fisted against her sides, the urge to run or to fight so fierce she could scarcely resist the impulse to do one or the other. He growled savagely beneath his breath in that language she thought to be French. She didn’t understand the words, but he looked furious.
Her breath caught as he reached toward her.
That dark, dark gaze collided with hers. “Don’t move,” he ordered softy but, even tempered, the tone echoed with the danger that emanated from every square inch of him.
As gently as if she were an injured child, he cleaned her bleeding lip with a damp cloth, dabbing tenderly. Stunned by the act of mercy, she could only stare at him and watch the startling metamorphosis of emotions on his face. This close she could see the tiny lines that marred the smooth complexion of his skin. Lines that spoke of years of close calls with death and wielding that same power over others. The hard set to his chiseled jaw told her more about the unyielding determination he possessed than any words could have. His entire body was honed to lethal perfection. And yet the tenderness exposed in the beard-shadowed, granite-like features of that same face shifted something deep inside her.
He could kill her in an instant, but instead he was making her come.
The breath hissed past her lips. It was him that she’d been dreaming of…even before the episode in the ER with the injured Israeli man…before the startling conversation with Jack Tanner.
Michal Arad was the man she’d dreamed of making love with so often that she’d been unable to commit to Robert. The dark image that had haunted her dreams had rendered the possibility of a future with the real, flesh-and-blood man in her life impossible. Robert hadn’t had a chance, she realized ironically. He’d been competing with a ghost…
A ghost from her past.
“They all want you dead,” Michal murmured as he studiously worked to soothe the bruised skin of her throat with the cool, damp cloth. That dark, dark gaze lifted to meet hers. “What am I to do?”
Later, when she could think back on that moment, Ami couldn’t say what made her do it—some long-buried instinct or self-protective urge—but she thrust her arms around his neck and buried her face in his chest and sobbed.
She didn’t want to die.
Somehow she knew that though he appeared to have the most reason to want her dead, he was the only one who could save her.