But she was pretty sure she’d lost a grip on her instincts at the same time that she’d lost her memory. After all, how good could instincts honed only over a two-year period be?
Just then he looked straight at her, catching her staring at him. She turned away abruptly, her cheeks heating with humiliation. How could she have made love with this man? He’d abducted her from her workplace, keeping her away from her child, and had emotionally abused her beyond reason. Even in the throes of passion he had warned her that he would kill her if she betrayed him again.
How could she be such a fool?
Forcing her attention back to her surroundings she told herself to make the most of this outing. Try to judge how far the city was from the house. Look for an embassy. Find a way to let someone know she was being held against her will.
A tall order when four other men accompanied them. She almost laughed out loud. A tall order period when in the presence of Michal Arad who missed nothing.
She’d decided that Jack Tanner and the CIA had written her off. Decided they considered it too much trouble to bother rescuing her. She was her only hope.
No matter how risky, she had to find a way to escape for Nicholas’s sake.
Marseilles was larger than she’d expected. Cosmopolitan and exuberant, the city had a magnificent ambience about it. As they drove through the medieval-village-style neighborhoods, the city’s age became instantly apparent. Ancient would describe it best. Ancient but lovely. Museums, small walking alleys, terrace cafés, boutiques and shops dominated the charming city. Yet nothing was as beautiful as the Old Port, lined by its seaside walks, filled with fishing boats and yachts, surrounded by small streets teeming with seafood restaurants and shops. Pedestrians strolled leisurely on the wide seaside walks, enjoying the September sun.
Carlos parked in an alley near a terrace café reminiscent of ones she’d seen in movies. If she’d ever been to a place like this she had no recall whatsoever of it. Big surprise, she mused dryly.
Michal kept his left hand at the small of her back as they emerged from the vehicle and walked the short distance to the café. She could feel the tension in him as he constantly scanned the area. Nothing escaped his notice. He was like a stealthy panther moving through the crowd, constantly alert to threat, postured for battle.
Once they were seated with his back to the wall of the café, her next to him and the others spread out around them as a security barrier, Michal ordered his as well as her lunch. He insisted that she had always loved the bouillabaisse du pêcher and the Cassis white wine, which was produced locally.
Ami dredged up a smile and managed a thank-you. She’d have to take his word for that. The main thing was, she was out of the house. She had to make the most of it. If she responded to his generosity, maybe he’d bring her out more often, providing more opportunities for escape.
She blinked and looked away from him. The lurch in her stomach at the thought of never seeing him again made her want to scream. She’d made love with the man. Hadn’t been able to help herself. It was done. Dammit, she couldn’t fall for him, no matter how she’d felt about him two years ago. Whatever and whoever she had been two years ago, she wasn’t that person anymore. She was a mother. She had a son to get back to. He needed her and his safety was all that mattered. This life-she glanced at Michal-was certainly no life for a child. She knew without question that Michal would want his son with him if he knew of his existence. But Nicholas might not be Michal’s child, she reasoned.
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.