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 heavy 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.