Ami’s heart beat violently. The blood roared deafeningly in her ears. This was it…her last chance.
“I can’t do this,” she admitted in a rush, despite her fear of what the admission would cost her. She couldn’t. She simply couldn’t do what they wanted. Tears filled her eyes and she prayed this woman would somehow understand. “You have to help me,” she pleaded, desperation mounting. “I need to get back to my son.”
Fran’s smile sagged just a fraction and the subtlest shift in her eyes told Ami that she sympathized at least to some degree. “They’re going to kill him,” she whispered gravely, confirming what Ami already knew. “There’s nothing any of us can do to stop that. His number’s up. They need him out of the way for whatever is next on the agenda.”
Ami clamped down on her bottom lip to hold back the cry of anguish that burgeoned in her throat. There had to be a way to save him. She grabbed onto her courage with both hands. “I won’t help them do it. I can’t.”
The older woman’s eyes searched hers for two long beats. “Well,” she finally said beneath her breath, “I won’t tell anyone if you don’t. Do what you have to.” She folded her brochure and manufactured that ten-thousand-watt smile once more. “I’m so sorry to hear that, sugar,” she said with an exaggerated sigh. “We all turn to God sooner or later.” She moved toward the door. “Thanks so much for your kind hospitality.”
Ami followed her onto the portico, uncertain what to do next. Would she tell Tanner that Ami had refused to cooperate? What about her son? “Will you be back?” she asked, her voice shaking now. “What will they do?”
“I’m afraid I won’t be back this way, dear,” she said with exaggerated regret in that Gone With the Wind voice that would have made Scarlett herself proud.
Ami shook her head, unbearable desperation sucking at her ability to stay calm. “What about my baby? I don’t know what to do? Michal can’t be what they say he is.”
“Your child is safe,” Fran said quickly, glancing covertly from side to side. “As for the other.” She reached into her briefcase and pulled out a black, leather-bound copy of the Bible. “Study it, darling.” She thrust the book at Ami, smiling widely again. “There’s nothing better for the soul.” Her gaze latched onto Ami’s. “Read Revelation 19:11. The truth is there…seek and ye shall find.”
Ami stood rooted to the spot, too stunned to call out after her as she hurried away, too afraid that Carlos would be standing right behind her to move. She clutched the Bible close to her heart and prayed that Fran Woodard would stand by her word and keep her secret.
Ami couldn’t betray Michal.
“What the hell are you doing?”
Carlos jerked her back across the threshold, peering out, instantly noting the car leaving a trail of dust as it sped down the long, curving slope.
A new kind of fear roared through Ami’s veins. She stared up at the evil man manacling her arm and saw the sheer hatred in his eyes.
“A missionary,” she stuttered. “She…left me…this.” She held out the Bible, her fingers suddenly ice-cold.
The rest of the men filed out of the kitchen and into the entry hall where she and Carlos stood.
Ami looked from him to those passing through on their way to the great room and realization hit her like a physical blow. Carlos and the others-all of the others-had been in the cellar. With Michal gone there was only one reason why he would rally the men into a secret meeting.
“Planning a little coup?” she said, her tone openly accusing as fury replaced the fear she had felt only seconds before.
“Shut up, whore!” He shook her hard, sending a shard of pain through her middle, then kicked the front door closed, no doubt for deafening sound effects. “I have only one plan.”
Uneasiness slid through her again.
He yanked her closer and sneered down at her. “Getting the truth out of you.” He glared at the others. “Make sure the security system is activated this time, you fools.”
Leaving the rest of the men standing there in stunned silence, Carlos dragged her into the kitchen and shoved her against the table, sending a chair toppling over. Trying to catch herself, the Bible slipped from her hand and flew across the floor. She prayed Michal would return. Carlos had been looking for an excuse to hurt her…he would use the woman’s visit as the reason.
Ami braced herself against the table, buying time as she desperately searched for a weapon within reach. She suddenly wished there had been a weapon tucked in the Bible that Fran had given her. Her jaw hardened and a zing of something like anticipation went through her, awakening a primal survival instinct. She couldn’t just let him kill her, she had to stop him. Her gaze landed on the only thing within reach.
Before she could grab the coffee mug abandoned on the other side of the table, he jerked her around to face him. “Who are you working for?” he demanded, his fingers biting into the flesh of her arms.
She cried out before she could stop herself. Her pain only fueled his bloodlust. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The anger she’d enjoyed froze into absolute fear.
“You are working for someone.” He shook her harder. “I know it.”
She couldn’t stop him. He was going to kill her. His intentions were clear in those evil eyes. He’d swear she’d tried to escape again. Tried to run away with the missionary. The weight of defeat had her sagging in his grasp.
She was dead.
“Carlos.”
He whipped around at the sound of the male voice, his ironclad grip still firmly shackled around her arms.
Thomas stood in the doorway looking sorely uncomfortable and uncertain of his next step. “What are you doing? Michal will be-”
“Get out!”
Thomas retreated half a step at the force of the words.
In one lightning-fast move, Carlos pulled his gun. “Get out or join her.”
Thomas backed fully away from the door. “It is your mistake to make,” he muttered as he moved from the kitchen as quickly as possible without turning his back on the madman waving the gun.
Carlos’s fingers were suddenly around her throat. “Now, tell me who you are working for.” He pressed the tip of the gun barrel to her temple and cocked it. The definitive click echoed through the room so loudly she flinched.
“I don’t know what you mean,” she choked, his grip nearly cutting off the air to her lungs.
And then he did, that steel grip tightening until she couldn’t breathe at all. She struggled against him, the renewed instinct to survive stronger than the defeat dragging at her. She clawed at his face relentlessly despite the weapon pressed against her temple. If she was going to die, she would damn well make him remember the deed. Determination solidified inside her…she’d leave evidence of the struggle so Michal would know that Carlos had had his hands on her when he’d killed her.
Carlos laughed at her, a cruel, sinister sound, and loosened his grip just enough for her to gulp in a lungful of precious air. She was certain it had nothing to do with sympathy and everything to do with prolonging the torture. He flattened her against the tabletop, his lower body pressing into hers. Her eyes widened in a new kind of terror when she felt the telltale bulge of arousal.
Oh, no.
Please, God, not that.
He laid the gun next to her head on the table and ripped open her blouse with his free hand. She whimpered and tried to push him away, to fight him off.
“Perhaps you require this kind of persuading,” he suggested hatefully, grinding his pelvis against hers.
She tried to scream, but his fingers cut off the air to her lungs once more.
A calloused palm closed around her breast. She twisted away from his touch, nausea spewing into her throat. Vicious laughter emanated from his chest, adding depraved music to his sickening touch.