He reached for the waistband of her pants. “Show me, bitch, what power you hold over the great Michal Arad.”
An explosion rent the air. Something splattered over the table beyond her, spewing tiny droplets over her.
A look of startled amazement claimed Carlos’s face for a split second before he collapsed heavily atop her.
Gasping for air, Ami shoved him off and scrambled away from the table.
She slipped and fell to her hands and knees, her gaze glued to what remained of the back of Carlos’s head.
Her throat burned…her skull throbbed…her sides ached. Tears scalded her eyes and cheeks. She scrubbed the tears and the blood from her face.
She had to think. She had to get away. Had to run…the other men-
The sound of footsteps approaching jerked her gaze upward.
Michal.
She wept, the anguish pouring out of her in soul-shaking sobs.
He offered his hand, gently helping her to her feet.
She went into his arms, unable to stop the tears. Tears for the child she would never see again…tears for the man whose life she could not save…
Nothing she could do…
Tanner had been right…there was no way back.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
MICHAL STARED down at her. He wanted to rant at her. To demand answers. But his heart would not allow him to press her under the circumstances. He glared at Carlos’s motionless body. The traitor.
But then, what did he expect in this world of murder for hire?
Squashing all emotion so that he could do what must be done, he offered his hand. Shaking, she took it, and he assisted her to her feet. “Go to your room.”
She wiped at the tears dampening her face with the backs of her hands and nodded mutely before fleeing the scene of betrayal and death.
Michal leaned down and picked up the Bible lying sprawled on the floor. Had one of his men brought it here? Frowning, he skimmed through its pages before setting it aside on the table. He wanted answers. Carlos’s treachery he had suspected for weeks now, was not surprised to see it reach fruition. The others, however, were a definite surprise.
Leaving the dead traitor where he lay, Michal stalked into the great room expecting to be met with drawn weapons and suspicions.
“I tried to stop him,” Thomas said quietly. “But he was intent on interrogating her.”
“Interrogating her?” Michal demanded, his tone as deadly as the weapon he still held in his right hand, the barrel still warm from his recent kill. “You call his actions ‘interrogation’?”
Thomas shrugged but remained silent.
Michal scanned their faces, making direct eye contact with each one of them in turn. “Is there anyone else who would wish to interrogate me?” He pressed them with a long, hard look, ensuring they understood the depth of his fury. “For if you question Amira, you question me.”
Not a single word was uttered in defiance of his statement; nor was any move made to overtake him.
“A good man,” Michal said then, “is dead because he chose to betray me. If any of you-” he surveyed face after face once more “-prefers to take your loyalties elsewhere, then do so. I will not tolerate disloyalty.”
“We are with you,” the Spaniard said. “Carlos tried to convince us that you had grown weak, but we did not believe him.”
“I only have one question,” another said as he settled onto one of the sofas. “How are we going to split Carlos’s cut of the Libyan mission?”
The room burst into laughter, shattering the formidable tension in a heartbeat. Whatever Carlos had hoped to achieve had vanished just as quickly as he had.
“I can assure you,” Michal said with a smile, his relief complete now, “all will be satisfied.”
More laughter punctuated the promise.
“Thomas.” Michal turned his attention to his most trusted man. The only one in the group who had even attempted to stand up to Carlos. For that, Michal was grateful. “Take two men with you into the city and see if you can find the dark-haired man Carlos spoke of. If he is truly with the CIA I want to know about his business here.” He shifted his attention to the Spaniard now. “Take care of Carlos. Already the stench of his deceit pollutes the air.”
With a single inclination of his head, two more of his men joined the Spaniard in his mission.
Satisfied that all was as it should be, Michal left the men to their tasks.
The stunning revelation he had learned from Ron shook him once more. Why had she not told him about the child? How could she lie with him and keep that life-altering secret to herself? He considered that she had lived with the American, the psychiatrist, for two years without full commitment. Anger burned low in his belly at the thought of her with another man.
Was that what she was doing here? Holding back on him? The possibility that the CIA had had someone close by since he brought her here twisted in his gut. Could he have allowed her to fool him yet again? Was everything-the two long years of separation, the amnesia, the vulnerability-all an elaborate set up to finish what she’d started?
Maybe he was wrong about her. She might not be vulnerable at all. The woman who had fooled him once before might simply be a talented actress.
For that matter, perhaps Carlos had been right on that score.
Perhaps Michal was under a spell.
AMI STRIPPED OFF her torn blouse and stuffed it into the trash basket. She stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror and winced at the red welts left by her attacker’s strong fingers. She shuddered when she thought of Carlos lying dead on the floor in the kitchen.
How many people had died here?
She trembled and chafed her arms against the chill of fear. Would she be next? She hadn’t missed the fury in Michal’s eyes. Did he somehow see her as responsible for Carlos’s death? She had caused Raoul’s. She stilled, searching her emotions, attempting to separate fact from presumption. Was her presence what had made Carlos start undermining Michal’s authority?
Closing her eyes, she forced away the thoughts. This was crazy. All of it!
Why hadn’t she grabbed Fran Woodard by the arm and rushed to her car the moment the woman arrived?
There had been time. Of course she hadn’t known that then, but there definitely had been. No one had been watching her. They had been too busy being brainwashed by Carlos. Dammit. She could have escaped…could have been rushing toward the American embassy this very moment. That is, of course, if Fran had gone along with the idea. Though Ami had seen definite sympathy in her eyes, the woman was CIA…she would probably have told her the same thing Tanner had: she had no choice but to stay and finish this.
She flattened her palms on the rim of the basin and sighed in self-disgust. She wasn’t cut out for this kind of business. She didn’t know how to seize an opportunity and make the best of it. At least, not these kinds of opportunities.
Pushing away her worries and uncertainties for the time being, she trudged to the armoire and dragged out a new blouse. Any moment now Michal would come into the room demanding answers. For whatever reason, he was angry with her. She had to deal with him first, then she could mull over the worry that Fran would most likely tell Tanner she had no intention of helping them kill Michal.
She pressed her forehead against the cool, wooden surface of the armoire and battled the emotions that threatened to well inside her all over again. She couldn’t think about her baby right now. She absolutely would not admit defeat. She would find a way to get back to him. But she would have to do it on her own.
An urge to tell Michal about his son, to share that wonder with him, clutched dangerously at her heart. But she couldn’t do that. To tell Michal about Nicholas would be to sentence her son to this life.