Chapter Seven #2
Slowly, so as not to attract their attention, Ami turned around. The Spaniard, her guard for the day, had joined his buddies in the discussion about the traitor.
Carefully dividing her attention between the men and her destination, she eased from the room.
Once beyond the doorway, she moved faster, heading for the kitchen.
She placed her cup and uneaten bread on the table and braced her hands against the smooth wooden surface until she’d fully summoned enough courage to go through with the next step.
From the corner of her eye she looked at the door that led to the cellar.
Carlos had taunted her with the possibility of being locked down there a couple of times.
She shivered again as dread punctuated the thought.
Sparing one last glance toward the expansive hall that connected the kitchen to the great room, Ami wove her way through the kitchen to the door.
Her fingers wrapped around the cold brass door handle.
She held her breath as she pressed downward, releasing the latch with a click that rent the air like a shotgun blast in her overcharged imagination.
One minuscule increment at a time she opened the door, praying the hinges wouldn’t whine.
The wooden stairs that lay on the other side of the door dove downward, a bald low-wattage bulb casting their depths in gloom.
Ami swallowed at the lump of fear clogging the back of her throat. She had to know…had to see if Michal Arad was the ruthless killer Tanner had said he was. Was he the kind of man who would end her life only to assuage his need for vengeance when she clearly had no memory of betraying him?
Ami closed her eyes and hesitated before stepping down onto the first tread. What she really wanted to know was if the man who’d touched her so tenderly two days ago as he’d seen to her split lip and bruises was really capable of cold-blooded murder.
Holding her breath all over again, she took the first step.
It didn’t creak. Relief made her knees weak.
One more step. Then another. And another until she was midway down the steep incline.
At this point, if she crouched she could see the dank, musty cellar almost in its entirety.
A floor-to-ceiling rack filled with dusty, unopened bottles of wine lined one wall.
Storage shelves covered the wall opposite the staircase.
“You will tell me!”
Ami almost jumped at the shouted words. She cautiously leaned forward a bit more.
In the corner, very nearly behind the staircase, was Michal.
He stood over a man who looked to be tied to a wooden, straight-backed chair.
Michal moved slightly to the side and her assumption was confirmed.
The man, who looked about thirty with blond hair and a light complexion, was definitely tied to the chair.
His face was bloody and he wore an expression of infinite pain underscored by blatant insolence.
She wondered if Kolin and the others had worked him over or if this was Michal’s doing.
Just then Michal raised his hand and hit the man across the face; his head snapped back.
The sound of the blow made Ami jump as if she’d felt it herself.
Blood gushed anew from his nose. Even in the low light and from the span of twenty or so feet Ami could see that it was broken.
Her heart lurched when Michal raised his hand once more.
“You will tell me now!” he shouted.
“Go to hell!” his prisoner barked then winced.
To her astonishment Michal lowered his hand. He stepped away from the man and she froze. If he turned around right then he’d see her.
He moved in the other direction; she released the breath she’d been holding.
Taking his time, he unbuttoned the crisp white shirt he wore.
Ami blinked, confused. But his movements soon mesmerized her, made her forget all about the prisoner tied up a few feet away.
The white shirts Michal wore reminded her of those pirates must have worn as they’d ravaged the ships of old.
The sleeves were billowy, the front double-breasted.
When he shouldered out of the flattering fabric, her breath trapped in her lungs all over again at the sight of his broad, broad shoulders and back.
He laid the shirt aside on a crate and turned back to his prisoner.
Ami shook off the ridiculous curiosity with his male features and focused on the poor man in the chair.
If she made her presence known, could she somehow prevent further harm to him?
Or would she only call Michal’s rage down on her.
Her gaze went back to the man. Before she could decide if he was worth the risk, Michal had his gun in his hand and had pressed the tip of the barrel against the man’s forehead. Her eyes went wide with disbelief.
“It is my favorite shirt,” Michal explained. “I can see that this is going to get very messy.”
The man blinked rapidly. The sudden slump of his shoulders told Ami he’d admitted defeat on some level.
“You think you are invincible,” he said to Michal, sneering in spite of his obvious no-win situation.
“Enough games,” Michal said wearily. “Give me the information I need and I will make this as swift and painless as possible. Who was behind the Bellatti hit?”
The man laughed for a moment, then his expression turned somber. “Your old friend Lofgren, for the good that information will do you. He will bring you down yet. My only regret is that I will not be there to see it.”
The weapon abruptly fired. Fine droplets of crimson spewed from the neat round hole that appeared in the man’s forehead.
But the spray of blood and matter across the wall behind him was what startled Ami from the shock that had paralyzed her with the first echo of the blast. She braced to run.
She couldn’t let him catch her spying on him like this.
MICHAL LOWERED his weapon.
It was done.
One more name to scratch off the endless list. One more piece of the intelligence puzzle.
Would it never be enough?
The empty abyss that was his soul felt suddenly even more hollow than before. There was nothing left that set him apart from those he executed for the good of the world. He was no better than the dead man now taking up space in his cellar. He was a killer.
He stared at the gun in his hand and then at the spray of blood staining his skin before unconsciously tucking the weapon back into the waistband of his trousers. He had done what he’d had to…what he’d been ordered to do.
A creak on the stairs jerked his attention in that direction. His gaze locked with Amira’s wide blue one. The fear in her eyes told him that she’d witnessed everything. She looked ready to bolt.
His last thought evolved into action at the same time that she scrambled to her feet. Michal was charging up the steps before she could reach the door. He grabbed her by the waist and quickly twisted as they went down on the treads, allowing his body to take the brunt of the impact.
“Let me go!” She flailed her arms, banging her fists against him anywhere she could.
He jerked his head first left then right to avoid her panicked attack. Before she could get in a proper blow he’d manacled her wrists.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded, his fury mounting at the idea that she’d not only given her guard the slip, but that no one had come looking for her.
She swallowed convulsively, the movement of delicate muscles along the slender length of her throat distracting him for one long moment. “You killed that man.”
The disgust in her voice stabbed deep into his gut. He looked away from her accusing eyes and got to his feet, dragging her upward with him. “This is none of your concern.” He tugged her after him as he headed toward the door.
She stalled, tried to jerk away from his hold. When he glared a warning at her she muttered thinly, “You are a murderer.”
In that instant several emotions coalesced at once. The realization that she truly had no memory of their former time together absorbed fully; the depth of her absolute fear of him slammed into his gut with all the force of a physical blow; the undeniable hurt he suffered as a result.
He yanked her up hard against him. “Unless you want to be the next to die, I would suggest that you obey me.” He snarled the words like a wounded animal.
The rage at his own vulnerability—a vulnerability only she had the power to effect—mushroomed inside him with each passing second.
The heart of stone that beat in his chest felt strangely fragile.
“Your wish is my command,” she muttered disdainfully, yet her eyes gave her away. She blinked rapidly, but not quickly enough to hide the brightness that glimmered there. However fearless she wanted to appear at the moment, he knew she was terrified.
Terrified of him.
Of what he was.
He burst into the kitchen with her in tow. She tried to wrench away from him, which only fueled his anger. He didn’t stop, though he knew she could hardly keep up with him, as he passed through the main room where his obviously inept men loitered like the fools they were.
With his savage glare, a hush fell over the room. He said nothing. No words were necessary. All six of those present understood their error.
Once in his room he slammed and locked his door. She fought his hold, a new kind of fear apparently taking root. As it should. He clenched his jaw against the rage building, but it did no good.