Chapter Thirteen
MICHAL LISTENED to the church bells clang, inviting those within hearing distance to come and observe their Sunday-morning Christian ritual. He wondered if they knew that an infamous terrorist loitered nearby…close enough to touch any one of them.
Close enough to rain down more deplorable acts of inhumanity than their small minds could possibly fathom. The mere mention of his name elicited utter fear in the strongest of men. He was the Executioner. He loved only one thing—money. And his only loyalty was to himself.
That was the sacrifice he had made for his country. But the events in Tripoli had made one thing very clear. He would not sacrifice Ami, not in word or deed.
This morning he would initiate the required action, discover the price of her freedom.
Ron Doamiass mingled among the crowd gathered outside the sixteenth-century chapel, speaking to first one and then another as if he knew them personally, which, of course, he did not.
A master of public relations, he moved farther and farther from the fringes of the milling throng smiling and offering pleasant greetings like an eager politician.
Admiring the beauty of the gardens, he eventually moved toward the reflective pond and Michal’s position amid the nearby thicket of trees.
“You risk a great deal calling me here again so soon,” Ron admonished sagely.
“You are here,” Michal returned just as sagely. “I am obviously worth the risk to your safety as well as my own.”
Ron’s usual amiable expression hardened slightly. “I am here because you are a friend, not because I am your superior.”
Touché, Michal mused. “Well, as my friend I sincerely hope you can answer my questions.”
“First you will answer mine,” he countered. “What happened in Tripoli?”
“The mission was a success.” Michal leveled an unyielding gaze on his. “What else do you need to know?”
Ron did not appear pleased with his attitude. That was good, because Michal was far from pleased himself.
“Your work was sloppy this time and you were injured.” Ron looked pointedly at Michal’s right shoulder, though the bandage was not visible beneath his shirt.
Michal expected no less. Ron had eyes and ears everywhere. That was part of his job. Part of the way he kept Michal alive when others plotted against him.
Silence thickened between them for a time. Impatient for the truth, Michal demanded, “I will know the whole story about Amira. I believe there are things you have kept from me. I will know what they are and the reason.”
Ron averted his gaze, something he rarely did. His straightforward manner had always been one of the traits Michal respected most about him. “You ask a great deal.” Ron looked over his shoulder at Michal. “There are some things that even I don’t have clearance for.”
Michal cocked one eyebrow. “I have faith in you. You will overcome that mere technicality.” He shook his head then, mulling over the inconsistencies he could no longer deny.
“Something is not as it should be. This is not the same woman I knew two years ago. There is…” He searched his mind for the right words, but could not assimilate the proper definition for his instinct.
“Something is very wrong.” He pounded his fist against his gut. “I feel it too deeply.”
“She suffers from amnesia, no?”
Michal huffed a breath of impatience. “It is more than that.” He considered what Carlos had told him. “Some of my men have picked up on CIA activity in this very city.” Michal looked directly at Ron. “Do you know anything about that?”
The CIA usually kept the Mossad abreast of any activities near one of their ongoing missions. But then again, Michal’s cover was so deep he doubted anyone in the CIA even knew about it—anyone other than the director himself.
Concern pleated Ron’s brow as he considered this turn of events. “I will look into this matter.” His gaze settled on Michal once more. “As for the woman, I’m sure the depth of her amnesia is the reason she appears so different from before.”
Michal shook his head thoughtfully. “It is much more than that. She is softer somehow…nothing like before.”
Ron looked away again, but not before Michal saw the flash of guilt in his eyes.
“You know something,” Michal growled under his breath. “I will not allow harm to come to her, so don’t bother issuing such an order. Whatever it is you are keeping from me, I must know it. Now.”
Ron sighed, his shoulders slumped, another uncharacteristic reaction. “My orders were not to pass along this information for fear that it would prevent you from remaining focused on your assignment.”
“What information?” he demanded, sick to death of someone else making decisions about his life.
“While she was away,” Ron confessed reluctantly, “she bore a child.”
Michal blinked. “A child?”
Ron nodded. “A boy. His name is Nicholas. He is sixteen months old.”
Michal didn’t have to consider the dates involved, he instinctively knew the child was his.
The nudge in his gut evolved into a tautness in his chest. “She didn’t tell me.
” Lines formed along his brow, bearing out his confusion.
“Does she remember having the child? Surely she has not forgotten that she gave birth.” The whole idea shook him. Amira was a mother.
He was a father.
“She has spent the past two years living with a man—a psychiatrist who treated her briefly for the amnesia. He has provided a home for both Amira and the child. He cares for the child now.”
Something savage broke loose inside Michal. He wanted to tear this man apart with his bare hands. He wanted to shake the truth from her…make her admit to her treachery.
“She had no memory of you,” Ron reminded him, obviously reading his mind.
“She was discovered wandering in a park with no money and no memory at all. This man took her in, cared for her and the child that was born a few months later.” When Michal would have roared against the logic of his words, Ron added, “He did so despite the numerous times she turned down his proposals of marriage.”
Was that supposed to make him feel better? She lived with the man—slept in his bed—but refused to marry him?
“I can’t tell you more for that is all I know,” Ron said wearily, his concerned gaze searching Michal’s face. “But if there is more, I will see what I can uncover. The CIA activity is likely unrelated, but I will verify that, as well.”
Michal had a feeling that he’d only agreed to dig deeper into the situation because of the profound way this meager news had affected him.
He had a son.
A son he had never seen.
“Before you go back to her with anger in your heart,” Ron suggested quietly, “consider how helpless she was. She had nowhere to go, no one to turn to. She did the only thing she could to survive…to protect her child.”
“My child,” Michal argued, an unfamiliar mixture of emotions building inside him. “My son.”
“As true as that is,” Ron reminded him gravely, “what does she do now to protect herself and her child? Has her situation truly changed?”
His friend was right, Michal realized.
Survival would be of great importance to her…she surely wanted to return to her child.
Michal’s child.
AMI WAS STILL damn sore this morning. She took her time dressing, dreading another day of endless worry. How could she betray Michal? Cost him his life? As he’d promised, he’d held her last night, held her close, made her feel safe in spite of all that had happened.
But how would she ever get back to her son?
She twisted her hair up and pinned it out of her way. She couldn’t deal with it this morning. She’d stopped counting the days since she’d held her child. Tried with all the willpower she possessed to block his sweet face from her mind.
It hurt too much.
She closed her eyes and forced back the emotions. Courage was what she needed right now.
Courage and a miracle straight from God.
A little coffee would help her immediate discomfort, she decided with overwhelming resignation.
She peeked into the corridor. Usually when Michal was out of the house, which was rare, she stayed in her room. She’d had more than enough excitement for a dozen lifetimes. If she stayed in her room she was unlikely to see or to hear anything she shouldn’t from any of his men. Especially Carlos.
The great room was empty, which meant Carlos and the men must be outside or in the cellar. She shivered as she considered what they might be down there doing.
If someone had told her one month ago that she would be experiencing all that she had in the past two weeks she would have laughed at them, insisted they were crazy. That she may have lived this sort of life in the past she couldn’t remember was ludicrous. She was not like these people.
Guilt stabbed her for lumping Michal in with the rest of them. Somehow, despite all that she had witnessed in his presence, he was not like the rest of his men. She knew it deep in her heart. The heart he now owned.
She groaned and dragged open the refrigerator door. She had to eat. Though she had no appetite. She had to stay healthy…had to be ready for anything. Nicholas needed her; she had to find her way back home. There had to be a way.
She poured a glass of milk and grabbed a banana from the bowl on the table. Barefoot, she padded into the great room to enjoy the view. It was about the only pleasure she had these days. When the memories of making love with Michal abruptly filtered through her mind, she shivered.
Forcing her attention back to nourishment, she consumed the milk and the banana and decided she should have gotten two.
When she would have headed back to the kitchen for another piece of fruit, the sight of a car winding up the long drive jerked her back to the window.
It wasn’t the military-style Hummer that Michal used, or any of the other vehicles she had seen on the estate.