Tess Gerritsen - Double Impact

The blood roared in her ears so loudly she wasn’t sure she would have heard anyone if they had screamed her name. When she reached the dusty ground, she took a moment to regain her footing before she moved. Her entire body felt weak with a numbing mixture of fear and adrenaline. But she was down. She’d almost made it to freedom!

Looking carefully left to right, she started forward through the shadows. It was nearly dark now. Too late, she wished she’d remembered the head covering. The lightness of her hair would work against her in the dark. Not to mention it was illegal for a woman to leave the house without it.

She swore softly. She just couldn’t get caught, that’s all. This might be her only chance.

Moving soundlessly, she edged around the corner of the building. This would be the tough part. She had to cross the street. Then she could stay in alleyways until she reached the port…but crossing this one street was necessary. Though there weren’t any streetlights to speak of, there was light from windows. The businesses had closed their doors before dusk and most of the cafés were a few blocks in the other direction. The area around the hotel was pretty deserted at this hour other than the occasional patron going and coming from its entrance. But those who lived above the shops had turned on lights.

Her gaze shifted up the block to a car parked at the side of the street. That would help. She stay pressed against the walls of the closed shops as she made her way to the car. Holding her breath again, she worked up her courage and moved swiftly across the street.

Once in the adjacent alleyway, she let go the breath that ached in her lungs. Thank God. No one shouted for her to stop. No one called out her name. She glanced up at the third floor of the hotel across the street and wondered if Raoul had noticed she was gone yet. Probably not or she’d hear him ranting all the way over here.

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.”