Tess Gerritsen - Double Impact

“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.

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.

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?