He pressed a finger against his lips in reminder that her guard was not so far away. By now, maybe even right outside the door marked Femmes.
She walked straight up to him, fury exploding inside her. “What the hell took you so long? Couldn’t you get here before now? You had to know where I was.” Pain wrenched through her. “How’s my baby? Where is he? Is he okay?”
“Keep your voice down,” Tanner warned again.
Her rage burst through the softer emotion. “Listen, you bastard,” she snapped, “I want to know what the hell is going on here. I’m an American citizen. I was kidnapped. Get me the hell out of here. I’ve been waiting every single day for you to rescue me.”
Those brown eyes fixed fully onto hers and dread settled like a rock on her chest. “I’m not here to rescue you.”
“What?” Ami bit down on her bottom lip to hold back the scream that burgeoned in her throat. When she had regained some measure of control, she demanded, “What does that mean?” This couldn’t be happening. How could he do this? How could the CIA do this? It was crazy. All of it! Slashes of memory from the week’s events whipped through her mind, shaking her to the core of her being.
“We have another mission for you.”
“Are you insane?” She flung her arms helplessly. “Those men are terrorists. It’s a miracle they haven’t killed me already. They killed a man just yesterday right in front of my eyes.”
“We know.”
She shook her head. “That’s all you can say? You know!”
His patient expression remained unchanged. “Your orders are to stay put. If Arad hasn’t killed you already, he probably won’t.”
How reassuring! “Orders? Don’t you get it? I know you think I’m this Jamie Dalton person,” she allowed sharply, “and that I once worked for your company.” She shook her head, confusion only fueling her hysteria. “Even if that’s all true, I don’t remember how to be a spy! Whoever I was is gone. I’m just a nurse. A mother,” she added emphatically. “I can’t do this.”
“Three minutes,” the waitress announced in a stage whisper as she stuck her head through the door.
“Who the hell is she?” Ami demanded, infuriated all the more by the woman’s intrusion.
“She’s Fran Woodard.” Tanner nodded to the woman and she disappeared again, presumably to keep watch. “One of our top European operatives. You’re lucky she was in the area and knows the guy who owns this café. I’ve been watching Arad’s estate for days. This was the first time I’ve had a chance to get close to you, but I couldn’t have done it without Fran—”
“Look,” Ami cut him off. “I can’t do this. Do you understand? I’m not a spy.”
Tanner reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a photograph. He handed it to Ami. It was Nicholas. Her heart lurched. “Oh, God,” she cried, tears welling before she could stop them. “He’s okay.” She looked up at Tanner. “He is, isn’t he?” Whether it was the dullness of indifference in his eyes or pure intuition, realization dawned. He hadn’t shown her the picture to make her feel better…
“If you ever want to see your son again, you have to do exactly as I tell you.” Regret flashed briefly in his eyes, but it did nothing to lessen the new dread mounting in Ami’s stomach. He retrieved the photo from her limp fingers. “This is the way it has to be. I’ll give you more specific orders as soon as I can. For now, stay put, keep Arad happy.”
“Just tell me he’s okay,” she said from between clenched teeth. For days she’d prayed Tanner would show up and rescue her. Now all she wanted was to hurt him. Her fingers curled into fists. She wanted to scream the indignity of it all to the world. But she had no choice in any of this.
“He’s fine. Your friend Robert and the nanny he hired are taking very good care of him.”
Another kind of emotion slammed into her belly at the mention of Robert’s name. She’d cheated on him. God, how could she have done such a thing? He’d stood by her all this time, treated her son as his own, and this was how she repaid him. Every ounce of emotion she possessed bled from her, left her completely numb.
“Clean yourself up,” Tanner prompted. “It’s time to go.”
Moving on autopilot, Ami grabbed a handful of paper towels and quickly dampened them so that she could dab listlessly at the wine spots on her blouse and slacks.
“It’s time,” Fran announced from the doorway. “We drag this out any longer and they’ll be coming in looking for her.”
Ami tossed the wad of towels in the trash receptacle, resurrected a calm she did not feel, and turned to go.
“Try to keep yourself alive,” Tanner urged softly. “We don’t want to lose you again.”
A new thought struck Ami, adding yet another complexity to the already insane mixture. She stopped and faced him. “Just tell me one thing.”
To his credit, his calm, casual expression never wavered. She supposed that poker face was part of his training. “What’s that?” he asked.
“Who am Ireally?”
For two long beats she was certain he wasn’t going to answer, then he said, “You’re Jamie Dalton, field operative for the Central Intelligence Agency.”
