She moaned, pushing away the next images that surfaced, but she couldn’t stop them. They tumbled in one over the other, dampening her skin with sweat…making her heart race…
HE WAS ON HIS KNEES. His olive skin and dark eyes contrasted sharply with his graying hair and his gauzy-white robe. Her gaze jerked back to his chest. The knife had been plunged deeply into his chest; blood soaked rapidly across the front of his white robe.
The pain in his eyes as he looked up at her shook her.“W-why?”he croaked.
She stared into those anguished eyes with no emotion except relief and then, suddenly she knew…
She stumbled back a step, her head shaking with the realization forming in her brain. Her eyes connected fully with his and she whispered,“Daddy?”
AMI BOLTED UPRIGHTin the bed, her lungs heaving against the lack of oxygen. She blinked in the darkness and the dream shattered into a thousand screaming pieces of agony.
Michal moved up beside her in the darkness, his arms going around her, comforting her.
“Are you all right?” he whispered hoarsely.
No.
Her heart thundered hard, but failed to send enough oxygen to her brain to ensure its proper function, leaving her unable to form the single syllable required to articulate that one word out loud.
She wasn’t all right. She would never be all right again.
She’d killed her father.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
MICHAL WATCHEDAmi sleep the next morning for a while longer before he left her. Part of him wanted to hold her again and to hear her cry out his name in that sweet, melodic voice caught in the throes of ecstasy, but she had hardly slept at all after the nightmares. He didn’t have the heart to wake her now that she appeared finally to be resting peacefully. Though he’d held her and crooned to her until she dozed off once more, her bits and pieces of sleep had been riddled with more nightmares. She had sobbed, crying out frequently.
I didn’t know. I didn’t know.
Whatever demons had haunted her, they had been relentless. None of her mumblings had made sense. The one phrase was the only string of distinguishable words.
When he considered all that she had been through since he’d dragged her back into his world, he supposed that was completely understandable. Even if she never fully remembered her past, her time with him had given her numerous events to evoke future nightmares.
She was right in that regard, he admitted. He had pulled her back into his world. Selfishly. But, had he not, the people of his own homeland would have hunted her down and executed her for the murder of Yael Peres. She had been much safer with him than left on her own.
Still, the regret he suffered was great. The idea that his son was left without his mother for all this time ate at him like a cancer. He longed to know the child, but she had chosen to keep her secret. Hurt arced through his heart. He told himself again it was fear that kept her quiet on that score.
He hoped his emotions had not blinded him once more to the possibility of betrayal.
Michal closed his eyes and exhaled wearily. He was so very tired of this life. Every minute of every day was filled with the possibility of instant death, with the threat of betrayal from those closest to him.
But the killing was the worst. It never ended. There was always a new name added to the list. An endless roster of Who’s Who among the soon to die.
It was no wonder Ami did not want him to know about their son. Look what he had to offer an heir.
Money, certainly. Money tainted with the blood of a hundred men. An infamous name synonymous with death. His son would never know that he had served his country…that Michal Arad was, in fact, a hero.
No one would ever know.
Sick to death of the self-pity session, Michal pushed to his feet and left the room quietly so as not to disturb Ami. Strong, bitter coffee was what he needed now. He and his men had to be ready for tomorrow’s quest.
Another name on the list.
More money in their pockets, which kept his cover intact.
One more chink in his conscience. He feared that very soon he would have no conscience at all. That he would truly become like those he executed.
He paused, one hand on the carafe. He glanced at the place where Carlos had fallen less than twenty-four hours ago. Perhaps he was already like them.
