The Spaniard and Kolin watched from the safety of the hillside. They had scarcely chugged up the road half a mile when the unexpected tragedy struck.
The two men exchanged looks of sheer terror and then the Spaniard floored the accelerator.
Getting the hell out of here was their only priority now. The import of the news they carried would reach the farthest corners of the globe before the sun set.
The Executioner was dead.
THE HOUSEKEEPING CARTstopped near Room 214 and the maid rapped on the door.
Thomas cautiously pulled the door open, but only a fraction. He had no intention of letting anyone get close to Ami. Michal had given him specific orders that her safety was to be considered above all else.
Unlike his predecessor, Thomas would not fail.
“What do you want?” he demanded of the maid before she could articulate a syllable.
“Yours is the only room on the floor I have not cleaned,” the woman said in French, her abuse of the language making him wince. “My work is not complete until I have cleanedallthe rooms,” she added with a stubborn tilt to her chin.
Thomas didn’t want anyone else in the room, but he supposed this was necessary. He grunted an affirmative she would understand as he pulled the door fully open.
Ami lifted her head from the pillow when she heard the squeaky wheels of the housekeeping cart. She’d heard the voices, but the words hadn’t really registered. All she could think about was Michal. Why hadn’t they heard something already? How long would it take?
She worried and worried about what was the right thing to do, and in the end, when she’d realized that she actually had only one option, it had been too late.
Her head felt swollen and achy from her hours of sobbing. And far too heavy to hold up. When she would have collapsed back onto the pillow her gaze collided with an all too familiar one.
Fran Woodard was the cleaning lady who’d just weaseled her way past Thomas.
She fiddled with her supplies, smiled and shared a secret wink with Ami.
Hope soared inside her like a rocket taking off. Fran hadn’t given up on her, after all.
She had to be here to rescue Ami.
Her hopes crashed and burned like a doomed airliner. But what about Michal?
Utter fear slammed into her then. Had the CIA been watching, witnessing her full confession to Michal?
That was it, she realized with rising dread.
Fran was here to kill her.
Ami shifted into an upright position, preparing to run like hell if Fran came near the bed.
But she didn’t. She flitted around the rest of the room, dusting, rearranging, tidying anything that looked out of place. Finally, Thomas resumed his seat on the sofa and his captivation with the news. He didn’t have the vaguest clue what hit him when Fran brought the ceramic table lamp down onto his head. She then brushed her hands together and said, “Well, that’s that.”
Ami leaped from the bed, her destination the door.
Before she could make heads or tails of the cleaning cart’s sudden shaking and shifting, Jack Tanner emerged from it. One look at Ami was all it took for him to know total hysteria had hit.
“We’re here to help you,” he said quickly, stepping into her path when his sudden appearance failed to do more than slow her down.
“Get out of my way,” she yelled, shoving him as hard as she could. She wanted to scream at him for what he had allowed to happen. She wanted to demand answers. But there was no time. Michal might need her. She had to get back to him.
“I’ve got your son…” he began.
She barreled into him with the full force of her weight. “You bastard.” She lashed out. “Haven’t you done enough already? What else do you people want?” She stood there, directly in front of him, her whole body shaking with emotions too strong and too numerous to name.
He reached for her, but she stumbled back from his grasp. “It’s not what you think.”
