Enemy of My Enemy (32 page)

He leaned in close. "Complete disclosure runs two ways," he said in a low conspiratorial voice. "You didn't tell me that you were funneling money raised from Lebanese around the world back to Beirut. Did you?"

Layla looked as if she had been slapped in the face. Her head snapped back. "How did you find that out?"

"I, too, have friends who have computers."

"That's not on the Internet," she whispered through clenched teeth.

Before Jack could respond, she pulled a BlackBerry out of her bag, typed something on the screen, and showed it to him. It said,
Mossad.

Jack stared at the gray screen without saying a word. She deleted it.

"I think we'd better order," he said.

"For two cents, I'd walk out."

Jack knew she was on the verge of doing that. "At least stay for dinner." He was pleading with her with his eyes. "Let's try to talk about it."

"Fine, then you pick for me. You seem to be calling the shots here."

"I'll do the food. You select the wines." He handed her the list. "Tonight I won't say a word. You're on your own."

Jack watched her looking at the wine list. He could see that she was deep in thought, and it wasn't about which wines to select.

Once the waiter was gone, she turned to him, visibly upset, with an intently serious gaze. "Listen, Jack," she said in a halting voice. "What you told me a minute ago about funneling money to Lebanon?"

"Yeah?"

"Please don't mention that to anyone. I'm not sure how much you know, but you would be signing an execution order for me and my family."

He reached over and touched her arm. "I would never do that. I would never do anything to harm you. I promise you that."

That seemed to satisfy her. "Then tell me what you want with me. It has to be something political."

He sighed deeply. This might be quicksand, but he was ready to wade in. "Initially, I did have an ulterior motive in wanting to meet you. I'm sorry about that, but it's true. Last night changed all of that for me. I had the type of evening I've dreamed about having with a woman, but it's never worked out. You're a very special person. We're good together." Jack saw from her face that she was softening. "I want to spend more time with you. And not for any other reason. I hope you'll believe me."

Watching him as he spoke, Layla was convinced he was telling her the truth. Under the table, she put her hand in his. "I do believe you," she said, "but you are engaged in some type of espionage activity for the Mossad that involves my country... right now in Paris. Aren't you?"

Jack looked away from her, toward the entrance to the room, where waiters were carrying in trays with quiet efficiency. He didn't want to lie to her anymore. "Not your country."

Suddenly she discreetly pointed toward the French military officer seated against the far wall. "That's it, isn't it?"

"What do you mean?" He was puzzled.

"You were so interested in Nadim at the wine dinner at L'Ambroise. He's the reason you asked me out. You were hoping I could help you get at Nadim. That's right. Isn't it?"

Jack gulped hard. He would never underestimate her again. "Originally I did call you because I thought it was a way of getting to Nadim, but that changed last evening."

"You're taking a horrible chance by seeing me." Jack could see that she was frightened. "Nadim's called me every day for the last week to go out with him. I keep turning him down. Today he asked me if I'm seeing that American, Jack Cole. I'm terrified of him."

He put his arm around her for reassurance. "Don't worry. I'll be able to deal with him."

She shook her head. "You're kidding yourself. Being naive. You can't imagine how horrible Nadim is. I despise that man more than I thought it was possible to hate anyone or anything. From what I told you last evening, you know that I'm justified." Jack nodded. "I also hate the Syrians and what they did to my family. To my country."

"You don't like the Israelis much either."

"You're right there." She made no effort to conceal her animosity. "It's close. But I dislike the Syrians more. At least your people aren't occupying my country any longer. There's an old Arab expression: The enemy of my enemy is my friend. So I guess what I'm saying is that for all of these reasons I'd like to help you in whatever you're doing. If you tell me about it, maybe there's something I can do."

Well, there it was, Jack thought. She had played her cards exactly how Avi predicted if she were working with Nadim. But Avi was wrong. Jack was a good judge of people. He knew that she wasn't Nadim's agent. "Thanks for your offer," he said, "but I don't want to involve you. That would mean putting you at risk, which is something I won't do."

She looked into his eyes and decided he meant what he had just said. She was ready to move on. "Sorry I came on so strong when I arrived at the restaurant this evening. It's just that—"

He leaned over and kissed her on the lips. "You don't have to apologize. I had no right misleading you like that. Can we start over?" He held out his hand and said, "Hi, I'm Jack Cole."

She laughed. "Shaking hands is such an American custom. You're in France now. Kiss me on each cheek."

He obliged, just as the waiter arrived with their first courses, lobster sausage for Layla and ravioli with morel mushrooms for Jack, accompanied by a Corton-Charlemagne. From across the room, Jean Marie was watching them and smiling. The lovers had made up.

She took a bite and nodded. "Good choice," she said, pointing to the plate.

"Thanks. I've eaten here a few times over the years."

"This evening I want to learn about you," Layla said. "Not your involvement in the stuff we talked about earlier, but the rest of Jack Cole. To the extent you can talk about it."

He was pleased that he had salvaged his relationship with her. "You'll learn that I'm a lot older than you are," Jack said.

She gave him that warm, mysterious smile. "Maybe yes, and maybe no. I'll never tell."

He described for her what it was like growing up in Chicago. About political and racial unrest in the United States in the sixties and the seventies, and about his desire to live in Israel.

"What is it about you Jews and your almost mystical attachment to Israel?"

Jack could feel his hackles rising.

She sensed it. "I didn't mean that as an insult. I've never spent any significant time with anyone Jewish before, much less dated a Jew. I want to understand it. There are millions of proud Lebanese around the world who don't yearn to live in Beirut. What is it?"

He thought about her question for a long minute. It was a difficult one. "I could say the same thing. There are millions of Jews who don't want to live in Israel. Some don't even want to have any connection... but for others, there is a great attachment to the people and the Jewish homeland."

She paused to ponder his words as the sommelier poured the 1990 Premier Cru Vosne-Romanee from Meo Camuzet. Monsieur Vrinat came by, looked at Jack, and said, "An excellent selection."

Jack pointed to Layla. "It was hers. I had nothing to do with it."

"Then you're a lucky man."

"I think so, too."

When Vrinat departed and an incredibly tender rack of lamb arrived, Layla asked Jack, "Where do you live in Israel?"

He told her about his apartment in Tel Aviv and about his wine business.

"Did you ever fight in my country?" she said, tensing her back.

"Never. Not even in the reserves. In the 'seventy-three war I fought in the Golan against the Syrians."

"I hope you killed a lot of those bastards."

"Several in a huge battle. I also took a bullet in the side," he said, pointing to a spot below his belt. "Fortunately, they got me to Hadassah Hospital. It took a while, but they fixed me up."

"Do you have a nasty scar?"

"It's fading."

"I want to see it," she said.

He looked horrified. "Now?"

"Not now, you idiot. Later." Concealed by the tablecloth, she rested her hand between his legs for an instant to let him know what she was thinking. "My, my." She laughed. "Your horse is ready to run."

For dessert she had a mango mousse and he had a rich chocolate gateau. Then they slowly sipped a complimentary glass of cognac.

She pushed back her hair and said, "I'm glad I came this evening."

"I feel exactly the same way. Tonight confirmed what I thought the first time I saw you at the wine tasting. There's something about you that makes me want to forget everything and run off to a romantic island."

* * *

Layla's Jaguar was waiting on Rue Lamennais when they left the restaurant. Jean Claude pulled up under the blue awning. On the way to Layla's apartment, the Paris skies opened up with a spring thundershower. It was a deluge that soaked Avenue George V. Jack and Layla weren't paying attention to it. He had his arms around her and was kissing her passionately in the backseat.

The car came to a stop in front of her building. "No need to wait for me this evening," Jack told the driver. "I'll take a cab."

They were the only ones in the elevator. As it rose, they picked up where they had left off in the car. Jack moved her back against the wall and continued kissing her while he slipped his hand under her skirt and caressed her thigh.

At the front door, she was so excited that she fumbled with the key while Jack kissed her on the back of the neck. "You're not helping," she said, laughing.

From behind he cupped his arms around her breasts. "How's this for assistance?"

Once she had the door open and they were inside, Jack tried to embrace her, but she slipped out of his grasp, heading toward the bedroom.

He followed her and stopped in the doorway to look around.

The room was dominated by a king-size bed. She paused to light an aromatic candle, which provided the only light. It was enough for Jack to watch her slip out of her dress. All she was wearing was a pale yellow silk bra and panties trimmed with lace and her shoes.

She stood against the wall and held out her arms to him.

Jack hugged her tightly and kissed her. She was pressing her body against him. Jack unsnapped her bra and stroked her breasts, playing with the nipples.

"Suck them," she said.

He leaned down and took one in his mouth and then the other while she moaned softly.

Jack dropped his hand down and pressed it against the moist bottom of her silk pants. He left it there, cupping her vagina in his hand, while she put her tongue into his mouth.

She reached down and unzipped his pants, then grabbed his erect penis and pulled it out of his blue boxer shorts. "You're so hard," she whispered as she clutched his shaft tightly. "Come to bed," she said. "I want you now."

He pulled down her panties. "In a minute. First I want to see you."

She kicked off her pants and tossed her loosened bra on a chair. Then she stood like that, wearing only her three-inch stiletto heels.

He stared at her in wonderment. "You're so beautiful," he said.

"Do you really think so?"

"More beautiful than any woman I've ever seen."

And she was. Her long legs were perfectly proportioned, coming together at her gorgeous brown bush. Her breasts, not large, were round and firm, the nipples jutting out from her olive skin.

She undressed him and then led him over to the bed.

"On your back," she ordered him.

"Whatever you say. You're in charge."

When he was stretched out that way with his head on the pillows, she dropped to her knees and lowered her vagina down toward his mouth. She didn't say a word. She didn't have to. Jack toyed with her clit with his tongue until she cried, "There! Oh, yes! There. Right
there.
That feels so good." Then she lowered herself all the way onto his face, and he took her pleasure spot into his mouth, sucking it hard.

"My breasts, Jack," she cried. "Play with my breasts."

He cupped one in each hand and he held her like that as she pressed down with an urgency against his mouth. Her whole body began shaking. She screamed out, "Oh, yes! Oh, God, yes!"

He expected her to roll off, but she didn't. She reached one hand behind her and grabbed his cock. She stroked it a few times; then she moved back and slid him inside of her, while grabbing it tightly at the base to keep him from coming, to prolong their pleasure while she moved up and down.

"It feels so good," he said. "It's like a dream."

"I wanted you so much, Jack. From the first time I saw you."

Finally she took her hands away from him and put them behind her on the bed as an anchor. She was moving rapidly, breathing heavily, her forehead dotted with perspiration. She bit down hard on her lower lip, her face contorted in pleasure. "I'm coming, Jack!" she screamed. He was right with her, and he screamed too as he exploded inside of her.

As she rolled off, Jack said, "It's never been like that for me. And I mean
never.
Not with anybody."

"Really," she said. "I do this every night."

For an instant he thought she was serious and he looked despondent. She laughed. "You're a funny man, Jack Cole. I like you. Of course I don't do this every night." She laughed again. "In fact, it's been a whole week."

Playfully, she ran her hand through his hair. That loosened his black toupee and it slid partially off. Even in the dim light of the candle, Layla noticed it and bolted upright in bed. She turned on a light on an end table.

"You're full of surprises," she said, flabbergasted.

"I'm in a dangerous business."

"I've come to realize that. How about showing me what the real Jack Cole looks like?"

Having gone this far, Jack didn't think it would matter. He went into the bathroom and took off the wig, mustache, and makeup. Then he emerged—and held up his arms. "The real Jack in the flesh."

"This one's much better-looking. Now get your ass back into bed."

When he stretched out, she ran her hand over the indentation in his skin on his right side. "Your scar from the bullet wound you told me about?" she said.

"Yeah. That's it."

"Does it hurt when I touch it?"