Deadly Game (GhostWalkers, #5)(19)

He kept coming, a silent stalker, making her feel small and vulnerable. Was he within striking distance? He didn’t appear to have a weapon, yet she was suddenly terrified. Not of the fact that she might cut a man’s throat, or that Jack would shoot her, but of those glittering eyes that never left hers, eyes so cold she shivered.

“Stay away from me,” she said, her voice choking.

“Jack went back into that camp and rigged everything to blow. He stole weapons and sat up in the trees and picked them off one by one. He killed over—” Ken exploded into action, moving so fast he was a blur, his elbow slamming into her head as his hands locked hers around the knife, jerking it down and away from the doctor, his enormous strength pinning her wrist to the gurney. For a moment everything went black and a million stars danced in front of her eyes. His thumb jabbed hard into her pressure point and her fingers jerked open in reflex.

Ken removed the knife and tossed it to Eric, but retained possession of her wrist. “Stay the hell away from her.”

Jack swore aloud, a long and creative curse that was anatomically impossible. Ken glanced at him. “Watch your mouth.”

“Don’t you f*ckin’ tell me to watch my mouth. What the hell were you thinking? You walked right in front of my gun and you did it on purpose, you son of a bitch.”

“I was thinking I’d defuse the situation,” Ken replied, his tone as mild as ever. “She’s supposed to escape, Jack. That’s what we do when we’re captured. I figured she’d try it eventually. I just didn’t think it would be this soon.” He glanced at Eric, who was still rubbing his throat and looking horrified. “There’s no doubt she can push drugs through her system with remarkable speed, is there? You got your answer without taking more blood.”

Ken was touching her, his fingers a vise around her wrist, so she felt the anger in him, a river of it running deep and fierce, when on the outside he appeared as cool—as cold—as ice.





CHAPTER 4




Ken leaned toward Mari, creating an intimacy between them, as if they were the only two people in the helicopter. “Are you all right?”

Mari closed her eyes against the sound of his voice. So concerned. So incredibly gentle. He wasn’t gentle. There was nothing gentle about him. His hands still clamped her wrist to the gurney and her head felt like a bomb had gone off inside of it. She turned her face away from his, determined not to be taken in by his false concern.

He shifted even closer; she could tell by his scent. It was suddenly everywhere, all around her, inside of her. She felt the warmth of his breath on her temple, the feather-light touch of his lips. His lips were soft except for one slight rasp over her skin, making her aware of the knife scar running across his mouth. That light rasp sent heat curling through her body. Her womb actually spasmed. She didn’t want to respond to him. She didn’t want to feel anything at all other than the need to escape. She didn’t want to feel guilty for having used a razor-sharp blade, reminding him of the way his body had been so mutilated.

“It’s all right, Mari. No one blames you for making a try. It’s what we all do, what we’re trained to do. At least wait until you’re a little stronger and we sort this entire mess out. You wouldn’t get very far the way you are right now.”

If she waited until she was stronger, they’d have the time to make certain there was no chance of escape. As for being stronger, her body was repairing itself faster than they guessed. The leg was bad—she might not be able to use it—but there were ways . . .

His lips brushed her ear this time. “I’m reading your mind, you know.”

She jerked her hand in reaction. Ivy, before Whitney had killed her, had been able to read people as well as objects, simply by touching them. It was more than possible that Ken had that talent. And then he would know how she felt when he touched her.

Humiliation rose and mixed with anger. She whipped up her broken hand without thinking, aiming for his nose, wanting to smash it into his skull. He was her enemy and she would not buy into the attraction between them again. Or maybe she was just mortified because there was no mutual attraction between them; it was entirely one-sided.

He caught her wrist with almost casual strength, slamming both arms above her head and pinning them there, bringing his body nearly over the top of hers in a much more dominant position. It made her seethe with anger. She had to fight back the impulse to lunge forward and bite him like a rabid animal—or maybe claw the clothes from his chest to see if the web of scars she was certain covered his chest and belly disappeared lower into the narrow hips and across his groin.

“Stop struggling.”

“Get off of me.”

“Calm down first. I just saved your life, you ungrateful little wretch.”

He was laughing at her. Damn him to hell, he was laughing at her. She could see a glint of humor in his eyes. He didn’t smile or change expression, but she felt his laughter, and it made her want to explode—or maybe press her mouth to the softness of his, just to feel the caress of that heated rasp once more.

Furious with herself, she nearly came up off the bed, adrenaline pouring through her body, but there was no give in him. She remained pressed against the gurney as if he didn’t notice her struggles. “You. Get. Off. Me.” She bit out each word from between clenched teeth. “I swear I’ll tear out your heart with my bare hands.”