Deadly Game (GhostWalkers, #5)(27)

She tried to separate herself from what he was saying. It was all happening to someone else. A woman she didn’t know. She was a soldier and needed to get back to her unit. It’s where she belonged—what she understood. She wasn’t the type to lie helpless, tears burning in her eyes, while a man used her body, but she’d done just that, helpless to resist Ken’s mouth and hands.

With Brett, it was a fight every single time he came near her. She was committed to defending herself and her right as a person to choose whom she wanted to be with. With Ken, she desperately needed him near. Every moment she spent in his company worsened the addiction to him, until she felt frantic with wanting his touch.

“Could Whitney do that?” she asked, searching her memory for an unguarded moment he might have let something slip. “What’s your last name?”

“Norton.” It was Jack who answered, his eyes still locked on his brother.

Again her heart jumped. She recognized the name and she should have known. Snipers. Not just any snipers. The elite.

Ken wiped the blood from her leg, all the while avoiding touching her skin. Pride should have kept her from looking, but she was fascinated by the way his body moved, by the glide of his hands, always so careful to keep from contact. The memory came out of nowhere, triggered by the mesmerizing ripple of muscle beneath skin. Whitney’s face contorted with anger.

Damn the Nortons anyway. How did you let them slip away from you, Sean? I made it easy and you still blew it.

It won’t happen again, Doctor.

Sean had been standing close to her while Whitney jabbed her with a needle right before one of their missions. She remembered the surreptitious brush of his hand to encourage her. She’d always hated needles, and only Sean had known that little weakness.

Ken stiffened, his fingers circling her foot like a vise. “Who is he?”

Mari blinked, glanced at Jack and back to Ken. “I don’t know what you’re asking me. And you’re hurting me.”

Ken let go of her as if she’d burned him, wiping his palm along his thigh. “The man you were just thinking about. I caught the impression of him. Big man, standing by Whitney. You like him.”

“You caught all that just by touching me?”

“Damn it, answer me,” Ken ordered.

“Ken, back off,” Jack warned.

“You had your chance, Jack.” Ken shot him a hard glare. “Now we all have to live with the consequences.”

Mari laid her head on the blanket stuffed under her head, her eyes narrowing on his face, lending her a kind of tunnel vision. She recognized the familiar signs of her temper kicking in. “Wait a minute. I have a horrible feeling I’m beginning to understand what’s going on here. Call me slow, but for some reason, although you’re men, I expected you to act with intelligence.”

“Mari . . .”

“You don’t know me well enough to use my name. You don’t know the first thing about me or my life. I’m your prisoner, remember? You shot me.” Her voice was tinged with fury, so she kept it ultra-low, but it was too late to rein her temper in. She was already looking for something to smash over his head. “Don’t you dare Mari me. I don’t care if I have a broken leg. If you want to torture me, get on with it, but I’ll be damned if you sit there being smug and acting like a jealous lover because of Brett. Brett, of all people. That’s what set you off. I get it now. The ‘did he touch you like this’ and then losing your mind. What a complete ass.”

“Mari . . .”

“What a moron. Don’t talk to me. Don’t touch my leg.” Adrenaline poured through her body, so that she found herself shaking. “Do you have any idea what that man is like? What it’s like for a woman to have someone who repulses her touch her? Go to hell, Ken. Next time you want to put a gun to your head, I’ll help you pull the trigger.”

“You don’t understand,” Jack said.

“Are you kidding me? I’m the one who has to endure Brett—or anyone else—at Whitney’s whim. Not you, not Ken. And catching a glimpse of a soldier who has treated me with decency and respect—one I admire—is cause for jealousy as well?”

Ken remained very still, his fingers still circling her foot, the physical contact sending electric sparks zinging along her nerve endings, adding to the flood of anger building like a volcano.

“Who is he?” Ken repeated.

She was already in pain. What the hell? She used her good leg, snapping it up and out, straight at his face, using enhanced strength, needing the satisfaction of scoring just once against him. He was messing with her mind and Mari found that unacceptable.

He blocked the blow with one arm, hard enough to make her leg go numb, never letting go of her other foot, not even loosening his hold, as if her attack had been so inconsequential he almost hadn’t noticed it.

“It was Sean, wasn’t it?”

“Go to hell.”

“You don’t understand,” Jack repeated. “Whitney didn’t do this.”

Mari pressed her lips tightly together, studying their faces. Ken hadn’t moved a muscle, his hand still around her toes. She could feel the warmth of his palm, was all too aware of him as a man—not a captor—not an enemy.

“Fill me in.”

“The old man managed to leave his legacy with one of us,” Ken said, his tone matter-of-fact.