Deadly Game (GhostWalkers, #5)(50)

“Yes. It’s part of Whitney Trust. Lily inherited everything when Peter Whitney supposedly was murdered. She kept everything going—everything legitimate, that is.” On his side, propped on one elbow, he pushed the hair from her face with gentle fingers. “You’ve got to rest, Mari. You’ve got three IVs in you and Lily’s still running fluids. Zenith is nothing to fool around with. I should have known when you were healing so fast, but no one uses it. It didn’t occur to me that Whitney would deliberately endanger your life.”

Mari enjoyed the feeling of his fingers stroking across her forehead. His touch was light and gentle, and no one had ever caressed her that way. “Why are you being so nice to me, Ken?” Because she didn’t want to trust him—or the strange feelings she was beginning to develop for him.

“I’m never nice to anyone, Mari,” he said, a smile in his voice, although it didn’t show in his gray eyes. “Don’t go ruining my reputation.”

She closed her eyes because she couldn’t look at him anymore without feeling the burn of tears. She told herself it was because she’d nearly died, but she knew better. Ken Norton was giving her a taste of what life could be like—and she didn’t have a life, could never have a life.

“He owns us, you know. We talk about escaping, but we don’t do it, because we don’t know how to survive away from the compound. We’ve never walked a real city street. We’ve trained in urban warfare, in simulators, and we have mock cities we enter to face each other in battle, but we’ve never really been out of the facility, other than to go to a jungle or some drug lord’s little kingdom. Like I said, going on missions was a kind of vacation, as silly as that sounds.”

Her voice was soft and drowsy, the note hitting just the right pitch to make his body come alive. Hell. Everything she said and did, everything she was, brought out the worst in him. Ken fought to keep his mind centered on their conversation. “Were you ever in the Congo?”

“I’ve been in every jungle, rain forest, and desert there is,” she said without opening her eyes. “And every place they have leeches, I’ve managed to find them. Leeches are right up there with needles and peas for me. Before Whitney’s breeding program, I was a damned good soldier.”

“You’re still a damned good soldier.”

She flashed a small, grateful smile and moved just slightly, a small shift in her position, but it brought her soft breasts right against his chest. He managed to suppress a groan, feeling more a pervert than ever. “If I put my arm around you, are you going to shove me off the bed?”

“No. Should I?”

“Do you want me to be truthful?”

Mari smiled and snuggled closer to him. “No. I hurt and I want to go to sleep. You feel safe. I need to feel safe.”

“Then you’re perfectly safe with me.”

Ken wrapped his arm around her and tried not to feel more than the surge of sexual awareness the heat and softness of her body brought. Emotions were something he refused to deal in. She looked so young, her lashes long and thick, lying against her pale skin. Her hair gleamed with platinum and gold strands. Lily must have slipped something into the fluids to push her toward sleep, or Mari would never have made such an unguarded statement. He hoped she wouldn’t remember it when she woke.

“I’m here, baby. Just go to sleep and I’ll keep watch,” he murmured, his lips against her temple. She should have smelled of death—not life—but when he inhaled her scent, he could taste her in his mouth, feel his heart beating in time with hers, strong and steady with a perfect rhythm.

“I can’t go to sleep; it’s too quiet in here.”

He groaned softly. “You’re going to make me turn into a fool, aren’t you?” He glanced toward the door. “You’d better never tell anyone I did this.” Ken wrapped his arm around her head, his arm blocking the light from the window, wishing he had his guitar.

Jack had turned to books in the long years of their childhood and Ken had turned to music. He could play nearly any instrument, but he preferred the guitar. The feel of it in his hands and against his body was the same he felt when he held his rifle—an extension of himself. It was calming and took him away from the world, just as the rifle did. He couldn’t play for her, so he sang softly, filling the room with his rich voice, using his own creations, songs he’d written over the years—songs of loneliness and heartache, of rage and death, and songs about the beauty of the earth and sea. He kept watch while her breathing evened out and she slept lightly. Whenever he stopped, her body jerked and a slight frown crossed her face, urging him on.

He glanced at his watch when Lily entered the room; he was shocked that several hours had passed. Embarrassed to be caught singing, he busied himself smoothing out Mari’s hair while Lily checked her pulse and heart rate.

“How’s she doing?” he finally asked.

“Much better. You saved her life, Ken, getting her here so fast. Another few minutes and I couldn’t have done anything.” Lily began removing the IVs from Mari’s body. “Zenith is an amazing healer, but like dynamite, it’s highly unstable. I’ve never been able to isolate what causes cell breakdown, and what the exact timing is. It always varies from patient to patient. It would be miracle drug if it stopped after healing the body. Look at her wrist.”