In Like a Lion (9 page)

She emptied her mind, losing herself in the routine of swabbing his skin, allowing the alcohol to dry and applying the tourniquet. If she concentrated hard enough, she could ignore the buzz of attraction between them. She’d drawn blood hundreds of times. He wasn’t a man who sent her hormones into overdrive. He was just an arm with a vein. After she’d filled the vial with blood, she let her hand fall out of camera range and switched the vials, fighting the urge to glance at the camera. Jake’s eyes narrowed as he noted the switch, but he didn’t say anything.

She pressed a gauze pad to the tiny wound, and removed the needle, applying pressure. After a few seconds, she lifted the pad to see if stasis had occurred and reared back. The break in the skin from the needle was gone, as if it had never happened. She probed the area, pulling it taut with her gloved hand, then stripped off the gloves and thumbed his skin, searching for the puncture, but there was only smooth, golden epidermis.

“What?” Jake’s gaze flicked her way.

Anjali shook her head and fingered his corded forearm. “You’re healed.”

He shrugged and glanced away.

She studied him for a long moment. “Why do you do that?”

“Heal?” He released one of his dry, almost laughs. “You’re the doctor.”

“No. Why won’t you look at me?”

“Most people find my eyes . . . upsetting.”

Anjali bit her lip. She was going to hate herself for saying this, but . . . “Blue or gold, I—I think they’re beautiful.”

His head came up and she didn’t hate herself at all as his honeyed gaze met hers. His pupils were so dark against the molten sunlight of his irises. Air became scarce. Beautiful was an understatement. There were no words for eyes like his. She could stare into their depths forever. Especially now, surrounded by the heat of him, his strong presence, his heady scent.

She was suddenly aware of how close she stood, of his arm beneath her hand. Before she could step back, he pressed forward as near as his shackles would allow and his mouth found hers. Her knees dissolved and, body weightless, she leaned into his kiss, the thrilling pressure of his lips moving over hers, hot, sweet, and forbidden, sweeping her away. There was a tiny warning bell ringing in her head, that she could get fired for this—should be fired for this, that they were on camera for the whole world to see, but
oh, God
. His mouth was pure magic on hers. She had never felt anything like this. A simple kiss. Nothing but his lips and hers, and yet, she shuddered with pleasure, shockwaves rippling through her from her mouth to her toes and everywhere in-between.

He drew back, those marvelous eyes completely blue, and all she could do was frame his face with her hands.

She just studied him for a several seconds. She wanted to say something. Wanted him to say something, but her body and mind were still clouded by his kiss and she didn’t want to break the spell.

Finally, she had to step back and it was at that moment that Anders returned. His big, loud presence dispersing the fragile, lingering haze of desire.

Minutes later, Jake was gone. Sighing, she busied herself with straightening her materials, trying to ignore the ache in her throat, but nothing helped. The room was too sterile, too hard-edged and way too empty. She’d worked by herself in labs for years. Why now did she feel so alone?

She sank into a rolling desk chair and buried her face in her hands. She should be running Jake’s blood, but what was the point? She’d seen him heal. No normal person healed that fast.

She shook her head and stood. She had to go to someone. She’d put off talking to Mr. Kincaid long enough. Maybe he hadn’t told her because he didn’t think she’d believe him. This whole thing would no doubt be cleared up by one simple conversation.

She headed for the elevator, this time thankful to find it vacant.

When the doors opened at the fourth floor, she saw that Darcy was once more away from her desk. She checked her watch.
Ugh. Lunchtime.
Mr. Kincaid probably wouldn’t be in his office either.

She peered down the long hall.

His door was slightly ajar and she could see his gray-suited shoulder.

He was in.
Oh, goody
. She shook her head and strode forward, a grim smile pasted on her face. He spoke on the phone.

She raised her hand to knock on the door.

“—told you, you’ll never control him.”

Anjali froze, her hand millimeters from the smooth dark surface of the door. He was talking about Jake. He had to be. She leaned forward.

“I don’t care what your bosses say,” Mr. Kincaid continued after pausing to listen to whoever was on the other end of the line, his normally cultured voice frayed around the edges. “The only safe plan is mine. As soon as we have what we need, Finn has to be terminated.”

Anjali blinked. Had she heard what she thought she’d heard?

Had her employer, the respected philanthropist Gareth Kincaid, just ordered a man’s death?

No. She must have misheard.

And yet, there was no way in the hell the words
Finn has to be terminated
could be misconstrued. He wasn’t an employee. He couldn’t be fired. Terminated in this case could mean only one thing. Killed.

Her stomach heaved. The walls lurched, closing in. Her hands grappled for Darcy’s desk. The hall seemed to darken and stretch away as an oppressive feeling of imminent threat overwhelmed her.

She had to warn Jake. But how? His cell was bugged and a camera watched him 24/7. Would he even believe her?

She couldn’t think. She had to get out of here.

After a white-knuckled drive home, Anjali threw her keys down, kicked off her shoes, and rubbed her arms, pacing her tiny apartment, shocked by the violence of her emotions.

She’d heard a man she liked and respected casually calling for a man’s death.

Her research for the Kincaid group was the rock she relied on to keep herself moored to the rest of the world, to other people. Without it, what did she have?

Feelings of betrayal rocked through her. She hadn’t realized how much she had come to regard Gareth Kincaid almost like a father figure. His duplicity stung more than it should.

She shoved her recriminations away. A man’s life was at stake. How could she waste time with her own petty concerns? She had to concentrate on the best way to help Jake.

But what should she do? What
could
she do?

Call the police?

She snorted at that, a stunted laugh withered in her chest. Then
she’d
be the one restrained for the safety of others.

The words reminded her of her conversation with Kyle Mara and his response to the information that his brother was in a secure facility. He’d sworn.

The words had been what you might expect, but the tone of his voice had been odd. She’d brushed past it at the time, but thinking back, his inflection had held less sorrow and more resolve. As if he’d almost been
expecting
her answer, and now he would have to deal with the implications.

Her hands trembled as she reached for the phone. Kyle Mara knew his brother could transform.

She grabbed the phone, only to close her eyes with hopelessness. She had been speaking on Jake’s phone, not hers. She didn’t have his number.

Poor Jake. So far, she made a pretty pathetic rescuer.

Ten minutes later, Anjali gazed at the screen of her laptop and released a sigh of relief. After fruitlessly searching for a personal phone number, she’d finally gotten a break. An online newspaper article mentioned a Kyle Mara. A mover and shaker in New York City, his number was unlisted, but he owned the Three-headed Dog, an Irish-style pub catering to other movers and shakers.

More importantly, the restaurant had a number. She dialed.

A woman answered. “The Three-headed Dog. Carly speaking. How may I help you?”

Anjali hung up.

What the hell was she going to say if he was there? For that matter, what could she say if he wasn’t?

She cleared her throat and dialed again. Jake was Kyle’s brother. No doubt her name would be enough.

Two minutes later, the message had been left, and all Anjali could do was wait.

She stared at the phone for a minute and then jumped to her feet with a sigh. Who knew how long it would take the message to get to him? She fingered her bangles.

Who knew how long Jake had?

As soon as we get what we need.
What had Mr. Kincaid meant? Genetic samples? Surely they had plenty after so many years.

She shook her head. Whatever they were waiting for, whatever it was they
needed,
could require months—or, her heart jolted painfully in her chest—just a day. She might be a pathetic rescuer, but at the moment, she was all Jake had.

She sat down and began to search the Internet for ways to defeat fingerprint locks.

Chapter 11

At nine the next morning, Jake gave up the pretense of exercising and began to watch the clock across from his cell. Where was she? She’d arrived before nine the day before.

Anger—at her or himself, he couldn’t say—prodded him to movement. He paced, each stride carrying him almost a quarter of the length of his cell.

The kiss yesterday had almost slayed him. He’d come whisker-close to dropping his bound wrist over her head and taking her to the floor. Only the shackles had stopped him, reminding him of the very good reasons she remained beyond his reach.

His dreams had been torn with nightmares, him in lion form, stalking Anjali,
killing
her. He’d awakened with a renewed determination to keep his distance and yet . . . he waited.

The door clicked open. Her scent preceded her. Soft-soled shoes whispered on the concrete. No heels today. Black slacks concealed those fabulous legs.

The careful braid was back, but the area under her lovely, almond-shaped eyes was bruised by lack of sleep.

God, he’d love to rub that soft, soft cheek with the back of his knuckles. To feel the brush of her eyelashes against his skin. And he already missed her mouth.

“Bad night?” he asked.

She nodded, her pupils dilated. A new scent drifted to him—the stink of fear.

He was used to inspiring that emotion, but still a pit opened in the depths of his stomach. His hand rubbed the site of the ache.

Her apprehension was good, he told himself to appease the hurt. It would help her keep her distance.

Because only God knew what he might do if she didn’t. He’d already proven that.

The image born of his nightmare, her broken body lying limp and bloody before him, hovered in his mind. The picture should have made him glad of her fear, prompted him to snub her with enough force to frighten her away.

But the desire to be near her, to talk to her, touch her, taste her, refused to shy away at the memory. His hunger was too powerful, too much a part of him.

Anjali peered over her shoulder at the camera and suddenly he understood—it wasn’t him she was afraid of.

No amount of rationalization could stop the wash of elation that swept over him—
he
was not the source of her fear.

Instead of the usual tablet, Anjali held only her bag-sized leather purse. She set it on the table and arranged the soft strap without meeting his eyes.

Nervous and scared.

He wanted, needed, to say something sarcastic, something that would drive her away, but the words wouldn’t come. Inspired by some urge he couldn’t identify, the beast roused. If he wasn’t responsible for her distress, who was? He cleared his throat to halt the rise of a growl. “What’s wrong?”

An uneasy laugh preceded another glance at the camera. “Nothing.”

He examined her for a fraction of a second, but let it go.

She took a small machine from the bag. “I want to try some relaxation techniques with you today, so I’m going to start this sound machine.” An elegant, unpainted finger flipped a switch and ocean noises flooded the room. It was quite loud, and she adjusted the volume, but the slight decrease was almost imperceptible.

Jake eyed her. What was she up to? He’d gone along with her hiding the DNA test from Kincaid and switching the blood. Hell, he was up for anything that might screw Kincaid, but she seemed like the last person to be playing games. He wished he dared ask her.

Sliding her chair just out of his range, she balanced on the edge, brushing a piece of fuzz from her pants. Her actions seemed almost exaggeratedly casual.

He grabbed the chair at his tiny writing desk and dragged it to the bars, the metal legs on the concrete squealing like an animal led to slaughter.

She stared at her neat hands for a moment and said, “I want you to close your eyes and imagine you’re at the beach.” Her gaze lifted to meet his.

He studied her face for a moment.
Play along
, her eyes seemed to beg.

But he hesitated. He’d cooperated yesterday and what had it gotten him? Even more addicted to her scent, her taste. As much as he craved her presence, sooner or later his illness would return. He should be doing everything in his power to scare her away, not rolling over for her like some tomcat wanting his tummy scratched.

She wiggled in her chair, urgency surging off her in waves.

Finally, he leaned back in his seat.

Whatever she was up to, he couldn’t discern any deceit aimed at him, and he wasn’t averse to putting on a dog-and-pony show for Kincaid, but he didn’t want to seem too cooperative, and he couldn’t resist teasing her just a little.

“OK,” he said, holding her gaze and lifting an eyebrow. “I’ll bite.”

She swallowed in reaction to his innuendo, and he could smell a hint of her arousal on the air. The scent slammed into him and his body reacted, driving her directions out of his head.

It dawned on him after a minute that he was staring at her. He closed his eyes.

As soon as his eyelashes touched his cheeks, she spoke again, but so softly he doubted most would have heard it. So softly he knew the microphones couldn’t pick it up over the machine. “Listen carefully and don’t react. We don’t have much time. You’re not crazy.”

Several minutes later, Jake raked back his hair and stared at Anjali, forgetting to follow her phony relaxation instructions in the face of what she’d just told him. “You think—” He lowered his voice and spoke again, in a hoarse whisper. “You think I can change into a lion or a dragon?” He gestured to the bars. “Lady, you’re the one who belongs in this place.”

Anjali glanced at the camera and repeated her bogus directions before answering. “I promise I can prove it to you. What’s more, I can help you find your family.”

“My family?” What kind of cruel game was she running? He was suddenly furious, but oddly the beast hardly twitched.

“I’ve spoken to your brother Kyle.”

Some of Jake’s rage seeped away as he remembered a message he’d heard days earlier before he’d been captured. Kyle had been the name of the man who’d claimed to be his brother. Could it be true?

Or were they all in league together?

But why? None of it made any sense.

He scented the air. He couldn’t smell any deception, but he wouldn’t, if she truly believed her crazy claim. He shook his head.

“Look, it doesn’t matter if you don’t believe me, but tell me this, do you trust Gareth Kincaid?” She followed the whispered question with a loud, “Breathe in and out.”

He checked his hand as it rose to rake his hair again, and pretended to follow her instructions. “Do you even need to ask?”

“I’m begging you. Whether you trust me or not, you’ve got to let me break you out of here. Tonight.”

Four paces to the bars and then back to the white cinder block wall. Jake soothed himself with the rhythm. He could hear the clock ticking away on the wall across from his cell. Every tick leading closer to seven o’clock. Closer to a time when the building would be almost empty. Closer to the time when Anjali would begin her crazy plan to free him.

The shadow beasts inside him roared their approval, but Jake was plagued by scenario after scenario of disaster. So much could go wrong.

He didn’t worry for himself, though Anjali had told him Kincaid planned to have him killed. He worried for her. The guards could hurt her, or worse,
he
could.

He shouldn’t let this happen. He could call a guard. Tell him to keep Anjali the hell away from his cell.

A rusty laughed escaped at that. Yeah, like they’d ever listened to him before.

There had to be
something
he could say to keep her away. But he wasn’t going to.

He was a selfish bastard. If Anjali had some plan to get him out, he was going to let her try.

He stopped pacing and dropped to the bunk. Though he paced frequently enough, constantly when in the hold of the lion delusion, he didn’t want them to suspect he was plotting something.

He grabbed his book,
The Count of Monte Cristo,
regretting throwing it earlier in the week. Thankfully, it was a paperback. The hardcover was nearly as big as a concrete block.

He’d been relieved to find it undamaged. He’d discovered it in the rudimentary library the older man allowed him access to soon after he’d first been taken by Kincaid. When he’d realized the book Anjali had offered him the day before yesterday was also by Dumas, something inside him had warmed, even if the novel had been part of a ruse. No one had ever taken the time to notice or care what he liked.

The door clicked open. Anjali appeared before the bars. She swallowed. He could hear every shallow exhalation rushing past her lips, smell the adrenaline pouring off her.

“Ready?” she mouthed.

He nodded. “Doctor Mehta? What can I do for you? More ‘relaxation techniques?’” His mouth curled into a sneer.

Anjali licked her lips. The soft pink flesh shone in the harsh light and, remembering the candied heat of their kiss, he bit back a groan. He didn’t need to worry about Kincaid.
She
would be the death of him.

What was it about her that skipped his brain and tugged directly on his cock?

Stop thinking with your balls, Finn.

“Jake?” Anjali rolled a marker between her fingers and gazed at him expectantly. She’d asked him something but he couldn’t for the life of him remember what it was. It probably hadn’t been important anyway. This meeting was just an excuse.

With luck, he was getting out of here.

The thought cleared his head instantly. Freedom. If things went well, soon he’d be free. He focused on that, not wanting to think about what might happen when there were no bars between them.

Anjali picked up a square card. “You’ve probably done this before, but I’d like to administer a Rorschach inkblot test.”

He nodded.

She held the first card up. Along the bottom, she had printed in tiny letters.
Kincaid has gone for the day.

“Looks like a monster to me.”

Anjali pretended to make a note of his response, running her thumb over the handwritten words, presumably smudging them out, then she held up the next card.
22 Catbird place Apt. 3b. Spare key under the loose brick second to the far left.

He studied the black shapes on the card. Together they gave the appearance of a pair of lovers, entwined, Anjali in his arms, head thrown back, his mouth at her throat. He ignored the flash of heat the thought ignited.

“A sail boat,” he said.

Anjali made a note, wiped out her addition, and reached for another card. The bottom of this one was blank.

His muscles tensed.
Go time
.

He coughed, bringing his hands up to his neck.

“Jake? Are you all right?” Though this was part of the plan, a thread that sounded like real panic laced her voice.

He coughed louder and threw himself away from the bars, hit the ground, and began to flail and jerk.

Anjali screamed and ran to the bars. Her heart pounded violently. “Help! Help! He’s having some kind of seizure!”

Jake twitched forcefully against the ground, hitting the concrete with bruising vigor. Anjali’s stomach knotted. She’d never imagined it would seem so real. She almost believed he was really having a seizure.

Anders ran in. He approached the cell and stopped, hands on his belt, eyes narrowed.

She stared at him incredulously, then gestured to him. “What are you doing? Get in there! Help him!”

Anders shook his blond head. “I’m sorry, Dr. Mehta. That’s the oldest trick in the book. My orders are to wait until I can confirm illness before intervening.”

Shit
. Anjali’s heart dipped into her abdomen. Escapes were all new to her. How was she to know she’d chosen a cliché?

While Jake shook, she knelt by the bars and bit back tears, the bitter taste of failure coating her mouth.

He’d hurt himself for nothing. She wished she’d gone for her first plan—drugging the guard, but Jake hadn’t wanted her implicated.

Feeling sick as she struggled to salvage their plan, she turned to Anders. “I’m a medical doctor. You don’t think I can tell a fake seizure?”

It was Jake who spoke. “No, I don’t,” he said, and wrapped his powerful hand around her throat.

Anjali gasped and clawed at his fingers. He wasn’t holding her very tightly, and loosened up further at her reaction.

She sent him what she hoped was a blistering gaze. If Anders didn’t believe this, she might have tossed her career away for nothing. His hold firmed, and he shook her.

Anders shouted and lunged at Jake. As soon as the guard was close enough, Jake grasped the front of Anders’ shirt with his free hand, knocking him out against the bars.

But he didn’t release Anjali. She had to appear as if she were being coerced.

“Put his thumb on the plate.”

Anjali shook her head, conscious of the cameras, her chest rising and falling like a children’s joy ride on Juhu Beach. He shifted his grip to her braid and pulled her head back. “Do it!”

She fumbled for Anders’ hand. His arm was heavy. She grunted with effort as she aligned his thumb on the plate. Nothing happened. 

Anjali glowered at Jake. Now she was panting for real. “You’ll never make it work,” she said for their future audience.

“Lick your hand.”