Deadly Game (GhostWalkers, #5)(9)

“Ken?” The voice came from the other room and her captor half-turned to face the doorway. “Briony says to bring her sister home and she sends her love.”

She looked past the man standing by the bed and her heart nearly stopped. The face of the man standing in the doorway was everything Ken’s should have been. Strong. Handsome. Classically beautiful. It was the face she imagined on an avenging angel—the bone structure, the lines and masculine perfection. The stranger had the same eyes, the same mouth. She had avoided looking too much at Ken’s mouth because she might have fixated on it. The scar that marred the soft fullness of his lips ran from the top lip to the bottom and down his chin in a straight line, and had the same precise symmetry that the other scars had.

The man in the doorway stopped. “I didn’t realize she was awake.”

Ken turned back to her, his arm still cradling her body, as he picked up a glass of water. “Can you manage with one hand?”

She could shoot a gun or throw a knife with one hand. She certainly could drink water, but having Ken close to her was intoxicating. She’d never been intoxicated before either. She allowed him to hold the glass to her lips. His hands were rock steady. She was trembling. Whatever was affecting her certainly wasn’t doing the same to him.

Mari hesitated, staring at the clear liquid with a sudden thought that she was a prisoner and they wanted information. As if reading her mind, Ken brought the glass to his lips and took a long drink. She watched the glass slide against his mouth, the way his throat worked as he swallowed, and she couldn’t help noticing those same horrific scars on his neck and, lower still, reaching under the shirt. Where else did they go?

She let him put the glass to her lips, astonished at how good water could taste. She hadn’t realized she was so thirsty. All the while she drank, she had to force her mind from straying to Ken. She tasted him on the glass, felt him through the thin material of the T-shirt—or maybe it was his T-shirt. Maybe that was why she felt him imprinted deep in her bones.

She held the glass to her forehead, fighting for air. With every breath she drew into her lungs, a sharp pain stabbed through her chest.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” Ken said, taking the glass and setting it on a table beside the bed. “If you hadn’t been wearing two vests, you’d be dead right now.”

Cami had insisted she wear two vests. She’d have to remember to thank her friend for that. She touched the painful spot. “Was it you?”

“I was aiming for your eye. You moved as I pulled the trigger.”

“I figured you would fire as soon as you knew where I was. I kept rolling, but you hit me with both shots.”

“I didn’t kill you,” he pointed out, his voice mild. “And that’s a rare thing.”

She blinked up at him, seeing the beauty of his face when he wanted her to see his mask. She knew he hid behind that mask of complete indifference. He hid himself away where no one could get to him—and why it mattered, she had no idea. She had obligations and she had to escape as quickly as possible. She just knew she didn’t want to add to this man’s scars.

“Lucky me. I didn’t kill you, and that might be even rarer.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her, the one without a scar slashing white through the black hairs. “Actually, it was Jack you nearly hit. Do you need a painkiller?”

Mari shook her head. “You’ve given me something. I’m already floating. How bad is the leg?”

“Let’s just say, you’re going to have to put off your escape plans for a little while.”

Was he reading her mind? It was possible. She was a strong telepath; maybe he was too. Maybe touching her allowed him entrance to her mind. Panic swirled in her belly, her stomach churning. Dr. Whitney had experimented on the soldiers with the idea of creating a unique black ops team capable of slipping in and out of situations, and handling any problem that might crop up, including interrogation. With the right psychic ability, just touching another might be all that was necessary to extract the information wanted.

“I’m not.”

“Not what?”

“I’m not reading your mind.”

She blinked up at him. “If you’re not, how did you know what I was thinking?”

“You don’t have a poker face and I know your sister very well.” His gaze locked on hers—held hers. “She has a lot of the same expressions.”

The punch took her breath away, robbed her of every bit of air left in her lungs. How did he know she had a sister? Who was he? She felt sick, bile rising so fast she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. Had she talked when she was unconscious? She would not be used to capture her sister. Never. “My sister?” Even as she echoed his words, she remembered Jack calling out to his brother. Briony says to bring her sister home. Briony was not a common name. How did they know? She hadn’t even told Cami about Briony. She kept her memories of Briony close, afraid Whitney might take them away.

She stayed very still, making herself smaller in the bed. She might be at their mercy right this moment, but they would underestimate her, especially with the way she was acting around Ken. There would be one moment when they would grow complacent, when they would forget she was a trained soldier, and she would be able to escape.

She reached out telepathically, calling on the other members of her unit, hoping someone was in range. Sometimes, when they were all connected, they could reach far, miles even, but most of the time they had to be fairly close.