In Like a Lion (5 page)

The pain and terror of his past swelled over him, rocking him with tidal force. Jake slid down the bars to his knees. Life hadn’t been easy before that night. His foster parents had been alternately neglectful and abusive, but after . . .

Though he hadn’t been forced to sell his body for money, hunger, cold and fear had shadowed his every step.

An air current brought a scent to his nose, spicy and sweet, breaking the ugly grip of memory. A gentle hand touched his hair. Dr. Mehta—Anjali—crouched in front of him on the other side of the bars. He froze. How long had it been since anyone had touched him so tenderly without any strings attached?

Ten years? Fifteen? Had anybody ever touched him that way?

She threaded her tapered fingers through his hair and brushed back the tangled strands, the pads of her fingers stroking his scalp. He closed his eyes, shuddered, and stared into her liquid gaze.

Her lashes were incredibly long and thick, fanning around her almond-shaped eyes like the fringe on a peacock feather. This close he could see her irises were not ebony as he’d supposed, but mahogany, rich and deep. Her wide, dark gaze was earth-mother soft, comforting. Hell, he didn’t want a mother.

He caught her slim hand, intending to throw it off, but as soon as his large fingers wrapped around hers, so petite and delicate, the skin fine and soft under his labor-hardened palm, something changed. He froze there for a second, her hand in his. For the first time in his life, he held a woman’s hand. For the first time, he
wanted
to.

The moment stretched out between them like wet rope, and then he slid his grip to her wrist, raising it and turning it over, thumbing the smooth skin. Here she was a shade paler than the back of her hand. Still a shade darker than his, but so much softer.

His long exhalation must have feathered her skin because she sucked in a breath, visibly shaking.

Her pupils expanded, velvety black abysses he could fall into, her eyelids sinking to half-mast. The sweet, tangy fragrance of desire colored by a tiny acid drift of fear flowed around him, engulfing him in a heady cloud of perfume that was all Anjali.

Bringing the fragile inside of her wrist to his hungry mouth, he closed his eyes and savored the intoxicating scent of her, taking in her scent like a junkie inhaling a drug.

Calm crept over him. He’d never felt more in control in his own skin, as if the lion inside was completely in accord with the man. And yet, at the same time, he felt so wild, his body singing to sweet, painful life. Every nerve ending consumed with Anjali, the sound of her soft, ragged breathing, her scent, the warmth of her body, her silky wrist beneath his fingers.

At that moment, there was no Kincaid, no Anders, no guards, or cameras, only Anjali and the sheer need rolling through him. He pressed his mouth to the smooth, warm area over her pulse, nuzzling her fragrant skin, feeling the drag of his faint scruff against her softness.

She made a tiny, urgent sound that zinged directly to his cock and he opened his starving mouth and planted a long, hot kiss on her tender inner wrist, tasting the clean salt of her skin. She made another maddening squeak and his mouth still lingering on her wrist, he lifted his head to meet her ravenous gaze.

She gasped, and the stink of fear drowned the fragrance of arousal. “Your eyes. They’re blue.”

Chapter 4

A shout split the quiet. “Hey! Dr. Mehta!”

The dreamlike bubble encasing Anjali burst. She jumped back, one hand pressed to her collarbone. What’d possessed her to touch him? The instructions to keep her distance were for her own protection. Not to mention the ethical concerns, though he wasn’t her patient, per se.

But even knowing what he was, the sight of him kneeling there, head bowed, shoulders rigid with anguish, had called to her.

She didn’t even remember making the decision. She’d simply gone to him, and given in to her need to comfort him.

But then he’d looked at her, driving any thoughts of comfort from her mind. Her wrist felt cold after the heat of his mouth. The memory of the caress made her tremble. The wave of pure desire ignited by his breath was like nothing she’d ever experienced. And when his lips had touched her skin, the pleasure had been so intense it’d rocked her to the core.

Sanchez brushed her out of his way.

Still rocked by the memory of Jake’s caress, she stumbled a little, putting out her hands to stay on her feet. There was a buzzing in her ears that made it hard to hear. For a moment she felt distanced from the scene, as if she were watching it through a telescope.

The guard carried some sort of a long metal rod with a rubberized handle and prongs on the far end. She knew she’d seen something similar on TV, but her muddled brain refused to identify it.

He thrust the object at Jake, who’d been slow in getting up. The end touched him. Electricity crackled and he stiffened, crying out.

A cattle prod
?

She felt her eyes widen in horror as she finally realized what the instrument was and smothered the small scream in her throat.
Surely, Kincaid hadn’t authorized the use of such a device on a patient?

She stepped forward, longing to intercede, but wary of getting in the way.

Jake leapt back, a snarl rising to his lips. His eyes seemed to glow golden. He threw his head back and a roar thundered though the room.

Anjali had never heard a man make a sound so wild, so similar to a lion’s roar. The feral call raised the tiny hairs on the back of her neck.

She lifted her hand to her heated forehead, her joints liquid with fear. Something hard poked her hip and she realized she’d backed into the metal table against the wall.

Sanchez speared the prod at Jake again, but Jake reached out and grabbed the nasty device in one lightning swift motion. She’d never seen anyone move so fast.

He yanked Sanchez toward him, gripped the shorter man’s burly arm while he tore the prod from his grasp, then threw it to the ground.

Sanchez tried to tug away, but Jake jerked him toward the bars, striking the man’s temple on the metal. He fell with a groan.

Shouting announced the arrival of three more heavily built men, all of whom carried the cruel prods.

They poked the devices through the bars, but Jake absorbed each shock. His lips were peeled back from white teeth, eyes blazing yellow fire with hatred.

A shudder rocked through Anjali. He was terrifying in his fury.

“My God.” One of the men shook his crew-cut head incredulously. “I’ve never seen anyone stand after a jolt like that. He’s not human!”

“Shut up, Cooke!” said Anders, the largest of the three, a blond. “Hit him all at once.”

“No!” They’d kill him. Anjali pushed forward. But they knocked her back. She hit the table with an “oof,” her teeth clattering, and Jake exploded.

Eyes narrowed, teeth bared, he snatched the prod off the floor and shocked the man closest to the bars, knocking him off his feet, then, growling, lunged for the blond, but the two men shocked him simultaneously. Jake shook and shuddered as the electricity zipped through his body.

There was a moment of pregnant silence. Jake fell to his knees. He gazed up at her with the bewildered eyes of a tortured animal then crumpled to the floor of his cell.

“Are you all right, Dr. Mehta?” Sanchez spoke. His face was white and a sheen of sweat glazed his features. A gash seeped blood down the side of his face.

“I’m fine,” she said. Guilt made her avoid his eyes. What’d she done? She turned to where they’d left Jake lying on the ground. “What about Jake? Shouldn’t someone check him?” Remorse gnawed at her.

One lapse, and two men had almost been killed.

The guard clamped his lips together as he shook his head. “Orders are to leave him after an outburst.”

Her gaze found the figure prone on the polished concrete. Tears pricked the back of her eyelids. What’d possessed her?

It would serve her right if Mr. Kincaid fired her. She braced her hands on the desk.

“What happened?”

Chest heavy, she turned to face her boss.

He seemed strangely unperturbed by the setback, almost . . . happy.

“Sir!” Someone had given Sanchez a gauze pad. He pressed the cottony surface against the gash in his head as he hurried toward them. “I looked up and he had her. I’ll have to examine the footage to see how it happened.”

“Don’t bother.” Kincaid clapped Sanchez on the back.

Sanchez’s face fell. “I’ll get my things.”

“Why?” The older man sounded puzzled, his white eyebrows slanted over pale eyes.

“You’re firing me, aren’t you?” Sanchez studied the floor.

“Oh—” Kincaid’s expression darkened as if he were only now realizing the seriousness of the situation. “No, no, but I’ll want to have a talk with you later. For now, why don’t you take the rest of the day off?”

Sanchez seemed as if he couldn’t believe his luck. “Yes, Sir!” he said, and left in a hurry, perhaps worried Kincaid might change his mind.

Anjali fumbled for the courage to admit the whole thing had been her fault, but Kincaid patted her on the shoulder. “There’s no need to explain, my dear. I know how crafty Finn can be. You’re far from the first he’s seized through the bars.”

“But—” Anjali said, stunned by how lightly Kincaid was taking her error.

“No, no. I refuse to let you blame yourself.” He patted her again, then turned to the other three men. “Anders, you all have paperwork to do, do you not?”

After a beat, the blond nodded. “Of course, sir.”

He glanced at the other men, jerked his head toward the door, and strode out. The two men followed, leaving her alone with her employer.

Kincaid put his pink hands on her shoulders and gazed into her face. Anjali struggled to hide her uneasiness at his familiarity, telling herself he meant well. “You’ve had quite a scare. Do you need to go home?” He studied her face with avid eyes and Anjali sensed he wanted her to refuse.

“No,” she said slowly, not wanting to ruin this second chance. “I’m fine.”

“Excellent.” He smiled. “Why don’t you spend the time reviewing those discs I gave you? When you’re finished, you can come to my office and I’ll give you my insights on Finn.”

Discs?
He’d only given her one DVD. “Sir—”

He glanced at his watch. “I’m late for a meeting. Any questions you have will have to wait until later.”

After Kincaid left, Anjali went up to the bars. They’d left Jake lying on the polished cement floor. His long eyelashes covered those incredible eyes, lending his countenance a serenity he hadn’t shown her. Maybe only unconsciousness granted him peace.

She pressed her lips together. Not since childhood had she lost control of her emotions and actions the way she had earlier. In the moment he’d touched her, she’d forgotten her hard-won restraint, consumed by the warmth of his hand and the longing in his eyes. Those incredible eyes.

She paced over to the desk. His eyes. They’d seemed to change color. No. It wasn’t possible. It must have been a reflection from somewhere. She scanned her clothes. Her white lab coat couldn’t be the culprit.

She canvassed the room for something blue. Finding nothing, she sighed and sagged back on the table. If it
had
been a reflection, whatever caused it was gone now. Perhaps it’d been her imagination. After last night, she was certainly tired enough to start seeing things.

Standing, she massaged her temples. The DVD beckoned, but she couldn’t bring herself to leave Jake while he remained unconscious.

Jake lay still on the floor, his whole body aching, and listened. He could hear clothing rustling, the soft click of typing on a virtual keyboard.

A surreptitious sampling of the air told him it was Anjali. He stayed where he was. He didn’t want them knowing how fast he’d recovered from the jolt they’d given him.

If only he could recover so quickly from Anjali’s. Damn the weakness that’d caused him to melt at her touch. What was it about her that slipped so easily under his defenses?

Maybe it was the way she’d opened up to him about her family. The stark loneliness on her face had spawned a kernel of something unfamiliar in his chest. Something that ached just as potently as a blow.

And so, though he’d had no intention of truly telling her anything, the truth had come spilling out of him just the same.

He hid a shiver as he remembered the sweet intoxication of smelling her skin, kissing her inner wrist.

Drunk on her scent, his brain had been in a fog when they’d been interrupted. It’d been years since he’d been slow enough to be shocked by a prod.

When he’d seen the guards manhandling her, something inside of him had snapped. He had no doubt, if he’d gotten hold of one of the guards, he would have killed the man without a moment’s hesitation.

Acid bile flooded his throat, burning. No matter how much he struggled against his incarceration,
this
was where he belonged.

Chapter 5

Anjali waited until Jake’s thick eyelashes fluttered. Smothering a wayward cry of relief, she hurried for the door the minute she knew he was going to be all right. How could she face him after what had happened? After what she’d caused in one weak moment?

She tried to appear calm as she made her way down the halls, nodding at people she knew as they passed, but the same refrain played in rhythm with each step,
Lallu. Lallu. Lallu.
Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.

She heaved a sigh as she entered the tight, dingy confines of the control room she’d used earlier. A drift of dust tickled her nose, and she quashed a sneeze. Sinking into the vinyl-covered chair, she dropped her head into her hands.

The events of the past half-hour stormed over her with the force of a hurricane. The tears that had loomed since the incident fell unchecked.

Jake had seemed so composed, so normal, during their conversation. Despite what she’d been told about his past, despite the pictures she’d seen of men he’d killed, despite every rational impulse, she’d quickly stopped thinking of him as a research subject and started thinking like a doctor.

She’d felt there might be some way he could be treated. Had considered the possibility he might be able to lead a more normal life. But she couldn’t fool herself any more.

Jake had been terrifying in his madness. His rage so powerful, it was as if another, larger being hid beneath his skin. Something monstrous. Something deadly.

Hand shaking, she put the DVD back in the machine, chose the most recent listing in the menu, and leaned closer, wiping away tears with her fingers. She couldn’t help Jake, but she could still do the job she’d come here to do.

Jake’s image flashed onto the screen. He paced the length of his cell, then he paused and impaled the camera with his gaze. She shivered.

Even having seen him at his worst, even acknowledging he was too far gone to be anything but a prisoner for the rest of his days, she wasn’t sure she could be trusted to interview him.

Perhaps she was going mad herself, because all she could think of was her need to tangle her fingers in his hair, cup his lean cheek, press her lips to that hot, hard mouth.

A flux of desire gripped her body at the mere thought of him. She cooled her suddenly flaming cheeks with her palms.

Who could imagine the mere whisper of a breath on the inside of her wrist could trigger such an intense response? And his mouth . . . She shuddered at the memory.

TV was full of women who got involved with men in prison. She’d always wondered how women could fall for murderers. How could they ever trust them?

God knew he was handsome, but she’d never been distracted by a pretty face or a strong body. And in Mumbai there was certainly no shortage of handsome men.

Catching a glimpse of her face in an unused monitor, she stared. Wisps of hair had eluded her braid and fallen against her flushed cheeks. Her eyes were glassy above circles that rivaled the Bay of Bengal. In short—she was a mess.

She glared at herself. “Ugh! Snap out of it, Anjali!”
Great
. Now she was talking to herself.

A forceful knock made her jump. Anders stuck his blond head in the door. “Dr. Mehta?”

Anjali pasted on a smile. Anders was
almost
the last man she wanted to see at the moment. He’d taken way too much pleasure in hurting Jake. Hot bile stung her mouth at the memory. “Yes?”

“Mr. Kincaid would like to see you.”

Wonderful.
Maybe he’d changed his mind and was planning on firing her? Her pulse skipped. It should be a relief not to have to face Jake again after what she’d done, but the idea of never seeing him again gave her a leaden feeling in her chest. She firmed her lips.
Stop being ridiculous, Anjali.
The feeling had nothing to do with Jake. It was a normal extension of possibly losing her job, nothing else.

Anjali gathered her things, and followed the guard to her employer’s office, noticing for the first time how large Anders was—he hadn’t seemed so big in the oversized cell block—and the gun he wore in a holster at his waist, like a cowboy in an old western.

He knocked on Mr. Kincaid’s door and announced her, poking his head inside. Then, leaving the door open, nodded at her and strode off down the hall.

The office was not terribly big, but the space was decorated to within an inch with rich, English-style wood paneling and a flat screen TV across from the large, ponderous desk.

“Anjali.” Kincaid stood, a white smile curving his mouth, the artificial light haloing his white hair, and gestured to the metal and leather seat across from him. He gave off an air of suppressed excitement that sent a prickle down her back. “I’m sorry for moving up our meeting, but some things have come up.”

“No problem.” She sat. A wash of relief at the reason for the meeting swept through her, but a tiny, inexplicable sensation of apprehension continued to hang over her.

She plucked at her lab coat as Mr. Kincaid re-seated himself and, realizing she telegraphed her unease, she folded her hands in her lap.

Her employer straightened the open file on his blotter. He wore a class ring with a clear stone in it. The gem winked and something told her it was real.

For a moment, she wrestled with the urge to touch it, to take it. What the hell? She swallowed and tore her gaze away. Where was this compulsion coming from?

To her relief, Kincaid tucked his arms behind his head, hiding the tantalizing object. “Do you have any questions so far about the di—” His phone rang. He blew a tiny apologetic sigh. “Excuse me,” he said, and picked up the receiver.

He listened for a moment. “I’ll be right there.” He turned to Anjali, who placed her hand on the desk to stand.

“No, no.” He motioned to her to remain seated. “I’ll only be a moment.”

Anjali twisted in her chair as he left, closing the door.

Dismissing her strange fascination with his ring as some odd fluke, she put the jewelry out of her mind and glanced at the clock. How long was he going to be? Restless, she inspected the room, noticing the manila file folder open on Mr. Kincaid’s desk.

Jake’s original file.

A sleek cell phone sat on top of the file. Her employer had a Blackberry, so it wasn’t his.

She couldn’t resist examining the picture in the file. It was different from the one she had in the file he’d given her. She moved the phone to the side, and towed the folder toward her.

Two DVDs in paper sleeves slid out. One labeled like the one she already had, and another labeled ‘Part Two.’ Now she knew why Mr. Kincaid had used the plural.

She might as well use his absence to see the contents of the second disc.

A DVD player sat in a paneled cabinet beneath the TV. She swiveled her chair, inserted the disc, and picked up the remote control.

The menu came up. A frown tugged at her forehead. The other disc had been chronological, following Jake’s early years and then his most recent transfer here. This disc contained the missing years, but covered the earlier years as well. Why hadn’t Mr. Kincaid simply given her this disc?

She clicked on the first entry, the interview, and sped through it, confirming it was identical.

The next section covered a time missing from the first disc. The time/date stamp put Jake at fifteen. He was in a tiny room similar to the interview room she’d seen before, but it was set up like a cramped bedroom, with a chest of drawers, bookcase, and a tiny reading desk and chair. Jake sat on the bed reading. Anjali smiled at that. In that at least, he hadn’t changed much.

Physically, he was quite different. He displayed the reediness of a boy who’d gained a large amount of height without the weight to go with it. He was only starting to build muscle, but what he had was well defined.

His face had a softness missing from the adult Jake, and she ached at the pain that had hardened his features, put the wariness in his eyes.

A trim, suited man entered the room. A much younger, dark-haired Gareth Kincaid.

He hauled the chair out from the metal desk and straddled it, his arms on the plastic back. “I’m glad you’ve decided to talk with me, Jake.”

Jake slammed the book closed and stood up, the action so quick, Kincaid flinched almost imperceptibly in reaction. “I didn’t
decide
anything. I want to know why I’m here.”

“You know why you’re here, Jake.” Kincaid rapped a file folder on the back of the chair. “You killed a man. Did you think we wouldn’t track you down?”

“You a cop, then? I don’t see a badge.” A muscle flexed in Jake’s jaw, his hands balled into fists.

Even in black and white, Anjali could see the coiled tension in him, his frustration at being caged.

An atavistic instinct raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Even as young as he was, there was an air of deadly power around him. The feeling seemed to transmit through the monitor, infecting her, cranking her heart rate and respiration. She slid to the edge of chair, restraining the desire to stand.

“No, no. I’m not the police. But I have a court order to keep you under observation.”

Jake’s gaze was unfocused as he paced to the door and back, like a lion in a sideshow zoo. “For how long?”

“Indefinitely.” Kincaid stood, set something on the desk, then moved to the door. “You’ll have school work and other . . . tasks to do while you’re here. Work hard and perform well and you will be rewarded. Fight, and you will lose.”

A buzzer sounded as the door opened. An armed guard stood on the other side, a gun in his hand.

Kincaid strode through. When the mechanism clicked shut on the older man’s heels, Jake launched his body at it.

Anjali started at the sound of his lanky frame hitting the door.

He flung himself at it over and over, grunting with effort. Finally, he began beating the metal door until the thump of his fist on the steel sounded wet and dark smears marked the rigid surface.

It was horrible to watch, but Anjali was unable to tear her glance away, her cheeks cold with tears.

He stood and paced back and forth from the desk to the wall, his movement so swift and effortless Anjali found herself mesmerized. And then there was a blinding flash and a young lion paced the circuit.

“What the . . .?” Anjali left her chair, then stooped in front of the screen for a closer view.

Had someone accidentally burned a nature show onto the disc? She examined the scene. She could clearly see the bed in the background. The lion was in the same room Jake had been in only seconds before. A pile of rags she hadn’t noticed before lay near the desk.

Had someone let a lion in with Jake? She scrutinized the shadowed corners of the room, but Jake was nowhere to be seen. Why would someone take Jake from the room and put a half-grown lion in his place? She shook her head in wonder, while her mind sorted through the possible explanations for the animal’s presence and came up empty.

The lion padded back and forth several times and collapsed, panting on the concrete floor. He glared up at the camera as if he knew it was there, then rested his chin on one enormous paw. Soon his eyes blinked sleepily, then drifted shut, until finally the rise and fall of his massive chest gave evidence that he slept.

After a minute, another brilliant flash made Anjali turn away from the screen and when she refocused on the monitor, Jake lay naked on the floor.

Her hand quickly swept through the heavy strands of hair that’d escaped from her braid, brushing them out of her face. What kind of bizarre hoax was this?

She quickly scanned through the rest of the clips. Aside from frequent arguments between Jake and Kincaid, which often ended with Jake being restrained, and scenes of him studying or exercising, the main body of the clips showed Jake and then the lion. Or a creature that appeared to be some sort of massive lizard, a
dragon?,
and that she believed even less than the lion.

Anjali rubbed the crease between her eyebrows and sank into the chair, the top of her fist touching her lips. What the hell was Kincaid trying to pull?

She glanced at the door. But then, he hadn’t given her this DVD, had he? If he were trying to fool her for some reason—and she couldn’t figure what—why hadn’t he given her the disc?

Kincaid was a wealthy man. What agenda could he have for fooling one insignificant researcher? What did he have to gain by convincing her a man could change into an animal?

Maybe she was being punked? She scanned the room for a hidden camera, then shook her head. The set-up was too elaborate. No normal TV show could go to these lengths and still make a profit. A movie? She almost snorted. No one could confuse her with Angelina Jolie.

Anjali ejected the disc from the player and placed it back on Kincaid’s desk, slipping it where it’d been in the file, her mind tossing through more outlandish possibilities, none with any rational motive she could discern.

She straightened the folder, then picked up the cell phone to put it back on top. The cell rang in her hand.

Not a clever ring tone or a song, just a simple old-fashioned ring. She stared at the device, a flip phone with a window for caller ID.

Kyle Mara
.

Heart hammering, she flipped it open and put it to her ear. “Hello?”

A voice with the same rough timbre as Jake’s answered. “Who is this? Is Jake there?”

“Well . . .” Anjali’s lips and mouth were suddenly parched. “This
is
his phone, but—” She scrambled for something to say. “I’m afraid he’s all locked up at the moment.”