In Like a Lion (7 page)

Chapter 8

Anjali leaned back in her desk chair and checked her watch. Time to see Jake.

Since the strange, hell, bizarre events two days ago, she had tried to act as normally as possible. Part of that process was these interviews, but she both anticipated and dreaded them.

The first day he’d simply lay on his bed, his face to the wall, refusing to acknowledge her, nothing she had said drawing a reaction, reminding her of a friend’s rescue cat which had taken up residence under the couch the minute they’d brought it home.

The second day, Jake had raged at her, telling her to go away and leave him alone, before lapsing back into brooding silence.

Nor had he, despite her constant monitoring of his cell, changed shape. If she hadn’t watched the recordings, she would have dismissed the whole thing as a hallucination brought on by stress and lack of sleep.

None of his blood and tissue samples had shown any abnormalities at all, but that did nothing but raise more suspicion in her mind.

His muscular development should have resulted in higher serum testosterone levels then average and yet those numbers were so average as to be textbook. In her experience, no one was textbook.

Anjali faked a cheery wave at Anders when she arrived at the cellblock, though she hadn’t forgiven him for his brutal handling of Jake the other day.
Koi ni sathay bagaadvu nahi
, her mother would have said. The Gujarati equivalent of ‘Don’t burn your bridges behind you.’

The door clicked shut and she strode to Jake’s cell. He was doing a martial arts form in the limited space.

She cleared her throat, but he ignored her. The play of his muscles mesmerized in the irregular light.

“Jake?”

He flowed though the form, striking and kicking the air with swift purpose. His pants snapped with each kick. The air sighed as his fists sliced through it. She would hate to be on the other end of the lethal moves. Where had he learned them?

It was almost a relief to be ignored. The knowledge he might not be what they said gnawed at her defenses. Made him less of a subject and more of a man. A very sexy man.

Her gazed lingered on the line of his back. Well-defined muscles played hide and seek with the light, the ridge of his spine seemed as strong and solid as an aerial view of a mountain range, begging for the caress of a hand. To be traced by a pair of tender lips.

Dry-mouthed, she watched him for several minutes, then crossed her arms over her chest, scrounging up the professionalism the sight of him had driven away. “I saw you doing this before.”

He paused for a second then continued his movements. “How’s that?”

“The first day we met, I toured the facility and I saw you in the gym.”

He snorted. “My exercise sessions have been cut off since then.”

Damn.
“You blame me?”

He stopped and almost met her eyes. “You. Me. My goddamn illness.”

Anjali licked her lips. How could she continue to let him believe he was ill, when everything he’d experienced could be explained by his abilities?

Jake sniffed the air. “What is that? Guilt?”

She tried to smile, but she knew she hadn’t done much more than twitch the corners of her lips. “Maybe.” She wasn’t in the position to tell him anything at the moment. He probably wouldn’t believe her if she did. “You’ve been worse since I came.”

“Who told you that?”

“I—”

“Sometimes when we’re alone, I feel better.” He leaned against the bars, his strong back to her, close enough to touch.

Warmth filled her face and settled in her chest. She considered his claim and the best way to answer. “And when we’re not?”

He huffed, a tiny humorless laugh, dry as fall leaves. “You don’t want to know.”

Anjali studied him, trying to gauge his mood, needing the answer, but afraid to push him and not just because he might stop cooperating. “It’s my job to know.”

“It’s a hell of a job, interviewing murderers.” The words were almost a growl and the tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She pressed her lips together, heart pumping fast.

Would he change? Did she really want him to?

More data was necessary, but . . . The cutting intensity of seeing him change—the marvel and the fear. The anticipation and the dread. The power of the experience went beyond explanation.

He paced to his bed. For a second she thought the interview was over for the day. She bit her lip, throat tight, the bars between them a chasm she couldn’t cross. Shouldn’t want to, but God, she did.

He turned toward her, rolling against the bars, though still not looking at her, and rested his hands and forehead on them. “How many have you met?”

“How many of what?” She blanked, too caught up in her emotions to do more than stare at his large hands curled around the massive bars. Hands that made her think of hot, wild things she couldn’t do.

“Murderers.”

She ripped her attention away from the incredible strength in his hands. “Including you?”

He turned and she could see his profile. A muscle contracted in his cheek. “If you must.”

She hesitated. “One.”

That golden glance almost met hers. Her heart skipped a beat, hungry for the sight, but his gaze skated away. “Late start.”

She inhaled to steady her pulse. “I trained to be an obstetrician first.”

It was his turn to cross his arms as he leaned his left shoulder against the bars. “Hmmm.”

She tilted her chin, challenging him. “What does that mean?”

“From babies to murderers. I sense a story.”

The room seemed to dim. Anjali rubbed her temple with her fingers and smiled, hoping to disarm him with humor. “Your senses are good, young padawan, but you’re not going to hear it.”

He stared over her shoulder, as if the wall behind her was more than painted cinderblock. “You like
Star Wars
, huh?”

She nodded, grateful he’d taken the bait, happy to be on neutral territory. “Mostly the first three movies, that became the last three movies. Not a fan of the hero turned villain, I guess.”

He glanced at her, lion eyes intent. The sight, electric as always, put a hitch in her heart rate. “What about the villain turned hero?”

Her stomach dipped as if she rode the first dramatic upswing of a Ferris wheel. Unable to rip her focus away from the lure of his eyes, Anjali opened then closed her mouth, air in short supply. “Wha-What do you mean?”

“Han Solo?”

She ripped her gaze from his and blew out a puff of air. “Han wasn’t a villain.”

“He shot first at Mos Eisley.”

She grasped at familiar ground. “Greedo was going to take him to Jabba, who was probably going to kill him. It was clearly self-defense.”

“As you say.” He sent her a smirk that would have done Han proud.

“I do.” She lifted her chin, hiding the way the smirk sent her heart jetting faster than a plane in a flat spin. “You seem to know a lot about
Star Wars
, too.”

“There was a little independent movie theatre and comic shop in this one town. It was a warm place to sleep.”

Damn! Why had he admitted that? Jake pivoted his shoulders to face his bed. Simple, one whiff of Anjali or glance into her mahogany eyes and he was as weak as a starving alley cat begging for scraps.

He had never experienced an attraction as powerful as he felt for her and at times it seemed ready to bowl him over.

He grabbed the bars. The scent of pity washed over him. His chest tightened. “As you said, my senses are excellent. Do you want to know what else they tell me?”

Those liquid dark eyes regarded him with such trepidation he almost backed off, but he had to get her out of here and from her reaction the first day, there was one surefire way to do it.

He leaned closer. “My senses tell me, as much as you try to hide it from me and maybe even from yourself, you don’t just see me as a research subject.”

A muscle flexed in her jaw. She raised a dark eyebrow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He let his gaze linger on her face, then settle on her breasts, forced up by her crossed arms. She squirmed a bit beneath his scrutiny.

“Then why are your nipples hard?”

She coughed several times, slapping her collarbone as if she were choking, cheeks reddening. “What? That’s not true.”

“No?” He forced himself to continue holding her gaze. She appeared even more beautiful flustered, and he had to restrain his hand from reaching out to stroke her glowing cheek. He wanted to drive her away, not eat a cattle prod.

“This is an inappropriate conversation.” She wrapped her slender arms tighter around her body.

He could hear her grinding her teeth. He was getting to her.

“Tell me, Anjali.” He enjoyed watching her pupils expand as he said her name. “Do you dream of me?” He lowered his head, holding her gaze. It was a relief to let the truth spill out. “I dream of you. I see you here on my bunk. I’m fucking you and you’re calling my name.”

He watched her throat work, her face flush darker. The hot scent of anger melded with the musk of arousal.

His delusion roused, her scent making it hard to think about anything but somehow escaping these bars and pulling her near. Tasting her skin again, learning the taste of her lips.

She drew up to her full height. If eyes could shoot lasers, the US Army would draft her tomorrow. “I know what you’re doing, but you’re not going to drive me away this time.”

He fought back his illness, made his smile as smug as he could. “I’m not? Are you sure?” He let his gaze rake her again. “I’m just getting warmed up.”

She regarded him for a moment, then pursed her lips. “You want to know what happened to my mother?” A step brought her closer to him, though not close enough to grab.

Thank God.

He shrank back a little inside, afraid of the inner demons she might raise. Fear not for himself, but for her.

She tightened her arms around her body as if protecting herself from a blow and her pointed chin quivered. “Some thugs broke into my apartment in Boston when I was at work. I suppose they wanted things they could pawn for drug money.” A shudder rocked her body. “They didn’t have to kill her. She would have—
I
would have—given them anything they wanted, if they wouldn’t hurt her.”

Jake exhaled long and loud, her distress slicing through him, subduing that thing inside that fought to break free. He raked a hand through his hair, glancing at the back wall.
What an ass he was.
“I’m sorry.”

She nodded, blinking. “That’s why I’m here. That’s why, instead of delivering babies, I’m talking to murderers.”

Her eyes were shiny and he wished he could offer her the comfort she had given him before, but even if he could reach her, that hadn’t turned out too well for either of them.

The sight of her pain bore into his chest like a drill and he held out a hand anyway, though he knew she wouldn’t take it. “Truce?”

His hand hung in the air, palm up, fingers outstretched. Empty, cold, and likely to remain so. No matter how much he wished otherwise.

She gazed at the wall over her shoulder and wiped her eyes with her fingers, sniffing. “OK.”

He propped his shoulder on the bars, groping mentally for something to say to take her mind off her grief. “So besides
Star Wars
, I bet you like
Star Trek
, too. Have you seen the new one?”

A smile stretched her full mouth and he adjusted his body, still aching from his game of cat and mouse. Truth be told, blurting out his erotic dreams of her had felt good, but in the end he was just as much a victim of his words as she. Worse, it hadn’t worked and he didn’t regret his failure the way he should.

“I like it. I didn’t see any of the classic series until I came here, but I love them all.”

“You don’t find Shatner’s delivery . . . too . . . staccato?” He watched her expression, knowing he was pushing her fan buttons and wanting to see her light up the way she had when she’d defended Han.

“All the actors in the sixties acted that way.” She shrugged. “The only reason it’s unique now is because his work has stood the test of time.”

They discussed
Star Trek
a while longer and then moved on to other topics. He prodded her, taking the opposite side, enjoying watching her cheeks blush and her eyes flash as she defended her position, though in truth he pretty much agreed with her on most things.

He almost groaned when a melody filled the room and she took out her phone. The interruption was like being awoken from a great dream with no chance to turn over and go back to sleep.

She considered him, sweet mouth pressed tight with regret. “I have to go. I asked for a re-test of your blood and the labs are in.”

He managed a nod and she was gone.

The room seemed to darken after Anjali left. Her maddening scent lingered in the air. His jaw clenched.

How had she slid beneath his guard? Made him forget who he was?

Where he was?

A growl grew in his throat. These feelings were a gateway drug, opening a door that was best bolted shut.

The beast reared inside him as if jolted from a sound sleep. It sprang against his inner restraints, pounding the walls, probing for a weakness.

He scooped up his book and returned to his bunk. He couldn’t let her become one. Next time they met would have to be their last.