Free Deadly Game by Christine Feehan Page B

teeth, tightening her grip on the knife until her knuckles turned white.
    Stay the hell away from her, Ken. Don’t you damn well get between us. I’ll kill her right now, Jack warned.
    There’s no need for this; she can’t go anywhere.
    “I fuckin’ mean it, Ken. I’ll take her out.”
    “Just be calm and think about this,” Ken said. He didn’t look at his brother or acknowledge the warning, and he didn’t stop moving. “You still have a catheter in. How far do you think you’re going to get with that?”
    “The doctor is going to tell you how to take it out. I mean it, Doc, rip the IV out and do it now.”
    “Jack isn’t a nice man, sweetheart,” Ken said. “He looks handsome and talks soft, so people sometimes get the wrong impression about him. Remember when I was telling you how he pulled me out of Ekabela’s camp? He was captured and escaped. Now, anyone in their right mind just keeps running, especially when they’re in the middle of rebel territory, but not Jack.” His voice was low and conversational, as if they were sitting across a table from each other, not staring down death.
    He kept coming, a silent stalker, making her feel small and vulnerable. Was he within striking distance? He didn’t appear to have a weapon, yet she was suddenly terrified. Not of the fact that she might cut a man’s throat, or that Jack would shoot her, but of those glittering eyes that never left hers, eyes so cold she shivered.
    “Stay away from me,” she said, her voice choking.
    “Jack went back into that camp and rigged everything to blow. He stole weapons and sat up in the trees and picked them off one by one. He killed over—” Ken exploded into action, moving so fast he was a blur, his elbow slamming into her head as his hands locked hers around the knife, jerking it down and away from the doctor, his enormous strength pinning her wrist to the gurney. For a moment everything went black and a million stars danced in front of her eyes. His thumb jabbed hard into her pressure point and her fingers jerked open in reflex.
    Ken removed the knife and tossed it to Eric, but retained possession of her wrist. “Stay the hell away from her.”
    Jack swore aloud, a long and creative curse that was anatomically impossible. Ken glanced at him. “Watch your mouth.”
    “Don’t you fuckin’ tell me to watch my mouth. What the hell were you thinking? You walked right in front of my gun and you did it on purpose, you son of a bitch.”
    “I was thinking I’d defuse the situation,” Ken replied, his tone as mild as ever. “She’s supposed to escape, Jack. That’s what we do when we’re captured. I figured she’d try it eventually. I just didn’t think it would be this soon.” He glanced at Eric, who was still rubbing his throat and looking horrified. “There’s no doubt she can push drugs through her system with remarkable speed, is there? You got your answer without taking more blood.”
    Ken was touching her, his fingers a vise around her wrist, so she felt the anger in him, a river of it running deep and fierce, when on the outside he appeared as cool—as cold—as ice.

CHAPTER 4

    Ken leaned toward Mari, creating an intimacy between them, as if they were the only two people in the helicopter. “Are you all right?”
    Mari closed her eyes against the sound of his voice. So concerned. So incredibly gentle. He wasn’t gentle. There was nothing gentle about him. His hands still clamped her wrist to the gurney and her head felt like a bomb had gone off inside of it. She turned her face away from his, determined not to be taken in by his false concern.
    He shifted even closer; she could tell by his scent. It was suddenly everywhere, all around her, inside of her. She felt the warmth of his breath on her temple, the feather-light touch of his lips. His lips were soft except for one slight rasp over her skin, making her aware of the knife scar running across his mouth. That light rasp sent heat curling