Her Hero After Dark. Cindy Dees
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world did they do to this guy in prison to turn him into what he is now?
Chapter 3
Jeff stared at himself in the mirror. Both the T-shirt and cutoff sweatpant shorts he wore stretched too tightly across his massive physique. But they were the only garments that even came close to fitting him. If nothing else, they highlighted his power pretty blatantly. Hopefully, it would be enough to intimidate his hostess into sending for his drugs immediately.
He rejoined her in the living room, where she was most of the way through the newspaper now.
“Better?” she murmured as he sat down on the sofa opposite her.
“Indeed.”
He waited until she glanced up at him questioningly, debating with himself while he waited. Indirect subtlety or direct and straightforward? How to get Jennifer to order his drugs brought in? His gut told him to go the direct route, but habit told him to approach all women circuitously.
“What’s put that frown on your face?” she asked.
“I’m debating how to handle you,” he replied frankly.
She smiled sardonically. “How about you let me do the handling for now?”
That sent his right eyebrow sailing upward. Did she mean the sexual innuendo? Surely, it had been intentional. She was too smart to make a sophomoric slip of the tongue like that. Thought she could use sex to manipulate him, did she? If he weren’t in so much pain that he could hardly see straight, she would probably be right to think that. He’d played the field as hard as the next guy over the years. Maybe harder than most.
But since he’d met Dr. Gemma Jones, that had changed. The drugs had taken over his life. Now they were his one and only mistress.
“You didn’t answer my question before,” he announced. “How long does it take to get things shipped in here from wherever they get shipped in from?”
“Is there something specific you need in a certain time frame?” she retorted.
He glanced down at the shorts and T-shirt straining across his muscular body. “Some clothes that fit would be nice. Not that it would bother me to do without clothes altogether.”
Her eyes widened and went an even smokier shade of coffee brown. That’s right, honey. Two can play that game of sexual innuendo.
“I can have more clothes for you in the morning,” she mumbled.
Overnight, huh? That meant this island was reasonably close to civilization. And fairly substantial civilization at that. Clothing in his size didn’t come off the rack in just any old store. Back home, everything he wore was custom-tailored to fit his extreme physique.
He tried, “Is there a phone? I need to talk to my business partner. Not to mention my grandfather is no doubt waiting to hear from me.”
Jennifer shrugged. “He’ll have to wait a little longer. Until I finish debriefing you, no one speaks to you.”
“Sorry,” he replied lightly. “I’m not wearing any briefs.”
Her gaze dropped involuntarily to his lap and spots of pink erupted on her cheeks.
“So what does this debrief entail?” he asked.
She blinked up at him as if she was struggling to organize her thoughts. “Uh, for a start, I need to know what happened that led up to your capture. And I’ll need a full report of what happened to you while you were in the custody of the Ethiopians. And I need a satisfactory explanation of why you killed El Mari.”
“And if I refuse to answer your questions?”
“Then you’re not leaving this island any time soon.”
He glanced out the picture window over her shoulder at a spectacular sunset over the distant ocean. If this place was close to the classified facility that had set up his men, he was happy to stay right here. “I can live with that. Can you?”
She leaned forward, forcing direct eye contact with him. “You will never be allowed to go home, Mr. Winston. Ever.”
He shrugged. “I haven’t been able to go home for a long time. That’s nothing new.”
She leaned back, frowning. “Why not?”
“Long story—”
“We’ve got all the time in the world, apparently,” she replied dryly.
“—and I’m not sharing,” he snapped.
“I’m going to keep at you until I get my answers,” she warned him.
“Then you are doomed to intense frustration and the bitter taste of failure,” he replied grimly.
She studied him intently like she was measuring the truth of his words. Finally she asked reasonably, “Why? I’m not the enemy.”
He snorted. “From where I sit, that’s debatable.”
“Why do you say that?” she asked.
He studied her, as well. The temptation to confide in her, to tell someone the truth, to explain the real logic of his apparently inexplicable decisions, was strong. But he dared not. His secrets were far too explosive to share with anyone, particularly this woman who embodied the United States government.
“What did my grandfather say to you?” he asked.
She leaned back in her armchair. “I’ll answer that question if you’ll answer one of mine.”
Aah. Clever. “Depends on what your question is.”
“Why did you go to Ethiopia?”
Hmm. He could work with that. He nodded once, but immediately regretted the gesture. Daggers of pain shot down his spine and radiated out through his nervous system to every corner of his body. He groaned and fought down a wave of pain-induced nausea.
“Deal,” he gritted out.
“You first,” she retorted.
“Nope. You.”
She stared at him curiously. She wished. He would never, ever explain the source of his pain to her. Finally she commented, “Your grandfather said you were in Africa on a humanitarian aid mission. That you and a team of your co-workers went out of radio contact about three months ago and that he was worried about you. He said he had hired private investigators, and they found sources in the Ethiopian government who said you had been thrown in prison.”
She tapped a French-manicured nail on the wooden arm of her chair. “However, when we investigated through our sources, we found no evidence of a trial or even any charges being filed against you. For some reason, the Ethiopians ignored all of their own laws and simply locked you up and threw away the key. Why is that, Mr. Winston?”
“Jeff.”
“Why is that, Jeff?”
“Not the question I agreed to answer.” What sources was she referring to? Was it possible?
She huffed.
“I went to Ethiopia to solve world hunger.”
She stared at him expectantly. “And?”
“And that’s it.”
She surged up out of her chair. “Look, Jeff. This isn’t a joke. You murdered a man last night, and I have no compunction about returning you to the Ethiopian government to stand trial for your crime. You will be executed or worse. And believe me, in Africa, worse can be much worse than death.”
She was magnificent in her fury. Anger sparked off her like fireworks and her body literally vibrated with her passion. She’d be a hellcat in the sack, for sure. The thought startled him. Since when did he sit around lusting after a woman like this?