Runner: The Fringe, Book 3

by Anitra Lynn McLeod

  “So?”

  “Can you fire a weapon with your left hand?”

  “No.” Anger pushed him to demand, “Can you?”

  “Not with either hand.” Jynx laughed. “If you gave me a gun, I would probably drop it on the floor and shoot myself. My point is, if you lose your right index finger, you will have to fire your weapon with your left hand.”

  He considered how long it would take to relearn everything left handed. Polishing the pole would be ever more complicated, not to mention apprehending criminals, eating, bathing—crud—even brushing his teeth would be awkward.

  “Seems a foolish choice to me, but since the choice is entirely up to you, there isn’t a whole lot I can do about it.” Infuriatingly, she sat on the bunk with her hands delicately clasped, as if this were nothing but a tea party and they were casually discussing which sandwiches were best.

  “I thought you said you never intentionally hurt anyone?” He injected his tone with venom.

  “I don’t want to hurt you.” Jynx peered up at him, her lovely eyes careworn. “But helping you is going to hurt. Had you gone to a doctor weeks ago, like any sane person would have, you wouldn’t be in the position you are now.” Turning her gaze to the floor, she considered her sock-clad feet. “I’m not responsible for your past medical decisions.”

  “Here, you can use my knife to poke a hole—”

  Jynx shot to her feet. “Don’t do that!” She reached through the bars and knocked his knife to the floor. “You’ll only introduce more bacteria.”

  It suddenly dawned on him he’d been about to hand her a knife. Had he lost his mind? Why not just hand the woman a gun and be done with it? But she hadn’t tried to take the blade from him. Horrified, she’d smacked it to the floor, well out of her reach, not to mention his.

  He frowned as he retrieved the knife and placed it back on his belt. She seemed fully focused on healing his finger. Maybe what he saw right in front of him was the truth. She wasn’t trying to break free. She wasn’t trying to seduce him, or play him, or take advantage in some way. Jynx, despite her horrible reputation, seemed to honestly want to help him. It made him extremely suspicious and instantly hostile.

  “You’re very good. Nice ploy with the knife. I like the scare tactics too. Most original. Then again, I’ve never had a doctor onboard, so that might be why no one has ever tried it before.”

  Beautiful violet eyes went round as her shocked mouth. “I—you—” She drew a deep breath, straightening. “You are free to proceed however you’d like.” Jynx tightened the belt of the borrowed robe. “If you want to jam your knife in there, go ahead. You’ll only make it worse. If you want to ignore your injury, go ahead. That will only make it worse. I cannot make you take my advice.” She took another deep breath. “For the last time, as a doctor, bound as I am by my oath, I am telling you that if you don’t have a qualified medical person address your injury, you will lose your finger.”

  Violet eyes, glittering with anger, looked to his hand one last time and then away, as if she were washing her hands of the entire affair.

  Foster didn’t know what to say.

  Jynx efficiently packed everything back into the first-aid kit, then closed the lid with a sharp snap. “Roberts wants me alive. Yes?” She looked up for confirmation. Having found it, she dropped the kit on the floor at her feet. “Which means, logically, you won’t kill me.”

  “Unless you give me a reason.”

  “I will not give you a reason.” With a hard shove, she sent the med kit under the cell door. “The choice is entirely up to you whether I walk away from you when you have ten fingers or nine.”

  “It’s not my fault I’m clumsy. I’ve never treated someone with my hands cuffed.” Jynx leaned over to lance the wound again.

  “I told you this was the only way,” Foster said.

  “To soothe your paranoia. It’s fine. Just hold still.”

  After another hour of argument, she’d finally convinced him to let her treat his finger in the infirmary, but only if she agreed to be chained to the counter. He sat on the countertop while she ministered awkwardly to his injury.

  He winced away again.

  She sighed and stood. “I told you if you’d let me give you a local, this wouldn’t hurt at all.”

  “We’re not doing that argument again.”

  Convinced she wanted to incapacitate him with drugs and take over his ship, Foster wouldn’t even let her swab his wound with a common disinfectant. She admitted she wouldn’t know the first thing about flying a spaceship. He still didn’t trust her, and he demanded she work on his finger without drugs.

  “Then you have to hold still.” She leaned back over his hand. “Bite a bullet if you have to, but you must not flinch.”

  “Are you calling me a wimp?” When he flexed his gigantic body, six-and-a-half feet of bulging muscle rippled from his neck to his feet.

  “If I am, will you sit still?” Jynx lowered her attention to his hand. She lanced, cleaned and bandaged his wound with minimal fussing. In a way, she found his apprehension rather amusing. Fearsome Foster Nash terrified of a woman half his size. Admiring her work, she snapped off her gloves. “All done. I’d give you a lollipop, but I don’t have any at the moment.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Except for the antibiotics.”

  “I told you, no drugs.”

  “And I told you the wound will only reinfect.” She sighed. “I told you I would set the high velocity injector so you could double-check the dose before you inject yourself.”

  “You could still overdose me.”

  “No, I couldn’t. There is a set formula based on height and weight. You can pull up your med unit and check the dose yourself.”

  He did. Three times. Still, he hesitated to press the gun to his arm.

  “It won’t hurt,” she assured him.

  “I swear, if this kills me, I’m going to haunt you for the rest of your life.”

  Jynx lifted her chain-bound wrists. “If you succeed in your mission, how long do you think the rest of my life will be?”

  He lowered the injector. “That’s right, isn’t it? So why help me?”

  “Because I’m a doctor.” She leaned against the counter. “Just because I’m going to die doesn’t mean you have to join me. Even if you’re the reason I’m going to die.” To her own ears, she sounded insane for willingly helping the man responsible for her own demise. “It’s not about you and me so much as it’s about an oath I took.”

  “Hippocrates.”

  “Yes.”

  He checked the gun, the dose, then winced as he shot the antibiotic into his upper right arm. After putting the injector away, he unshackled her and tossed her over his shoulder.

  As he carried her back to the cell room, she thought of how normal being carted around over his shoulder like a caveman’s bride was beginning to feel. Bouncing against him, not minding the press of his muscular body, she enjoyed the view of his jean-clad gluteus maximus.

  He may have ignored his finger, but he still spent a considerable amount of time keeping the rest of his physique in tiptop shape.

  Jynx named each muscle she could feel or see. Why not? She didn’t have anything else to do at the moment. A lifetime in hospitals with everyone clad uniformly made his unique attire interesting to look at. Clinging motton outlined every muscle. She’d never seen any man, such a perfect specimen of a man, so blatantly displayed. Especially by that low-slung belt.

  She could understand his confusion. If he believed Roberts, he thought her responsible for the death of an entire planet of people along with further casualties. Why would such a monster as she care if he lived or died, or if he lost his finger or not?

  Jynx had never questioned why she cared so much about healing people. Even though Foster would deliver her to certain death, she still felt the call of the doctor in her. If Roberts were hurt and in need of aid, Jynx would render it to the best of her ability. Even knowing Roberts would
turn around and kill her, she’d still be compelled to help.

  Poor Foster and Roberts. The world they lived in didn’t account for altruism. What’s the game, the edge, the advantage? Forced to see everyone as a player, they were blind to genuine compassion. Such a worldview must be awful.

  “You don’t trust anyone, do you?” Jynx asked softly.

  “No.” Foster deposited her in her cell and removed her restraints. “Trust is for suckers.”

  Clanging the door sharply shut, he left without thanking her.

  Chapter Six

  The cell lights blazed, ripping Jynx right out of a pleasant escapist dream that involved Mr. Nash without his tight jeans.

  Blinking, she saw him slide breakfast under the notch in her cell door. She uttered a disappointed sigh when she noticed he was fully dressed. Wrapping the borrowed flannel robe tightly around her, she climbed out of bed.

  After hastily combing her hair with her fingers, she scooped up the tray. “Thank you.”

  He only looked at her with a speculative gaze, as if she were a curious experiment that was going horribly wrong. When he gave her his back without a word for the third meal in a row, she decided enough was enough.

  “It’s customary for you to at least say you’re welcome, even if you don’t actually mean the words.” She bent and yanked the meal into her hands. When she dropped the tray on the table, the plastic clattered against the metal, echoing in the mostly empty cell room. “For the life of me, Mr. Nash, I don’t understand why you insist on acting like such an ass. Just pretend to have some semblance of manners. By doing so, you’ll make life so much more pleasant for both of us.”

  Silently, Foster turned to face her with his brows lowered ominously. After the longest time, where she almost filled the looming silence with inane chatter, he snarled, “What is it with you?”

  Pulling back from him, no longer angry but afraid, she sat down. “I don’t know what you mean.” She placed her napkin in her lap and proceeded to eat her breakfast. She hoped he didn’t notice her shaking hands. Her small display of anger paled next to his. As much as he frightened her, he intrigued her. She found her interest in him disturbing. Never in her life had she been attracted to a man like him. Not once in her wildest dreams could she envision lusting after a man who was more physical than cerebral. What made matters worse was he was her jailer.

  “Please and thank you and you’re welcome, like this is some kind of garden party.” His azure eyes blazed. “I’m not going to let you go.”

  Dabbing her napkin to her lips, thankful for the bars between them, she softly pointed out, “I didn’t ask you to.”

  He flexed his whole body in a seductive ripple.

  Turning her gaze away, she took a bite and chewed slowly. Despite her best intentions, her gaze slowly yet inexorably returned to him.

  Primed muscles pressed to worn jeans and a hunter green T-shirt. He’d capped off his outfit with tennis shoes and a thick black belt that dangled all those weapons around his hips. Deadly, dangerous, determined. Foster Nash practically screamed, “Do not touch.”

  After making sure she had a good long look at him, he turned casually aside and murmured, “So, you’ve just calmly accepted your fate.”

  “Yes.” She shrugged and took another bite. Fighting with him wouldn’t help. Jynx saw no reason not to be civil. Besides, she enjoyed looking at him. No matter what angle, Mr. Nash was nothing but pleasant to look at.

  Nodding his head, Foster allowed a sly grin to spread slowly across his face. He bit it off with his upper teeth. “You just give up.” His tone mocked, but at least he didn’t sound angry. Not anymore. Now he sounded condescending, which was worse.

  “Why do you find that so difficult to comprehend?” She hadn’t given up; she’d just accepted that she could not escape him. Therefore, she saw no reason to waste her time and energy trying.

  “Because it isn’t normal.” He checked one of the gizmos on his belt. The device uttered a beep, flashed a green light and went inert.

  “Define normal.” For a moment, she thought he would ignore her request.

  After considering her for a moment, he returned his attention to something on his belt. “Yelling, screaming, rattling the bars, flinging expletives, fighting with me at every turn, throwing the food back in my face. That’s normal.” He seemed furious that she did not behave in such a manner.

  “And where would that get me?” Jynx toyed with her fork, trying not to stare at the prominent bulge in his jeans. She found it almost impossible not to, since he kept fiddling with his equipment.

  “Nowhere.”

  “Precisely. Rude, obnoxious behavior wouldn’t improve my situation. It would only serve to exhaust me further, and…” Sudden insight compelled her to finish, “Oh, yes. I see.”

  “What?”

  “It would make you feel better, wouldn’t it?” She dabbed her napkin to her mouth.

  “What do I care?” He cocked his hip out and slipped his thumb into the loop above his gun.

  “If I acted like a vicious, psychotic lunatic, you could rest assured that you were doing the Void a favor by eliminating me. If I don’t act that way, it makes your job more difficult.” She took a bite and swallowed without tasting. “Are you beginning to have doubts, Mr. Nash?”

  He straightened and fingered his gun. “Again, Sweets, I’m a ruthless bastard. All I care about is my contract.”

  Demurely lowering her gaze, she stole a final glance at his tightly packed jeans before returning her attention to her breakfast. “But it would be so much easier for you if I fit into normal criminal parameters, wouldn’t it?” She took another bite even though she was no longer hungry.

  Eating strictly to give her body sustenance and her hands something to do while she conversed with him, Jynx tried to forget how his skin had felt strong but vulnerable below her hands. How his eyes had flashed fear and distrust in equal measures with lust and longing. Mr. Nash was very, very good at pretending to be a soulless monster, but down deep, he was nothing of the sort. What saddened her was that she already knew her ability to appeal to him was lost before it started. He would not relent. And she did not expect him to. That was what made everything so touchy between them.

  “I think you do.” He winked and flashed her that biting grin. “Thing is, you’re a smart criminal. You talk real soft and cultured, fix my finger, all in an effort to make me think you’re not a hardened criminal.” He flipped his hair out of his eyes. “I gotta say, it’s a novel approach.”

  She folded her napkin and placed it on the table. “If you would be so kind, Mr. Nash, I would appreciate it if you would address me as either Ms. Brennan or Jynx.”

  His brows lowered. “You’re unbelievable.” The playful seductive edge disappeared as anger took its place.

  “Why? Because I want to be treated with a modicum of civility? I’m not asking you to—”

  “You are in no position to demand anything.” His voice rose as his body tightened.

  “I’m not demanding. I’m asking.” She kept her voice calm, hoping to soothe his fury. “If it helps you to feel better about your goal to demean me by calling me false endearments, please continue.”

  After shaking his head, he peered at her with such a collision of emotions, she couldn’t identify a single one. “I’m not buying it, Sweets.” He said the nickname with a deliberately nasty edge. “I’m just not. You can sit there and talk like butter wouldn’t melt in your lovely mouth, but I know what you really are.”

  “And what am I?” She couldn’t wait to hear his answer.

  “A dangerous criminal.”

  Jynx laughed. Not hard and rude, or crazy loud, but just softly to herself.

  “Are you laughing at me?”

  She could practically smell testosterone oozing from him. “No. I’m laughing because I have never considered myself as either dangerous or a criminal. However, this situation really isn’t funny, because you honestly believe I am when I have done n
othing to provoke such condemnation.” For a moment, she thought she’d talked over his head.

  “Gods-all-mighty, it’s like you swallowed a dictionary, no, that other thing, a thesaurus.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “See, right there.” He rolled his eyes. “Most people would say, ‘what’ but not you, Ms. Cultured IWOG lady. You say, ‘pardon me’ like we’re attending a soiree and I’ve just made a faux pas.”

  Impressed, surprised, she countered, “You don’t object to what I say but how I say it?”

  “I’m not objecting to anything!” He lifted his hands to the ceiling.

  “Why are you yelling at me?” Baffled, she tried to understand why he was so agitated. “I’m trying to get along with you. Honestly, I’m not trying to antagonize you.” That was the last thing she wanted to do. She wanted to get along with him at all costs. She needed him. He would only help her if she could convince him to.

  Hissing out a grunt of frustration, he turned on his heel. His tennis shoes made a sharp squeak on the metal floor as he marched to the door.

  “How does your finger feel, Mr. Nash?” The doctor in her wanted to know, but the woman in her didn’t want him to leave. For the first time in her life, she had nothing to do but sit and think. Maddening, because she never sat still. If she had to endure a week of confinement, she at least wanted someone to talk to. Even if he was her jailer. Even if he was willingly taking her ever closer to her brutal death. Even if he was built like every erotic dream she’d never acknowledged and seemed to be far more intelligent than she’d thought.

  He spun around. “Pardon me?”

  The way he said it made her realize he was ex-IWOG consumer. He matched her tone exactly and took on that garden-party face.

  “Your finger seems to be better, but I’d like to inspect it to make sure.” She stood and adjusted her robe.

  “Oh, would you.” Striding up to her cage, he thrust his right hand into her cell like he dared her to try and hurt him.