In Like a Lion Read Free

to be ‘more than friends.’ I objected. Besides, I wasn’t the only one.”
    Anjali forced down the acrid bile clogging her throat. It made her sick to think of anyone victimizing helpless kids. Nor could she imagine the fear and shame masked by that simple summation.
    The case had struck her when she’d first read his file. Starting with this example—the murder with a clear justification—would hopefully lead him to open up about the others, but it felt like dirty pool, rifling through what must have been some of the worst moments in his life. Events that had molded the monster.
    Her teeth pinned her lip for a moment. “You admit you killed him.”
    He ducked his head, broad shoulders rising and falling, as if he were fighting some strong emotion. Anger? Shame ?
    She eyed him. “Are you sure the person who’s lying to you isn’t you ?” She scrolled the page. “Richard Sumner, Patrick Palmer, Edward Samms? Do those names mean anything to you?”
    “Contestants on American Idol ?”
    Anjali gritted her teeth. Hold your temper, Anjali. You need him. “Men you killed.”
    “So you say.”
    “Do you deny killing them?”
    Silence.
    Anjali decided to try a different tact. “You think you should be set free? That you pose no threat to society?”
    His head came up and his gaze bored into her. “Shit, no, lady. I’m one hell of a threat.”
    Why did he bother? Jake ambled back to his bunk, leaving her standing there, behind that ridiculous purple tablet.
    How many doctors had they sent since he’d been recaptured? How many questions had they asked? Fifty? One hundred?
    None of them had stirred him to answer. But there was something about this woman. Something that reached inside him and woke a part he thought long dead.
    A part that cared for more than just freedom, that hungered for belonging, friendship—love. He studied her secretly, trying to pin down the cause of the unwelcome emotions.
    She wore little makeup on her honeyed skin and her eyes were long and liquid dark, like obsidian. Her rounded cheekbones highlighted a pointed chin and lush mouth. She was undeniably lovely. But appearance meant little to him.
    Rage had held him for days, playing with his mind, making him see, smell, and taste the world as if he were a beast.
    He’d been pretending to read when she’d entered the outer chamber, listening to the sounds through the cinderblock walls. Sounds he knew he shouldn’t be able to hear, but did.
    The beast inside him had been pacing, plotting, imagining what destruction it would wreak when he won the opportunity to escape. He’d even thought he felt claws trying to burst through the tips of his fingers. He’d been fighting the delusion when he heard her speak to the guard.
    Her voice, with its melodic accent, had burrowed beneath his skin and the feeling passed. Peace washed over him, like a summer breeze.
    And then she’d floated in, and he’d smelled her. The sweet, spicy scent of her, covered by other perfumes no doubt in her shampoo and other products.
    He’d wanted to stare at her, to drink her in, but the voice of his foster mother in his head kept him from daring too long a glance. Keep those ugly yeller eyes on the floor, boy, she’d drilled in with a belt. “Normal people shouldn’t have to see ‘em.”
    But Dr. Mehta’s fragrance overwhelmed his training. It’d been all he could do not to rub like a giant cat against the bars. Then she’d mentioned Guy Thomas and sparked memories that shook him to the ground.
    He didn’t want to see the thin faces of the other children in his mind, to remember the wide eyes of the little ones when Thomas singled them out.
    To remember he’d purposefully drawn his foster father’s attention that day to keep him from one of the girls, a blue-eyed waif who’d seen more trouble in her short life than most grown-ups.
    The beast roared inside him, slashing at its restraints, desperate to lash out. To defend. To escape. To kill. Only Dr.