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I thought you were hurt. I m here to help you. I just want
No. She jerked away, scrambling backwards, then rolling over and trying to climb to her feet despite
her bad ankle. The woman had gumption, that was for sure, but Stryker was in no mood. He lunged, and
with no effort at all managed to snag the hem of her sweats, sending her crashing to the floor once again.
Melanie, calm down. I m here to
Help! Somebody help me!
For God s sake, woman, be quiet. He lunged at her and clamped a hand over her mouth, undoubtedly
terrifying her even more, but what the hell choice did he have? Any minute now the neighbors were going
to show up, and what would he say then?
He studied her, searching her face for some clue as to how to make her understand he was one of the
good guys. Her blue eyes were wide. Wide and terrified. And he saw something else, too. Resignation?
He d seen that look before in the eyes of men facing certain death. He d never wanted to see it again,
and he certainly didn t want to see it on a woman.
And that s when Stryker realized. Something more than finding a stranger in her apartment had scared
her. While he d been waiting for her to get home, she d been somewhere in Manhattan fighting the
bastard who wanted her dead.
Something happened, he said. Something scared you to death, and it wasn t just me.
She remained perfectly still, her eyes full of terror. His muscles strained with unreleased tension. He
couldn t abide anyone terrorizing a woman, and now he d done it himself. He d come to protect her, but
they d gotten off to a bad start, and now those ocean blue pools were full of fear instead of hope.
He kept his hand over her mouth, and she breathed through her nose, her fast, shallow breaths tickling his
palm. Her eyes never left his, and he focused on her, trying to judge the depths of the strength that had
gotten her away from harm and back to her apartment. I m going to take my hand away, okay? Promise
me you won t scream.
She just stared at him, her eyes widening ever so slightly.
Nod your head, Melanie.
She nodded, and he gently pulled his hand away, cringing as he anticipated her screams. But she obeyed
him, staying silent, cowering into herself even as he held her in his arms.
We re going to stand up and go back inside our apartment so we can talk.
No, A hoarse whisper. She struggled backwards, and Stryker knew he d never get her in that
apartment, not without a fight.
He drew in a long breath. He couldn t blame the girl, but damn, this was frustrating. He d done the
bodyguard gig at least a dozen times, always where there d been a legitimate threat against the subject s
life. Stryker had dealt with terror, with ego, and with outright stupidity, but never once had a subject
flat-out ignored his instructions, much less cower in fear of him.
Goddamn it all. He needed her to work with him, not against him.
Okay, Melanie, here s the situation. I m not out to hurt you. In fact, I ve been assigned to help you. But
you don t believe me, do you?
Her teeth grazed her lower lip, and she shook her head just once, a tiny movement, but one that
confirmed his question.
In that case, I don t think I ve got any other choice, he said. He was still crouched beside her, and now
he reached into his shoulder holster to pull out his gun. She drew in a strangled breath, and he clamped
his hand over her mouth again before she could release it as a scream. He withdrew the gun, checked the
safety, and put it in her lap. Here, he said, then backed away. He was playing a dangerous game and
he knew it, but he didn t see any other way. He needed her to trust him, and he needed it fast. And he
was banking on the belief that Melanie Prescott wouldn t kill a man. Hurt him, maybe, but not kill him.
I m unarmed. He met her wide, confused eyes. So what are we going to do now, Melanie? Now that
you re the one holding the gun?
Chapter 13
A damn good question.
I don t like guns, but I m not an idiot. I hefted this one with both hands and aimed it at him, thinking
vaguely that this man was either brave or stupid. The way my hands were shaking, he could have ended
up with a hole in his face whether I d meant to fire or not.
Talk, I said.
His gaze darted toward the door. Maybe we ought to do this inside.
Do I look stupid? I asked. Now talk. And if I don t like what you say, I m calling the cops. I
sounded tough, but I was scared to death. I thought about calling the cops right then, but I ruled that
option out almost immediately. He d handed me a very slim advantage here, but the truth was, he didn t
look stupid either, and I was betting that he had another gun tucked away somewhere, but perfectly
accessible should I do something rash.
Do you play any Internet games?
The question was so unexpected that for a moment I could only stare at him. Then I frowned and half
shrugged. Sure. Some. The truth was, I played around a lot on the Net. Spend as much time as I do at
the computer, and cyber-surfing becomes the procrastination method of choice.
Multiplayer games? Like PSW?
I kept the gun trained on him, but I was becoming more curious than scared. Yeah, I said, still wary as
I remembered the article in that morning s Post. Weird that this game I hadn t thought of in years
suddenly seemed to be everywhere. I don t play PSW, but I have in the past.
So you remember how it works.
Pretty much.
How?
Why are you asking me this?
Humor me, he said.
Players log on all over the world and are assigned to a role a target, an assassin and a protector. They
all race around a cyber version of Manhattan doing their thing and following the clues. Actually, it was
more complicated than that. That was the allure of PSW. The game was both incredibly complicated and
beautiful in its simplicity, but I wasn t inclined to discuss the ins and outs with this man.
So you have a profile in the system?
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