Runner: The Fringe, Book 3 (4 page)

He cocked an eyebrow. “You said you didn’t care. You said, given my reputation, you would
expect
me to watch.” He glanced to the com unit above him, then back to her. “Here or the bridge, I’ll see the same show.”

His arrogance and the cocky thrust of his pelvis enraged her. “You think I’m putting on a show for you?”

“Aren’t you?” He flashed her a smile that oozed with innuendo. “I’d hate to disappoint you.”

“This isn’t about you.”

He uttered a derisive snort and continued to watch her beyond the bars.

“I would have sold my soul for a shower. I want this luxury. If my payment is to let you ogle me, then I’m willing to pay that price. However, the deal I offered you was that if you moved me to this cell, I would medically address your injured finger. I offered nothing else. Implied or otherwise.”

“So, you’d be bothered if I watched?”

“You are missing the point entirely.”

“Nope. Saw both points real clear.” He dropped his attention to her thrusting nipples. “Still can.” Lifting his gaze to drill directly into her eyes, he smiled. “Looks to me like I’m not the only one getting a thrill.”

“A purely biomechanical response. I removed my bra, which stimulated my nipples. The only thing
you
have to do with it is that you ordered me to remove my bra.” Thankfully, he hadn’t looked too closely at her bra, or she’d have a lot of explaining to do.

He narrowed his eyes. “You think?”

“I’m not an imbecile.” As she approached the cell door, she crossed her arms more tightly over her breasts, inadvertently pushing them up, creating a distracting cleavage that he couldn’t help but consider. “You have barely managed to keep your gaze off my chest since I arrived.”

“I only wanted your bra for these.” He held up the two bits of plastic that formed the rigid cups of her brassiere. “You’d be surprised what women have managed to do with them in the past.”

“No doubt I’d be floored. But again, the only thing I know to do with my bra is to wear it on my chest where it belongs. I’m certain that somehow, with my shoes and those bits of plastic, you could take over the Fringe. I, however, couldn’t escape this cell. Even if I kept the fork.”

He tilted his head to the side. “You try to come across as such a clueless babe in the woods, but I’m just not buying it.” When he shook his head, his hair flopped into his eyes, and he whisked the sandy blond fringe away with a flick of his head. “You think if you flash me a bit of the good stuff, I’ll fall all over myself for a taste, right?”

Again, she was disappointed but not surprised. She shook her head. “I’m attempting to honor the Fringe tradition of barter. You give me a cell with a shower, and I give you medical advice. My understanding is that, as a fully trained doctor, I automatically have a certain reputation.”

“For evil,” he said without emotion.

Another surge of frustration filled her. “You honestly believe what Roberts told you.”

He shrugged, pulling his tight shirt even tighter against straining muscles. “The IWOG trains doctors to hurt.”

“Not my training. I’m not a neurochemist with ties to IWOG marketing. I’m not a social engineer with the IWOG military. I trained as a surgeon, then a general practitioner. I do not hurt people, I heal them. Do you know who Hippocrates is?”

“I know what a hypocrite is,” he said with mocking coldness as he hitched his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans, dropping his fingers down to outline his already prominent bulge.

“Hippocrates is the father of medicine. He said, ‘first do no harm.’ I took that oath because I believe in those words. I’ve never intentionally hurt another person.”

He laughed.

Somehow, even after everything she’d suffered, his mocking cut her more deeply than all the lies, the pain and the unwarranted shame.

Several deep breaths failed to calm her, but very quietly, and with as much dignity as she could manage, she said, “I don’t care how bad things are, or what Roberts says about me, I’m not going to change who I am.” She pointed to his finger. “Do you want me to look at that or not?”

He flashed her a boyish, biting grin filled with surface lust and empty desire. “Take a shower first.”

Lifting her chin, locking her gaze on his, issuing a challenge she knew she would lose, she unzipped the back of her dress.

Chapter Five

Foster moved from the cell room to the infirmary. He pulled the first-aid kit off the sickbay wall and removed anything sharp. He tossed in a few other items he thought Jynx might need. Dawdling, he made sure he gave her plenty of time to shower and dress. His gaze settled on the nearest audvid. Right about a foot from his face. With the flick of a switch, he could watch her. If he wanted.

Desire came with a niggling guilt.

At first, he thought she wanted him to watch. He thought she did so in a misguided attempt to seduce him. Nope. She wanted to take a shower. Period. Jynx didn’t care if he observed or not. When she’d drilled those wicked eyes of hers into his, he’d backed off in a stumbling burst of embarrassment that almost tripped him over his own big feet.

Thing was, he wanted to see her voluptuous body glistening with water, her sexy legs with soap bubbles tumbling down, her hands cupping her heavy breasts.

He grunted and adjusted his belt, forcing his erection to the right of his now way-too-tight jeans.

He
did
have a fascination for her breasts, just as she accused. For the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why. Hers weren’t the biggest he’d ever seen, nor the most perfectly shaped. Displayed through clinging lilac motton, punctuated with dark straining nipples, her totally unaware and completely unable to do anything to stop her body’s reaction. Yeah, that, and something about them just being…hers.

Rolling his eyes, he moaned. “I don’t even know her!”

Then why did he feel like he did?

Frustrated, he opened the white plastic box with the red cross and shifted through the contents again. He realized he just wanted to know her in all the ways a man
could
know a woman.

Hormones.

That’s all this was. Stupid, juvenile hormones. To combat his cravings, all he had to do was spend a few hours on the Tasher with some porn. That would set his body to rights. Hell, it wasn’t like he’d never tamed the snake before. Living alone, out in space, he’d become more than intimate with his right hand. There was no shame in that. Better that action than buying some poor woman who probably didn’t want to be bought. Forcing Jynx to his needs caused a surge of lust that he quickly and emphatically denied. He was not that kind of man. Then why was the vision of her bound so enticing? Although, to be fair, in his version, Jynx was bound of her own free will…

Tossing his hair out of his eyes with a flick of his head, he decided the best course of action was not to let his little brain lead the way. He’d have her examine his finger, then stay the hell away from her.

“Sounds like a smart plan.”

Mentally patting himself on the back, he returned to the cells. Jynx stood at the sink, washing her dress while she wore one of his old flannel robes. Tartan plaid in rows of black, red and yellow skimmed down her body. Short on him, the robe fell to her calves. Her sleek and strong calves that could wrap around his hips with fearsome strength. Again, he shook his head, hoping desperately to fling her from his mind. When the water finally ran clear, she wrung out the excess and hung the lilac dress up on the showerhead with her bra and panties.

White lace panties.

Almost a thong.

A low growl came from his chest.

Jynx spun around.

Thin flannel swirled around her gorgeous legs as faded jeans tightened below his belt.

Focus, Foster. Keep the big brain in charge.

“I brought the first-aid kit so you can look at my finger.” He slid the kit under the notch in the door. Bending over hurt, and he stood up fast, backing away.

He hoped she didn’t notice the rapid swelling in the front of his jeans. He could just imagine having her address
that
problem for him.
Yes, Doctor, every time I get near you, my pants seem to swell. Simultaneously, I lose my ability to think. Whatever could be causing this problem, Doctor?

Jynx flipped open the white-and-red cover. Impatient hands sorted through the mishmash of items.

“What are you looking for?”

“Gloves.” She shook her head. “Never mind. Force of habit. Let me see—” When she reached out to him, he flinched back.

Jynx recoiled, thrusting her hands up to protect herself. With a deep breath, she recovered and shot him a don’t-be-ridiculous frown. “I’m going to have to touch you.”

Feeling somewhat abashed, he said, “Force of habit.” He stepped forward and put his right hand out to her.

Her soothing touch felt wonderful until she probed too closely to the bite mark. Forgetting all about the swelling in his jeans, he let out a startled yelp.

“I’m sorry.” She stroked his forearm with her fingertips in a calming motion. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Please, I need you to hold still.”

He felt her warm breath against his tender skin. He smelled the sharp tang of toothpaste and wafts of strawberry shampoo that came from her gently shaking head as she inspected his hand.

“How long have you had this?” She tilted her face up toward him.

My fascination for you or the injury?

For a moment, he feared he’d said the words aloud. He swallowed hard, determined to get a grip on himself, but he lost his hold as soon as he gazed into her otherworldly eyes.

“How many days?” Jynx peered up at him with clinical detachment, wearing a serious-doctor face.

“I delivered my last package two weeks ago, I guess, give or take a day or two.” His last package. Scary Mary. She of the deadly knee, foul mouth and chomping teeth. Transporting her to Michael “Overlord” Parker had been the most recent of their many dealings.

“And you just ignored it?” Jynx uttered a frustrated sigh, admonishing him with her tone and reprimanding glare.

“I washed it off,” he defended. “Stupid bite didn’t hurt until recently.” Christ, to his own ears he sounded like a first-class moron.

“It’s badly infected. Tell me if this hurts.” When she tried to lift his index finger, he yelped and yanked his hand back.

“Well, that answers that.”

“What? That you’re a sadist?”

A wounded frown darkened her face. “No. Your tendon is infected.” Jynx turned back to the med kit and pushed the supplies around. “I need a lance.”

“A what?”

“Something sharp, pointed. I need to drain your wound.”

“No way.”

“Fine.” Jynx sat on the bunk and placed her hands placidly in her lap. “I hope you enjoy your new nickname. Let me know when you’re ready for surgery.”

Her swift change in demeanor gave him pause. “What are you talking about?”

Calmly, as if she were discussing nothing more important than the weather, she said, “If I don’t drain the wound, the infection will spread. Eventually, if you leave it long enough, I’ll end up amputating your finger. Afterwards, you’d have a new nickname. Nine-Fingered Nash. Not as flashy as Never-Fail Nash, but certainly more interesting.”

He glared down at his swollen finger. “It’s not that bad.”

“Yet. It will be. Soon. Your choice is a little pain now or a lot later on with a long recovery.” Jynx considered his hand critically. “That is your trigger finger, isn’t it?”

“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.”