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where no one could get to him—and why it mattered, she had no idea. She had obligations and she had to escape as quickly as possible. She just knew she didn’t want to add to this man’s scars.
    “Lucky me. I didn’t kill you, and that might be even rarer.”
    He quirked an eyebrow at her, the one without a scar slashing white through the black hairs. “Actually, it was Jack you nearly hit. Do you need a painkiller?”
    Mari shook her head. “You’ve given me something. I’m already floating. How bad is the leg?”
    “Let’s just say, you’re going to have to put off your escape plans for a little while.”
    Was he reading her mind? It was possible. She was a strong telepath; maybe he was too. Maybe touching her allowed him entrance to her mind. Panic swirled in her belly, her stomach churning. Dr. Whitney had experimented on the soldiers with the idea of creating a unique black ops team capable of slipping in and out of situations, and handling any problem that might crop up, including interrogation. With the right psychic ability, just touching another might be all that was necessary to extract the information wanted.
    “I’m not.”
    “Not what?”
    “I’m not reading your mind.”
    She blinked up at him. “If you’re not, how did you know what I was thinking?”
    “You don’t have a poker face and I know your sister very well.” His gaze locked on hers—held hers. “She has a lot of the same expressions.”
    The punch took her breath away, robbed her of every bit of air left in her lungs. How did he know she had a sister? Who was he? She felt sick, bile rising so fast she pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. Had she talked when she was unconscious? She would not be used to capture her sister. Never . “My sister?” Even as she echoed his words, she remembered Jack calling out to his brother. Briony says to bring her sister home. Briony was not a common name. How did they know? She hadn’t even told Cami about Briony. She kept her memories of Briony close, afraid Whitney might take them away.
    She stayed very still, making herself smaller in the bed. She might be at their mercy right this moment, but they would underestimate her, especially with the way she was acting around Ken. There would be one moment when they would grow complacent, when they would forget she was a trained soldier, and she would be able to escape.
    She reached out telepathically, calling on the other members of her unit, hoping someone was in range. Sometimes, when they were all connected, they could reach far, miles even, but most of the time they had to be fairly close.
    Ken pressed several fingers to his temples, rubbing them as if they ached. “Stop it. When you’re reaching out to your friends, it sounds like bees buzzing in my head. Not only is it distracting, but it can be painful.”
    She flushed, unable to keep the color from rising in her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” She glanced at Jack. He was watching his brother, his expression wary—why, she couldn’t tell. “I was checking in.”
    “I’ll bet you were,” Jack said. “Ken, why don’t you take a break and I’ll have a little chat with our guest?”
    The tension in the room shot up perceptibly. Ken turned slowly, hands out away from his sides. There was nothing overtly threatening in his manner, but Marigold’s heart began to pound in alarm. She reached out without thinking, her fingers sliding down Ken’s arm. She felt his muscles rippling beneath the thin material of his shirt and then the pads of her fingers slid over warm skin and settled there. She could feel his scars against her smooth palm. Once again heightened awareness of him as a man and her as a woman shot through her.
    Ken stopped moving, leaving her fingers wrapped halfway around his wrist, but he didn’t turn around. He faced his brother, and Mari glanced at the window, trying to see his expression. In the glass, his scars didn’t show and she could