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Stryker’s remarkable eyes, and for the first time, she saw a true softening in his expression. He sat downnext to her, not touching, but close enough that she could feel his heat. “And that’s why Phoebe retreated in the jungle, isn’t it? The earthquake.”
    Mel nodded. “She’s terrified of them. It’s the only thing she’s afraid of, and she’s practically phobic.”
    “What happened after that?”
    “My father came for us.” She took a deep, calming breath, because it was at that point in her life when everything went to hell. She’d awakened after the earthquake to find herself in the hospital, recovering from a broken leg and several broken ribs. Her father had arrived shortly after that, cold as a robot and just as efficient as he had her whisked from the hospital to a waiting plane staffed with a medical team. He’d barely spoken to her, had been more concerned for her special abilities than her health or emotional well-being.
    “He took you back to Australia?”
    “Yes. He figured we were old enough to do without a mom, so we were raised on the Itor compound. We had tutors and trainers, and our existence was all about becoming effective tools for Itor.” She rubbed her eyes again, too late remembering the blow she’d taken from one of the attackers, and she hissed in a breath at the throbbing pain that exploded in her face when her palm struck the bruise over her right cheekbone.
    Stryker’s fingers closed on her hand and pulled it away. “We need to get ice on that,” he said, his voice soft—soothing, even. Lightly, he feathered his fingers over her cheek, and a strange tingling sensation replaced the pain. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had touched her out of … concern?
    No, that couldn’t be it. The man wanted to kill her. She jerked away from him, but he caught her chin, holding her immobile. “Hey,” he murmured. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to see how bad your injuries are.”
    “O-okay.” Okay? She could hardly breathe as his gaze roamed her face and his fingers probed the edges of her injury.He leaned in, so his massive chest brushed her arm, and a lightning strike of awareness shot through her.
    Dear God, was she getting … turned on … by this?
    He seemed to know she had frozen like a deer facing an oncoming vehicle, and he drew back, but it didn’t matter. She still felt the shadow of his touch on her skin. “So who is your father anyway?”
    She swallowed to bring moisture back to her mouth. “Alek Kharkov. He’s—”
    “The head of Itor.” Stryker’s voice had gone deadly flat, like his expression, and she got the feeling she’d just given him the wrong answer. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
    “Closer to Antichrist,” she muttered, and suddenly, she found herself pinned to the mattress, Stryker’s big body holding her down. “What did I do now?” The words came out in a breathless rush.
    His face was a mask of fury. “You’re the fucking daughter of Itor, and you expect me to believe that anything you just told me was the truth?”
    “Y-yes. It’s the truth. All of it. I swear.”
    “Why?” he snapped. “Why help your father’s enemy?”
    “I’m not helping anyone.” She struggled beneath him, but he only pressed down harder, his legs locked down on hers, his chest a dead weight. Panting with exertion, she finally gave up, figuring she should conserve her strength in case she needed to surprise him later. Besides, the struggle seemed to have aroused him, and as his erection ground against the juncture between her legs, something inside her stirred.
    “Then what are you doing?”
    “I’m trying to keep myself safe,” she snapped back at him, not bothering to hide her irritation at being held down against her will, and her greater irritation at the fact that she was just a little turned on by the physicality of it. Maybe Phoebe had conditioned their body to respond this way. Or maybe she was morelike Phoebe than