He continued to stare back at her, the brilliancy of the green-flecked gold eyes almost mesmerizing. The Bengal was perhaps the most dangerous of the Breeds created, which was one of the reasons so few were designed. They were naturally, deceptively lazy, appearing to heel easily. The tiger genetics had taken decades to manipulate, and the scientists had learned early that the animal, as well as the Breed, wasn’t always dependable. The moment you thought you had tamed one, he struck. That made them a threat.
“Do you know why I was appointed head of the Public Relations Department of Sanctuary?” he asked then.
She rolled her eyes. “You were appointed as head of Public Relations because you have the looks of a fallen angel and the social graces to match. You’re considered the epitome of what the Breeds truly are: playful, caring and as threatening as a lap cat purring for attention.”
His lips curled into an amused smile as he propped his arms on the table and leaned forward once again.
“That’s the reason we leaked to the public,” he said softly. “I took the job because of those things, as well as the fact that my sense of smell is so highly developed that I can walk into the room and give the crowd what they need to hear. What they need to reassure themselves. I can smell more than a lie, Scheme. I can smell the slightest deception. I know you’re still lying to me.”
She stared back at him silently, cursing her own weakness. She wasn’t lying, exactly. She just wasn’t being totally honest.
“Do you think I’m really going to give you enough to let you hang me?” And that was total honesty.
He stared back at her intently, so intently that Scheme wondered if he could see into her soul.
“I wouldn’t hang you. Trust me, Scheme. Let me help you,” he told her, and her heart believed. Her mind screamed out in warning. She had heard those words before, from Chaz. He had sworn he would protect her. Sworn he loved her. Sworn she was his life, his love and all things in between, and God help her but he had nearly destroyed everything she was instead.
She had to get out of there and get hold of Jonas. It was imperative, because her need to trust Tanner was overruling her need for caution. She rose to her feet, doing nothing to hide her nervousness, hoping, praying that the scent of her arousal and her nerves would overwhelm the scent of the knife at her back.
“You’re very confident of yourself.” Her voice shook as she moved around the table.
“Confident of my ability to help you, if you’ll let me.” He stared back at her, his expression suddenly serious, almost sad. “But you would have to believe in me first, wouldn’t you?”
“I don’t need your help.” Her fingers trailed up his arm as he leaned back in the chair, his eyes drifting closed as she came around him, her fingers caressing up the shirt-covered shoulders to his neck as the beat of her heart threatened to strangle her and tears suddenly dampened her eyes.
She lowered her head to his neck, placing a heated kiss to his pulse as she slid the knife from her waistband. Her hand shook as a tear fell from her eye.
She had to do it. Her tongue tasted his neck as she shuddered, gripping the hilt desperately as her hand lowered to her side.
He would be okay. Breeds healed amazingly fast. She wasn’t going to kill him. She knew where to strike. Her father had taught her how to maim and how to kill. She could do it. Easy.
She fought to breathe, bringing the knife up further as he sat relaxed in front of her, his arms on the table. The perfect position. The knife would slide in just under his ribs, missing the spleen.
He would be disabled until she could bind his hands and then the wound. He would live.
Do it, she screamed out at herself. Now.
Her hand trembled.
Her breath hitched as a sob filled her throat.
This was her only choice. She had to escape, and he had already proved he wasn’t going to just let her go.
“Do it, Scheme,” he whispered gently. “Hurry, pretty girl, before you lose your nerve.”
He knew. She would have frozen if a shudder hadn’t shaken her body and the sob hadn’t escaped her throat.
“It’s easy.” His voice was amazingly tender. “The knife you chose is perfect. If you keep hesitating, I’m going to get impatient.”
“You son of a bitch,” she screamed, jerking back before she threw the knife, the tears finally falling as she stumbled back from him, watching as his head lowered and shook slowly.
He rose from the table lazily, turning to her, his expression somber, filled with sadness.
“It’s not so easy to kill when your hand holds the weapon, is it?” he asked, his tone so understanding that holding back the tears was impossible. “If you want to convince me that you’re a killer, that you’ve cold-bloodedly worked with your father all these years, then you’re going to have to do better than that.”
Another sob broke free as he moved toward her, staring at her with eyes so gentle, so filled with emotion that she felt something inside her soul rip open—a wound so intense, so destructive that it weakened her knees and left her on the floor, crying.
“You have to let me go,” she cried. “Let me out of here, Tanner, please.” If he didn’t, she was going to lose her strength; she wouldn’t be able to hold back the need to trust him much longer.