“What about boxers? Or shorts?”

“You’ll be in bed recovering from your injuries. You don’t need them and the shirt will fall long on you.” She’d be bare from the waist down beneath it. His imagination went there. Flame had said she shaved most of the hair from her sex. He’d never had the urge to explore a human female’s anatomy but Jeanie was different. There wasn’t one inch of her that he wouldn’t like to memorize by touch and taste. “Go on. I need to change out of my uniform.”

She accepted the shirt. He turned his back in case she noticed the way the material of his pants strained to contain his erection. He wanted her in another room and away from him.

He gripped the bottom of his shirt, knowing the sight of him stripping out of it would motivate her to flee. The door clicked closed before he pulled it over his head and tossed it to the corner. He glanced at the bathroom door and cursed softly.

I’m supposed to protect her but who will keep her safe from me?

Chapter Seven

Jeanie studied her reflection in the mirror as she removed both hospital gowns. Bruises still marred one side of her face and her chin but the colors were wrong. They should be black and blue, not greenish yellow. The bandage covered her lower abdomen on one side, gauze sealed beneath a clear plastic cover. It was ugly but she worried that what hid under it looked worse. She hesitated before carefully tugging at the edges, the adhesive a little painful when it pulled away from her skin. She dropped the bandage in the trash next to the toilet.

The bullet wound wasn’t a hole. It was a two-inch red line with tiny dots from staples. They hadn’t bothered with stitches. She brushed her fingertip over the jagged, angry line marring her skin, stunned. She hadn’t torn open her lab coat to examine how badly she’d been hurt when she’d been shot but there had been a lot of blood.

Something was off. There should have been a bloody hole, not a mostly healed incision line. Her knees weakened and she swayed, having to grab the counter to keep upright. A small noise escaped her parted lips while she tried to figure out how that was possible.

“Jeanie?” True’s voice startled her from the other side of the door. “Are you all right?”

She lunged at the shirt she’d laid on the counter, grabbed it, and pulled it over her head. “Yes. No. I don’t know.”

He jerked open the door before she managed to tug the shirt all the way down to her thighs. She gave him her back in an attempt to maintain her modesty. The quick action made her dizzy and she almost tripped over her own feet. A big, solid arm wrapped around her rib cage to anchor her upright and he used his body to support her.

“Jeanie? What’s wrong?”

She didn’t twist her head to peer back at him but instead met his gaze in the mirror. “How long was I out?”

“I don’t understand. Did you faint?”

“No! I was shot! I felt the pain, saw the blood, but I just removed the bandage. Was I in a coma or something?”

He adjusted his hold enough to turn her around to face him. She noticed he was shirtless. She couldn’t help but stare at all that tan skin. The well-defined muscles of his arms were imposing but fascinating at the same time.

“Take a deep breath and calm down,” he demanded.

“I just saw where I was shot. It’s almost healed. How is that possible? When was I shot? How many days was I in the hospital before I woke up?”

True shifted his hold until his arm hooked her at her h*ps and his free hand pushed the hair away from her face. “You were given Mercile drugs. The same thing they used on Species to help us heal fast.”

She was glad he held her when that information sank in. “The ones the FDA banned?” She’d read about that in the news. Once it had become known that Mercile Industries had used illegal methods to produce some groundbreaking pharmaceutical drugs by abusing New Species, every product they’d made had gone under extensive investigation. The results had been appalling when they found evidence that human drug trials had ended with fatalities, something Mercile had managed to cover up until that point. “They are dangerous, aren’t they?”

A muscle along his jaw jumped. “You were in critical condition and the doctors felt they had nothing to lose. You responded well to the healing drug but were taken off it as soon as you were out of danger.”

“When was I shot?”

“Yesterday morning.”

“That’s impossible.” She reached between them, pressing her palm over the wound. “I’ve had surgery before. This looks at least two weeks old. It should still be raw and need stitches or something. It doesn’t even need a bandage. I…”

Her mind blanked, too overcome with conflicting thoughts. It shouldn’t be possible but she saw the evidence. What kind of damage had been done to her internal organs if the drugs were flawed? What kind of long-term side effects had she been exposed to? She tried to remember the exact details of how those people involved in the drug studies had died but couldn’t.

True growled and bent, scooping her into his arms. She didn’t protest when he carried her to the bedroom. “Dr. Harris should have explained this to you.” He gently deposited her on the bed and crouched.

She held his gaze.

“You are fine. The drug helped you heal faster. You would have died without it.”

A detail surfaced. “Some of those poor people had seizures and strokes from medications made by Mercile.”