[Magic Sisters 05] - Safe Harbor Read online

  Jonas watched him gather mugs onto a tray. "She's fine. A little shaken up."

  Ilya rested his hip against the counter. "You have something on your mind."

  "The attack on Hannah by the Werners could have been directed by someone with your abilities."

  "I considered that as well, but I was close to the man. I would have felt it." Ilya shrugged his shoulders. "Unless you're implying I was the one directing him."

  "The girls say no and I don't think so either." Jonas rubbed his shadowed jaw. "Is it possible Nikitin has that kind of power?"

  "Absolutely not." Prakenskii added a powder to the tea.

  "That could just be an act."

  "He has no power. He would laugh if you told him anyone had the ability to manipulate energy. I would have known. There's a charge in the air, much like an electrical current, when the elements are being manipulated. You've probably felt it. You have your own talent. It's the only reason I'm allowed into this home. You'd have shot me and asked questions later if you believed for one moment that I could have orchestrated the attack on Hannah."

  Prakenskii had read him correctly, Jonas couldn't very well deny the charge. He'd considered the possibility because he had to, but he knew Ilya Prakenskii had saved Hannah's life, not tried to take it.

  "What did you put in their tea?"

  "Vitamins. A healing compound. All natural and nothing illegal."

  Jonas held out his hand for one of the mugs. Ilya handed him one and took one himself. Both drank.

  "I'll give this one to Hannah." Jonas watched Prakenskii arrange cups on a tray and carry it toward the living room. "Why aren't you floating it in like the girls do?"

  Prakenskii shrugged. "Even small things are a drain on energy and I prefer to reserve mine for what lies ahead."

  "And what would that be?" Jonas asked, gliding easily in front of the man, blocking his way to the door.

  Prakenskii glanced at him. "Hunting, Mr. Harrington. I will be going hunting very shortly and I'll need every ounce of energy I can muster."

  Jonas studied his expressionless face. "You aren't what they say."

  "I'm exactly what they say. I do the job nobody else wants."

  Jonas continued to lock gazes. "Maybe you do, but the real question is not what you do, but who you work for."

  Ilya Prakenskii didn't so much as blink, but Jonas knew, in the strange way he often knew things, that he had hit a target.

  "I work for Sergei Nikitin."

  "Is he the mark?"

  "Think what you like." Prakenskii stood waiting for Jonas to get out of his way.

  Jonas shook his head. "You can't have her, Prakenskii, not if you're what you want the world to believe, and I think you know that."

  Ilya didn't bother to pretend not to understand. "My relationship with Joley Drake is not your business."

  "Actually, it is. The Drakes are my family and I look after my own."

  "Is that what you're doing?"

  Jonas stepped back, allowing Ilya to take the tray into the living room, where the Drake sisters sat, or lay, on the chairs, couches and floor, the drain of energy after helping Hannah taking a toll.

  Jonas narrowed his eyes, watching as Ilya carefully handed each woman a mug of tea, giving Joley the one he'd sipped from. He opened his mouth, but a cough instead of words came out, and Joley frowned, looking up at him as she sipped, and then at Ilya.

  "What did you do?" she demanded, her voice husky. "I felt that small flare."

  Jackson crossed the room to touch Elle's cheek, placing his body carefully between her and the Russian. Jonas knew him well enough to know he had put himself in a position to get a clear shot if necessary.

  Ilya appeared not to notice, but when he moved away from the sisters, he settled with his back to the wall, directly facing Jackson and the other fiancés of the Drake sisters. "I put natural vitamins in your tea. Nothing poisonous."

  Hannah took another swallow. "You'll have to tell me how you make it. I can feel the difference already."

  "Jonas," Sarah called him to attention. "There's a message for you from a man named Duncan Gray." She straightened in the chair and pushed back her dark hair. "He said to tell you Petr Tarasov died a few hours ago from injuries sustained during the attempt to break him out of custody. He also said the agent he told you about has been identified."

  "Who is Duncan Gray?" Libby asked. "Why is that name so familiar?"

  "Jonas worked for Gray when he first got out of the Rangers," Sarah said. "Why would he suddenly be calling you now, Jonas? Is this anything to worry about?"

  "Who is Petr Tarasov?" Joley asked.

  "Petr Tarasov is the brother of Boris Tarasov, one of the most violent mobsters alive today," Elle answered. "Boris Tarasov is wanted around the world for just about everything from fraud to murder. Word had it that the defense department arrested Petr for murdering one of their agents, and was holding him in an unknown location. A few days ago, an attempt was made by Boris's organization to get him free."

  "What else do you know, Elle?" Jonas demanded.

  "Petr was shot and again taken to an undisclosed location for treatment." She looked directly at Jonas. "There must have been someone in the defense department feeding Boris information for him to find both locations, and if I'm not mistaken, the cryptic message to Jonas was to tell him the traitor has been identified and is now deceased."

  "How the hell would you know all that?" Jackson demanded.

  Elle lifted an eyebrow at him and took a drink of tea to avoid answering.

  Jackson took a step toward, going from protective to menacing in a heartbeat. "We had a talk about this, Elle. I told you to quit."

  She stood up, her dark eyes flashing fire at him that fast. "You tell me a lot of things. I told you to quit and I see you're still a deputy." She glanced at Prakenskii. "Giving me orders doesn't work, Jackson, so back off. And now isn't the time for this anyway."

  "This isn't over, Elle," Jackson said.

  "It is for me," she replied.

  Jonas held up his hand for peace, looking around the room at the women he called family. They were tired and pale, but the tea was helping. "Let's just put this aside for now. We're all tired and upset."

  "I have a bit of news that may interest you," Ilya said, watching him closely. "There is a rumor going around that four of Boris Tarasov's crew went missing and when the fifth delivered the news, telling an outrageous tale of a house eating a man, trees coming to life and windows shattering and repairing themselves, Boris put a gun to his head and shot him."

  Jonas went absolutely still. Everything in him froze. The news was a sucker punch to his gut. Hard. Out of nowhere. Completely debilitating. For a moment he couldn't think or move, his mind screaming a denial. It was impossible for Boris Tarasov to connect him with Petr's arrest. Impossible. That sneak and peek in the alley had been completely off the books. Gray had picked Jackson and Jonas up himself. No one else knew they had been there except Gray, and Jonas trusted him implicitly.

  The silence stretched. The tension in the room climbing.

  Had someone seen him? Recognized him? No one in San Francisco would know who he was. A stranger brought in, no name, no connection. He'd gone to the clinic, but hadn't used his own name. They'd been careful to give no ID, careful of touching anything in the room. No one could identify them.

  His gaze jumped to Hannah. He loved her with every breath in his body. He couldn't be responsible for the attack. He couldn't be responsible…

  The attack. The pain. The terror. Her life destroyed because of him.

  His eyes met hers across the room in sudden knowledge—in complete and utter despair. "The picture." His lungs burned. "God. Oh, God. The fucking picture, Hannah."

  He couldn't look at her—at any of them. Without a word he turned and walked out of the room, slamming the kitchen door closed with such force it shook the house. A chair hit the door with an ominous crack and the sound of glass shattering followed.

&
nbsp; Jackson started toward the kitchen. The Drake sisters pushed out of their chairs. Their fiancés followed them. Hannah beat them all to the door and stood in front of it, blocking the way.

  "No. Leave him alone. Everyone. Leave him." Her blue eyes glittered with real menace, backing them all up. "This is mine. No matter what, you stay out." She decreed it, facing them down, knowing whatever was wrong, Jonas would never want them to see him so completely out of control.

  Sarah nodded and waved her sisters back into the living room. She waited for the men to reluctantly follow before she squeezed Hannah's hand and left her alone.

  Hannah took a deep breath and cautiously opened the door. Slipping inside, she turned the lock and took a look around the room. The chairs were turned over, one was broken. Plates lay smashed on the floor. Jonas was across the room, his arm and shoulders moving rhythmically as he hit the wall with his fist. With every strike, blood sprayed and he swore obscenely. His face was a mask of fury, the punching merciless.

  Hannah stepped carefully around the broken glass, deliberately moving into his view. "Jonas. Stop. Whatever this is, whatever happened, we can deal with it."

  He turned to her, his eyes alive with pain. "Can we, Hannah?" He shook his head. "There's no dealing with this one. Not now, not ever."

  She reached out to him and he jumped out from under her fingers, denying physical contact. "Tell me then. Just say it."

  "It was the picture." His lungs burned. "Hannah, I'm so fucking sorry. They found the picture at the hospital. It was there, in my shirt pocket, and they cut my shirt off of me. I just left it there on the floor when we went out the window. It was my mistake. Mine.

  He sank to the floor, his legs turning to rubber. "It was in my shirt pocket," he repeated, rubbing his hands down his face. "I did this."

  "I don't understand, Jonas. What did you do?" Hannah's voice was gentle, compassionate, loving.

  He couldn't bear for her to be loving. Or understanding. He wanted to put a bullet in his fucking head.

  "Which picture, Jonas? Start there."

  "The one of you Sarah took outside in the backyard. You were surrounded by flowers and you were laughing. I was looking down at you. Sarah gave it to me and I kept it with me all the time." He looked up at her in complete despair. "I should have known. It was in the back of my head when I saw the picture on my dresser. For a moment it was there and I lost it again. I didn't want to know." He slammed the back of his head against the wall. "Damn it. Just damn it."

  She eased her body down next to his, thigh to thigh, not touching, but close, so close she could feel his heat—and the jumble of emotions so intense they swamped the room. She was careful to allow them to wash over her and not let them in to affect her own emotions. Jonas needed her steady, not reacting.

  "I loved the way you look, but…" He bit off a curse. "Anyone looking at the picture would know I'm in love with you."

  Hannah tried not to fixate on the blood dripping steadily from his knuckles but the sight of his mashed and bleeding flesh made her slightly queasy. She wanted to put her arms around him and comfort him, but he was ramrod stiff. She let the silence stretch out, forcing herself to allow him to tell her at his own pace.

  "You're a supermodel, Hannah. No one knows who the hell I am, but your face is everywhere. They took one look at that picture and they knew just how to get to me. The fucking bastard is going to die for this."

  She was beginning to comprehend. Maybe she'd known from the moment he'd gotten that look on his face, the dawning horror. She twisted her fingers together to keep from touching her face. In a way, it was a relief to know. She could never imagine why someone would hate her so much, but it wasn't about her. It had never been about her.

  "Boris Tarasov did this to me because he was trying to get to you?"

  "I should have known when there was no magic involved. It was too brutal. The killers were amateurs and both were reluctant. He must have threatened their child. And he would have done it quite brutally. Tarasov has a certain reputation for bloody vengeance. He probably made them believe that if they didn't carry out the attack exactly as he instructed, he would chop their little girl into pieces and send her back to them one piece at a time. That's the kind of thing he's famous for."

  Jonas looked at her then—at the scars on her face and throat. "I spent my life trying to take care of my mother and then all of you. I wanted you more than anything, Hannah, but my old job was so dangerous, and I was afraid I'd bring that danger on you and your sisters. So I stayed away. When I took the job with the sheriff's department, I thought we might have a chance. It was so much safer than what I had been doing." He dropped his face in his hands. "All those years of being careful, and in the end, I still brought the violence straight to you."

  Hannah' looked into his eyes—his gorgeous, dangerous eyes—and saw such misery, such rage and hopelessness. She forced her brain to slow down, not react, but to think. Jonas spent his life trying to save people. He put himself in harm's way every single day in order to help others and it had cost him far more than he realized. He hadn't done this. He could never be responsible for what another human being chose to do and somehow she had to find a way to make him understand that.

  "No, Jonas. You didn't put that knife in my attacker's hands. You didn't force him to use it. Boris Tarasov did. He's the one responsible, not you." She put her hand over his knuckles, pushing healing energy to take the sting away.

  "Don't!" he said sharply. "This is… unacceptable, Hannah. You're my damn world and to have someone try to destroy you over something I did…"

  "You don't," she answered with equal sharpness. "Don't you dare! I mean it, Jonas. This isn't about you and don't try to make it that way. Your mother's illness wasn't about you either. You take on too much, you always have."

  "She was over forty when she had me. She was too frail to have a child and she never recovered." He shoved both hands several times through his hair, needing to hit something again. "Her immune system shut down after I was born."

  "She wanted you more than anything else in the world. Both your mother and father did. You have no right to take that away from them. It was their choice and one they never regretted."

  "She suffered, Hannah. Every damn day. She suffered."

  "She was very strong, not frail, and she fought it long and hard because it was her decision to stay with you. I'm an empath. I went with my family to see your mother. I knew what she wanted, and it wasn't death. Not even to escape the pain. She wanted every single minute she could have with you." She took his hand again, linked their fingers together. "And that's what I want, Jonas. Every single minute I can have with you."

  "Look what happened to you, Hannah."

  "It happened. It was frightening and horrible and we both wish it hadn't happened, but it did. And something good came of it. In a way, Jonas, I found my strength. I know who I am and what I want. I gained my freedom."

  "Damned hard way to get your freedom, baby. And you're going to have nightmares for the rest of your life."

  "So I'll have nightmares. Don't we all? Don't you?" She framed his face with her hands because everything she said was true. She was stronger and she did know what she wanted. "We're partners. Now. Forever. You can't shield everyone you love from bad things, Jonas. They're going to happen. When they do, we'll handle them together."

  Jonas stared into her eyes for a long time, searching for the truth. "I don't know if I can forgive myself."

  "Have you heard a word I've said? Jonas, if we're going to make it together, if I'm as important to you as you say I am, then you have to listen to me. I want all of you. Every single bit of you. I won't accept a man who is afraid to love me with his entire heart and soul and body. If I can't have all of you, then there's no point in this. You can't control the world, Jonas, and you can't continue to blame yourself for things beyond your control. I never asked you to be different. Yes, you scare me sometimes, but I'll take fear over you trying to be someone you
're not."

  Jonas opened his mouth and then closed it. If he had remembered the picture, then Tarasov would never have connected Hannah to him. He wouldn't have destroyed an entire family… He groaned. He couldn't take that on, too. The couple had choices. They could have gone to the cops, put their daughter into protective custody, but they'd elected to murder an innocent woman to protect their own. That was on them. He rubbed his hands over his face and looked down into Hannah's face.

  "I'm not going to tell you that you're right."

  "But I am."

  His eyes softened. A small smile tugged at his mouth. "Hannah. You didn't stammer. Not once—not even when you were putting me in my place."

  He leaned in to kiss her. Gentle. Tender. So sweet it brought tears to her eyes.

  "Are we good?" she asked.

  "We're good," he answered. He'd live with what happened because he had no other choice. He'd made a mistake and she was right, there was no going back. He wasn't about to lose her over it. If she could look him straight in the eye, then he was man enough to do the same.

  He looked slowly around the room. "I don't suppose the house repairs furniture and dishes?"

  Hannah laughed. "No such luck. But if you notice, there's no hole in the wall. Next time you decide to go crazy and punch the wall, you might remember, this house could protest and just lock your fist inside, and then where would you be?"

  He narrowed his eyes and looked warily at the wall. "This place is definitely creepy." He kissed her again. "I suppose I'm going to have to face everyone. I hate telling your sisters that I put you—and maybe them—in danger."

  "It isn't like we haven't been in danger before, Jonas," Hannah reminded him.

  The truth was, he could barely stand the idea that he had exposed his family to a madman like Boris Tarasov. The Russian was brutal and vengeful, his reputation scared even seasoned investigators. With a small sigh, he stood up and reached down to take her hand, pulling her to her feet.