Safe Harbor (32 page)

"You have any enemies in the crime lab?"

Jonas grinned at him. "Jackson, you're such a mean son of a bitch."

"Yeah, well. I try." He glanced at Jonas. "Hannah all right?"

"She will be. She's scared and worried about her sisters. Jackson, you were there, in the hospital when the wife made her try at Hannah. Did you feel anything? Could you tell if she was under some kind of compulsion?"

"You're asking me if Prakenskii could have been directing the attack."

"I like him. I don't know why. He's a killer. I can see it in his eyes, but I like him and that doesn't make sense. I have problems when things don't make sense."

Jackson sent him another look, one Jonas preferred not to interpret.

Light was beginning to streak across the sky, turning the dark of night to a softer charcoal gray. Mist continued to creep in, long bony fingers of fog, stretching out over the ocean and land, moving inland. The men approached the side of the house cautiously, studying the surrounding ground before they took each step. There wasn't a single yawning crack anywhere near the house itself. The balconies appeared intact and completely stable. There was no blood spatter, in fact the entire area looked pristine, with the exception of the blackened hand and boot prints burned into the side of the house.

"Do you have a camera?" Jackson asked. "We could get some pictures and maybe take a print or two if we're lucky."

Jonas shook his head. "We'd probably get a bunch of ghosts and that would just freak me out."

Jackson sent him a faint grin. "You're safe. They're fading already."

The blackened marks grew fainter, beginning to diminish as the sky lightened, gradually losing color until finally they simply disappeared altogether.

"There goes the last of our evidence. There aren't even any shells left behind. Guns, bodies, blood and prints, all absorbed. What does that, Jackson?"

The deputy shrugged and reached inside his jacket to pull out a pack of cigarettes. "This is a hell of a mess, Jonas." He glanced up at the house, his gaze touching on each window before bending his head to the match cupped in his hands.

There was a faint glow coming from inside the house and Jonas knew the Drake sisters were holding another healing session for Hannah. Between the plastic surgeon and Libby, Hannah's physical body was going to be fine. Jonas wasn't as certain about her emotional state.

"It isn't Prakenskii. I'm certain of that, but what of Sergei Nikitin? Would Prakenskii know if his boss had the same abilities? We thought the Drakes were unique. Then Prakenskii came along. Why not another? Nikitin is cunning, street smart and violent, but smooth enough to cover his tracks so that he's accepted, and that's damned hard to do. Nikitin might have psychic ability."

Jonas held out his hand for the cigarette. "Would Prakenskii tell us if Nikitin did?" When Jackson passed it to him, he took a slow, satisfying drag. He rarely smoked, but once in a while, like now, when his world had been shaken, his woman nearly killed in front of his eyes, and he'd watched a house consume a man and spit him out, he figured a drag or two were appropriate.

"Who knows? Prakenskii tends to play everything close to his chest. He lives in the shadows and men like that don't trust anyone." Jackson took the cigarette back.

Jonas refrained from pointing out Jackson tended to be the same way. Instead he walked to the edge of the bluff and looked down into the crashing waves. It didn't surprise him that there were no bodies. He hadn't expected to find any. But someone would be looking…

He turned back to Jackson. "Someone lost four men tonight.
There aren't any bodies and they aren't going to believe the one that got away. What's he going to say to his boss? The house came alive and ate his friends? They're going to be looking and that means they'll leave tracks. Get the word out that we want to hear of anyone asking about disappearances or strange occurrences. Maybe earthquakes or anything they can tell themselves would be a reasonable explanation."

Jackson exhaled a thin column of smoke and nodded. "Who would hate Hannah this much? Someone has made this very personal, Jonas."

"Venturi was here, bringing her flowers. And the Reverend is in town with his band of bodyguards. Let's see if they're all accounted for. Maybe you could pay a visit to them nice and early and see if they're all in their beds."

"No problem." Jackson went to take another heavy drag from the cigarette when it flared bright red in his hand and disintegrated into ash. He dropped it, shaking his hand from the sting of the burn and cursed, glaring at the house. "Mind your own business," he snapped under his breath.

Instantly the wind rose to a wild, outraged shriek, tugging at his jacket, exposing the pack of cigarettes, catching it with a burst of speed before Jackson could grab the box. "Theft. Pickpocketing," he yelled. "Back off, Elle." He managed to get his fingertips on the pack, juggled a moment fighting to keep it, and then the wind whisked it away, out over the sea. "That's littering," he called out, "and I can arrest you for that."

The box flared into flames, the ash falling into the water.

The window slid open and Elle stuck her head out, long red hair cascading like a waterfall of silk. "I'm so sorry, Jackson. Smoking always kicks off my asthma and I reacted without thinking."

"I'll just bet you did. I'm outside and you're inside with the window closed." He glared at her. "Asthma my ass."

"I'm sensitive. And Jonas, Hannah would like a word with you." Elle smiled sweetly and disappeared again, slamming the window closed.

"Oh hell." Jonas sighed. "Hannah must have eyes in the back of her head."

Jackson kept watching the window where Elle had disappeared. "The wind talks to her, Jonas, and everything, voices, scents, information of all kinds are carried on the wind. You aren't going to get away with much with that woman, if that's what you're thinking."

"What about Elle? Hannah tells me she has all the talents."

"Elle is going to have to come to terms with me sooner or later. She's choosing later, but I'm running out of patience."

Jackson
was
patient, unlike Jonas. It was one of the things that made him so good at his former job as an Army Ranger. Jackson had it bad, which was odd, because half the time, Jonas didn't think he felt much emotion. He was loyal to the few people he called friends, but nothing much rocked him. Like the house. He'd seen what the house had done, but he just shrugged his shoulders and took it in stride. Jonas, however, was going to have a few nightmares.

Something—some instinct—made him turn his head—and he saw Hannah slip out of the house. Everything inside him stilled as he watched her come toward him. She moved with the wind, elegant and graceful, her famous hair, spirals of platinum, silver and gold, hanging well past her waist and enveloping her slender shoulders, flowing like a silken cape around her body. In the dawn, she looked a dream, moving through the mist.

"She's so fucking beautiful," he whispered aloud, pressing his hand hard over his heart. It wasn't about what others saw, not for him, it never had been. She stole his breath with her smile, the way her eyes lit up, the flash of temper—he loved that flash of temper—he found it sexy as hell.

"Hannah," Jackson greeted her. "You look as if you're feeling a little better."

"I am, Jackson, and thank you for looking out for us. Elle said you were outside."

"She warned me not to come onto the property," he said.

Jonas scowled at him. He knew Jackson and Elle had a strange relationship and could communicate, but they rarely admitted it—and Jackson hadn't said a word to him about Elle warning him off.

"There really isn't much to write up in my report, Jonas. I'm not going to say the house swallowed a man, if that's what you're thinking. I don't need to go in for any more psych tests," Jackson said decisively. He touched the back of Hannah's hand, a rare gesture of affection. "You need anything, just call."

"I will," Hannah assured him.

Jonas knew her so well, knew what it cost her to look straight at Jackson, to let him see the slash marks on her face. They were less raw, less red, already beginning to heal with the continuing aid from her sisters, but it was difficult to let anyone see her wounds. He was proud of her courage, the way she stood straight and tall, so slim she appeared fragile. Her lips trembled, but her gaze never wavered.

"I'll see you both later," Jackson said. "I need to catch some sleep."

"Were you here all night?" Hannah asked.

"No, I didn't see them arrive and I never did catch a glimpse of the car. They had some sophisticated equipment, though. They used earpieces to keep track of each other and the one that got away called in a ride from somewhere close by. I couldn't get into position to even get a make on the vehicle."

He lifted a hand and turned to walk away. The mist swallowed him until there wasn't even the sound of footsteps.

Jonas stood for a moment just looking at Hannah because it gave him so much pleasure. "You're being very brave coming out here. The photographers are still everywhere, although I doubt they can penetrate this fog."

She smiled at him and stepped closer. "I came for you."

"Me? Are you all right?"

"Yes, but you aren't. I can feel that you're…" She paused to search for the right word. "Distressed," she finally settled.

The knots in his stomach began their familiar tightening. "I'm worried about you, Hannah. I knew it wasn't over. It doesn't come as a shock to either of us, but I still can't help being angry."

"Anger isn't the same thing as distress, Jonas. You may be angry on some level on my behalf, but this is different, not about me at all." She frowned and lifted her face to the wind, let it play over her skin and through her hair while she waited for him to tell her the truth.

Jonas looked down at his hands. There was no use in trying to hide anything from Hannah anymore. He had built solid shields over the years, but one night together and she seemed to have knocked a few holes in the wall. "All right, yes, it's upsetting to me. I can't figure out who is after you without knowing who they are. And…" He shook his head, reluctant to admit the truth out loud, even to himself.

Hannah reached for his hands and brought them to her heart. "And?" she prompted.

He sighed, feeling foolish. Feeling like a traitor. "I can't stop thinking those men have families, a parent or sibling at least, someone who cares. That person will spend the rest of their life wondering what happened to the one they loved." He pulled one hand away and shoved it through his hair, unable to meet the intensity of her blue eyes. He was worried about the families of men who had tried to kill her. What did that say about him?

The silence lengthened and stretched for what seemed an eternity. Finally he looked down into her upturned face—met her gaze and was instantly held there—made captive by the love he saw. "You're a good man, Jonas. It isn't a weakness to have compassion for others."

He didn't pull her close, simply leaned down and kissed her, his lips slanting over hers—gently—tenderly. "And you came out here in the cold just to tell me that?"

"That's exactly why I came out."