Safe Harbor

by Christine Feehan

  "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."

  Chapter Fourteen

  "THE natural fog isn't quite this thick and to keep it around the house is dangerous and tiring, but I hate the thought of going in. I feel a little bit trapped and claustrophobic," Hannah said.

  After he saw what the house could do, Jonas wanted her in it, safe, where no one could get to her. He ran the pad of his finger down the side of her face, skimming over the slash marks and trailing to her throat, where the cuts were deeper. The attacker had started with light slashes, cutting across her body, back and forth. He had been whispering to her that he was sorry. Maybe he hadn't wanted to destroy her looks. Maybe it had been something altogether different.

  Jonas slid his palm down her slender arm, feeling the defensive wounds, remembering how she lifted her hands, a slim protection against the vicious assault. His fingers tangled with hers and he tugged her forward. "The fog is still naturally thick along the beach right below your house. We can walk there. You and your sisters can easily take care of any cameras with zoom lenses, can't you?"

  A smile flitted across her face. "I think that will be easy enough."

  They went down the stairs leading to the beach in silence. Hannah shivered a little. She was wearing a short, denim jacket, but it obviously wasn't keeping out the chill coming in from the ocean. When they reached the sand, she kicked off her shoes and waited while he removed his.

  Jonas shrugged out of his heavier coat. "Take this, it will keep you warm."

  Hannah shook her head. "I'm used to the weather. I'm always sitting outside, remember? I don't want you to get cold."

  "It's my chance to show you how manly I am after I looked wussy."

  She let him enfold her in the warmth of his jacket. "Wussy? When did you look like a wuss?"

  "You know how horror movies make my stomach turn. The house gave me that same creepy feeling and your sisters picked up on it. Your manly man looked like a baby. It was humiliating. I've got to find a way to redeem myself."

  She laughed softly, the sound floating over the endless waves. Ripples appeared in the water as if sea creatures responded below. She tucked her hand in the crook of his arm, her blue eyes bright with amusement. For Jonas, Hannah created a magical world around her, and she always brought him into it. There was such beauty in the world, and when he was with her, he could see it so clearly.

  "Any man who's been shot as many times as you have should never worry about anyone calling him a wuss," she pointed out.

  "Getting shot means I'm slow, not brave."

  "You're brave. I don't like horror movies either. They give me nightmares. Joley's even worse. If she watches a scary movie, she has to sleep with the lights on and most of the time she won't sleep alone."

  "Then why do you watch them?"

  "Joley likes to be scared, and she can't watch them alone."

  "I don't know how you can make that sound perfectly logical."

  Her laughter brought streaks of silver flashing to the surface of the water. White foam curled along the edges of the waves as they curled back under. Spray leapt up around the rocks and burst through holes formed centuries earlier by the wash of the sea. Jonas inhaled it all and felt at peace.

  "You know what it is, Hannah? I have some kind of balance when I'm with you. My mind can slow down and enjoy the world around me. I realized it when I was a kid and things were so bad with my mom. I'd hear her crying--never in front of me--but in the night and when her door was closed. I couldn't do a thing--nothing at all--God--it made me feel so fucking helpless, and I'd come to your house. I'd go through every room until I found you. You didn't have to talk to me, but as long as you were there, my mind would quiet down and the rage that was burning a hole in my gut would subside."

  She slipped her hand into his, entwined their fingers together. "I'm surprised it wasn't Libby, but I'm grateful it was me."

  "It was definitely you. In those days, I didn't think about the whys, I was so confused. I didn't want Mom to die, I wanted her with me all the time, but she was in so much pain that I knew I was being selfish and that I should be able to find the strength to tell her it was okay if she let go."

  "Jonas." Hannah touched his face with gentle fingers. "She wanted to be with you. I know she did. I was over there a lot with my mother and her will was absolute."

  He drew her fingertips into his mouth and then kissed them, before letting her go. "That's why even when you make me crazy, I can still feel this... this..." "Peace" was the only word he could think of and she was staring up at him with stars in her eyes and all he wanted to do was kiss her.

  "Marry me, Hannah."

  She blinked up at him, shock driving the color from her face. "Jonas..."

  "No, Hannah, don't think. Just say it. Say you want to be my wife. You want my children. You want me to come home to you every night. Say it so I don't have to keep thinking if I say or do the wrong thing, I'm going to lose you." He shoved his hand through his hair, leaving it rumpled and in complete disarray. "Hell. I'm walking on eggshells with you."

  "You are? I hadn't noticed."

  "Do you want those things? Do you want to go to bed with me at night? Wake up with me in the morning? Drive me crazy looking all sexy and drowsy over your tea? Spend your life with me, Hannah. Grow old with me. We can sit on the porch in our rockers and I swear, baby, at the end of it all, you'll know no one could have loved you more or better. I can give that to you. I swear I can, baby. Love me back, Hannah."

  Jonas had never looked so vulnerable or so heart-breaking. He made her want to melt into his arms, get lost in his eyes, press close to the shelter of his body. She took a deep breath and let it out. "I love you with every single cell in my body, Jonas. With my heart and my soul. I want all those things with you, I do, but not right now. It can't be right now. I'm barely hanging on to my sanity and I have to know I'm going to be able to come to you whole."

  She reached up with both hands to frame his face. "I need you to understand this and have patience with me. There will never be another man for me. It's always been you, but I have to figure out why I worked at a job I hated for years. I have to find out why I can't see what everyone else sees in me. I don't feel beautiful. When I look in the mirror, I never saw beautiful. For this to happen to someone like me, it's devastating, Jonas. I don't want you to think it's vanity, it isn't. I can't see me and I need to be able to do that. I need to find out what I'm like and what I want. I have to be comfortable in my own skin before I can be in a relationship the way you want."

  His breath stilled in his lungs. He couldn't look at her, not when she was handing him back his heart. His jaw tightened and he swallowed the sudden lump in his throat.

  "Don't." Hannah pressed her fing
ertips over his mouth. "You don't understand what I'm saying; Yes, I want to marry you. Absolutely. But just... not now."

  Jonas backed up a couple of steps to keep from dragging her to him. Hannah was so elusive, like water slipping through his fingers. He had wanted her for so long, had her for a night, and now she was gone again. "I want to understand, Hannah, but it seems to me you're making this complicated when it's really simple. I love you. I want you. If you feel the same way, we should be together."

  "I couldn't make love to you. I know I couldn't. I'd want to, Jonas, but..."

  "You aren't always going to be in pain, Hannah, and that's not what's important."

  She sighed, wanting desperately to say the right thing even at the expense of her pride. "You knew I had trouble with my body image before this ever happened." Embarrassed, she looked out over the ocean, watching the rise of the waves. As always, the motion and sound and beauty of it soothed her and gave her courage. "I can't even look in a mirror, Jonas, let alone think about you looking at me."

  "I did look at you, Hannah, before and after. You're the most beautiful, sexy woman I've ever seen. Yeah, the wounds are fresh, but they're already healing and they'll fade. They don't take away from who and what you are. Not to me, never to me."

  "But they do to me. I need to feel beautiful and sexy, not ugly and disgusting."

  Jonas scowled at her. "Hannah, my God, you don't really feel that way about yourself? The wounds are going to fade. The plastic surgeon was one of the best in the country and your sisters..."

  She stepped closer to him. Waves of distress poured off him, not distress for himself--but for her. Not pity, she realized with relief, but genuine concern for her. "I know my face and body will eventually recover, but right now, I don't want you looking at me."

  "You don't have to be perfect for me, Hannah." His voice was low and furious. "That fucker Simpson did this to you. He made you think you had flaws and that you weren't good enough. I heard him yelling at you to lose weight and that your breasts were too big. Screw him. And screw that damned job. You're beautiful. Hell, baby, you stop traffic. You always have."

  "Whatever the problem, Jonas, it's something I have to deal with."