"What a generous invitation, Hannah," Greg said, coming through the French doors just as the Russian issued his invitation. "Mr. Nikitin. I believe we met in Paris." He extended his hand and Nikitin took it.
"Of course." Sergei turned on the charm, his white teeth flashing, his head inclining graciously, royalty to peasant.
Hannah found it interesting how Greg nearly fawned over him. Nikitin wielded a lot of power with his money and connections. Few wanted to know if the rumors about him were true. He had money, more than he knew what to do with. He often threw that money behind a new designer and he more than once had helped build careers. His parties were famous and everyone wanted an invitation—with the exception of Hannah. She couldn't ignore the rumors because being close to Nikitin was enough to reveal the ugly way he made most of his money. He appeared suave and sophisticated, but he had his hand in everything from drugs to murder. No one had proved it, and Hannah sincerely doubted that anyone ever would. He knew too many politicians, too many of the rich and famous. No one wanted to know he was dirty.
"Greg." She was disgusted with the way the man was ready to sell his soul for an invitation. "We should go."
Nikitin glanced at his watch. "We have a couple more people to say hello to and then we can all go back to the hotel." His focus was entirely on Greg now.
"We'd love that," Greg agreed, taking Hannah's arm.
It was a sure sign he wanted to go. He knew as well as she did that the invitation hinged on her accompanying him. Hannah kept her smile in place. All she had to do was make it to the door. The balcony didn't feel safe anymore. Nowhere around Nikitin was safe. She could just go along with the plan, and as soon as they were outside, she could have the doorman hail a cab for her.
She stole a glance at Ilya. He looked the image of the perfect bodyguard, fading into the background, his eyes moving restlessly, watching the rooftops, the windows from the building across the street. It was fascinating really, how he saw everything, heard everything, was aware of things no one else even considered. He was fully aware she intended to bolt the moment she was out of the building. She waited for him to say something, but Ilya simply followed Nikitin and Greg, who kept hold of her arm, back into the room.
The noise was deafening and hit her hard. The crush of bodies gave her claustrophobia. The room had been packed before she'd gone out onto the balcony, but now there was hardly room to maneuver. People called out greetings and congratulations as they worked their way through the crowd. Greg's fingers slipped off her arm and she quickly moved away, heading toward the door and freedom.
"Hannah," Sabrina greeted her, catching both of her hands. "I can't believe you're still here. You look pale, hon, are you all right?"
"I'm leaving now. A quick appearance and then I'm gone," Hannah said.
"Your trademark. Do you think you can make it to the door? We should have brought a couple of really big bodyguards to get us through the crush."
Sabrina turned with Hannah and began to work her way through the crowd. "I was hoping someone important would ask me to another big event, but so far nobody important has bothered. I swear, Hannah, you don't even want it and you have this awesome career and I'm dying to be in your shoes and I can't get anywhere."
"That's not true, Sabrina." Hannah was trying to see over the mass of people, judging how far it was to the door.
She was tall, but there were just too many bodies and she couldn't see beyond the swarm of people crushing them. She glanced behind her. Nikitin and Ilya were following fast, the crowd parting for the bodyguard. Her agent hurried to keep up with them, determined not to be left behind. It was no wonder she suddenly felt sick with fear. They were trying to catch her before she got away.
Ilya called out to her, suddenly breaking away from the other two men and shoving partygoers out of his way. Hannah's heart lurched and she whipped her head around, nearly bumping into Sabrina as they tried to push their way forward.
"What's wrong?" Sabrina demanded, glancing over her shoulder. "Is that man chasing you?"
"Yes," Hannah admitted, too frightened to lie.
"Who is he?" Sabrina inserted her shoulder into a slim opening between two men and pushed her way through, dragging Hannah with her.
"Nikitin's bodyguard."
"Good grief, Hannah, why are you running? Everyone who's anyone will be at his party—unless you did something to Nikitin. You didn't, did you?" Sabrina risked another quick glance. "He's catching up, move faster. Did Nikitin make a pass at you?"
Hannah's heart thundered in her ears. With every step, terror gripped her harder. She walked faster, bumping into people as she threw quick, nervous glances over her shoulder.
Hannah! Stop right now!
The order was sharp and clear and pain burst through her head as she felt the lash of a holding spell. She broke it, whipping her head around toward the door. It was right there. Freedom. Two more steps and she would be outside, where she could call on the forces of nature to aid her. She collided with a large body and a hand gripped her arm to steady her.
"WHY hasn't she gone back to the hotel?" Jonas demanded, pacing as he watched the television set. "You'd think she'd at least check her cell phone. She didn't even check her messages after the fashion show. She didn't need to attend the party. That's not part of her contract, is it?"
Sarah sank into a chair and stared at the screen. The party was in full swing, reporters interviewing designers and movie stars rather than the models. She caught a glimpse of a couple of the other runway models she knew by name, but Hannah had disappeared into the crowd. The entire scene was crazy. Loud music, outrageous clothes, too many famous people all vying for the camera. There was no way to find Hannah in the crush, unless a reporter wanted an interview and Hannah never gave interviews. Still, she watched, straining her eyes.
Jonas was so edgy he was affecting the Drake family home. The walls rippled with the tension filling the house. It seemed difficult to breathe, the air too thick. Sarah couldn't look away from the screen, afraid if she did, something horrible would happen.
"There's Sabrina." She sat up straighter, her eyes glued to the dark, sleek-haired woman as she pushed her way through the crowd. "She looks like she's talking to someone else, just out of the camera's view, Jonas. I'll bet that's Hannah and they're leaving."
The camera panned a wider view and Sarah caught a glimpse of Hannah. She appeared to be hurrying, her long hair flowing behind her, her face strained as she glanced back over her shoulder. Several feet behind her, Ilya Prakenskii shouldered his way through the mass, clearly chasing her. Sergei Nikitin and Hannah's agent followed in the bigger man's wake.
"Oh, God, in front of you, Hannah," Jonas shouted, suddenly rushing toward the television. "In front of you, damn it, look in front of you. Oh, God, no! Hannah!"
He drew his gun, an automatic gesture, but there was nothing he could do as Hannah turned her head and the knife slashed across her face. He watched helplessly, the arc, the man's determination as he relentlessly kept driving the knife home. Her face. Her chest. Her abdomen. She brought up her arms, a pitiful defense against a madman. He kept slashing and stabbing, over and over, using his body strength with every swing.
Jonas heard a raw, torn cry of utter, absolute anguish, knew it had been ripped from his soul. He dropped to his knees, unable to stand, impotent to do anything to stop the assault. Behind him, Sarah screamed and screamed.
Blood sprayed over the elegantly dressed crowd and the arm kept pumping, slashing and driving. He heard Sarah vomiting, but he couldn't look away.
Ilya Prakenskii caught the assailant from behind, dragging him away from Hannah, controlling the knife hand, swinging hard so that the bloody blade formed an arc and was driven deep into the man's heart. Ilya dropped him, turning to try to catch Hannah before she hit the floor. The camera panned down, but Ilya's body blocked the shot, leaving only the sight of a river of blood soaking into long spiral curls while the reporter tried to regain his composur
e.
Jonas sank all the way to the floor, his mind numb, shock spreading. He glanced over at Sarah. She lay on the floor, every bit as still as Hannah had lain, pale, her breathing shallow, eyes rolled back in her head. He felt it then—the staggering weight of knowledge as the Drake sisters became aware of the enormity of the attack. He heard cries of anguish, of a sorrow so deep it matched his own.
He touched his face and knew tears ran down it unchecked. He was afraid he might never be able to stop. The door burst open and Jackson stood framed there, his face grim, his mouth set in hard lines. "Let's go."
Chapter Seven
JONAS had never prayed so much in his life. He stared blindly out the window of the plane, alternating between feeling numb and lost and then struck with a rage so hot it terrified him. He was afraid to speak—afraid the anger would burst out and consume everyone around him.
He pressed his fingertips hard against the pressure points around his eyes, hoping for some relief from the throbbing pain. Joley had had a private jet waiting at the airport for them and he knew the Drakes would be flying in from all over the world, but how could they get there in time to save her life?
Hannah. He breathed her name. Don't you leave me.
They'd always had a connection, as long as he could remember. The first time she'd walked onto the school grounds, skinny, pale, all blond hair with springy curls everywhere, he'd known she'd been born for him. He'd been a few years older and was ashamed for staring at such a little kid, although, at ten, he wasn't looking at her with sexual intent. It was more that he'd known she was the one almost from the time he'd been running to the Drakes, but seeing her there, at the school yard—he'd just known. The knowledge shocked him because it was so certain. From that moment she'd been a part of him—like breathing.
Of course she'd never looked at him. Hell. She'd never even talked to him—not at school anyway. He'd hated that. Once he'd learned about her anxiety attacks and shyness, he understood, but at the time, it had been crushing. He acted confident around her no matter what was going on in his life. Even then, he'd felt he had to prove he was tougher, and stronger, in order to be worthy of Hannah.
And deep in his heart, he'd known that was just impossible. He'd never be worthy of Hannah. No one was. She was so different. Gorgeous beyond belief, but so much more than that. Sweet. So damned sweet. Wanting to care for everyone. And where did that leave a man who lived most of his life in the shadows hunting bad guys?
He knew her. Inside and out. He knew her. She was a homebody, not the world traveler everyone thought. She was comfortable in a pair of jeans and a flannel shirt, not the sophisticated elegant clothes she wore so well. But he still couldn't have someone so good that light shone around her, not when he was always living in the dark. Be alive, baby, for me, be alive.
"She's still alive," Sarah murmured, as if reading his mind. She sat next to him, her fiancé, Damon, holding her hand tightly while she concentrated with every ounce of her power to stay connected to Hannah. All of the Drakes were, Jonas knew. Sisters. Aunts. Their mother. Cousins. The family was enormous, as were their powers, and Jonas knew beyond a doubt, they were all focused on saving one person. "We're doing everything we can."
"Just hang on to her until we get there, Sarah. Once I'm with her, I can help."
"Why would someone do that to her?" Sarah asked, her voice strained with grief. "Why would someone want to hurt Hannah?"
Damon immediately swept his arm around her and leaned in to put his head close to hers as if helping to absorb the unrelenting sorrow.
Jonas could have told him it would do no good. Sarah knew, as he did, that whoever had done this hadn't wanted to hurt Hannah—they wanted to destroy her. The attack had been shocking, stunning, on television, a message sent to millions. The attacker was dead and they might never know his true motives or if it was a random act of violent insanity. Some were just crazy. Out of their minds. He'd seen enough of it to last him a lifetime. Sometimes there was no reason at all for why people did such crazy things.
"How soon can Libby get here?" He kept his fingers pressed over his eyes, hiding his expression.
"Not soon enough," Sarah admitted. Her voice cracked. "This can't be happening. Not Hannah. She's so…" She shook her head, pressing her hand to her trembling lips. "I have to concentrate."
"Do you have her?"
Sarah stiffened. It was the question she was dreading. Jonas was shaken—shattered, raw grief etched deep into his face. He would believe they had a chance to save Hannah, if the Drakes were holding her in their keeping. Jonas believed in few things anymore—but he believed in their family and the powerful bond they shared. She couldn't lie to him—not to Jonas.
"I'm sorry," she said as gently as she could, when she really wanted to cry a river of tears. "She was too far gone to reach out to us. Ilya Prakenskii has her. She'd be dead without him, even now, and they've taken her to the operating room."
Jonas sat up straight. For the first time he dropped his hands from his face. "How do you know?"
"He talks to Joley and she relays the information to us. Joley…" She choked off a sob, pressing her face against Damon's shoulder. He instantly murmured in her ear.
"Sarah?" Jonas prompted.
"Joley begged him not to let Hannah die. She's terrified of Prakenskii, so you can understand how extreme the situation is for her to put herself in his debt." She was rambling because she was so frightened, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. She needed as much reassurance as Jonas. "Still, he did save Hannah's life. You saw him."
"I also saw him kill the man who stabbed her." He had done it so easily, so fast the move was barely captured on film, so quick and practiced and smooth, Jonas knew he had done it far too many times.
Ilya Prakenskii. There was a real puzzle. Jonas had tried to dig up information on him. Abbey Drake's fiancé, Aleksandr Volstov, had known Ilya from childhood. Prakenskii had been raised by the state and trained as a lethal weapon, but from there, the trail went muddy and no amount of prying had revealed what the man was really involved in. Aleksandr suspected Prakenskii's current job as a bodyguard for a mobster was only a front for something else, but if that was so, his cover was impeccable. Jonas, for all his contacts, hadn't managed to find out anything. Ilya Prakenskii was a wild card and he held Hannah's life in his hands.
Prakenskii might have been working for his government, or he may truly be Nikitin's man, but whatever he was, he was trained as a straight-up killer—and he held Hannah's life in his hands.
"He couldn't do anything else," Sarah said. "It happened so fast. He had to stop the man."
Jonas wasn't so certain a man like Prakenskii had to kill. He had a choice and he chose death for the attacker. Why? Retribution—or something far more sinister? Hell. Jonas didn't believe in anyone anymore—especially not the man who had saved Hannah's life. He had to force his mind to think. It was the only way to stay sane until he was with her. Once he was with her, the rest of the world could go to hell, for all he cared.
"Did you bring the files on the wack jobs?" he asked Jackson, who sat across the aisle from him.
The deputy snapped open the briefcase. "They're all here. Do you think the killer acted alone?" Jackson glanced sharply at Jonas. "Do you feel the threat is gone?"
Beside him, Sarah gave a small sound of distress. "Oh, God, Jonas." She choked off a sob. "Do you think more than one man could be involved? Hannah could still be in danger?"
He wanted to reassure her, to make it all better. Jonas Harrington, the white knight, savior of the world. Hell, he hadn't saved the one person most important to him.
Hannah.
Just that quick he could see her again, on TV, smiling as the cameras flashed, and the quick look over her shoulder as she moved swiftly through the crowd, the turn, the look of shock, of horror as the knife rose and fell.
The air in Jonas's lungs caught and just held there, burning until he thought he might pass out. He'd faced bullets and
blood and death on a battlefield more times than he'd wanted to count. He'd watched his mother, a wonderful, sweet woman, slowly eaten alive from the inside out, suffering every moment of her existence and he hadn't thought—hadn't believed—that there could be more pain. More anger. Feeling—being—more damn helpless.
"Jonas." Jackson's voice was sharp and compelling. "Focus. Are you feeling the same threat to her? Was this a loner?"
He cleared his throat and tried to pull himself together. "It's impossible to tell. The danger to her is so strong, I can't tell whether it's because she's near death or because someone is still waiting to get to her."
Sarah reached into the briefcase and took a few of the photographs, shaking her head as she looked them over. "Why in the world would you even be looking at these people?" She held up two of the pictures. "I doubt an animal rights group would conspire to kill her and keep sending assassins. And even the Reverend with his moral group would have little to gain."
"They'd stay in the news. Who knows how twisted people think, Sarah," Damon responded, drawing her closer. He'd been a victim and had the scars and leg that rarely worked anymore to prove it. "There could be a dozen reasons, all perfectly logical in their mind. Anyone who does this kind of thing is seriously screwed up."
Jonas turned his head to stare sightlessly out the window again. Nothing made sense anymore. Anyone but Hannah. He had wasted so much time waiting for her to make the first move. Why had he done that? He took command of every situation, but not with her. Because she was afraid of him. He suppressed a groan. That was the true reason. She was a pleaser, wanting him happy, wanting her family happy, always giving of herself, but never taking. She wanted him happy, too, but not at the cost of herself. He walked on her. And she knew herself well enough to know she couldn't afford to be swallowed whole.
"She has a temper," he murmured aloud.
Sarah glanced at him. "Who?"
"Hannah. She has a temper. And when she's angry, she can wreak havoc."
[Magic Sisters 05] - Safe Harbor Page 11
