Sarah was silent, her small teeth chewing on her bottom lip as she turned the information over in her mind. "What about Sergei Nikitin? What do you have on him?"
"He's an altogether different kind of fish—big fish. No one has ever been able to pin anything on him, not in his country or ours or in Europe. Interpol has been trying for several years. He emerged strong from a rather bloody turf war. The spoils were divided several ways until he suddenly came on the scene, and then after a very nasty battle between factions, Sergei Nikitin and Boris and Petr Tarasov were left standing. There are others, but not like them. The leftovers were divided between the two families and the rest is history. Both families are extremely violent, willing to kill and torture to prove their point, which basically is that no one had better mess with them—and no one does."
"Are they friends?"
"They do business together, but no, they posture at each other. There have been a few killings between the two factions, but for the most part, they leave one another alone."
"Do any of the models run drugs?" Jackson asked Sarah. "Has she ever mentioned she was worried about someone? She would pick that up working so close to them. Or maybe one of the designers. They're bringing in clothes and props from all over the world."
Sarah leaned her head back against Damon's shoulder. "She mentioned that it went on. Mostly the girls who used. She'd say they weren't going to make it in the business. Some of them started using to stay thin. It's a hazard of the business, like eating disorders. It's high pressure, Jonas."
Jonas took a deep breath. He didn't give a damn about the job or why one of them might choose to run drugs. He only cared about the fact that one of them may have inadvertently pulled Hannah into a dangerous situation.
"When Libby comes, if Hannah's still alive, she can make it all right again, can't she?" Jonas wasn't certain what he meant, but he had to ask, to be reassured. "Tell me she can do that."
"If Hannah's still alive, we'll seal ourselves together and bind her to us," Sarah said. "That's what we did to you, using Hannah's connection to you."
There was a small silence. "I don't know what that means. I'm connected to all of you." Jonas frowned and rubbed his head again.
Sarah pressed both hands to his head before he could stop her. Warmth flowed from her to him, removing the pounding headache.
Jonas jerked away. "What are you doing? Save your strength for Hannah."
"I know, I couldn't help it," Sarah admitted. "Yes, we're all connected to you, Jonas, but not like Hannah. Your link with her is one of the strongest I've ever seen. In our family, we develop strong connections with our partners. Mom and Dad have a tremendous link between them. We all joke and say it's forged in steel, but you and Hannah…" She trailed off.
"What about us?"
"This is going to sound stupid, but I think your souls are linked. You were nearly dead when we reached you, Jonas, when you were shot a few months ago. I certainly couldn't get to you and I don't think even Elle could. She tried, we all did. We united and reached for you, but it was Hannah who held you fast. She was certain it was Elle, but it wasn't. The rest of us knew it was her."
"How come she didn't know?"
"When we unite in a circle, our energy flows from one to the other. It's hard to tell us apart, and she was so distraught. Hannah's very distinctive to the rest of us."
"So if you form your circle of energy, you can save her life."
"Prakenskii is doing that. We can hold her once we're together."
"And the trauma and the scars?"
Sarah shrugged. "I have no idea what we can or can't do. We'll have to watch Libby. She has a tendency to go too far and Hannah will resist if she thinks any of us are being hurt in the process of healing her. Hannah's powers are strong, Jonas. If she fights us, we could all be in trouble. She's stronger than most of us and she always takes care of the rest of us."
"You let me worry about that. Hannah will cooperate."
Sarah glanced at him sharply. "What does that mean?"
"It means right now, she's in a weakened state and she's not going to have any choice. She can get worked up about it when she's one hundred percent. Until then she can live with a dictatorship."
"Don't go off the deep end," Sarah cautioned. She didn't know what Jonas was capable of with Hannah. He had hidden talents he rarely acknowledged, but he was confident he could enlist Hannah's cooperation and that was something even Sarah was uncertain of.
"Plane's about to land," Jackson said, gathering the files and stuffing them back into the briefcase. "There'll be a car waiting to take us to the hospital."
Chapter Eight
"IS she alive?" Jonas demanded as he approached the Russians in the waiting room. Beside him, Sarah leaned heavily on Damon.
Ilya Prakenskii nodded, staggered and reached out to steady himself by holding the wall. "She's been in surgery for hours, but they just brought her into recovery. She's in critical condition and very weak." He glanced at Sarah. "Your sisters had better get here soon."
"They're all on their way. Mom and Dad and my aunts as well."
"I don't like the feel here, Harrington. Hannah's agent is over there." Ilya indicated a slender man in a gray suit talking with the police. "He's pretty shaken up."
Sarah grabbed Jonas when he took an aggressive step toward the agent, and clung tightly as she felt the tremor run through his body. "Don't, Jonas. You're really upset and you might hurt him. I don't want to get thrown out of here."
She studied Prakenskii up close. He was a good-looking man in a tough sort of way. Right now lines etched deep in his face from the strain of holding Hannah to life. "Are you going to crash?" She'd seen her sister Libby, with that same gray tinge, her body trembling with exhaustion and her eyes sunken in. Prakenskii was showing classic signs of psychic overload. He'd spent far too much energy on keeping Hannah alive.
"If we're going to save her, you'll have to help," Prakenskii admitted, sinking back into the chair he'd risen from when they had approached. "She's so close to death I'm not certain we can give her enough time until your family gets here. I did what I could on scene, but there were so many wounds, too much blood loss, and she was already drifting away. I barely had the chance to link with her." He glanced up at Jonas. "She said your name, Harrington. Even with her throat sliced in two, she wanted you."
Jonas's heart clenched in response, a painful constriction that robbed the breath from his lungs. She'd called for him. Reached out. Needed him—and he hadn't been there. All this time he thought he could keep her out of danger, but it had found her anyway. Ironically, the danger had nothing to do with him. All those years wasted, all that time. He'd been such a martyr, staying away for her own good, and Hannah had gone to work, done her job and some nut had attacked her. He should have been with her. His name was the last thing—the only thing she'd said.
He swallowed hard and pushed away grief. "Have they given you any indication how long this could take?"
"She's been in there for hours. They've come out twice to say she's still alive." It was obviously a strain for Prakenskii to talk. "Just a few minutes ago they told us she was in recovery but…" He trailed off.
"But what?" Jonas demanded.
"They don't know what's keeping her alive. She lost so much blood they're worried about brain damage. None of them believe she'll make it beyond the next couple of hours."
"You're keeping her alive," Sarah said. "That's why she's not dead." She sank into the chair opposite him. "As the others arrive, it will lighten the load on you. Thank you for saving her for us. Let me help you. I can connect with you." She made the offer without hesitation. It gave Prakenskii a decided advantage if he chose to use it because, once connected with Sarah, he would have another path to follow to the Drakes' energy source, but that didn't matter now. The only thing that mattered was keeping Hannah alive.
He nodded and she was surprised—because if she opened herself and her magic to him—he had to do the same to her. Sarah settle
d back in the chair, facing him, and took a deep breath, allowing her mind to open, to reach and stretch and merge.
Prakenskii looked directly at her, his eyes flickering a deep blue-green. For a moment she was stunned by the vibrant color, as if the sea had come to stormy life, but then the color swirled and darkened and she was looking into empty, fathomless mirrors. There was no way to "read" him. Ilya Prakenskii remained a closed book and that was nearly impossible when they had linked together. She should have been able to read him the way she was certain he was reading her.
She could feel his exhaustion and strain. The fight to keep Hannah alive was taking a toll on his tremendous strength, although his physical appearance didn't reflect the dire situation. He was fighting with everything in him to keep her alive and his strength was definitely waning. She reached inside his mind looking for the path to her sister. Pain hit her, tearing through her mind and ripping through her body so that she was thrown back, away from Prakenskii.
Sarah gasped and doubled over. "She shouldn't be feeling anything at all. She's unconscious, isn't she?" She looked at Ilya. "Isn't she?"
"She appears unconscious, but she is closer to the surface than she should be because she's waiting for him." Ilya indicated Jonas.
Jonas's breath hitched in his lungs. That would be like Hannah. She 'wouldn't just go down easy, not if she had something to say.
"You've got to get in to her," Sarah said. "Make them let you, Jonas. She can't be in this kind of pain and survive. Go sit with her, and Mr. Prakenskii and I will hold her until the family gets here."
Jonas nodded and went to find the head nurse. It took a lot of persuasion as well as flashing his badge and mentioning danger several times, but he had always been a persuasive man and he found himself walking into the room where Hannah lay so still, surrounded by machines.
Jonas sank down onto the seat beside the bed. Hannah was swathed in bandages over most of her body. Her face was swollen and bluish from bruising. A single sheet covered her body. Beneath it she looked so thin and small, not at all the tall, imposing woman who was Hannah Drake. Her impossibly long lashes lay in twin crescents above her classic cheekbones, looking incongruous beside the bloodstained gauze.
His heart clenched so hard it felt like it was in a vise—an actual physical pain—and he pressed his hand hard against his chest as he lifted the sheet to inspect her body. She was wrapped like a mummy, from her neck down. He swallowed the bile rising as he noted she'd been slashed in the throat as well as her face, chest and abdomen. Her attacker had been every bit as vicious as he'd appeared on television. Jonas had hoped it had been the camera angle, but it was obvious the man had been determined to kill her.
His gut knotted into tight lumps and his throat burned raw. He sank into the chair that had been placed beside the bed and looked her over, looked for a place he could touch her skin—not the hideous thick gauze that seemed to be everywhere. Her hands and arms were bandaged right along with everything else. He knew she would have defensive wounds, he'd seen them enough times on victims, but for some reason he was unprepared for seeing them on Hannah.
Jonas swallowed several times as he carefully slid his hand under her bandaged one. Only the tips of her fingers protruded. He lifted her hand with great care and brought her fingers to his mouth. He had to kiss her, touch her, find a way to caress her. He needed skin-to-skin contact because he had to have tangible proof she was alive and would stay that way. Her breath seemed too shallow, her chest barely rising and falling beneath the thin sheet even with the ventilator.
"Hannah, baby, you're breaking my heart." Just looking at her hurt. He couldn't imagine anyone hurting her this way. What had she done that was such a crime? She was too beautiful with her flawless skin and her unusual hair and tall, elegant, so very classy figure, and her looks had drawn attention to her. Would someone really want to kill her because she was too beautiful? "Nothing makes sense," he murmured, listening to the machines doing her breathing for her.
He put his head down on the bed as the smells and sounds assailed his senses. His stomach lurched, protested. Hannah was hooked up to machines. His beloved Hannah with her laughter and her temper and her silly trick of knocking his hats off his head with the wind. He had a closet full of hats, and he provoked her on purpose sometimes, just to feel the touch of the wind. Her touch. Feminine and soft with her particular fragrance attached. Sometimes he imagined he felt her fingers caressing his face, tracing his jaw, and then the slap of the wind would remove his hat—but it was well worth that single heart-stopping moment.
"You know you have to live for me, Hannah," he said aloud, sitting back up. He kissed her fingertips, drew them one by one into the warmth of his mouth. He ached for her—for him. "I can't imagine my life without you in it," he whispered. "There'd be no purpose for me." He wasn't a poetic man, but he had to find a way to make her understand. It seemed so important to him that she understand what she meant to him. Everything good in his world was lying in that bed with a machine breathing for her.
He leaned closer. "Hannah? Can you hear me?" Her face was partially covered by the bandages and the sight of her lashes lying so thick against her pale skin made his eyes burn. "I should have told you a long time ago." He raked a hand through his hair and pressed several kisses into the mass of hair at the top of her head.
There were so many things he should have said—should have done. Time wasted. He couldn't think why now, only that he hadn't told her how much she meant to him. If he'd been so worried about her because of the things he'd done—and did—in his life, he should have quit. She was more important. He didn't have answers or questions. He could only pray because, in the end, she was all that really mattered.
Jonas. I knew you'd come. Too hard to talk out loud.
Her voice in his head shook him. He leaned closer to her, touching her hair, kissing her fingers, trying to let her know he was there and wouldn't leave. "I'm here, sweetheart. Right here with you. Can you hear me? I'm not going anywhere." She had a tube down her throat, a good reason why she couldn't talk out loud. Did she even know? "Do you remember what happened? You're in the hospital. You need to rest and just hang on until your family gets here."
Are you all right?
His heart turned over. That was just like Hannah, asking if he was all right when she was fighting for her life. "Scared. I'm scared, Hannah. You've got to hold on until your family comes. Libby is on her way and so are the rest of them. Everyone's coming, Hannah, because you're important to us and we can't lose you. I can't lose you."
I needed to tell you I'm sorry.
His heart nearly stopped. "Sorry? You have nothing to be sorry about." He kissed her fingers again, pressed them to his mouth. "I'm the one who should have been here with you. Do you remember what happened?"
I remember being afraid and then there was pain, so much pain.
Her voice cracked and he felt the pain sweeping inside him as if there was so much she couldn't contain it in her fragile body.
"Rest, Hannah, go to sleep and let Prakenskii and Sarah hold you until your mother and sisters come. Just go to sleep. I'll be right here." He didn't want her to sleep, he wanted her to keep talking. It was terrifying that she hadn't opened her eyes and that he might be imagining the conversation because he needed to hear her voice.
Jonas nibbled at her fingertips. "I love you, Hannah. You hang on."
The sound of the machines answered him. If she'd been there, close enough to the surface of consciousness to talk to him, to be aware of his presence, she no longer was. He glanced anxiously toward the monitors. Her heart was still beating. They didn't expect her to live. The doctor had told him, his face sober, his eyes meeting, then sliding away from Jonas, as he had given the news. Jonas shook away the memory and the feeling of utter despair. The doctor didn't know the Drakes. He didn't know about magic and wonder and family unity. Hannah was a part of something extraordinary, and through her, so was he. She would live because the Drakes would
save her.
He glanced out the glass partition to the room where Sarah and Damon waited with Prakenskii and Jackson. His gaze was caught on Sarah. The eldest of the Drake sisters, she was the one who ultimately had the last word. She was very athletic—he'd always admired her in school. Fast and sleek, she could run faster than most of the boys, and she had an uncanny knack for disappearing in plain sight. She was beautiful, with the Drake skin and huge eyes and a glossy mane of hair, yet she could just fade into the background when she wanted. She had worked security for a big company, breaking into buildings for clients and showing them all their weaknesses and then finding ways to improve the security. At times she acted as a bodyguard, and with her special talents, she was a darn good one.
Jonas both admired and loved her, and often sought her counsel when it came to cases of burglary. She had a good eye and a quick mind. She was engaged to Damon Wilder, a brilliant man whom Jonas respected. Right now, Sarah looked tired and drained with sorrow weighing her down. It seemed shocking, when she was such a strong, optimistic person, and it made him even more afraid for Hannah.
Throughout the long morning the older Drakes kept arriving, one by one, women crowding into the waiting room, murmuring softly, their faces stained with tears, hugging one another as they tried to give each other courage. Hannah's aunts and her mother, sitting, facing one another with Prakenskii and Sarah.
Hannah's parents came in to touch their daughter, shaking their heads when Jonas would have risen and reluctantly relinquished his place by her side. They hugged him, but neither spoke, and that left an empty, hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had always counted on the Drakes' strength of family, their ability to pull anyone through. He'd been wounded, yet he'd survived. Surely they could bring Hannah back from wherever she was.
Elle was the next of Hannah's sisters to arrive. The youngest of the Drake siblings. Her long bright red hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Her face was devoid of makeup and ravaged by tears. She looked so young, a woman with as much or more power than all of her sisters combined, as she was the one destined to pass on the gifts to her daughters. Jonas had always loved her as a baby sister. She was beautiful with her flashing green eyes, and her so-quick temper. She was quiet and kept to herself for the most part, although, like her sisters, she was protective and closed ranks—sometimes against him.
[Magic Sisters 05] - Safe Harbor Page 13
