"Definitely Boris Tarasov's soldiers," Jonas replied. "I've seen this one in the mug shots a dozen times. He's all over the war room next to Duncan's office."
With two of the mobsters and the worst of the bunch, the Gadiyans and Karl, still unaccounted for, Jonas wasn't taking any chances, sinking back into cover while Jackson went up onto the roof tops to try to make the call for backup. Duncan had a lot to answer for. Sending them in blind as if they were a couple of rookies was bull. More importantly, someone close to Duncan had betrayed them.
"I called it in," Jackson said, returning. "Duncan's sending a team to mop up and get us out of here. There's no sign of the other two. He said to stay out of sight."
"You mean stay away from his team?"
"That's what I understood."
Jonas muttered an obscenity and then crouched a distance from the bodies, sending out a silent call. Hannah? You okay? He knew what it cost her to expend so much energy.
A soft breeze kept leaves on the trees fluttering, but she didn't answer. His chest tightened. "So do you think she's all right?" Jonas asked. "I've tried connecting with her, but she isn't responding."
"Hannah?" Jackson was silent for a moment, turning his face up to the sky. "Yeah, she's all right. She's weak, but you knew she would be."
Hannah, answer me. Jonas despised the desperation he felt when he couldn't reach her. His adrenaline overloaded, heart beating too fast, too hard. Even his mouth went dry. Hannah had to be all right all the time or he just went to pieces, and for a man in his position, that was a death sentence. He definitely had to resolve this issue.
The wind swept over the building, this time more of a soft breeze. It rustled leaves on the trees and dropped down into the narrow lane where they crouched to ruffle his hair and touch his face as if soothing him. He heard his name, a soft sigh of a sound, a whisper teasing at the back of his mind. Jonas. Come home to me.
He glanced over his shoulder at Jackson. "Did you hear that?"
"Yeah, I heard it." Jackson stared over Jonas's head to the street, watching for their enemy while they waited for the man who had gotten them into so much trouble. "How long have you known the Drake family?" he asked.
"I think I met them when I was around seven. My mother was very sick and I took over the household pretty early. It could get lonely and, when mom was bad, pretty scary for a kid, so I spent a lot of time in their home. The Drakes just let me come and go as I grew up. I used to climb in through a window when the front door was locked because I didn't want to bother going around to the back of the house, but they never said a word about it to me."
"And now the girls do the same thing," Jackson said.
Jackson was forcing conversation to keep him on his feet. Jonas knew Jackson rarely talked, not even to him. He didn't like physical contact, yet there he was, one hand on Jonas's sorry shoulder, the way he'd been doing all night, the way he did every time they went into battle together. "Yeah, they're my family and I'm not dragging them down into my world, especially Hannah."
Jackson flashed a small, humorless smile. "I hate to break it to you, bro, but she's already in your world, they all are."
Jonas shook his head and reached out again. Hannah, are you alone tonight? He hadn't felt the presence of any other energy like he normally would have if her sisters had helped provide the storm. Where's Sarah? Hannah needed someone with her after all the energy she'd used. He felt her touch, a small tentative brush... as if she was too tired to do more. Are you still outside, on the captain's walk? It was difficult maintaining the connection, the distance too far, and Hannah too weak. She was the stronger psychic and usually kept the bridge open between them.
Jonas felt anxiety creeping in. "I think she's still on the captain's walk, Jackson. She's alone and cold and weak. No one's there to help her. I've got to get back to her." She'd sacrificed tonight for him--for both men--and he wasn't about to leave her alone, drained of her energy. She needed to be inside, where it was warm, a cup of her special tea in her hands and Jonas watching over her through the rest of the night.
Hang in there, Hannah. I'll be there as soon as possible.
There was that gentle breeze again, so soft, brushing over his face like the touch of fingers. I could use a little help tonight.
That was a rare admission from Hannah, and his heart turned over. I'm coming, baby, just give me a little time to wrap this up. Can you make it into the house? He didn't want her lying in the biting cold, too weak to move. He was a four-hour drive away, not too far as the crow flew, but a long distance on winding roads.
I'll be waiting.
To Jonas's astonishment, Duncan arrived and shepherded them to his car while, behind them, his men moved out of the shadows to take control of the situation. Duncan drove them through the streets of the city back to his office, entering through a back way. It didn't take long to discover what they had captured on film. Duncan erupted into a barrage of swearing. Petr Tarasov murdered an undercover officer right in front of their eyes. It was the kind of evidence that could bring a death penalty conviction without too much trouble.
"We thought he was in solid with the Tarasovs." Duncan swore again and passed his hands over his face.
"No wonder Karl and the Gadiyans kept coming after us and then sent their soldiers when it got too hot. I'll bet they're already making tracks out of the country," Jonas said.
"Petr Tarasov is going to fry for this," Duncan snapped, fury in his voice.
The three watched in silence, a gasp of shock the only reaction until the man in the coat and hat walked up to Boris, the head of the crime family, and Boris turned his head to stare straight at the camera.
"Any ideas who tipped him off?" Duncan asked in a tight voice. "We'll need the guys in the lab to enhance this as much as possible. We need to find out who this son of a bitch is as soon as possible."
"He has to be one of yours. He must have tipped off Tarasov you had an agent undercover and then he got wind you sent someone in to film the low-level meeting. Only there was no meeting because the information your undercover fed you was his own setup. They got him there to kill him," Jonas said.
"We'll find the son of a bitch. He doesn't know who you are. No one does. I kept your names out of it on purpose."
"Because you suspected you had a leak," Jonas guessed, exchanging a long look with Jackson. He felt sick that he'd been standing there filming when another agent had been murdered in front of him. "At least you have enough to fry Petr Tarasov."
"Good job," Duncan added as an afterthought.
"Yeah, thanks," Jonas replied, working to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. "I'm out of here."
"Sit down, Harrington, you're not going anywhere until we pick Petr Tarasov up and make absolute certain you're in the clear. I've lost two men and I'm not about to lose any more."
"Thanks for the concern, Duncan, but I'm not part of your team anymore and you sure as hell aren't tying me up tonight," Jonas protested. "I've got somewhere important to go."
"Not until this is cleared, Jonas," Duncan said. "Petr Tarasov murdered an agent and we've caught him red-handed. There's no way to dispute that tape. We've got a traitor in the department and I'm not taking chances with your life. And if that isn't good enough for you, Boris Tarasov believes in retribution. You killed several of his soldiers. He's going to want your head on a silver platter and I'm going to make damn sure he doesn't know who you are before I let you go home. Until we pick up Tarasov, you're going to be kept under wraps."
"Not happening," Jonas said. "I'm not part of the team anymore, Duncan. Obviously you knew you had a traitor or you wouldn't have gone outside the team for this recon. You suspected your undercover, the one who was killed, didn't you? And you wanted me to get evidence on him because you thought maybe he had a partner on your team."
"Something like that," Duncan said, his voice tight. "And I'm not chancing losing another agent. So unless you want this war to follow you right back to where you live, you're g
oing to stay here under wraps until I make sure you're in the clear."
Jonas opened his mouth to protest, and then closed it. Damn it. He didn't want to stay but there was no way in hell that he'd risk bringing that bloodbath in the alley home to Sea Haven. There was no way he'd risk putting Hannah in danger.
"I need to make a phone call."
"That's not happening and you know it, Harrington. No calls, no e-mails, no text messages. We do this clean with nothing pointing back to you. We're taking you out the back way and stashing you until Tarasov is picked up and I'm satisfied he doesn't know your names."
"Who knew we were in the field?" Jonas asked.
"No one should have known. I asked you to help out as a personal favor and gave you Terry to drive. No other member of the team knew about the recon and I wanted to keep it that way. That's why I personally picked you up and got you out of there before the team moved in to deal with the bodies. The Russians play for keeps, Jonas."
"Hell, Duncan, I know that. And I'm sorry about your men." He didn't want to think too much about Terry or the fact that an agent had been murdered not fifty feet from him while he held a camera. The thought sickened him and he couldn't look at Jackson. Sometimes, like now, he was just so fucking soul weary he didn't know what to do. He needed Hannah or he was going to drown.
"I'm not adding you to the list of dead men," Duncan decreed, "so resign yourself, Harrington."
Jonas slumped back in the chair, pushing his hand through his hair. He was dirty, exhausted, covered in blood and hurting like hell now that the anesthesia was wearing off. He looked over at Jackson, shrugged his shoulders and gave in.
Hannah. I'm not making it back tonight.
Chapter Three
HANNAH. I'm not making it back tonight.
That was the last thing he'd said to her, followed by four long, mind-numbing, terrifying days of absolute silence. Damn Jonas Harrington to hell. She was through. She wasn't giving him another day--another hour--of her time. She'd wasted most of her life waiting for him, and if she meant so little to him, it was past time to make the break.
Just a few weeks earlier he had nearly died from a gunshot wound and nearly taken her with him, when she'd worked so desperately to save his life. What had the ungrateful jerk done to thank her? He'd gone out looking for trouble--and found it--again.
She had known the moment he was in trouble. She felt his pain, as if across a great distance, and knew immediately he was in San Francisco. Frightened out of her mind, she'd run to the captain's walk and sent the wind to aid him, but he hadn't come to her once the danger was over.
Hannah. I'm not making it back tonight. He hadn't even bothered to call her. Not to thank her, not even to make sure she was all right when he knew the toll the use of her gifts took on her. Not even just to reassure her that he was all right.
Well, she wasn't going to be the one calling him. She'd had enough of looking like a fool.
She was heading to New York on another work assignment. She detested leaving, but she had a job to do, and this time, maybe she wouldn't come back. Maybe she'd have to just stay away from Sea Haven.
The thought made her eyes brim with tears and she stood on the captain's walk, three stories up above the endless waves, and stared down at the turbulent sea below. The water was beautiful in the moonlight; shades of black, deep blue and shimmering silver rippled across the surface. Spray leapt into the air with each rush of the waves crashing against the rocks below. She sighed and leaned her elbows against the railing as she watched the fog gathering in the distance, beginning to spread tendrils above the rhythmic waves. As always, the sea soothed her, tugging every drop of anger out of her, to leave her calm, but sad and wistful, aware that this time she had to act--she really did have to put distance between Jonas and herself.
"Jonas." She whispered the name to the sea, allowed the wind to carry the sound out over the water.
The sea whispered back, blowing vapor inland, long streaks of snow-white mist, so that it looked as if a comforter were being slowly pulled up over the bluff. The fog added an aura of mystery and ethereal beauty to the night. It crept over the sea and into the treetops, and began to surround her home. She always came here to find peace; this time she came to find the strength to leave.
She murmured softly to the wind and it rose in a swell, skipping over the water playfully, tossing droplets into the air so it appeared to be raining sparkling diamonds. She inhaled the scents of the sea. The swirls of fog danced in the slight breeze, layering over the surface of the water.
Hannah let the familiar sounds of the sea soothe her. This was her favorite place in the world. In all her extensive travels, she'd never found another spot she wanted to call home. She could breathe in Sea Haven, was comfortable with the camaraderie of the people in the small town. She liked that she knew everyone, that she could go to the grocery store and see familiar faces. There was comfort in Sea Haven, and the town was surrounded by the raw, powerful beauty of the ocean, which always gave her peace. The sea was constant, reliable, a source she could draw on in the worst of times.
She lifted her face to the sky, her breath rushing from her lungs when she saw three vapor trails beginning to form into solid circles around the moon. One glowed an eerie red, one a dull yellow and the last a dark, ominous black. Hannah snapped to attention, wariness replacing the dreamy relaxed expression the wind had given her. One hand went to her throat in a defensive gesture.
She was one of seven daughters born to the seventh daughter in the Drake family. Hers was a legacy of special gifts--or curses, depending upon how one viewed them. Hannah could call and send the wind, she could cast spells and had some small talent with herbs. She could move objects with her mind and read the mosaic in the entryway of the Drake home. Like her sisters, she could read tea leaves and, if touching others, often could even read their thoughts. She could also read the moon and sky, and right now they were giving her a blatant warning.
"Hannah!"
She frowned as the masculine voice drifted up to her from below, inside her house--the house that had been locked. She had even padlocked the gate again, binding the security device with a spell, but she knew it wouldn't matter--the heavy lock would be open and lying on the ground as it always was after Jonas touched it. She'd locked him out on purpose, angry that he hadn't called her, hurt that she didn't matter. He ignored her until he needed something and then he took her for granted.
She didn't bother to answer. He'd just keep yelling until she came down to him, or worse, he'd come up onto the captain's walk and give her a safety lecture. With another wary glance at the moon, she hurried from the deck into the house and down the stairs. If Jonas was in a bad enough mood, the moon might have been circled in the eerie yellow, but not with three rings. Something wasn't right.
Jonas emerged out of the shadows as she leapt off the bottom steps. He caught her around her waist, fingers biting deep as he lifted her clear and steadied her, setting her back on her feet. The moment of brief contact brought a searing heat, straight through her body to her bones. Jonas always had such a physical effect on her, when no one else ever managed to penetrate her deliberately haughty facade.
"You aren't supposed to be lifting me, Jonas," she reminded him, pulling away, keeping her face averted so he couldn't see the flush on her face. "You haven't been out of the hospital that long."
"Long enough," he replied, his cool, assessing eyes drifting over her from his superior height.
Her heart sank. They were both going to pretend the recent incident had never happened. Jonas wasn't going to tell her he'd been back working for his old team and she was too cowardly to demand answers from him. She had the sudden urge to cry. She'd sent him help, maybe even saved his life. His new wounds were recent--only four days old. The moment he'd put his hands on her, she'd been able to feel his pain--it wasn't like he could hide the information from her. But she wasn't going to help him heal this time. He could just suffer.
; Hannah was tall, yet Jonas seemed to loom over her when he crowded her personal space, which was just about all the time. He always smelled of outdoors, fresh, like the sea and surrounding forest. He was tall, broad shouldered and heavily muscled, and he moved with grace and efficiency and complete confidence. He also saw far too much when he looked at her through those ice-blue eyes of his. No one saw her the way Jonas did, stripped of all her careful defenses and so vulnerable she ached when he was close. She absolutely would not let him see how much he hurt her. This time she'd go--and not come back. No fighting, simple dignity.
She stepped away, keeping her face averted. Irritation crossed his face and his eyes glittered at her, a sure danger sign.
"Your bags are packed and you're wearing makeup. You never wear makeup unless you're going somewhere."
"Hence the suitcases." She tried to slip past him, but Jonas trapped her against the banister and she was forced to halt. Hannah stared at his impressive chest and tried not to feel intimidated. He was so arrogant and with good reason. She couldn't stand up to him, she'd never been able to. And why did he choose this moment to show up? Why couldn't he have waited another hour? He always managed to find the exact moment when she felt the most vulnerable.
"Where are you going?" His fingers caught her chin, forcing her head up.
Her blue eyes flashed at him, letting him see her annoyance. "I told you last week. I have a job." And of course he wouldn't remember because she just wasn't that important to him.
"I told you not to go. You're supposed to be looking after me."
She was fairly certain her legs hadn't melted, but she felt dizzy being so close to him. She hated that he unbalanced her usual calm. Only Jonas could make her feel so combative and yet so needy at the same time. Her feelings for him were too complicated to sort out so she didn't bother to try.
"You're not in any danger, Jonas," she pointed out. "Only bored. You hate not working and you're so crabby no one else can stand being around you." And you're working anyway, doing exactly what you promised you'd never do again. She didn't say the words aloud--it wasn't part of the "pretend it never happened" game they always played--but she wanted to. She even had a sudden urge to just lift his shirt and examine his ribs. She knew there would be a fresh wound or two, but she remained silent like she always did, letting him walk right over her. His faint, answering smile made her heart turn over and she was angry with herself for her reaction.