Safe Harbor (15 page)

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 composure.

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."

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.