Safe Harbor (28 page)

"Weeks," he corrected and sank into the large chair by her fireplace. He wrapped his arms around her waist, burying his face against her stomach. His arms tightened, two steel bands, locking her to him, holding her as close as he could get her. A shudder went through his body. "Damn it, Hannah. You're killing me."

Hannah's fingers tunneled in his hair, made small soothing circles against his scalp in an effort to calm him. "It's all right, Jonas. I'm alive. It's going to be all right."

Kneeling, she rested her head against his, not certain she was telling the truth. She wasn't certain she'd survived. She was living, but she lived with terror and the realization that someone hated her enough to destroy her. She wasn't strong like her other sisters. She preferred the shelter of her home, of her town, the familiarity of things she'd grown up with. She had always felt safe in Sea Haven. Now she didn't know where safety was. Whoever hated her was here in Sea Haven and she couldn't risk them harming her sisters—or Jonas. She had to leave and she had to leave alone.

Jonas usually shielded her from the intensity of his emotions, but right now, he was too upset. She sensed in him that same desperation she remembered from so long ago, when he'd tried to hold his mother to him, tried to save her, tried to find a way to take away the pain in her. Jeanette Harrington's pain had been, like Hannah's, both physical and emotional. She didn't want to die and leave her son alone in the world. Hannah didn't know how to live. Jonas felt the responsibility for both of them—he always had—and right now, it was all mixed together with rage and grief.

In that moment she knew, with astonishing clarity, that her own uncertainty didn't matter to her. She felt the shudder that ran through Jonas's body and she had to find a way to take away his pain. She caught the images of the attack on her in his mind. The desperate need to get to her, the agony at the thought of losing her. The rage at himself for not being with her to protect her. She didn't find pity, or horror at the sight of her mutilated body, and that was an unexpected gift. But the love she found there, strong—intense—desperate almost—choked her. How could she leave him when she felt the same way?

"I'm angry with you, Hannah," he whispered, keeping his face buried in the warmth of her neck. "I'm really angry with you."

"I know." She cradled his head with her arms, holding him close, "It's all right. We'll get through this. I don't know how, but we will." She was grateful there were no witnesses to Jonas's panic. He was a strong, proud man, and falling apart in front of anyone—especially his family, whom he believed he needed to protect at all times—would be humiliating to him.

"You have to listen to me, Hannah, when it comes to issues of your safety. I can't function like this. The fear is paralyzing, demoralizing, I can't even breathe thinking about you like that. You have to at least do that for me. Give me that."

She pressed kisses to his forehead. "I wasn't doing it on purpose, Jonas. It wasn't defiance. I didn't feel a threat from Rudy—only loneliness. I know what that is. Sometimes, even surrounded by my sisters, I feel lonely."

"Because you think no one knows the real you," he said. "But I do. I see you, Hannah. You've never been alone." But she hadn't seen him. She couldn't read him and she hadn't seen past his frustration and anger. He'd protected her from knowing his real feelings. She'd coped for so long, bombarded by the people around her, and he hadn't wanted to add to that burden. In the end he'd nearly lost his chances with her.

"Hannah." He tightened his hold on her. "Rudy Venturi is unstable. You felt sorry for him, but it didn't occur to you that in his mind he isn't a threat. You wouldn't feel it from him because he doesn't think what he does is wrong. If he decided he had to kill you to keep the bad men from getting to you, he wouldn't think it was wrong. He wouldn't feel evil or even threatening because his intent is to help you. You don't see everything like you think you do."

Hannah sighed. "I'm sorry, Jonas. I don't mean to make you so crazy. I did feel sorry for him. I didn't think handing him a photograph would be a big thing. I should have listened to you."

"All right," he murmured. "All right. Tell me about the Reverend. Did you talk to him as well?"

The switch in topics had her flinching. Hannah tried to pull back, but he kept his arms around her, lifting his head and looking down at her. "You did, didn't you?"

"He's here, just in the next county, practically a neighbor, and I thought if he could just see I wasn't trying to unduly influence young girls…"

Jonas closed his eyes and groaned. "Hannah, he's a couple of hours away. He doesn't have anything to do with you."

"Some of his followers were at nearly every show protesting. They were saying things specifically about me to the press. I just thought if he met me, he'd see I wasn't such a bad person."

"And what happened at that meeting you knew I'd say absolutely no to?"

Hannah took a deep breath and let it out, her gaze sliding away from his. "He made me angry, okay?" She did pull out of his arms and stood up, crossing the room with swift, long strides—runway strides—unconsciously graceful and sexy. She whirled around, her large eyes darkening with temper. "Honestly, Jonas, he was the most unreasonable man and very sleazy. I tried not to intrude and read his thoughts, but he was broadcasting so loudly and he was just disgusting—a pervert."

Jonas groaned and passed a hand over his face. "Don't tell me you called him on it? You didn't, did you, Hannah?"

She put her hands on her too-slender hips, her chin going up. "I certainly did. He stood there with his pompous, pious attitude, all smug in front of his little group of followers, and acted so self-important, telling me what I did was an abomination. It's not like I'm sleeping with designers. And I told him that."

The knots in Jonas's belly were becoming permanent. "You told him you knew he was sleeping with his young followers, too, didn't you?"

"Well, he is! Innocent girls who trust him. I pointed out that he was the one following the path of the devil." She pursed her lips. "And I might have given him a small demonstration of power when he got really nasty with me."

Jonas groaned, nearly tugging out his hair in exasperation. "No wonder he fixated on you. You should have stayed away from him. He would have gone after more exciting prey if you hadn't engaged with him."

"He's a pervert, Jonas, and you should lock him up."

"This is getting worse. You should have told me you'd confronted him." He suddenly frowned. "What made you decide to confront him? You never do that kind of thing. Why in the world would you start with the Reverend?"

She shrugged, looking suddenly wary. "Greg thought it would be a good idea if we buried the hatchet. He didn't think it was good media to have a preacher protesting every show. He thought if we got together, the Reverend would be reasonable."

Both could hear someone fumbling at the lock.

"Jonas, Hannah really needs to rest," Sarah called out. "I mean it, if you don't stop arguing with her, we're coming in and making you leave. Stop browbeating her."

"Go away," Hannah and Jonas shouted simultaneously.

Jonas curled his fingers into a tight fist and turned away from her. He was back to wanting to shake some sense into her. "You listened to Greg Simpson involving security matters and not me?"

"You're making this personal, Jonas." Hannah touched her throat as if it ached. "Greg is my agent…"

"
Was
." Jonas corrected. "If the bastard shows up here, I'm throwing him in jail."

Hannah closed her mouth abruptly on whatever she was going to say, a small shiver running through her. It was becoming difficult to breathe. Her chest felt tight and her lungs burned, starved for air. "I don't want to argue about this. I did what I thought was best for my career."

"Yeah, because your career was so much more important than your life."

Hannah hissed at him, her eyes glittering with sparks. "You're making me angry, Jonas. Is that what you want? You're angry at me so you're going to say mean things to get me upset? You don't have to remind me that I screwed up. I'm the one with my face hacked to pieces."

Sarah thrust open the door, their loud voices disturbing all the Drakes, giving Sarah what she thought was sufficient reason to interfere. Hannah waved her hand and the wind rushed in from the balcony and slammed the door closed before Sarah could step into the room.

"Don't you dare do that," Jonas snapped, stepping forward, crowding Hannah's space, stalking her across the room as she retreated. "Don't you play your 'poor me, I just got out of the hospital' trump card. Not over this. How many times did I tell you how to handle these nutcases? I've been in the business for years, Hannah. It's my job to know how to handle them, yet you're going to take the word of a layman over mine?"

"It wasn't like that, Jonas," Hannah protested, coming up against the wall. "And stop trying to intimidate me. It only makes me angry."

"Be angry then. Maybe you'll figure it out this time, baby, because I'm getting damned sick of always being last on your list. When I tell you something, do you think I'm making it up just to annoy you?"

Hannah bit down hard on her retort and realized that for the first time since she'd been attacked, she felt alive. Her blood was singing in her veins and her pulse was thundering in her ears. Jonas refused to treat her as if she was a fragile, delicate flower, too bruised to see the light of day. He was angry and he let her know. She felt
normal
. Jonas made her feel normal and it felt good. Just moments earlier she'd been close to a panic attack, but just like that he'd wiped it out.

"Sometimes, yes I do. You annoy me on purpose, especially when it comes to my job. You've always hated it and made fun of it. Greg managed my career. I had to believe he suggested what he thought was best."

Jonas went very still, his body crowding hers, so close her breasts brushed his chest and he was aware of her every breath. "Are you telling me Simpson suggested you give Venturi an autographed picture at every event he attended?"

She put her hand on his chest, fingers splayed wide, bracing herself for the storm. "I wanted to do something, and I asked him if he would see to it that Rudy received a picture from me. He said I should give it to him myself every time Rudy attended. He took photos a few times and had a couple of pieces written up about it. I did tell him I didn't want it used for publicity, but the articles had already been submitted."

Jonas swore again, biting the words off between his teeth, his fingers sliding through her hair to the nape of her neck. "You're in so much trouble, Hannah." There was both a warning and a drawling caress in his voice. "Why didn't it occur to you that I had your best interests at heart?"

"Maybe it was the 'Barbie doll' comment. Or the 'taking your clothes off for the entire world to see' accusation, or the million and one barbs you like to throw at me." She rubbed her throat again, wincing a little as the pad of her finger slid over the two deep slashes, still raw and red.

Jonas caught her hand and pulled it to his chest, capturing it there while he leaned in to brash the cuts with kisses. "Don't touch that. Is your throat hurting?" Her voice was even more of a whisper of sound.

"Inside. It feels torn and braised."

"Then don't argue with me. I'm right anyway and you know it. You should have listened to me." Jonas pressed feather-light lasses along her throat, and up the curve of her chin. "Say it, Hannah. Say you should have listened to me."

She couldn't think very well with his body pressed so close to hers and his mouth running over her skin. She'd been so determined to keep him at arm's length. Whatever everyone else thought, she knew instinctively that danger surrounded her. It wasn't coming from one particular direction, but the wind told her. She remained outside as much as possible, hoping to determine her enemy, but the person's identity eluded her. She could only try to protect the people she loved. And she loved Jonas. She couldn't remember a time when she didn't.

"Jonas…" She inserted both hands between her and his chest, trying to get a little space. "You know this can't work." Just the thought of losing him made her cold inside, but even Jonas needed protection. He didn't think so, but she'd seen him vulnerable and in pain. Better he be angry with her and know the complete truth, than later despise her.

Swift impatience crossed his face. "Don't even start, Hannah. You've pissed me off enough for one day."

"It can't work, Jonas. You think you see who I am, but you see who you want to see, just like my sisters do."

"Your sisters see who you deliberately project for them," he corrected. "I see
you
."

"I'm a coward, Jonas," she admitted, desperate to save him. "You'd love me for a while, and then when you realized what I really am, you'd grow to despise me."

He burst out laughing, bent forward and kissed the tip of her nose. "You might be a coward when it comes to admitting you love me, but you're no coward, baby."

"I am, though." Panic. It was coming back the way it always did. Full blown, attacking just as the man who had stabbed her had. Gripping her with tight fingers, until she fought for breath, until she couldn't think straight. It had gotten worse since she'd been stabbed. The walls closed in on her, and trapped as she was now, with Jonas's body blocking her from running, she had to reach deep to stay in control.

"Because you'd rather stay in Sea Haven than travel the world? Because you're a little shy in public? Or you stutter once in a while when you're around people you don't know? If you were a coward, Hannah, you wouldn't have tried to please your family by going out and pursuing a career you didn't even want—a very public career."

"I should have stood up for myself."

"Yes, you should have, but trying to please people you love doesn't make you a coward. Exasperating maybe, but no coward. And you've never had trouble standing up to me."

She looked down at the evidence of the cuts on her hands and arms. "Yes I do."