Safe Harbor (48 page)

Hannah would rather have continued to face them than to run, especially when they were back to crawling. "Why? Whoever this is has manpower and tenacity. He isn't giving up. It isn't a regular hit where they just send one killer." Every time she thought about someone hating her that much, she felt sick to her stomach. "None of this makes sense to me."

"Me either," he admitted. "You just aren't the kind of woman to inspire this kind of hatred. Fantasies maybe. Sick ones even, but not this kind of thing. Now Joley…"

"Don't you say a single bad word about Joley!" Her defense of her sister was swift and furious. "She's a wonderful person."

"Honey, she took down the Reverend on national television. Do you honestly think that his followers, the men surrounding him that benefit from his scam, and the Reverend himself, don't have a hate as big as Texas for Joley right now? She's rash and she's too honest. She says what she thinks. It doesn't matter if she's right. She's like an avenging angel. Put that together with her sexy image and you've got trouble."

He held a low-hanging branch out of the way so she could gain her feet. "Take the right-hand path. That curves back around and starts leading up toward the house. We go up over the slope and then follow the stream back downhill. We'll be able to hear when the rescue squad gets here."

"Tell me about Nikitin. What do you know about him?" Hannah asked. "I wish I could figure out just what his interest in Joley really is. And why won't Prakenskii say?"

"Prakenskii has his own interest in Joley, Hannah, and it has nothing whatsoever to do with work and everything to do with being a man."

Hannah pushed aside several cracked branches, remembering at the last moment, before releasing them, that the movement could give away their position. She stood bent over, feeling helpless and stupid until Jonas took control of the foliage and waved her on.

"The Russians have always had a problem with violent mobsters. They're highly organized, international and very bloody. Along with the Colombians and the Italian mobsters, the Russians are considered the most powerful criminals in the world. You name it, they're into it. And where they really shine is in laundering money. They can take dirty money and make it clean like no one else. Where other organizations have rules about killing cops and families, they don't. They could care less."

"Why is Nikitin rubbing shoulders with celebrities and politicians?"

"He has a clean image. Interpol, hell, every cop from here to Europe and back, knows he's dirty, but no one can get anything on him. He's good at what he does and he likes the image of being a good guy, so he works at it. Boris Tarasov, one of his greatest rivals, wants the fear from everyone more than the celebrity image. We're talking billions of dollars, Hannah. That kind of money buys you a lot of protection. They buy police, government officials, customs, you name it, they have someone in their pocket."

"I don't understand how we ended up getting mobsters after our family. Joley would have said if she'd had a run-in with one of them."

His hand on her shoulder stopped her and she sank down into the cradle of the earth, surrounded by roots and thicker tree trunks for protection. Her heart began to thump hard again. She could hear the approach of the men following them, the whispered voices with their heavy accents.

"You're going to be all right, baby," he whispered against her ear, his lips brushing over the thin lines on her face where the knife had slashed her. "Jackson and the others will be here soon."

"I know." She couldn't tell him she was more worried about him than herself.

Jonas was a man of strong emotions with an equally strong need to protect. Most of the time, Jonas shielded her automatically from his feelings. He'd been doing it for so many years, he didn't think about it. But there were occasions, like now, when his mind was totally focused somewhere else and she was swamped with the sheer intensity of his fury.

There was no other word for it but rage. It rolled off him in waves. His face was a grim mask, his eyes glittered dangerously, and although he sent her a small smile of reassurance when she reached up to try to ease the frown on his lips, it was far from the real thing.

"Jonas, we really are going to be okay," she said. "I know we are."

His dangerous blue eyes settled on her face. Immediately the flow of emotion stopped. "Sorry, Hannah. I wasn't thinking, I should have been more careful." He brushed a gentle kiss on the top of her head. "I know we will be."

"But?" she prompted.

"But they came after you and they're still coming and that's not acceptable to me. At least I know where to go looking now."

The rain slowed to a steady drizzle. Three men moved toward them at a right angle, carefully avoiding the stream, obviously unaware of their exact position, but making a sweep to find them. Jonas extended his gun.

"I'm still feeling strong, Jonas," Hannah said. "The others are feeding me their power. I might collapse after, but right now, let me hold them off as long as I can. We'll save ammunition and they won't know exactly where we are. With any luck, they'll be superstitious."

Jonas shifted again and allowed her to slide out from under him. They moved with care to keep from shaking the brush around them. With the rain falling, it helped to cover any soft sound, but it also muffled the approach of the enemy.

"How many?" Hannah asked.

Jonas shrugged. "More than five. Seven maybe." And that worried him. They wanted Hannah bad. Why? The question nagged at him. Who could hate Hannah? It didn't seem possible to him, but the answer was right there—just out of his reach. He could practically taste it in his mouth, but couldn't quite spit it out. His brain worked fast at computing data, and along with his highly developed intuition, that was the reason he was good at his job. Now, when he needed his ability to process data fast, it seemed to be failing him.

The men were moving through the brush and trees, inching their way, guns drawn. Hannah's hands began their graceful motion, her melody changing, the tone much more earthy.

Near the redwood trees, just in front of their enemies, the ground rippled, moving leaves and redwood needles along with fallen vegetation in a gentle rolling swell.

The men stopped their approach abruptly. They spoke rapidly in another language.

"They think they're feeling an earthquake," Hannah interpreted, her voice distracted. "That the stream acted the way it did because of…" She trailed off.

Jonas glanced down at Hannah. Her concentration was once again completely focused on the soil and vegetation where the enemy huddled whispering together. The rolling swells spread out, reaching toward the group, the waves rising and falling with gathering speed. Above them, the trees shook, and as they looked up, brittle branches cracked and splintered, falling from above them to drive like spears into the ground. The thick branches fell with enough force that they drove deep into the soil. Standing upright, each branch formed a piece of fence so that it ringed the men as the ground continued to pitch and roll.

"I hear sirens," Jonas said. "Another couple of minutes and the troops will arrive." He wasn't good at hiding. He wanted to stand up, and blast away at the men who wanted Hannah dead.

She suddenly leaned into him, her head lolling back on his chest as his arm came up around her waist to support her. Jonas swore softly and began to ease her to the ground. She clutched his wrist.

"Not yet. Wait. Tell me if they come at us again."

Jonas saw the men breaking through the wall of branches, stumbling back away from the area. The swells followed them, but much more gentle now with Hannah's power waning. He sighed. They were going to make one more fast try. He could feel it more than see it.

The men formed a loose semicircle and began spraying the forest with bullets. He flattened Hannah instantly, swearing as the bullets penetrated into their space, digging into trees and the ground around them. He heard Hannah's soft voice. Melodious this time, the notes familiar. Her affinity with the wind was legendary within the family. And the wind answered immediately, leaves rustling as the breeze grew stronger, branches swaying, trunks of trees bending.

Sharp needles shot from the redwood trees, swarming like angry bees, the sound an ominous buzz as they hurtled through the air at Hannah's enemies. The needles penetrated skin, spearing deep, the stings of hundreds of insects on every inch of exposed skin. The enemy turned and fled, running from the forest as if demons were behind them.

Hannah turned her face into Jonas's chest and went limp, her body slumping against his, all energy drained out of it. He sat in the midst of brush and trees, Hannah in his arms, listening to cars start up and the rain fall down. She hadn't panicked. She hadn't fallen apart and clung to him in terror, although he could see it in her eyes. She had fought by his side courageously. The next time she called herself a coward, he was going to shake some sense into her.

Tires screamed on the asphalt drive up by his house and he heard the sound of running. "Jonas! Hannah!"

"THE women need strong, sweet tea," Ilya Prakenskii greeted Jonas as he entered the kitchen. His cool, appraising gaze ran over Jonas, noting the smears of dirt and scratches, the evidence of the explosion. "I felt the surge in power and knew they'd need help. Is Hannah all right?"

Jonas watched him gather mugs onto a tray. "She's fine. A little shaken up."

Ilya rested his hip against the counter. "You have something on your mind."

"The attack on Hannah by the Werners could have been directed by someone with your abilities."

"I considered that as well, but I was close to the man. I would have felt it." Ilya shrugged his shoulders. "Unless you're implying I was the one directing him."

"The girls say no and I don't think so either." Jonas rubbed his shadowed jaw. "Is it possible Nikitin has that kind of power?"

"Absolutely not." Prakenskii added a powder to the tea.

"That could just be an act."

"He has no power. He would laugh if you told him anyone had the ability to manipulate energy. I would have known. There's a charge in the air, much like an electrical current, when the elements are being manipulated. You've probably felt it. You have your own talent. It's the only reason I'm allowed into this home. You'd have shot me and asked questions later if you believed for one moment that I could have orchestrated the attack on Hannah."

Prakenskii had read him correctly, Jonas couldn't very well deny the charge. He'd considered the possibility because he had to, but he knew Ilya Prakenskii had saved Hannah's life, not tried to take it.

"What did you put in their tea?"

"Vitamins. A healing compound. All natural and nothing illegal."

Jonas held out his hand for one of the mugs. Ilya handed him one and took one himself. Both drank.

"I'll give this one to Hannah." Jonas watched Prakenskii arrange cups on a tray and carry it toward the living room. "Why aren't you floating it in like the girls do?"

Prakenskii shrugged. "Even small things are a drain on energy and I prefer to reserve mine for what lies ahead."