Safe Harbor (6 page)

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 façade.

"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.

"Unfortunately that could be true. All of your sisters have deserted me, not only going out of town, but the country. I'm going to starve. You know that, don't you? If you leave, I'm not going to get a decent meal and then how am I going to heal?"

"Sarah will be back from her trip with Damon tomorrow. She'll fix you dinner while I'm gone," Hannah said and pulled away from him. She detested that, as she stepped away, her body felt cold as if his had provided untold warmth and safety.

She hated more that she was torn between wanting to laugh and cry. "You aren't going to starve."

"I like
your
cooking. And she doesn't give me hell the way you do. She just gets annoyed and tells me to go home."

Hannah didn't want to be charmed by him. Jonas was everything she could never be—adventurous, courageous, a man who lived his life confidently. "I should send you home, especially if you're going to give me a hard time." She should, and if she had any backbone at all, she would. She turned away from him, afraid he would read the hurt on her face as she hurried down the hall.

She felt his presence as he kept pace right behind her. It seemed sometimes that she'd always felt Jonas, as if he were a part of her, sharing her skin and her flesh and bones, crawling into her heart and stealing her soul. She blinked back tears, careful to keep her face averted as she made her way through the large house to the kitchen. She was so emotional lately, ever since Jonas had been shot and nearly killed a few weeks earlier. She had nightmares and spent most of the nights pacing or sitting up on the captain's walk watching the sea. She had to leave just to put some distance between them and get back her balance.

The last four days had been pure hell. She had waited for hours that first night, terrified for him. Then she'd cried for a day, waiting by the phone, not leaving the house. And finally she had to accept that he took her for granted, and that he wasn't going to call and reassure her—or thank her—or even acknowledge that she might be worried. She didn't matter; her feelings didn't matter; once he no longer needed her, she slipped from his mind. She swallowed hard, her eyes burning.

"Why are you insisting on going to New York? You don't even like New York. It's total bullshit, Hannah. And you can forget ignoring me like you do when you don't want to tell me things. We're going to talk." Jonas settled his fingers around her arm.

The action brought her attention instantly to his strength. That was what Jonas was all about—strength. He had it all and she had none. He never physically hurt her, not even when he was angry with her. And she could make him angry in a heartbeat—it was the only protection left to her.

As if reading her mind, he gave her a small, impatient shake. "Don't think you're going to drive me away with all your nonsense this time, Hannah. We have to settle this."

She sent him the haughty, over-the-shoulder look she'd perfected while dealing with his arrogance for years. "You mean you'll talk and I'm supposed to listen. I don't think there's anything at all to settle. I have a job and I'm going to New York. There isn't anything else to say." She couldn't talk to him. Once she said the things she needed to say, she'd lose him forever. There would be no going back, no hope at all. She'd have to accept that she was absolutely nothing to him.

"Really?" His hand transferred to the nape of her neck, his fingers brushing her skin intimately and sending a shiver of awareness through her body.

She was fairly certain he did it on purpose—that he knew her physical reaction to him—but she couldn't be certain so she took the coward's way out and simply walked the few steps left to the kitchen. "I made you something to eat."

"But you're not eating." He made it a statement, clipped and harsh—accusing.

She took a breath and let it out, going straight to the stove to put on the tea kettle. Jonas stopped halfway across the room and she could feel his penetrating gaze on her, demanding an answer. "I have a show, Jonas."

He said something ugly under his breath and she stiffened. "I'm not doing this with you again, Jonas. I model. I have an assignment. You don't have to like what I do, but it's my job and I keep my word when I say I'll be there."

"I don't have to like it, Hannah, you're right about that, but considering what it does to you,
you
at least have to like it and you don't. Don't bother lying to me. I see liars every day in my line of work, and a child does a better job than you."

She waved her hand at the stove, too tired to argue with him and make tea at the same time, although the ritual often soothed her. The stove leapt to life, burning with a ring of tiny flames, the tea kettle whistling a demand instantly. She caught up the kettle and splashed water into a teapot, pressing her lips together to keep from telling him to leave. She didn't want him to leave, she wanted him to sit quietly and have tea with her. She
needed
him to sit quietly and talk with her. Before she left, she had to reassure herself he was unharmed.

She sneaked a quick glance. He looked a little pale, tired, lines etched into his face, but tough as nails. That was Jonas. Hard as a rock. He didn't need anybody, least of all her. She was fluff to him, nothing more. He'd always made that so clear. Her life was falling apart and he was like the sea, a constant, steady anchor she counted on.