Jonas went absolutely still. Everything in him froze. The news was a sucker punch to his gut. Hard. Out of nowhere. Completely debilitating. For a moment he couldn't think or move, his mind screaming a denial. It was impossible for Boris Tarasov to connect him with Petr's arrest. Impossible. That sneak and peek in the alley had been completely off the books. Gray had picked Jackson and Jonas up himself. No one else knew they had been there except Gray, and Jonas trusted him implicitly.
The silence stretched. The tension in the room climbing.
Had someone seen him? Recognized him? No one in San Francisco would know who he was. A stranger brought in, no name, no connection. He'd gone to the clinic, but hadn't used his own name. They'd been careful to give no ID, careful of touching anything in the room. No one could identify them.
His gaze jumped to Hannah. He loved her with every breath in his body. He couldn't be responsible for the attack. He couldn't be responsible...
The attack. The pain. The terror. Her life destroyed because of him.
His eyes met hers across the room in sudden knowledge--in complete and utter despair. "The picture." His lungs burned. "God. Oh, God. The fucking picture, Hannah."
He couldn't look at her--at any of them. Without a word he turned and walked out of the room, slamming the kitchen door closed with such force it shook the house. A chair hit the door with an ominous crack and the sound of glass shattering followed.
Jackson started toward the kitchen. The Drake sisters pushed out of their chairs. Their fiances followed them. Hannah beat them all to the door and stood in front of it, blocking the way.
"No. Leave him alone. Everyone. Leave him." Her blue eyes glittered with real menace, backing them all up. "This is mine. No matter what, you stay out." She decreed it, facing them down, knowing whatever was wrong, Jonas would never want them to see him so completely out of control.
Sarah nodded and waved her sisters back into the living room. She waited for the men to reluctantly follow before she squeezed Hannah's hand and left her alone.
Hannah took a deep breath and cautiously opened the door. Slipping inside, she turned the lock and took a look around the room. The chairs were turned over, one was broken. Plates lay smashed on the floor. Jonas was across the room, his arm and shoulders moving rhythmically as he hit the wall with his fist. With every strike, blood sprayed and he swore obscenely. His face was a mask of fury, the punching merciless.
Hannah stepped carefully around the broken glass, deliberately moving into his view. "Jonas. Stop. Whatever this is, whatever happened, we can deal with it."
He turned to her, his eyes alive with pain. "Can we, Hannah?" He shook his head. "There's no dealing with this one. Not now, not ever."
She reached out to him and he jumped out from under her fingers, denying physical contact. "Tell me then. Just say it."
"It was the picture." His lungs burned. "Hannah, I'm so fucking sorry. They found the picture at the hospital. It was there, in my shirt pocket, and they cut my shirt off of me. I just left it there on the floor when we went out the window. It was my mistake. Mine.
He sank to the floor, his legs turning to rubber. "It was in my shirt pocket," he repeated, rubbing his hands down his face. "I did this."
"I don't understand, Jonas. What did you do?" Hannah's voice was gentle, compassionate, loving.
He couldn't bear for her to be loving. Or understanding. He wanted to put a bullet in his fucking head.
"Which picture, Jonas? Start there."
"The one of you Sarah took outside in the backyard. You were surrounded by flowers and you were laughing. I was looking down at you. Sarah gave it to me and I kept it with me all the time." He looked up at her in complete despair. "I should have known. It was in the back of my head when I saw the picture on my dresser. For a moment it was there and I lost it again. I didn't want to know." He slammed the back of his head against the wall. "Damn it. Just damn it."
She eased her body down next to his, thigh to thigh, not touching, but close, so close she could feel his heat--and the jumble of emotions so intense they swamped the room. She was careful to allow them to wash over her and not let them in to affect her own emotions. Jonas needed her steady, not reacting.
"I loved the way you look, but..." He bit off a curse. "Anyone looking at the picture would know I'm in love with you."
Hannah tried not to fixate on the blood dripping steadily from his knuckles but the sight of his mashed and bleeding flesh made her slightly queasy. She wanted to put her arms around him and comfort him, but he was ramrod stiff. She let the silence stretch out, forcing herself to allow him to tell her at his own pace.
"You're a supermodel, Hannah. No one knows who the hell I am, but your face is everywhere. They took one look at that picture and they knew just how to get to me. The fucking bastard is going to die for this."
She was beginning to comprehend. Maybe she'd known from the moment he'd gotten that look on his face, the dawning horror. She twisted her fingers together to keep from touching her face. In a way, it was a relief to know. She could never imagine why someone would hate her so much, but it wasn't about her. It had never been about her.
"Boris Tarasov did this to me because he was trying to get to you?"
"I should have known when there was no magic involved. It was too brutal. The killers were amateurs and both were reluctant. He must have threatened their child. And he would have done it quite brutally. Tarasov has a certain reputation for bloody vengeance. He probably made them believe that if they didn't carry out the attack exactly as he instructed, he would chop their little girl into pieces and send her back to them one piece at a time. That's the kind of thing he's famous for."
Jonas looked at her then--at the scars on her face and throat. "I spent my life trying to take care of my mother and then all of you. I wanted you more than anything, Hannah, but my old job was so dangerous, and I was afraid I'd bring that danger on you and your sisters. So I stayed away. When I took the job with the sheriff's department, I thought we might have a chance. It was so much safer than what I had been doing." He dropped his face in his hands. "All those years of being careful, and in the end, I still brought the violence straight to you."
Hannah' looked into his eyes--his gorgeous, dangerous eyes--and saw such misery, such rage and hopelessness. She forced her brain to slow down, not react, but to think. Jonas spent his life trying to save people. He put himself in harm's way every single day in order to help others and it had cost him far more than he realized. He hadn't done this. He could never be responsible for what another human being chose to do and somehow she had to find a way to make him understand that.
"No, Jonas. You didn't put that knife in my attacker's hands. You didn't force him to use it. Boris Tarasov did. He's the one responsible, not you." She put her hand over his knuckles, pushing healing energy to take the sting away.
"Don't!" he said sharply. "This is... unacceptable, Hannah. You're my damn world and to have someone try to destroy you over something I did..."
"You don't," she answered with equal sharpness. "Don't you dare! I mean it, Jonas. This isn't about you and don't try to make it that way. Your mother's illness wasn't about you either. You take on too much, you always have."
"She was over forty when she had me. She was too frail to have a child and she never recovered." He shoved both hands several times through his hair, needing to hit something again. "Her immune system shut down after I was born."
"She wanted you more than anything else in the world. Both your mother and father did. You have no right to take that away from them. It was their choice and one they never regretted."
"She suffered, Hannah. Every damn day. She suffered."
"She was very strong, not frail, and she fought it long and hard because it was her decision to stay with you. I'm an empath. I went with my family to see your mother. I knew what she wanted, and it wasn't death. Not even to escape the pain. She wanted every single minute she could have with you." She took
his hand again, linked their fingers together. "And that's what I want, Jonas. Every single minute I can have with you."
"Look what happened to you, Hannah."
"It happened. It was frightening and horrible and we both wish it hadn't happened, but it did. And something good came of it. In a way, Jonas, I found my strength. I know who I am and what I want. I gained my freedom."
"Damned hard way to get your freedom, baby. And you're going to have nightmares for the rest of your life."
"So I'll have nightmares. Don't we all? Don't you?" She framed his face with her hands because everything she said was true. She was stronger and she did know what she wanted. "We're partners. Now. Forever. You can't shield everyone you love from bad things, Jonas. They're going to happen. When they do, we'll handle them together."
Jonas stared into her eyes for a long time, searching for the truth. "I don't know if I can forgive myself."
"Have you heard a word I've said? Jonas, if we're going to make it together, if I'm as important to you as you say I am, then you have to listen to me. I want all of you. Every single bit of you. I won't accept a man who is afraid to love me with his entire heart and soul and body. If I can't have all of you, then there's no point in this. You can't control the world, Jonas, and you can't continue to blame yourself for things beyond your control. I never asked you to be different. Yes, you scare me sometimes, but I'll take fear over you trying to be someone you're not."
Jonas opened his mouth and then closed it. If he had remembered the picture, then Tarasov would never have connected Hannah to him. He wouldn't have destroyed an entire family... He groaned. He couldn't take that on, too. The couple had choices. They could have gone to the cops, put their daughter into protective custody, but they'd elected to murder an innocent woman to protect their own. That was on them. He rubbed his hands over his face and looked down into Hannah's face.
"I'm not going to tell you that you're right."
"But I am."
His eyes softened. A small smile tugged at his mouth. "Hannah. You didn't stammer. Not once--not even when you were putting me in my place."
He leaned in to kiss her. Gentle. Tender. So sweet it brought tears to her eyes.
"Are we good?" she asked.
"We're good," he answered. He'd live with what happened because he had no other choice. He'd made a mistake and she was right, there was no going back. He wasn't about to lose her over it. If she could look him straight in the eye, then he was man enough to do the same.
He looked slowly around the room. "I don't suppose the house repairs furniture and dishes?"
Hannah laughed. "No such luck. But if you notice, there's no hole in the wall. Next time you decide to go crazy and punch the wall, you might remember, this house could protest and just lock your fist inside, and then where would you be?"
He narrowed his eyes and looked warily at the wall. "This place is definitely creepy." He kissed her again. "I suppose I'm going to have to face everyone. I hate telling your sisters that I put you--and maybe them--in danger."
"It isn't like we haven't been in danger before, Jonas," Hannah reminded him.
The truth was, he could barely stand the idea that he had exposed his family to a madman like Boris Tarasov. The Russian was brutal and vengeful, his reputation scared even seasoned investigators. With a small sigh, he stood up and reached down to take her hand, pulling her to her feet.
"I guess I have to get it over with." But instead of going into the living room, he wrapped his arms around Hannah and held her against him, his hands sliding down her jeans to cup her bottom and bring her tight against him. "Thank you."
"I love you, Jonas."
"Thank you for not telling me what an ass I am for tearing up the kitchen. Sometimes I have so much anger in me," he confessed in a whisper against her ear, "so much rage, it scares the hell out of me."
She pressed her mouth to his throat, remembering very vividly the day, long ago, he had come into their house so angry he couldn't stand still. Waves of grief poured off him and mixed with impotent rage. He'd torn up the kitchen then, too. Her mother had taken Libby and had gone to do what they could to ease Jeanette Harrington's suffering. Mrs. Drake had never chastised Jonas, but she had handed him a broom.
"It doesn't scare me, Jonas," Hannah said. She kissed him again. "But after we're married, if you break my dishes, be prepared to clean up the mess and then go out and get me new ones immediately." She reached back, tugged at his hand until she had possession of it and brought his injured knuckles once more to her mouth. "Let's go. I can feel how worried the others are about you."
The moment they entered the living room, he was swarmed by Hannah's sisters--his sisters. They crowded around him, their hands soothing, bringing peace, healing his knuckles--healing his soul. Sending him waves of love and support. He went from wanting to viciously beat something with his bare hands, to being choked up. The Drake sisters. His family. Hannah. The love of his life. Who could be luckier?
"Are you all right?" Sarah asked gently.
He nodded, wanting to ease the concern on their faces. "I lost it there for a minute." He glanced back toward the kitchen. "I made a mess, Sarah, I'm sorry."
"Tell us what's upset you."
"Boris Tarasov went after Hannah to draw me out. I'm the real target. He'll try to kill her because she matters to me. He might try to kill all of you."
Joley frowned. "I don't understand. Why would a Russian mobster want to kill you? That doesn't make any sense, Jonas."
"Duncan Gray is my old boss and he asked me to do a little job for him, nothing dangerous, or at least I didn't think it would be, but we caught Petr Tarasov on tape murdering an undercover agent."
Ilya Prakenskii made a small noise at the back of his throat. There was silence, as if by that one small sound, everyone instantly understood the chilling repercussions.
"I was shot in the ensuing battle and went to a clinic. I had a picture of Hannah and me, one I always carried with me. Tarasov's crew must have found the picture, and in order to bring me out into the open, they attacked Hannah using an innocent family to do so. My guess is, we'll find that the mother has ties to Russia and that's how he chose her. She would know his reputation and believe absolutely that he would kill her daughter if they didn't do what he said."
Joley's hand moved defensively to her throat. "Is that true, Ilya? Would someone be so convinced they'd kill another human being?"
Ilya stroked a caress down her hair, a gesture of comfort. "Unfortunately men like this exist, Joley, very evil, and yes, those who know of him would do whatever they could to spare their loved ones the brutality of his chosen executions."
"Then you have to stop him, Jonas," Sarah said. "We all do."
"Do you know where this man is?" Joley asked Prakenskii.
Rare expression rippled across Prakenskii's face. "Joley, these people..."
"Want to kill my sister, Jonas and possibly us. Do you know where they are?"
He pushed away from the wall. "I'll take care of it."
Jonas shook his head. "This is my fight, Prakenskii. He did this to my woman, not yours. Where is he?"
Prakenskii swore in Russian. "You cannot arrest such a man, Harrington."
Jonas lifted an eyebrow and remained silent.
Prakenskii swore again. "He's on a yacht with several of his crew."
Jonas nodded. "We'll need Duncan to get the necessary warrant to board. We'll have to strike fast before he has a chance to launch another attack. Can you girls give us the weather we'll need and help from here?"
"Of course, Jonas, tell us what you need," Hannah said. Prakenskii shook his head and walked out. Jackson hesitated a moment and then followed.
THE Drake sisters may have overdone the fog, Jonas decided as he approached the boat where Duncan's grim-faced men waited.
"These people play for keeps, Jonas," Jackson warned softly. "If you leave Tarasov alive, he'll keep coming at you--even from jail."
"I
heard Prakenskii, same as you," Jonas snapped. "Where the hell is he, anyway? You'd think he'd want in on this."
"He didn't show, but then, with Duncan Gray running the operation, I can't blame him too much." Jackson flashed a small grin. "Gray thinks Prakenskii's both a spy as well as the world's best hit man." The smile faded. "You know Duncan's going to want to take Boris into custody. It would be the biggest international arrest of the decade. It isn't going to matter that Boris is after you and your family. We have to get to him first."
"I know." Jonas leaned down to examine his gun for the hundredth time to avoid looking at Jackson.
"I'll take him out, Jonas," Jackson said.
Jonas shook his head. "It's my responsibility, Jackson, I'm not laying it on you."
Jackson didn't bother replying. He'd already had a long conversation with Prakenskii--well, as long a conversation as two men like Ilya Prakenskii and Jackson Deveau needed when protecting a friend. Jonas had the courage to charge hell with a bucket of water, and he never walked away from a fight or a fallen comrade, but he didn't have the makeup for the kind of extermination job they needed to do. Jonas had been raised to revere life, in the same way the Drakes had been raised, and had far too much compassion in him to live comfortably with what needed to be done. He'd do the job, but it would haunt him. Jackson wasn't going to let that happen.
"The girls will be waiting in case we need them. Already they've got the fog thick and still, so we'll have plenty of cover going in," Jonas said. He stepped aside to allow Jackson to enter the boat with Gray and the rest of his team.
Gray barely looked up from studying the yacht's layout for the millionth time. "Our information says Tarasov's got fifteen men aboard the yacht and no civilians. All of his men are armed and will cut you down without thought. These four are the most dangerous. Don't get close to them for any reason. Don't try to cuff them. Don't try to disarm them. They know more ways to kill a man than you could possibly imagine. Contain them and wait for my team to apprehend. This is our target." Gray passed around photographs.
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