He felt it on his face then, a soft touch of fingers, heard feminine voices chanting in the distance, and his mouth curved in satisfaction. Mess with the Drakes and life could get rough.
The splash of water got his attention. If the enemy came in by the strip of water, they might have a chance of spotting them as only the large ferns provided cover.
He sank lower, pressing his hand onto the small of her back and exerting pressure, silently telling her to drop down. "In the stream, Hannah." He sank onto his belly and thrust the gun forward, waiting.
She allowed him to bring her down to her stomach, but she propped herself up on her elbows in order to use her hands as she turned her attention to the long ribbon of stream she could see. The water began to bubble and then slosh back and forth, each wave growing in strength and intensity until the water was rocking well above the sides of the stream. Back and forth, it rushed, gathering strength and power, feeding itself as the speed increased.
Overhead, dark clouds gathered ominously. Veins of lightning edged the clouds, glittering angrily. Thunder rumbled and the morning sky darkened. All the while the water in the stream sloshed back and forth, growing in height with each new wave. The men walking in the creek rounded the corner.
Jonas could see their faces clearly. The shock. The horror. The utter terror. They stood frozen as the wall of water raced toward them, a tower now. The one in the lead yelled something in raw fear and turned, using his shoulder as a battering ram to take out the man behind him. The water hit them full on, slapping them hard, driving them to the rocky streambed, tumbling them with the force of a mini-tsunami.
At the exact same moment, the clouds burst and dumped the pounding rain. It fell so hard and fast it stung, and reduced visibility to zero. Jonas shifted until his upper body protected her head and shoulders, all the while his restless gaze sought targets.
There was quiet as the rain pelted down and the waves in the stream began to ease without Hannah feeding them power.
"We've got to go now before they recover. We're just playing hide and seek until the others get here." He kept his hand on her lower back, urging her to back out of the depression and move around the thick network of tree roots. "I'm sorry, baby, I should never have brought you out of your house where you could be in this kind of danger. I had no idea we were facing this kind of adversary, but I should have."
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 d
ata, 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!"
Chapter Twenty
"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."
"And what would that be?" Jonas asked, gliding easily in front of the man, blocking his way to the door.
Prakenskii glanced at him. "Hunting, Mr. Harrington. I will be going hunting very shortly and I'll need every ounce of energy I can muster."
Jonas studied his expressionless face. "You aren't what they say."
"I'm exactly what they say. I do the job nobody else wants."
Jonas continued to lock gazes. "Maybe you do, but the real question is not what you do, but who you work for."
Ilya Prakenskii didn't so much as blink, but Jonas knew, in the strange way he often knew things, that he had hit a target.
"I work for Sergei Nikitin."
"Is he the mark?"
"Think what you like." Prakenskii stood waiting for Jonas to get out of his way.
Jonas shook his head. "You can't have her, Prakenskii, not if you're what you want the world to believe, and I think you know that."
Ilya didn't bother to pretend not to understand. "My relationship with Joley Drake is not your business."
"Actually, it is. The Drakes are my family and I look after my own."
"Is that what you're doing?"
Jonas stepped back, allowing Ilya to take the tray into the living room, where the Drake sisters sat, or lay, on the chairs, couches and floor, the drain of energy after helping Hannah taking a toll.
Jonas narrowed his eyes, watching as Ilya carefully handed each woman a mug of tea, giving Joley the one he'd sipped from. He opened his mouth, but a cough instead of words came out, and Joley frowned, looking up at him as she sipped, and then at Ilya.
"What did you do?" she demanded, her voice husky. "I felt that small flare."
Jackson crossed the room to touch Elle's cheek, placing his body carefully between her and the Russian. Jonas knew him well enough to know he had put himself in a position to get a clear shot if necessary.
Ilya appeared not to notice, but when he moved away from the sisters, he settled with his back to the wall, directly facing Jackson and the other fiances of the Drake sisters. "I put natural vitamins in your tea. Nothing poisonous."
Hannah took another swallow. "You'll have to tell me how you make it. I can feel the difference already."
"Jonas," Sarah called him to attention. "There's a message for you from a man named Duncan Gray." She straightened in the chair and pushed back her dark hair. "He said to tell you Petr Tarasov died a few hours ago from injuries sustained during the attempt to break him out of custody. He also said the agent he told you about has been identified."
"Who is Duncan Gray?" Libby asked. "Why is that name so familiar?
"
"Jonas worked for Gray when he first got out of the Rangers," Sarah said. "Why would he suddenly be calling you now, Jonas? Is this anything to worry about?"
"Who is Petr Tarasov?" Joley asked.
"Petr Tarasov is the brother of Boris Tarasov, one of the most violent mobsters alive today," Elle answered. "Boris Tarasov is wanted around the world for just about everything from fraud to murder. Word had it that the defense department arrested Petr for murdering one of their agents, and was holding him in an unknown location. A few days ago, an attempt was made by Boris's organization to get him free."
"What else do you know, Elle?" Jonas demanded.
"Petr was shot and again taken to an undisclosed location for treatment." She looked directly at Jonas. "There must have been someone in the defense department feeding Boris information for him to find both locations, and if I'm not mistaken, the cryptic message to Jonas was to tell him the traitor has been identified and is now deceased."
"How the hell would you know all that?" Jackson demanded.
Elle lifted an eyebrow at him and took a drink of tea to avoid answering.
Jackson took a step toward, going from protective to menacing in a heartbeat. "We had a talk about this, Elle. I told you to quit."
She stood up, her dark eyes flashing fire at him that fast. "You tell me a lot of things. I told you to quit and I see you're still a deputy." She glanced at Prakenskii. "Giving me orders doesn't work, Jackson, so back off. And now isn't the time for this anyway."
"This isn't over, Elle," Jackson said.
"It is for me," she replied.
Jonas held up his hand for peace, looking around the room at the women he called family. They were tired and pale, but the tea was helping. "Let's just put this aside for now. We're all tired and upset."
"I have a bit of news that may interest you," Ilya said, watching him closely. "There is a rumor going around that four of Boris Tarasov's crew went missing and when the fifth delivered the news, telling an outrageous tale of a house eating a man, trees coming to life and windows shattering and repairing themselves, Boris put a gun to his head and shot him."