"That's dumb. There's plenty of room and no need to take two cars. Just tell the other driver you're coming with us," Joley protested. Steve started the car and at once warm air began to fill the interior. Joley hadn't realized she was cold until that moment. "And hurry up because I want to get back and have a hot cup of tea."
Jonas nodded and shut the door. Steve put the car in gear and began to pull away.
"Wait. Wait for my brothers-in-law," Joley said, leaning forward in her seat. "They're coming with us."
A smoky window went up between the front and back seats. At the same time, the locks snicked into place.
"Steve. What the hell are you doing?" Joley demanded as the window continued to rise between them. "We need to wait for Jonas. Steve, damn it. What are you doing?" She knocked on the window. When there was no response, she tried the doors. The lock wouldn't respond. "Great." She slumped back in her seat. "This is just great."
Joley pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and flipped it open to call Jonas. "Shit. No service. He must have a jamming device in the car with us."
Brian's eyebrow shot up, and in spite of the situation he laughed. "A jamming device? You sound like a spy. Are there jamming devices? And if so, how do you know about them?"
Joley flung herself back against the seat. "This is such bull, Brian. My own driver-slash-bodyguard is kidnapping us. And my bodyguard brother put us in the car. And my bodyguard boyfriend is off playing with his friends. Sheesh." She crossed her arms across her chest and kicked the front seat hard, right in the middle of Steve's back. "And when he stops this car, I'm kicking his ass."
Brian laughed again. "You're so crazy, Joley. Most women would be scared at this point. Hell, if I hadn't seen a dozen dead bodies today, I'd be scared, too."
"I'm tired and mad. Really mad. We've been working for months nonstop. I'm one show away from going home. Sea Haven is about four hours from here, Brian. That's it."
"So what are we going to do?"
She scowled and drove the toe of her shoe deep into the middle of the back of the driver's seat a second time just for emphasis. "I have no idea. But these idiots are messing around with the wrong woman. My sisters are not going to be happy about this." Joley looked around her. "All right. What do we have back here that can be used as a weapon? We just have to buy ourselves a little time. Jonas and Aleksandr will be following. Ilya will come, and my sisters are going to be a force to contend with. Give me a minute and let me see if I can reach any of them."
But it was Ilya she called first. She closed her eyes, blocked out everything around her—all sounds, all thoughts—and concentrated on him. Her palm itched, and she ran her fingertip over the mark, as if she could physically touch him.
Ilya. I'm in trouble.
She felt him moving through her mind, and then there was warmth. That's nothing new. The faint note of humor caressed her with a soothing touch. The word just came in to Nikitin that the kidnappers want a meet. They're using you and Brian, who apparently is with you, as a bargaining chip to work out a deal. Nikitin would never have shown up for you. They don't know it, but they're holding a winning hand with Brian. There was that same reassuring warmth. Don't worry, I'd show up for you, but as Steve's involved, they probably expect that.
Joley sent him an impression of naughty disdain. I wasn't in the least bit worried. She sobered with a little sigh. Everything was falling into place now. All the clues had been there; she just hadn't read them. I talked to Steve the evening the bus blew up. He asked where you were. He was coming from the bus and we talked for a minute, but it was a bizarre conversation. Do you think he's the one who planted the bomb? The thought made her angry. She'd known Steve and trusted him. She liked Steve. How had she missed that he would betray her? Some psychic she was. She hadn't known her best friend was gay, and she hadn't realized Steve was in the employ of people trying to kill her.
Magic isn't science, Joley. You rely too heavily on your gifts. People are different, and they can be a multitude of things—not all bad, not all good.
She didn't want a lecture, she wanted help. Nikitin and whoever his rival mobster was might have a small army with tons of firepower, but she had her family—her sisters. And she had Ilya. The combination was unstoppable.
She reached for her closest connection with absolute faith. Hannah?
We're here, honey. We feel it. Well be waiting.
She wasn't afraid. Deep inside she felt centered and calm, definitely in control. Already she could feel the energy building around her as her sisters united. She flashed a reassuring smile at Brian and tapped her fingers against the back of his hand. "We'll be all right. If they mention Nikitin to you, act like you don't know anything."
"You think these are the same people who tried to kill him earlier?"
"I think they have to be. And I think Steve planted the bomb that blew up my bus, so don't think he's going to have any loyalty toward us. Ilya will come for us."
"I've seen him in action. He inspires confidence."
Joley nodded. He did that. She was amazed how safe she felt, how reassured. She'd always had that with her family. Having Ilya only made the feeling more so. Whatever differences they had to work out, trust was no longer one of them, because she knew he was coming for her—nothing would stop him.
The ride was long. North on the freeway for what seemed an hour and then west toward the coast. They drove through a series of twists and turns. They were definitely off the highway and running along a narrow, winding road that led to the foothills. She recognized the area.
Bear Valley. They're taking you on the road to Bear Valley. Hannah's voice was soothing and calm in Joley's mind. We're not far behind you. Jonas picked us up. We're tracking your energy.
All people left a specific trail behind, a part of their aura, their song, the same as fingerprints, and Joley knew each sister could find one of the others if she ran across that energy trail.
Ilya? She couldn't help reaching out to him. She wanted to feel the warmth of his touch, the comforting caress of his voice.
We were sent a map to follow. He's distraught, Joley, genuinely distraught.
You know it's a trap. They have cover everywhere. This is heavy brush country, lots of trees, and they'll have the advantage of knowing the terrain. They chose it.
You worry too much. It will be all right.
She wanted the reassurance, and his voice, that amazing voice, provided it. She believed in him, which was almost shocking to her. She believed in her family and never thought anyone could come close to making her feel safe in the way they did, but Ilya had slowly inserted himself into her life until she found herself believing. And now that belief was so strong, she had no doubts he would find a way to rescue her.
Joley stared out the window into the night, watching the lights of cars flashing past. For Joley, marriage was sacrosanct. In her profession, marriage often ended up in a quick and easy divorce. She didn't want that. Her parents had a long and happy marriage, and her ancestors had done the same. One by one her sisters had found men they felt they were true partners—best friends, astonishing lovers. Joley had never believed that would happen to her. She had always believed the bond of her sisters would be all that she had, and she'd been determined to make that enough—until Ilya. He was everything. Her heart, her soul, and he certainly commanded her body. She knew what love was, and she had finally made that sacred commitment with every fiber of her being.
The car slowed, and Joley let her senses flair out as much as possible, trying to send impressions of movement or heat or anything that might help Ilya. Her sisters would be somewhere safe, and no one would ever know they'd been there, helping in the battle, but Ilya would be on the front line and she wanted him to have every advantage.
"Look for guards on your side," she hissed to Brian.
Jonas let us out a few miles away from you. We're going to high ground so we can command the wind, Hannah informed Joley.
They were coming up
on a cabin. Steve parked the car and they sat for a few minutes. He slowly lowered the glass between them. "Don't do anything stupid, Joley, and you might get out of this alive."
"Maybe I will." she said, "but you won't."
Brian kicked her ankle. "Don't provoke him."
"You haven't seen provocation yet," she answered, tossing her head in defiance, not bothering to lower her voice.
Steve opened the door and reached in to pull Joley out.
She slapped his hand away. "Don't you touch me, you miserable slug, slimy, worthless, traitorous piece of shit." She put all the contempt she could muster into her voice—the one weapon that none of them had even considered. She let him feel her disgust, allowed her voice to influence, not only him, but everyone within hearing distance to look at Steve the way she did. "You have no honor. If you would turn on me after being my friend for years, you would turn on anyone. No one can trust you."
Steve reddened visibly, her voice leaving him exposed not only to the others, but to himself. He shifted his feet and stepped back.
Joley shot him a look of utter disdain and climbed out on her own, carrying herself as regally as possible. She looked him up and down and stepped past him, going straight to the cabin and the men waiting on the porch. She flashed a cold smile at John Dylan, who half sat on the railing, swinging one leg, arms crossed over his chest.
"If you'd wanted a meeting, John, you might have just said so at the hotel or the arena. It's a little on the chilly side here."
Brian trailed after her, and just as he reached the porch stairs, the man behind him shoved him. Brian stumbled and fell into her. Joley staggered, recovered her balance, turned and in one precise move, snapped out a front kick, catching the guard square in the chest. She wanted the attention centered solely on her, especially now that John Dylan was present. Nobody could guess at Brian's relationship with Nikitin.
Dylan stepped up to her and slapped her hard, rocking her backward. She tasted blood in her mouth, but she refused to flinch. She just stood there, staring him down.
What the hell just happened? The voice was utterly cold, white-hot but arctic-cold, the voice of death.
Joley shivered. There was that underlying fury, the volcano beneath the ice cap. I kicked one of Dylan's guards, so Dylan slapped me. John Dylan is here and everyone is deferring to him. Looks to me like he's in charge.
She could feel Ilya making an effort to tamp down his fury. Stay away from that son of a bitch. I'll be there in another couple of minutes. Aleksandr and Jonas will take out as many guards as possible to give us a clear escape route. Just don't provoke him.
Brian took her arm, drawing her against him.
"Now that I have your attention," Dylan sneered, "where's your friend, the bodyguard?"
She smirked. "You mean the one you're all so afraid of?" She embedded the suggestion in her voice, as well as amplifying their fears. "What do you want, Dylan?"
"In a few minutes you'll find out." He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, offered Brian one, and when he declined, Dylan pulled one from the pack and lit it. "Sorry you got mixed up in this, Brian, you weren't part of the deal. You just were in the wrong place at the wrong time. You never should have gotten in the car with her."
The wind shifted slightly, coming in from the west. It tasted of salt water, as if blowing off the ocean that was behind several mountains. Joley lifted her face to the cool breeze and inhaled the scent of sea. Around them the branches of the trees rustled, murmuring softly, the leaves flashing silver in the night. She heard the faint sound of feminine voices rising in an age-old chant. Soft. Insistent. Musical. She recognized the surge in power surrounding her like a protective cloak.
"Car coming," Steve announced.
"Shoot the bodyguard the moment he steps out of the car," Dylan ordered. "Grab them."
They're planning to shoot you on sight, Ilya, Joley warned, ignoring the man who grabbed her arms and yanked them behind her back. Turn around. Get out of here.
Dylan caught at Brian as the car swept up to the house, using his body as a shield, and dragging him backward toward the door of the cabin. Joley was thrown facedown over the railing, a gun pressed to the back of her neck, a hard hand against her back.
The car rolled slowly toward the cabin. The guards began to shoot, the bullets drilling holes into the vehicle until it looked like a sieve. Joley could see it coming toward the porch at the same steady speed.
Don't move.
It was all the warning she got. The gun suddenly shifted, pointing away from her. She felt the guard jerk. He was flung back and away from her. Blood spattered across her back and arms. The gun clattered to the floor.
Now. Toward the trees.
Joley leapt onto the railing and jumped off of it, sprinting toward the tree line. Around her the wind whirled and screamed, creating a mini-cyclone. Branches broke off from the trees above her head, hurtling toward the porch, knocking men down. Ilya came out to meet her, the gun bucking in his fist, spitting death, laying down a covering fire as he yanked her behind him.
"Go! Get down."
Deliberately, Ilya fired three shots into Steve's throat, sending him over backward.
"Brian. They've got Brian," Joley said as she raced deeper into the trees and shrubbery.
Ilya aimed over Brian's head and squeezed the trigger, but at the last moment, Dylan went through the door.
"No! Hold your fire." Nikitin grabbed Ilya's gun arm. "You might shoot Brian."
"You shouldn't even be here. They want you dead, I told you that. Get to cover," Ilya snapped.
In the distance they heard the crack of a rifle, then another shot. Jonas and Aleksandr were protecting their escape route. The wind tore at the house, whirling around it, loosening boards and rattling the windows. It increased in strength, vicious, finally ripping boards loose so that they flapped. Shingles flew from the roof.
Nikitin pulled out his gun, speared Ilya a fierce look and ran toward the cabin. Ilya swore and ran after him. Twice he shot one of Dylan's soldiers as they reared up in front of Nikitin. The Russian made it to the porch in spite of the wind and kicked at the door. Ilya grabbed his shirt and jerked him to the side as bullets splintered the door from the inside.
Sergei Nikitin was no coward, he never had been. He was used to giving orders and expected his men to obey him. He was going in after Brian, which told Ilya more than anything else that his feelings for the guitar player were absolutely genuine, because Nikitin never took an unnecessary risk.
Ilya took a breath and summoned energy to him, tapping into the Drake sisters' combined strength, gathering the wind so that it pulled back for a moment and then slammed into the door with the force of a battering ram. The door buckled and crashed to the floor, and the wind swept inside.
A volley of shots poured out of the room, the flashes bright in the darkness. Ilya waited for the sudden silence, sent another blast of wind ahead of him and rolled in behind it, going to the left, at an angle from the gunfire. He tried to track Dylan, but the man had already moved. Brian began to struggle violently, kicking and hitting until he broke free and made a dash for the window, obviously intending to dive out of it.
Ilya couldn't get a clear shot at Dylan, who had overturned furniture to provide cover. He saw Dylan's gun sweep up and track Brian. Heart in his throat, he rolled to get a better angle. Nikitin ran at Dylan, firing round after round. Most of the bullets thunked harmlessly into furniture, but the distraction forced Dylan to turn the gun from Brian to Nikitin. The two mobsters exchanged a ferocious storm of bullets until Ilya aimed, squeezed the trigger and shot John Dylan through the heart.
The wind retreated, leaving behind silence. The room smelled of blood, gunpowder and death. Brian turned slowly, his fingers still clutching the windowsill. Nikitin lay on the floor, the gun still in his hand, blood pouring from several wounds.
Brian dropped to the floor and crawled to Nikitin, taking his hand. "Don't." He rocked himself. "Don't go."
Nikitin glanced at Ilya, who shook his head. "Get him out of here." He tried to say more words, but blood choked his throat, poured out of his mouth. He coughed, tried to clear his throat. "Don't let any of this touch him." More blood streamed.
"I'll take care of it," Ilya promised.
Nikitin looked up at Brian, and, as their eyes locked together, he died.
Chapter 20
THE sea crashed and foamed, spraying over rocks and up into the darkened sky in white bursts, the sound loud, but familiar and comforting. Joley walked along the captain's walk, pacing slowly back and forth, knowing one of her ancestors had traced exactly the same path—waiting, watching, hoping for her man to return home from the perils of the sea. She felt a kinship with that woman from long ago; she knew what it was like to wait and watch and worry. She knew what it was like to love someone else with every breath in her body. She desperately wanted Ilya to escape unscathed from his dangerous job and return to her.
Ilya had been away, tying up the remnants of his operation for three long weeks. The first week, she and the band members had spent with Brian, helping him through the first rush of terrible grief. Now he was staying with Logan and Tish, living quietly and trying to come to terms with what he wanted to do in the future.
Joley had returned to her family home and tried very hard to fit in again, but without Ilya, her world, even the sanctuary of the Drake house, was gone. She concentrated on the ocean, watching the way the endless waves rose and fell. At night the water appeared black and shiny, with sudden bursts of silver as it foamed against the rocks.
She ached, inside and out, worried about Ilya, afraid for him. He'd gone after Sergei Nikitin's human trafficking network, determined to shut it down. With Nikitin gone, his front line would scramble and hide, so Ilya had very little time to catch them before they disappeared into the shadows where they preferred to live. Working undercover for so long had made Ilya a loner, rarely using or even having a backup, or checking in as regularly with his bosses as he should. Jonas had told her what little he could, but Ilya preferred being alone and didn't often give much information. Bottom line—she had no idea where he was or even if he was safe.