Donovans 03 - Pearl Cove

shoved the shotgun under his jacket and went through the front door like a man who had nothing more on his mind than digesting a breakfast of dried fish and green tea. He got into the passenger seat of the vehicle that waited, doors open. Hannah was already in back. She clutched the box of pearls in her hands.
    Archer slid in next to her and shut the door. “Go.”
    Then he watched out the back window while Kyle drove quickly into the rain.

Twenty-five
    S treetlights whipped by, sending pulses of light over the faces in the car. Jake spoke into the cell phone, reassuring Lianne and Honor.
    With fingers that shook, Hannah reached for Archer. He caught her wrists with one hand and held her where she was, across the seat from him. Blood oozed slowly down the collar of his jacket. Adrenaline was an icy fire in his veins. It fed an equally cold rage, a rage born of fear. Hannah could have died. So quickly. So easily.
    So finally.
    “You’re bleeding,” she said hoarsely.
    “Cuts from flying tile.” His voice was as hard as the fingers gripping her wrists.
    “I heard bullets hitting you. I felt them.”
    Kyle’s head whipped around. “Archer?” The word was raw with the love of brother for brother.
    “Drive. I’m fine.” With his free hand, Archer yanked open both his jacket and his dark flannel shirt. Black Kevlar showed through like a wedge of midnight. “Body armor,” he said curtly to Hannah. “Jake and I are covered from neck to knees.”
    “We’ll have some bruises,” Jake said. He rubbed his shoulder where a dull ache kept time with his heart. “But not to the bone. A silencer really slows down the bullets.”
    “I didn’t know,” she said, still shaken. “You could have told me.”
    “Why? You have less sense than a kid sucking on his thumb. You—”
    “That’s not—”
    “—weren’t wearing any armor, didn’t have so much as a pocketknife, yet you walked into that triad den like it was a fucking Tupperware party. What in hell were you thinking of? Do you think they wouldn’t kill a woman?”
    “You!” she said in a low, harsh voice. “I was thinking of you!” Her voice broke as the nightmare bit into her again. “I saw you covered in blood. And the pain in your eyes . . . God, the unspeakable pain.” She turned away as far as her captive wrists would let her. Then she stared out her window while shivers went through her like bullets, jerking her.
    Archer made a rough sound. Knowing he would regret it, unable to stop himself, he pulled her close, then closer still, wrapping her in his arms. He took a deep, shuddering breath as he drew in the rain fragrance of her hair and let go of the bitter scent of gunfire. “It’s all right, Hannah. All of us made it.”
    She burrowed deeper into his arms and hung on, just hung on, her fingers digging into the Kevlar that had kept her nightmare from coming true. The depth of her relief, of her caring for a man as hard as Archer, should have terrified her.
    It didn’t. The pulsing horror of the Dragon Moon was still too real to allow room for any other fear.
    Lianne and Honor were waiting by the front door of the condo. They held their men for a long, urgent kiss, and only reluctantly released them. Then they stood even closer together than usual, needing the reassurance of physical touch.
    “Next time,” Honor announced baldly, “I’m going with you.”
    “We’ll burn that bridge when we get to it,” Jake said. The downward slide off an adrenaline jag was no time to argue with a woman you loved. “Is Summer up?”
    “She’s sleeping like an angel.”
    He smiled down at his wife. “Help me take a shower, honey.”
    Honor looked at the grim weariness in Jake’s eyes and wanted to cry. Instead, she smiled at him and put her arm around his waist. “Adrenaline overload?”
    “Yeah.” He hooked an arm around her shoulders. “Too much Seattle coffee will wire you every time.”
    “Jake,” Archer said.
    He looked away from Honor. “Yeah?”
    “Thanks.”
    “What for? Hannah’s the one who knocked you out of the line of fire.”
    Honor and Lianne both stiffened.
    “I should have been the one with the shotgun,” Archer said simply.
    “Bullshit. Haven’t you figured it out yet?”
    “What?”
    “No one’s Superman. Not even you.”
    Archer’s laugh was as grim and weary as Jake’s eyes. He went and brushed a kiss over Honor’s cheek. “I knew you had a good man, sis. I just didn’t know how good. Take care of