Drake Sisters 05 - Safe Harbor

trees coming to life and windows shattering and repairing themselves, Boris put a gun to his head and shot him."
    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 fiancés 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