Drake Sisters 05 - Safe Harbor

the attack, and what would it have been like to lose your most famous client? He could well imagine Simpson smoldering with rage and wanting to get back at her. Now, not only was there an outpouring of sympathy for him, but he would be even more sought after.
    Jonas just couldn't get behind the fact that a couple with no priors, no hint of mental illness, would develop a hate so deep they would attempt to kill Hannah in such a vicious manner. The attack, had personal written all over it. It was dramatic, had been on television. Inside Entertainment , the popular celebrity gossip show, had advertised heavily that they would carry what they proclaimed as the party of the century—that every star was attending. That meant Albert Werner had wanted the attack to be caught on film. He had wanted the world to see it. He had known he was going to get caught and must have been prepared to end his life, just as his wife had.
    And that brought the entire matter right back to psychic powers. Who had them and who stood to gain by forcing a couple to kill Hannah Drake? He was going to start digging for a connection with Simpson. The man would come out of this a media favorite. And, it had to be said, he had to look a little deeper at Prakenskii.

    Jonas.
    He nibbled on her fingers. "I'm right here, baby. Don't worry so much. You know me.
    I like everything neat and tidy." He glanced over his shoulder as he heard the Drakes arriving. "Your family is here for another healing session and then we're going to move you to another room."
    Her fingers hooked his. When can I go home ?
    "Soon, honey. I promise. I'll get you home soon."

Chapter Ten
    HANNAH stood in the center of her room, shaking, bile rising in her throat. Around her, face up on the floor, were shards of the full-length mirror, replicating over and over a horrifying, monstrous image of her body. She looked like a cross-patch quilt, not real, someone sewn together.
    She pressed her fingers to her eyes hard, stemming the flow of tears. She would not do this. She wouldn't. She was alive. Her sisters were healing her. Anyone else would be dead. Dead . She needed to be grateful for the miracle they'd handed her, not too vain to cope with the results. The slashes on her body would fade with time—much faster than normal. Libby was certain the Drake sisters could keep most of the scars from showing too much. She needed to be grateful.
    "Hannah?" The knock on the door was soft. Hesitant. Persistent. "Honey, we heard a crash. Are you all right?"
    Hannah swallowed hard and grabbed her robe, hastily covering her body. She didn't dare take a step with her feet bare. Glass was scattered all over the floor. Large, jagged pieces and small tiny shards. Ruined. Like her life. Like her face. Her body.
    Everything . "I'm fine, Sarah. I just dropped something. I'm just about to lie down."
    "Let me in, honey. I'll help you pick it up. I heard something break."
    "I've already got it." She needed Sarah to go away. They all had to leave her alone and give her some time. She was broken into a million pieces, just like the mirror, and she had to find a way to put herself back together. She had to find a way to believe in herself. She didn't want to be like this—scared and lost and feeling so alone.
    Mostly she couldn't stand the deception anymore. She could feel her sisters' pity. Poor Hannah. Whatever will she do? We have to think for her. Figure her life out, now that she's ruined. The sympathy was killing her. She couldn't be in the same room with them, and they whispered. Whispered . As if she was on her death bed. Maybe that's the way all of them viewed her now. Hannah Drake, the model, certainly was. And who the hell was she now?
    "Hannah?" Sarah knocked again. "Let me in."
    "Sarah." Hannah's voice broke. She choked. "You've got to give me some space. I'm sorry, I just need time. Give me time."
    There was a moment of silence. She could feel the weight of Sarah's hurt and sorrow crushing her—crushing both of them.
    "Hannah, open the damn door."
    There was nothing soft or hesitant about the command or the voice. Jonas didn't believe in coddling. He'd see her for the coward she was. He'd think it was vanity.
    Poor little Hannah, unable to stand not being the Barbie doll.
    Immediately following Jonas's demand, she could hear her sisters whispering to him, furious that he would use that tone and maybe upset her. Protecting her, standing up for her and she so didn't deserve it. She hated that