Drake Sisters 05 - Safe Harbor

looking and that means they'll leave tracks. Get the word out that we want to hear of anyone asking about disappearances or strange occurrences. Maybe earthquakes or anything they can tell themselves would be a reasonable explanation."
    Jackson exhaled a thin column of smoke and nodded. "Who would hate Hannah this much? Someone has made this very personal, Jonas."
    "Venturi was here, bringing her flowers. And the Reverend is in town with his band of bodyguards. Let's see if they're all accounted for. Maybe you could pay a visit to them nice and early and see if they're all in their beds."
    "No problem." Jackson went to take another heavy drag from the cigarette when it flared bright red in his hand and disintegrated into ash. He dropped it, shaking his hand from the sting of the burn and cursed, glaring at the house. "Mind your own business," he snapped under his breath.
    Instantly the wind rose to a wild, outraged shriek, tugging at his jacket, exposing the pack of cigarettes, catching it with a burst of speed before Jackson could grab the box.
    "Theft. Pickpocketing," he yelled. "Back off, Elle." He managed to get his fingertips on the pack, juggled a moment fighting to keep it, and then the wind whisked it away, out over the sea. "That's littering," he called out, "and I can arrest you for that."
    The box flared into flames, the ash falling into the water.
    The window slid open and Elle stuck her head out, long red hair cascading like a waterfall of silk. "I'm so sorry, Jackson. Smoking always kicks off my asthma and I reacted without thinking."
    "I'll just bet you did. I'm outside and you're inside with the window closed." He glared at her. "Asthma my ass."
    "I'm sensitive. And Jonas, Hannah would like a word with you." Elle smiled sweetly and disappeared again, slamming the window closed.
    "Oh hell." Jonas sighed. "Hannah must have eyes in the back of her head."
    Jackson kept watching the window where Elle had disappeared. "The wind talks to her, Jonas, and everything, voices, scents, information of all kinds are carried on the wind. You aren't going to get away with much with that woman, if that's what you're thinking."
    "What about Elle? Hannah tells me she has all the talents."
    "Elle is going to have to come to terms with me sooner or later. She's choosing later, but I'm running out of patience."
    Jackson was patient, unlike Jonas. It was one of the things that made him so good at his former job as an Army Ranger. Jackson had it bad, which was odd, because half the time, Jonas didn't think he felt much emotion. He was loyal to the few people he called friends, but nothing much rocked him. Like the house. He'd seen what the house had done, but he just shrugged his shoulders and took it in stride. Jonas, however, was going to have a few nightmares.
    Something—some instinct—made him turn his head—and he saw Hannah slip out of the house. Everything inside him stilled as he watched her come toward him. She moved with the wind, elegant and graceful, her famous hair, spirals of platinum, silver and gold, hanging well past her waist and enveloping her slender shoulders, flowing like a silken cape around her body. In the dawn, she looked a dream, moving through the mist.
    "She's so fucking beautiful," he whispered aloud, pressing his hand hard over his heart.
    It wasn't about what others saw, not for him, it never had been. She stole his breath with her smile, the way her eyes lit up, the flash of temper—he loved that flash of temper—he found it sexy as hell.
    "Hannah," Jackson greeted her. "You look as if you're feeling a little better."
    "I am, Jackson, and thank you for looking out for us. Elle said you were outside."
    "She warned me not to come onto the property," he said.
    Jonas scowled at him. He knew Jackson and Elle had a strange relationship and could communicate, but they rarely admitted it—and Jackson hadn't said a word to him about Elle warning him off.
    "There really isn't much to write up in my report, Jonas. I'm not going to say the house swallowed a man, if that's what you're thinking. I don't need to go in for any more psych tests," Jackson said decisively. He touched the back of Hannah's hand, a rare gesture of affection. "You need anything, just call."
    "I will," Hannah assured him.
    Jonas knew her so well, knew what it cost her to look straight at Jackson, to let him see the slash marks on her face. They were less raw, less red, already beginning to heal with the continuing aid from