Drake Sisters 06 - Turbulent Sea

Walters. He couldn't have. She would have known the moment she touched him. Yes, he was violent, and yes, he had killed, but under what circumstances she didn't know, and right now it didn't matter because he hadn't killed Walters. She trusted her instincts, and her instincts said, not even for her had he done this.
    'It's difficult to have a relationship with someone with the paparazzi following everywhere you go and photographing your every move. The things they print - all the lies and innuendos - it ruins any chance at a real bond.
    We try to be careful so we have the opportunity to build a foundation before it's all over the media and we're both hounded into the ground.'
    Her voice was soft, persuasive, held a note of pure truth the detective couldn't fail to respond to. Ilya didn't even know if she was aware of the compulsion buried in it. His hand slid against hers, fingers tangling and then enveloping with hers. He brought her knuckles up to his mouth. Thank you .
    He knew she was protecting him, implying, without saying it, that he had joined her immediately. No one had ever done that for him, stood in front of him, not at their own risk - and she was risking a lot. If Branscomb discovered she was shielding Ilya by deliberately misleading the detective, there was no doubt he'd haul her into his office and make life very uncomfortable for her.
    Ilya was fairly certain that strange sensation in his chest was his heart melting. She yanked emotion out of him when all feeling had been buried so deep he'd thought - he'd hoped - it was lost for all time. He loved her in that moment, yet at the same time, a part of him was terrified that she could do that to him, and that part was dangerous and cunning and hated her, because anyone who could make him that vulnerable held power over him - endless power -and he had vowed that would never happen again in his lifetime.
    She turned her head and looked at him, her eyes soft and loving, twisting him up inside because she wasn't even aware of it yet. He could rule her sexually, he knew that, and he knew he could bind her to him, and that he'd always be bound to her, but this was more - way, way more than he had bargained for. Joley was more than just his - she was so deep inside of him she was a part of him - and just as she had protected him, he would protect her with his last breath.
    Ilya read the cop as intelligent, and he was already cutting Joley a break. 'Nikitin sent several of his security force here to sweep the area for bombs. He's had many death threats, as has Miss Drake. And I spotted at least four photographers busily filming the argument as well as the band members from the rocks. If you can find them, they might have caught something on camera that would help.'
    It was a risk - although a small one. Ilya had a way of blending into the background, making it difficult for people and lenses to spot him. As he was nearly always aware of the photographers, he found it easy enough to hide his presence from them. Branscomb deserved a little help, and in any case, he had probably already thought of it.
    Branscomb nodded. 'I'll be in touch. If you think of anything more, call my number. I left my card on the table.'
    Chapter Eight
    The door closed behind the detective. Joley stood very still in the ensuing silence, her gaze locked on Ilya's face, her body trembling. He crossed the distance between them and put his arms around her, pulling her close. She burst into tears.
    Ilya pressed her face against his chest, his fingers sliding into her hair to massage her scalp, murmuring softly to her.

    He didn't know where the words came from, most of it made no sense, just soothing noises, but her distress was so genuine. He hadn't known he could actually feel gentle, or tender; he'd thought those things had long ago been beaten out of him, but she brought out a softer response and he was grateful.
    'You feel too much for others, Joley,' he said, pressing his lips into the soft disarray of her hair. 'This was not a good man.'
    'He has family. And we don't know that he wasn't good.'
    'If he had anything to do with the Russian mob, believe me, laskovaya moya , he wasn't good. And contrary to popular belief, members of the mob don't kill indiscriminately. If he drew their attention, he was in bed with them.' He nuzzled the top of her head, his chin sliding through the soft strands of hair. He loved holding her, and that was terrifying. She made him soft inside, different. This