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Authors: Christine Feehan
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She sighed and shook her head, her long spiral curls spilling in all directions. Something about the way she looked so defeated tore at his heart.
"Hannah, I'd go with you, but I can't." There was an unconscious ache in his voice. He knew he should sound tough and angry and let her think it was all about her exposing her body, but the regret was there and she was too quick on the uptake to ignore it. He shouldn't have come here so tired and worn out and needing her, but now it was too late.
Suspicion leapt into her expression and she clamped both hands to his chest, one palm over his heart before there was a damned thing he could do about it. He felt her spirit move against his. If anyone had asked him, he would have denied the connection, but with Hannah the sensation was always strong. He threw up mind blocks as quickly as he could, a practice he'd started years earlier when he realized she could "read" him at will, but Hannah was too fast. She tore through his mind before his shields could go up and exposed his darkest secrets. Her hands slipped down his shirt to the wound in his side. The throbbing stopped instantly, even as her face grew paler.
Jonas caught her hands and took them off him. Healing his wounds wasn't something he wanted from her. She'd done it once and had grown so fragile she still wasn't completely recovered.
She sank back against the wall, hands dropping to her sides, staring at him with her big blue eyes, the silence lengthening between them, the tension rising until he wanted to bang his head against the wall in frustration.
"Jonas…"
He held up his hand. "Don't. Just don't, Hannah. We're not talking about this."
Her eyes glittered at him. Flames crackled in the fireplace that hadn't been there before. The burners on the stove leapt into rings of fire, glowing red-hot, and he knew he was in trouble. "We're going to talk about it, Jonas. You
promised
us."
"I didn't promise. I said I was no longer working for the defense department and I'm not—wasn't."
"You're doing undercover work, you liar, and it's dangerous as hell." Her voice hissed out at him, a whip of anger only Hannah could wield against him. She could flay him raw with her disappointment and her fear. And she was afraid. She reeked of fear, the emotion pouring out of her as if a dam had opened wide.
"I've been going crazy, Hannah, and they asked me to do a little job for them."
She was silent a moment, her blue eyes staring straight into his. "That's not the truth. Tell me the truth."
He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair in agitation. "Look, honey, I can't always tell you even when I want to."
"That's why you keep disappearing. What is this all about, Jonas? You seemed past all that, taking the sheriff's job, living in Sea Haven. You were happy again. It took you so long after you came back." It was true, his aura was nearly black at times, and when she touched him, even a small brief brush of her hand against him, the empath in her recoiled from the heavy darkness in him.
What could he tell her? His existence had been one long life filled with death and destruction, the seamier side of life, the dregs, the drug lords, terrorists and mobsters. He had retreated to Sea Haven needing to change his life before he drowned in the blood and gore and violence he never seemed able to walk away from. How could he tell her she had to save him? That would scare her to death, but it was the truth. Sometimes it just got too much to sit by and not do something real, like put his life on the line, and he needed her to pull him back from the edge of that precipice.
How could he explain how truly crazy he could be? When he'd seen Terry killed, he'd leapt into plain sight, with no cover, and begun firing at the attackers in a blind haze, somewhere between ice and white-hot rage, wanting to take all of them down. Hannah would run away and he couldn't blame her. Hell, half the time he couldn't understand why he did any of the things he
"Hannah, I'd go with you, but I can't." There was an unconscious ache in his voice. He knew he should sound tough and angry and let her think it was all about her exposing her body, but the regret was there and she was too quick on the uptake to ignore it. He shouldn't have come here so tired and worn out and needing her, but now it was too late.
Suspicion leapt into her expression and she clamped both hands to his chest, one palm over his heart before there was a damned thing he could do about it. He felt her spirit move against his. If anyone had asked him, he would have denied the connection, but with Hannah the sensation was always strong. He threw up mind blocks as quickly as he could, a practice he'd started years earlier when he realized she could "read" him at will, but Hannah was too fast. She tore through his mind before his shields could go up and exposed his darkest secrets. Her hands slipped down his shirt to the wound in his side. The throbbing stopped instantly, even as her face grew paler.
Jonas caught her hands and took them off him. Healing his wounds wasn't something he wanted from her. She'd done it once and had grown so fragile she still wasn't completely recovered.
She sank back against the wall, hands dropping to her sides, staring at him with her big blue eyes, the silence lengthening between them, the tension rising until he wanted to bang his head against the wall in frustration.
"Jonas…"
He held up his hand. "Don't. Just don't, Hannah. We're not talking about this."
Her eyes glittered at him. Flames crackled in the fireplace that hadn't been there before. The burners on the stove leapt into rings of fire, glowing red-hot, and he knew he was in trouble. "We're going to talk about it, Jonas. You
promised
us."
"I didn't promise. I said I was no longer working for the defense department and I'm not—wasn't."
"You're doing undercover work, you liar, and it's dangerous as hell." Her voice hissed out at him, a whip of anger only Hannah could wield against him. She could flay him raw with her disappointment and her fear. And she was afraid. She reeked of fear, the emotion pouring out of her as if a dam had opened wide.
"I've been going crazy, Hannah, and they asked me to do a little job for them."
She was silent a moment, her blue eyes staring straight into his. "That's not the truth. Tell me the truth."
He sighed and raked his fingers through his hair in agitation. "Look, honey, I can't always tell you even when I want to."
"That's why you keep disappearing. What is this all about, Jonas? You seemed past all that, taking the sheriff's job, living in Sea Haven. You were happy again. It took you so long after you came back." It was true, his aura was nearly black at times, and when she touched him, even a small brief brush of her hand against him, the empath in her recoiled from the heavy darkness in him.
What could he tell her? His existence had been one long life filled with death and destruction, the seamier side of life, the dregs, the drug lords, terrorists and mobsters. He had retreated to Sea Haven needing to change his life before he drowned in the blood and gore and violence he never seemed able to walk away from. How could he tell her she had to save him? That would scare her to death, but it was the truth. Sometimes it just got too much to sit by and not do something real, like put his life on the line, and he needed her to pull him back from the edge of that precipice.
How could he explain how truly crazy he could be? When he'd seen Terry killed, he'd leapt into plain sight, with no cover, and begun firing at the attackers in a blind haze, somewhere between ice and white-hot rage, wanting to take all of them down. Hannah would run away and he couldn't blame her. Hell, half the time he couldn't understand why he did any of the things he
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