Blythe nodded. "Maxim and Airiana rescued the children from one of the ships they use for their special clients. The ship belonged to Stavros's brother Evan. He's impossible to make a case against from everything Maxim told me." She reached for the other teacup and poured milk into it before taking a sip. The tea was perfect, which she thought interesting since Jackson had been the one to make it.
Elle shuddered. "He's a horrible man. Worse than Stavros, if that's possible. He's the one, I think, who was actually running the ring. Kidnapping and training victims. Stavros provided the transportation in and out of countries as well as ships for clients that enjoyed using and then killing their victims. From what I gleaned, the bodies were dumped at sea. That was definitely Evan's idea."
Jackson put a hand on her shoulder. "Someone else will get him, baby. You don't have to think about that anymore. You're home. You're safe. You're with me."
Elle looked up at him, her hand immediately reaching out to his. "I'm home, safe and with you," she repeated. "I want him caught and held accountable, Blythe, but I can't be the one . . ." She trailed off.
"Of course not," Blythe said. "We didn't come here to bring everything back."
Elle bit down on her lip. "A few weeks aren't anywhere near long enough to recover from what happened. You aren't bringing it back," she reiterated. "It never has faded. So, Rikki, now that we've talked this through, are you feeling better? We're family of sorts, and we'll work it all out. It may take time, but we'll do it."
"After I have a little talk, man to man, with your husband," Jackson added.
Rikki breathed an audible sigh of relief. "I do feel better. Thank you for talking it out with me." She ignored Jackson's statement. She'd made it clear she didn't understand men so she wasn't going to argue with him. She didn't believe anyone could beat Lev if he didn't want them to, so she wasn't worried.
"Blythe," Jackson started.
She stiffened. Here came the questions she had no real answer for. She didn't want Viktor in trouble, but she didn't want to let everyone think she was going to stay married to him.
"Yes, Jackson?" She looked him right in the eye.
Elle's hand moved, smoothing down Jackson's thigh, a small brush, exquisitely gentle. There was a surge of power in the room. Immediately Blythe realized they were communicating telepathically. Once or twice when she was with Viktor, she felt a stirring in her mind when she brushed at the little symbol embedded in her palm, and for a moment she'd thought they could do that--talk to each other mind to mind. It had never happened, but she thought maybe with practice they could have done it.
"I thought only the seven daughters of the seventh daughter had psychic talents, but you appear to have a couple of very strong gifts."
Rikki turned toward her, her coffee cup halfway to her mouth.
"We all thought that at first," Blythe said, striving for matter-of-fact and conversational. She never talked about her talent. Her mother was so jealous of her sisters because her talent was not as well developed and over time had faded, probably because of her drinking. Blythe had tried to show her mother one time what she could do and her mother had slapped her, telling her it was blasphemy to lie about something so sacred.
Blythe was nothing. Sharon wasn't the seventh daughter, not the favored one, the one everyone loved. She was a throwaway and her daughter was worse--useless, pretending to have a talent she didn't have. Blythe had never brought it up again, nor did she ever show her cousins what she could do. She practiced when she was alone and used it in conjunction with her sisters of the heart.
"Clearly your talent is strong," Elle said.
Blythe smiled and shook her head. "Not really. More like a little parlor trick. I can boost power, but not much more."
Jackson frowned at her. "It's far more than that. You seem able to take whatever energy or power is around you and weave it with emotions surrounding you, and then you must add something else and make it even more powerful. I've never seen that."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Elle said. "When we were children?"
Blythe shrugged, and immediately comprehension was on Elle's face. "Aunt Sharon. She wouldn't let you tell anyone, would she?" There was compassion in her voice.
In the old days she would have protected her mother no matter what. That had been drilled into her. But she had undergone a lot of therapy, and after what her mother had done, she no longer wanted to protect her. It didn't matter if others believed her or not.
"My mother was a very sick woman. Not only was she an alcoholic, but she was eaten alive with jealousy. She believed she should have inherited all the talents just as the seventh daughter had. She was paranoid and made up fantasies in her head that all of her sisters and parents were against her. What talent I had would simply have set her off more, had she believed in it."
"I'm so sorry, Blythe."
Blythe took a sip of tea in order to maintain her composure. "We were children, Elle. You especially were very young."
"She scared me," Elle said. "The way she looked at me sometimes. I thought she might try to hurt me."
"Had she been drinking, she would have," Blythe admitted. "But she was smart enough never to drink in front of her sisters, and she could maintain for short periods of time."
"Did you ever tell my parents?" Elle asked. "Or any of the aunts?"
Blythe shook her head. "I think children have a need to protect their world, even if it's a terrible one. I didn't dare, although looking back I have no idea why. Misplaced loyalty. I think I thought I could somehow make it all better. I just needed to try harder."
"Of course that wasn't so, but children think that way," Jackson said. "My mother was very ill with cancer. My father was in a motorcycle club--the Swords. They're a notorious club that specializes in everything illegal and treating their women and families like crap." It was the first time Blythe had ever heard an edge to his voice.
Elle continued to stroke his thigh. He covered her hand and leaned down to brush a kiss on top of her head.
"My father would leave us to go off riding with the club," Jackson continued. "She would just wilt. Sometimes it would take me hours to get her to take her medicine. It was like she only lived to see him again. He had another woman, but it didn't matter to her. I kept thinking I could make it all better, but I couldn't. Children can't."
"I had a really wonderful childhood," Elle said cheerfully. "A fairy-tale childhood, as a matter of fact. What about you, Rikki?"
Rikki frowned. "When my parents were alive, I think I had a really great childhood. My mother helped me a lot. She put me in all kinds of programs and that made me able to be independent. Dad was funny and sweet. He tried, and he really, really loved my mother. They always kissed me good night."
"That's beautiful," Elle said. "My parents always kissed us as well."
"Not so much," Jackson said. "But I get the benefit of your parents always kissing you, Elle. Now you kiss me before you go to bed."
She started laughing, soft and musical, a breath of fresh air circulating the room. The dogs suddenly came to their feet, looking toward the door. It opened, and Jonas Harrington strode in. He stopped abruptly when he saw Rikki and Blythe.
"Sorry. Had no idea you had company. Need coffee now."
"I thought you weren't drinking coffee," Elle said as Jackson rose to go into the kitchen for another mug.
Jonas made a face. "Hannah's on some new kick. No caffeine for either of us. She gets into these healthy bullshit diet things and I suffer. Got anything sugary? Like your cookies?" He inhaled. "That woman of mine can bake up a storm, but does she? No, she's reading all these articles on healthy living, and suddenly it's no coffee or cookies." He waved to Rikki and Blythe and flung himself into a chair opposite them. "Save me, Elle. Talk to her. A man can't live this way."
"Don't be such a baby," Elle said. "She'll settle down in a month or two. Right now it's all about the baby and making certain the two of you are healthy for him. You have a high-risk job
and that has to be making her panic."
"She married me knowing I have a high-risk job," Jonas objected.
"That was before the baby, silly."
Jackson handed him a coffee mug and placed a platter with frosted cookies next to him. He indicated to Blythe and Rikki to have some as well.
"You shouldn't be enabling him," Elle scolded Jackson.
"He should," Jonas said, scooping up a handful. "I knew you'd come through, Jackson. Nice to see you, Rikki. It's been a while."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "You stopped me on the highway."
"But I didn't give you a ticket," Jonas hastily pointed out. "You don't know Hannah very well, do you?"
"I do," Blythe said. "She's my cousin."
"She's nice to me," Rikki said, still glaring.
"I'm nice to you," Jonas said, eating half a cookie in one bite. "Sheesh, woman, have a heart. It isn't nice to hold a grudge."
Rikki burst out laughing, startling all of them. She scooped up a couple of cookies and took a bite. "Good. Lev bakes great cookies, but I have to admit, these are just as good. Lucia is learning to bake."
"Ah, yes, Lucia," Jonas said. "The mysterious children who are related to the Prakenskiis in some abstract way no one can explain."
"The children Airiana and Maxim are adopting," Blythe said firmly.
She wished she hadn't said anything when Jonas turned his full attention on her. "You got anything to say about what was going on this afternoon?"
Blythe drank the last of her tea and put the cup aside. "Not really."
"That's not an answer, Blythe," Jonas said. "They had us dead to rights. You know that, don't you? His men had us surrounded. They aren't the kind of men you play games with."
"Thank you for coming to my rescue, but I really would have been fine."
"Since when are you married?" Jonas demanded.
Elle gasped. "What?" She looked up at Jackson. "Did you know about this and you didn't tell me?"
"Baby, I didn't have a chance. I just got home, and you told me we were going to have company," Jackson said.
Elle spun back to gape at her cousin. "Blythe? Is that true? You're married?"
Blythe's first inclination was to deny everything, then to just shrug casually and tell them she was filing for divorce, but for some inexplicable reason, she felt like that was betraying Viktor. She sighed instead. "Yes. It seems I am."
"Tell me everything," Elle demanded.
Blythe sank back in her chair, avoiding both Jackson's and Jonas's eyes. She concentrated on her cousin. "I met him a few years ago. We literally ran into each other while we were both jogging. I would have fallen, but he caught me before I hit the ground. We ended up laughing and then running together."
Jackson made a noise in the back of his throat and looked at Jonas.
"What?" Elle asked, glaring at both of them.
"Classic pickup," Jonas said.
"Absolutely," Jackson agreed.
"So did you use it often?" Elle asked Jackson, the frost in her voice warning him that the answer had better be no.
Blythe noticed Jonas grinning behind his hand as he shoveled in more cookies and took a gulp of black coffee.
"Of course not, Elle," Jackson said. "I just know that some men use that sort of thing."
"Are you implying my cousin's husband wasn't sincerely interested in her?"
"Of course not. Any man would be interested in Blythe. Well, with the exception of me. Only because I'm interested in you."
"Give it up," Jonas said, shaking his head, still grinning. "You aren't going to win no matter what you say. The Drakes have it down to a science."
"What do we have down to a science, Jonas Harrington?" Elle switched her glare from Jackson to Jonas.
"The craziness, that's what," Jonas said. "I don't let it get to me," he informed Jackson. "I grew up with them, and there's nothing to be done but ignore them when they get like this."
Elle waved her hand toward the telephone, and Jonas groaned.
"You little brat. I can't believe you'd rat me out to your sister."
"You so deserve it," Elle said.
The phone rang and Jonas was up immediately, snagging two handfuls of cookies, chugging the last of his coffee and heading for the door. "I'm not here. You never saw me."
Rikki nearly fell on the floor laughing. Blythe couldn't help but smile either, although she knew very well that Elle had deliberately saved her from answering any more questions about Viktor. Elle was extremely gifted, and there was no way Blythe could hide that she didn't want to be questioned on the subject. Elle had cleverly saved her by turning the attention onto the men.
Blythe stood up. "We'd better go. We've taken up enough of your evening. Thank you for letting us come tonight."
Rikki stood as well, straight as an arrow, holding out her hand to Jackson and then Elle. "I appreciate you relieving my mind. I'll tell Lexi that we're all safe."
"You're not going to be angry with me when I take a punch at your man?" Jackson asked her.
Rikki shrugged. "You can try, but it won't be fair if you're wearing your uniform."
"I promise I won't be," he assured her solemnly.
She nodded. "I'll let him know what to expect."
Elle followed them to the door, hugging Blythe tightly. "Come see me as soon as you have time," she urged.
Blythe nodded. "I will." It was one promise she wasn't certain she could keep. Elle saw far too much.
8
BLYTHE unlocked her front door and walked inside, not bothering with the lights. She'd taken four steps inside when it hit her. Hard. Mean. A blow that drove her to her knees right there in her entryway. There were some sorrows that were beyond all descriptions, cutting so deep that the wound would never heal. Time might ease the pain but it would always be there, always haunting. It would surface at unexpected times.
That first cut was the worst. It was there in her home. Pain beyond imagining. Sorrow so great it tore at her insides. It was physical. Visceral. She found herself on her hands and knees, fighting for air, silent screams echoing through her head. There was only one time in her life that she'd felt such pain.
She forced her head up and looked toward the stairs. From the moment she'd first seen Viktor in the streets of Sea Haven, she knew she had to tell him. Viktoria had been his daughter as well. She just didn't know how. He'd heard. That was the only possible explanation. He'd heard her tell her sisters about their child.
She pushed back with her hands so she could sink back on her heels, breathing great gulps of air, trying to orient herself. This was his pain. Viktor's. He was suffering, living through that first time when it had to sink in that their child was dead. There was no way to save her.
She closed her eyes and tried to absorb some of the wild grief filling her home. It was a large house, two stories with open areas, and that grief had spread to every nook and cranny, every space possible until the air was thick enough to choke on it.
Forcing herself to her feet, Blythe stumbled toward the stairs. He was up there. The grief was too raw, too real, a terrible burn, searing her from the inside out. She had always been an empath, taking on the emotions of those around her. She had to soothe people. The impulse was especially strong with the ones she loved, and she loved Viktor Prakenskii--at least the man she'd thought he was. That man was the father of her child and she had to get to him.
Her legs felt stiff, yet rubbery, her throat raw. She knew they were his legs, the muscles seizing in protest. His throat, so raw from the silent screams of protest. Grasping the solid oak railing, she dragged herself up to the top of the stairs. There was no sound. None. Yet she felt tears on her face and knew they were his.
Viktor was one of the toughest men she knew. Seeing him in Sea Haven, she knew he was also a dangerous, rough man, but losing his daughter had thrown him. His grief was genuine, terrible and to the core. Instinctively she knew he was in her bedroom. She made her way down the wide hall to stand in th
e open doorway.
Viktor sat on her bed, head down, his long hair falling around his face. His beautiful, thick hair was disheveled, as if he'd run his hands through it over and over--or tore at it with his fists. The lines of grief were etched deep. He wept, but so silently that if they hadn't been connected, she wouldn't have realized the pain was so deep that he couldn't cry other than the tears tracking down his face. The sobs were trapped in his chest. In his heart. That deep. Bone deep. Soul deep. She knew, because it had been that way with her.
She went to him because there was no other choice. He was suffering, and in that moment, he was her Viktor. The man she loved above all things. She wrapped her arms around his head and pulled him into her. He wrapped his arms around her waist and nearly crushed her with his strength. With his grief. She didn't say anything because there wasn't anything that could be said to ease his pain. She knew that from experience.
He felt real. Solid. Hers. She let herself cry because his sorrow was too great to bear without weeping. The death of their daughter was new all over again. For her it had been five years, but for him it had just happened. Tremors ran through him. His muscles were locked tight and tense. She knew that violence ran deep in him and the need was there; she could feel it burning just beneath the surface. Right now, he could barely move, the grief was so overwhelming.
Blythe had no idea of the passing of time, but eventually his hold on her loosened just a little. She stepped back, still in the circle of his arms around her waist, her hands framing his face. "Viktor." She breathed his name. "Honey, I'm sorry. I didn't know how to get ahold of you."
She brushed soothing kisses on top of his head, unable to stop herself. He hurt. Badly. Everything in her needed to take it away. What had gone before didn't matter in that moment. He needed, and she had to help him. For just those moments, he was the man she loved and they were parents grieving together over the loss of a child.