Oceans of Fire

  He let his breath out in a sigh of relief and continued to follow Prakenskii, hoping for a mistake on the hit man's part. Ilya didn't lose his footing on the steep slope, nor did he take his gaze from Aleksandr, as he made his way to the car hidden partially by a wild bramble of bushes.

  "Watch your back, Aleksandr," Prakenskii advised as he slid behind the wheel of the black Acura. His gun remained pointed at Aleksandr's head. "There are things here best left alone."

  "Abigail Drake is best left alone," Aleksandr replied.

  "She is a weakness that can be exploited."

  "She is death for any who seeks to harm her."

  Prakenskii started up his car. "You have many enemies here, my friend. And they will not all look like enemies."

  Aleksandr slid his gun back into his shoulder harness as he watched Prakenskii drive away. Only when he was certain the other man was gone did he turn his attention to Abbey's balcony and the open French doors. What was she thinking to leave an invitation to everyone? Especially after witnessing a murder and nearly being murdered herself.

  He hurried up the slope through the trees to the house on the cliff. It was the replica of a villa he'd seen in the south of France, also with many windows, balconies, and a tower. The one in France was used as a hotel and was certainly large enough for it.

  He looked straight up from the foundation of the building. The structure rose three stories high and, of course, Abigail's balcony was at the highest point. He stood beneath the balcony and studied the vine-covered walls for the best way up. It wasn't easy and it wasn't fast, but he made it with a steady crawl, more annoyed than ever that anyone could have gotten into the house. Worse, he found finger-and footholds where there shouldn't have been, almost as if an invisible ladder was stretching up the wall of the house for him, or anyone else.

  Gaining the balcony, he went over the railing and sat for a moment on the floor, listening for sounds of movement. He took a few minutes to check the grounds below before going into Abigail's room, in case Prakenskii returned. As he walked boldly through the open doors, he felt a curious electrical charge running through his body and the air seemed to light up with tiny sparks much like fireflies. He blinked and the peculiar sensation was gone, as if it had never been.

  Abigail lay on the bed beneath a thick quilt, her fist clenching the soft folds. Her bright red hair spilled across her pillow and pooled on the sheets. He made no sound as he crossed the room and sank down onto the full-sized four-poster bed. Her lashes were spiky wet as if she'd been crying, but when she opened her eyes, there were no tears, only blazing hot anger mixed with panic as she launched herself at him.

  He caught her and slammed her back down to the mattress, hissing at her. "You don't want to wake your sisters." Until that moment, he hadn't realized the rage that seethed just below the surface. Maybe the night's events fed it, maybe her careless actions and even the danger to her contributed, but more than that, it was her steadfast implacable resolve not to give him a chance. She had tossed him aside so easily, without a confrontation, without a single word spoken, without allowing for any explanations.

  Aleksandr took a breath and let it out slowly, careful that his grip on her couldn't possibly hurt.

  Abigail stared up at his broad shoulders and familiar face. She loved his face. Loved the angles and planes and lines etched deep that spoke of hardship. Right now his eyes were ice cold and she knew he meant business, but she didn't care. "You mean you don't want me to wake them. They'll call Jonas and you'll be the one hauled to jail. It won't be as bad as what happened to me, but you won't like it."

  Aleksandr let her go. "Go ahead and scream, Abbey. Let your sisters call your annoying friend. Just know that I'm not in the mood to be generous tonight." He leaned down to remove his shoes. "It's on you if anything happens. I'm just too damned tired to care."

  "What are you doing?" Abigail sat up, her eyes smoldering with temper.

  "I just told you. I'm tired. It's been a hell of a day. I'm going to lie down while we talk."

  "In my bed?" Her voice was strangled with outrage. "I don't think so." She looked wildly around for her robe. "You're such a pompous ass, thinking you can come into my bedroom and crawl into my bed like nothing happened. Get out before I lose my temper. You have no idea what could happen if I lost my temper, Aleksandr." Neither did she, but for a moment she wished she were Hannah and could turn him into a reasonable facsimile of a toad.

  Before she could get her hands on her robe, he bunched it in his fist and tossed it across the room. "You were parading around on your balcony for the entire world to see--including a Russian hit man, a particularly efficient one." He glared at her. "I don't think you need a robe to talk to me."

  That stopped her. She stared up at him, horrified. "What do you mean, a Russian hit man? Here? After me? Are my sisters and my aunt in danger?" She slipped off the bed to pace across the floor. Aleksandr wouldn't lie to her about something like that. "Because of what I saw? What I heard?"

  "What did you hear?"

  "A name, that's all. One was called Chernyshev. I told you what I saw. Why would they send a hit man after me?"

  "I don't know that he was after you. I only know he's a very dangerous man. Chernyshev is a fairly popular surname in my country." He sighed heavily. "If he belongs to the mafia, they are very violent."

  "He was very violent. He was shooting everybody and everything, including the dolphins." She swept her hand through her hair as she paced. "I've got to leave, get away from my family. I won't put them in danger."

  "Slow down, Abbey. We don't even know what's happening yet."

  "What's going on? You have to know or you wouldn't be in Sea Haven. All of a sudden we have Russians killing each other and hit men are hanging around outside my family home? Why are you here, Sasha? Why would you come here?" She came back to him, knelt on the floor beside the bed, and stared at him with her incredible eyes.

  He had forgotten how her eyes looked up close. They could be as clear and beautiful or as turbulent and wild as the sea she loved so much. Kneeling there with her abundance of rich red hair cascading to the curve of her bottom, she looked the witch some people called her. The witch his people had thrown out after first putting her through hell.

  He had called in every favor owed to him, had even used old contacts and routes he had long ago given up for police work, to get her safely out of the country. She didn't know the risks he'd taken or the consequences of his actions. She didn't know about the bloodbath left in her wake. But she knew he was responsible for the government picking her up in the first place. He was responsible for a lot of things. Mostly for putting the wariness into her eyes. The fear. She had never really been afraid until she met him.

  "You returned every single one of my letters unopened." He lay back, his fingers linked behind his head.

  "Why are you here?" she repeated.

  "Because you're here."

  Abigail closed her eyes, briefly allowing pain to wash over her. She'd lived with heartache for so long it was a part of her. She detested pathetic, weeping women who couldn't live without the man who broke their heart. She was always strong. She never had a problem walking away. And no one pushed her around. Until Aleksandr. She was weak-willed with him. Was it just because she wanted the chance to lie beside him, feel his raw strength, his warmth, just one more time?

  Aleksandr turned her well-ordered world upside down. He could make her body come alive with one smoldering look. With a touch. Just by walking toward her. She'd actually become that pathetic. Fury swept through her, temper rising to give aid to her instincts of self-preservation. She wasn't going through hell again. She had some small measure of self-respect. Well...maybe not. Maybe it was self-preservation, because he'd almost destroyed her. He'd ruined her joy of life, and he'd shattered her trust in herself. He'd damaged a lot of the qualities that defined Abigail Drake and he'd left her an empty shell.

  "Damn you, Sasha. Go away. My home is the only refuge l
eft to me."

  "All you had to do was read my letters, Abbey. You didn't even do me that courtesy."

  She turned her head to look at him, suddenly furious. It welled up, a hot fountain of rage, and she allowed it to boil over. She leapt up, detesting the image of a woman kneeling at his feet. "Courtesy? Do you think I owe you courtesy? You let them drag me off and treat me like an animal. You knew what they were doing to me. Do you want to know how many times they hit me? How many hours I was interrogated? Slapped? Spit on? Do you want the ugly little details? Or do you already have them?" She stared down into his face. His handsome, chiseled face that never gave anything away. She wanted to slap him so she twisted her fingers together and fought for control. "You betrayed me. You betrayed everything we were together. Damn you for that."

  At the sound of footsteps running down the hall, Abigail turned toward the door and waved her hand. Locks clicked in place.

  "Abbey!" Hannah's voice cried out. "Are you all right?"

  "Stay out," Abigail ordered. "I'm perfectly fine."

  "You're not all right," Joley insisted. "We can all feel you."

  "I'm handling it," Abigail said. "Please, just go back to bed. I need to do this."

  There was a small silence. "If that's what you want, Abbey," Hannah said.

  "It's what I need," she said and turned to look down at Aleksandr.

  He lifted his hand to touch her. He knew it was a mistake when he did it, but he couldn't resist. Her eyes held too much sorrow, too many shadows, and it tugged on his heartstrings. The moonlight spilled across her face, bathing her face and hair in silver and she looked a temptation, a red-haired vision he couldn't get out of his mind. His hand slid into the mass of silky hair; his thumb caressed her soft skin as he framed her face. "I dream about you every night."

  "I have nightmares about you." Why couldn't she pull away? Any other man would be writhing on the floor. Why did he make her so weak? Why did she crave him like some terrible drug? She hadn't been a weak woman until he came into her life. "You nearly destroyed me. Do you really think I want anything to do with you?"

  "Did it occur to you it nearly destroyed me as well? I love you, Abbey. You're my heart and soul. Did you ever, even once, wonder why, wonder what was happening?"

  "Of course I did. I loved you." She deliberately used the past tense. That got his attention. His eyes glittered at her, a warning, but she was beyond caring. "I didn't want to believe you would betray me and leave me when I needed you the most, but you did. I didn't want to hear an explanation. Either I was important to you or I wasn't. Obviously I wasn't, so I moved on. That's life, Aleksandr."

  "What is going on between you and your policeman friend, Harrington?" Aleksandr kept his voice mild, but his gut was churning. Abigail was a stubborn woman. If she made up her mind not to give him a chance, it would be nearly impossible to change her decision. His one hope was that she was at last arguing with him. Abigail walked away from confrontations. She once had confided that her temper terrified her and she refused to allow herself to be placed in any position where she would want to retaliate.

  She was also very loyal. He had learned that the hard way. In the days of interrogation, she'd refused to betray him, remaining stubbornly silent no matter what was threatened or done to her. He rubbed his hand over his face, chasing away the nightmares of watching the tapes. She had been so alone. So frightened. And she hadn't known he was working frantically behind the scenes to get her free, to have her deported. She hadn't known that things had gone so drastically wrong.

  "You stay away from Jonas Harrington."

  There was fierce protection in her voice. And affection. He flinched from that realization. "What is he to you?"

  "None of your business."

  "I've lost my partner, Abbey. I nearly killed you. I just had an encounter with a very dangerous man who tried to kill me outside your house. More than anything I'm worried about you because when he goes hunting, he doesn't miss." And it didn't make sense to him. If Prakenskii had been ordered to kill Abigail Drake he would have done so with no hesitation. What other reason could he have for being there? Aleksandr squashed the urge to go after the man. He had learned a hard lesson about acting without all the facts and he wasn't about to make another, perhaps fatal mistake.

  "Tell me more about him," Abigail urged.

  "His name is Ilya Prakenskii. We were raised in a state-run home together and we watched each other's back. It had to be that way. Even there, when we were young and they were training us for our work, there were always power plays going on. It's a way of life where I come from."

  "You know him?"

  "Probably better than anyone else," he confirmed. "If there's one man I respect and even like, it's Ilya, but our handlers didn't encourage friendship. He went one way and I went another. But Ilya doesn't miss. I don't know why he's here, but he said he didn't know Danilov and I believe him. He's reputed to work for Sergei Nikitin and Nikitin is mafia, a very violent man who likes to solve his problems in extreme ways."

  Abigail's heart jumped into her throat. "You said there was a hit out on you. Is he here for you?"

  "He says not."

  "But he was here, and he knows you would come here. Why else would he be watching this house and me unless it had something to do with me witnessing your partner's death or to get at you? It's the only logical explanation."

  Aleksandr nodded. "That's true, but I don't think I'm his target. He warned me I had powerful enemies."

  "Do you?"

  "Of course. I wouldn't be where I am without having made enemies. You have to understand the dynamics going on in my country. There've been so many changes over the last twenty years, so many shifts in power, and no one ever wants to give up power."

  "What did you do that's so bad someone would put out a hit on you?"

  There was a small silence. Abigail's heart sank. She sat on the edge of the bed. "It was something to do with my leaving Russia, wasn't it?"

  "Yes." He wasn't going to lie to her. "I had enemies I didn't know about and they took their opportunity when they had it after what happened."

  She sucked in her breath sharply, holding up her hand to stop him. "Shut up. Just shut up. Don't talk about it."

  "If we don't talk about it, we'll never get past it," he said gently.

  "There is no getting past it. Not now. Not ever. Do you have any idea what you put me through? You tore out my heart and you just let them beat me. Damn you, Sasha, don't even pretend you didn't know what they were doing to me. You knew everything going on. You had too many contacts not to know. You let them." She was sick again. Her stomach was protesting, a sickness that never seemed to go away no matter how many antacids she took.

  "I didn't know until it was too late and then I moved heaven and earth to get you out fast. And damn it, you know why."

  She covered her face with her hands. "I don't want to think about it. I don't want to ever think about it. I may as well have pulled the trigger myself. That poor man and his poor wife. I have to live with the responsibility of his death. I know that, but I didn't deserve what you did to me. If that's your idea of punishment..."

  "Stop!" For the first time he raised his voice in a string of Russian curses. "It wasn't a punishment. You were never responsible for the death of that man. There were all kinds of things leading up to it, none of which you had a hand in. His death was a terrible tragedy, and one I regret, but it had nothing to do with you." He forced his body to relax, forced air through his lungs. "Is that what you really think? That I was punishing you?"

  "You left me completely alone. I know you deserted me when I needed you most. You turned me over to the authorities and you let them interrogate me. You knew what that meant and you did nothing about it."

  "How do you think you got out of the country? You aren't rotting in prison. You were deported and out of the country within days of your arrest. Do you think that really happens in Russia? If you believed I deserted you, why didn't you accus
e me? Why didn't you name me when they were asking for information?"

  Abigail sank down onto the edge of the bed. "I don't know. I didn't know what would happen to you." She shook her head again. "I thought I deserved how they treated me after what happened. I should have known he felt guilty because of his daughter's death, not that he was guilty. I shouldn't have had any preconceived notions when I went into that room. Everyone sounded so certain he'd murdered her, that he was the one who was killing those children, but I shouldn't have let that influence me. You were asking him so many questions, firing them at him over and over, and the other cops were doing the same. He acted guilty. He wanted to confess something. Anything. When I asked if he was guilty and he said yes, I felt it was wrong, but I was so busy listening to the officers, to you." She broke off and covered her face again. "I betrayed my own gift. I asked the wrong questions and he confessed his guilt, just as I led him to do. And then he reached for the gun that stupid officer had sitting there so conspicuously."

  "If we drove him to commit suicide we were all to blame, not you," he said.

  "If? If? There is no if. He was made to believe he was guilty for the loss of his child. No one comforted him. No one counseled him. He felt guilty because he was watching her while his wife was away and he fell asleep. He took a nap."

  "He was drinking. He drank too much and he went to sleep in the afternoon."

  "Does that absolve what we did to him? He wasn't the killer, but you suspected he wasn't. You suspected it even when you brought him in for questioning, didn't you?"

  "We always look at the parents first."

  "But you didn't tell me your suspicions. You already had a suspect."

  "I had no evidence, Abbey. I had to follow procedure. I brought the parents in and questioned him just as I would any other suspect."

  "But you didn't believe he was guilty. Everyone was hammering away at him and I just joined in." Abbey bit at her knuckles in agitation. Night after night she saw the man's face and her own hands covered in his blood. "I helped kill him."