Deadly Game (GhostWalkers, #5)(125)

Still, he had no choice. She was his ace in the hole and he had no other option but to use her if he wanted to survive. He reached out into the night and connected with a feminine mind. He knew her. He’d always known her. He could picture her in his mind, standing on the captain’s walk overlooking the sea, her platinum and gold spiral curls cascading down her long back all the way to her luscious butt, her face serious, gaze on the sea—waiting.

Hannah Drake. If he inhaled he could breathe her in. She would know he was in trouble. She always knew. And, God help him, maybe that was what this was all about. Maybe he had wanted her attention—needed her attention—and this was the only way left to him. Could he be so f*cking desperate that he would not only risk his life, but Jackson’s as well? He didn’t know what he was doing anymore.

Hannah. He knew he touched her mind, that she touched his. That she had known the moment the trouble had started and she had been waiting, steady as a rock. In her own way she was as reliable as Jackson; she waited only for a direction before striking. Now that she had one, all hell was really going to break lose. Hannah Drake one of seven daughters born to the seventh daughter in a line of extraordinary women. Hannah Drake. Born to be his. Every harsh breath he drew into his lungs, every promise to stay on his feet, to stay alive, he gave for Hannah.

Jackson pointed back toward the building and Jonas swore under his breath. He took a tentative step back toward the shadows, bent over, stomach heaving, tossing up every scrap of anything he’d had to eat or drink in the last few hours. The terrible wrenching sent another wave of dizziness sweeping over him and jackhammers did a macabre tap dance, ripping through his skull. Sweat dripped and blood ran and reality retreated just a little more.

Jackson got an arm under his shoulder. “You need me to pack you out?”

They’d need Jackson’s gun if they were going to make it. Jonas had to find a way to dig deep and stay on his feet, crossing the distance and climbing for freedom with two bullets and a still-fresh wound from an earlier gunshot. He shook his head and took another step, leaning heavily on Jackson.

Hannah, baby. It’s now or never. He sent the silent prayer into the night, because if there was ever a moment that he truly needed her unusual skills, it was now.

The wind answered, rising fast and furious. It blew down the alley with the force of a hurricane, howling and ripping strips of wood off the buildings. Debris swirled, rose into the air, and flew in all directions. Cardboard and other trash hurtled through the air, slamming into anything in its path as the wind made its way to the back of the alley where it curved and began to race in a horrifying circle around and around, faster and faster, building more speed and ferocity. The wind never touched either Jackson or Jonas; rather, it moved around them, creating a cocoon, building a shield where dirt and debris churned to form a barrier between them and the world.

Be safe. Two little words, wrapped up in silks and satin and soft colors.

“We’ve got to move,” Jackson said.

Jonas forced his feet to keep shuffling, every step wrenching at his insides, the pain grinding through his body until he could only clench his teeth and try to breathe it away. His efforts didn’t work. Hannah. Baby. I don’t think I’m going to make it home to you.

The wind rose to a shriek of protest, throwing everything in its path into the air. Arms and legs tangled as men went down or slammed into the sides of the buildings along with the debris. Jonas could hear screams and grunts of pain as their enemies, caught out in the unnatural tornado, were tossed about in the fury of the wind.

Jonas stumbled and managed to catch himself, but pain and the waves of dizziness and nausea were his enemies now. His stomach heaved and the ground tilted. Blackness edged his vision. He stumbled again, and this time he was certain he would go down, his legs turning to rubber. But before he could fall, he felt the pressure of the wind nearly lifting him, supporting him, wrapping him up in safe arms.

He let the wind take his weight and carry him to the ladder. Jackson stepped back to allow Jonas to go up first, all the while watching the alley and surrounding buildings, squinting against the force of the wind.

Jonas reached up toward the last rung of the ladder and white-hot pain burst through him, driving him to his knees. At once the wind caressed his face, a soft fanning, as if a small hand touched him with gentle fingers. All around him raged a virtual tornado, yet tendrils broke off from the spinning mass and seemed to lift him up in strong arms.

He let Jackson help him to his feet, buoyed by the wind, and he tried again, working with the Hannah’s windstorm, allowing the strong updrafts to aid him as he bent his knees and leapt to close the gap between him and the lowest rung. The metal struck the palms of his hands and he closed his fingers in a tight grip. The wind pushed and he reached for the next rung before his body could absorb the shock of taking his weight.

Somewhere far off, he heard someone’s hoarse cry of agony. His throat seemed ripped raw and his side felt on fire, but he let the wind push and push until he was moving up the ladder to the roof. He crawled onto the roof, praying he wouldn’t have to get up again, knowing he had no choice.

Jackson dropped a hand on his shoulder as Jonas knelt on the roof, fighting for air. “You got another run in you?”

His ears were ringing so loudly, Jonas almost missed the thin whisper. Hell no. Did it look like it? He nodded and set his jaw, struggling back to his feet. The rain was relentless, pouring down on them, driven sideways by the wind, but still they seemed wrapped in a cocoon of protection.