Spirit Bound - Christine Feehan [105]
Stay in the house. The sheriff is here.
Why are you so cold?
The officer behind him grabbed his left wrist. It was now or never. He knew exactly every pressure point, every vulnerable target on the man. He took a breath and relaxed his hand, allowing his wrist to be cuffed and pulled behind him.
They’re handcuffing me. I’m not good with this kind of thing.
That much was the truth. The last time he’d had his hands tied he’d been beaten senseless and burned in long patterns all over his body—a reminder not to ever let an enemy take control of him. He broke out in a sweat as the officer caught his other wrist.
Thomas, I’m so sorry. I’ll come out. Jonas will listen to me.
No! He couldn’t bear for her to see him this way. On the ground. Cuffed. Vulnerable. She couldn’t see him this way. He would never be able to maintain his control.
The deputy was thorough in his search, but he didn’t find the garrote, or the small pin he had shoved into his thumb.
Tell me what I can do.
Hearing her voice had tipped the scales, allowing him to try his brother’s way. You’ve already done it by distracting me. I’m fine now. We’ll talk later. He didn’t know if that was a plea, a threat or a command.
When she was gone, all her potent energy dissipating as fast as it had surrounded him, he felt entirely alone. She filled him up with her light, that compassion and spirit that was wholly Judith—the one she tried so desperately to suppress. Every part of him that was insubstantial, no more than a transparent phantom, she brought back to life. Without her, he was back in the cold, in the shadows, where so long ago, Sorbacov had shaped him into the ghost he’d become.
“This one is injured,” the deputy said as he helped Shariton to his feet.
“Secure him in the squad car and take his statement. I’ll talk to these two.”
Jonas Harrington was a man with a few secrets of his own. His energy, hot and bright, reached Stefan well in advance of the officer. Tall with sun-bleached hair and very focused, sea blue eyes, he crossed to them with long, confident strides. He looked a man to be careful around, but more, he felt like a man to be cautious around and Stefan always paid attention to his warning system.
Stefan recognized Jonas’s deputy immediately, from the papers years ago in their homeland, although they’d never formerly crossed paths. This man had grown up in the state-run home with the youngest Prakenskii. He’d been a formidable police detective in Russia and later, like Ilya, had worked for Interpol.
Aleksandr Volstov had midnight blue eyes and dark wavy hair. Stefan read lethal all over him. He glanced at Lev with a raised eyebrow. Lev shook his head, indicating he hadn’t met Volstov as of yet, but recognized the man from his pictures in the newspapers in Russia when he’d worked as a detective.
Volstov’s gaze sharpened when he saw Lev, his gaze flicking quickly to Jonas. Harrington gave a small shake of his head, but Stefan caught it.
He recognized you, Lev. He’s from Russia.
I know. Let it be.
“Sir, I’m going to put you in my car just while I talk to Levi.”
Stefan didn’t respond. He concentrated on remaining passive. It took discipline to walk to the car and slide into the backseat. He’d been a prisoner more than once, but he’d been young and much more trusting back then. One betrayal had been a man he’d considered his best friend. He would have turned on his trainers before he would have followed the order to outwit and kill his friend, yet Uri, no more than a boy—a teenager—had waited until his back was turned and struck. At the last moment, Stefan had seen the attack coming in the reflection of a window. He had thrown himself to one side and still carried the scar where the knife went in deep.
He stared out the window at his brother and the cop. He could read lips and, with the lights still on, he could see both men easily.
“Tell me what happened, Levi,” Jonas instructed