Raymond nodded vigorously again.
Ilya sighed and took a step toward Tony.
Tony froze. "I'm sorry she was injured," he managed to blurt out, although the words were strangled and rusty sounding. "I hope it wasn't too bad."
"That wasn't so difficult, was it?" Ilya asked.
Tony shook his head.
"I want a description of the man who paid you money to injure Miss Drake." He held up his hand for silence. "Not out loud. I want separate descriptions written down. Details are important to me." He reached down and with casual strength hauled Tony to his feet, caught a chair with the toe of his shoe, spun it around and slammed the kid down into it. "Get started."
"Keep in mind while you're writing, I know where you both live. I know your names. My men will recover the device and trace the origins. Should you have any involvement other than sheer stupidity, I'll come back and do my job. Are we clear?"
Raymond kept nodding. Tony mumbled an affirmative reply. Both bent to the task the moment Ilya put pen and paper in front of them. The younger boy was an artist with a good memory for every facet of his subject. While Tony wrote down a description, Raymond drew the man who had paid them, and he drew him with close attention to detail. Ilya immediately recognized the emerging face. He waited until the boy finished.
"Both of you look at me. Look directly at me because I don't want you later to say you misunderstood me."
He had already been distorting his image and feeding their imaginations another one, but with Raymond an artist, he needed to implant memories. "I want you to draw me just as you see me, every detail so you won't forget my brown eyes, and long hair, and small dark beard. You won't forget that I'm very tall and lean. I want you to remember the sound of my voice. The pattern of my speech. Everything about me."
The two boys set to work, and Ilya watched the drawing come to life of a security guard who looked anything but like him. He shoved the first sketch, of one of Joley's crew members, John Dylan, into the inside pocket of his jacket and walked out, nodding to his two men, who immediately disappeared into the crowd.
Ilya made his way back inside the bowl, noting that Joley still had her arm wrapped in a towel as she sang a love ballad. She hadn't slowed down at all, giving her audience everything inside of her, sending her beautiful voice to every seat in the stadium with as much energy as she'd had when the show started.
Jerry came up to stand beside him. "Isn't she amazing?"
"She's in pain. Lots of pain."
Jerry nodded. "I've got a medic standing by. We'll take her straight to her bus and let him work on her there, away from cameras. There's a huge crowd of the bastards waiting for her. Ordinarily I'd be happy for the publicity, but she's running on nerves. I'm putting them all on a private plane and flying them out of here tonight. No one knows yet, not even them."
"That's probably for the best. You might give Nikitin a heads-up. He was planning a huge party for them. He won't tip the press."
"Good idea. Why don't you give him a call and let him know. Tell him what's happened and that we can't take any chances with the band. The show's almost over. I want to hustle her out of here fast, Ilya, so make certain we've got a clear path."
Ilya nodded and made the call to Nikitin. The Russian had elected not to come to the night's performance, which was highly unusual, but he'd been acting strange for the last few days. He asked if all the band members were okay, and Ilya gave him the information that Joley had been injured. He wanted the flight time, to meet them at the airport and see for himself that everyone was okay. He ordered Ilya to go with them and make certain nothing more happened to them.
It was a strange conversation, and very unlike Nikitin, who would usually be upset over the cancellation of a group he'd honored with a party. Ilya turned the conversation over and over in his mind as he made his way to the stage.
Lights flashed, the music rose to a crescendo, and the band rushed from the stage. Security lined the aisle, allowing them a quick and safe retreat. Ilya fell into step with Joley, who barely glanced at him. It was obvious he wasn't going to be forgiven anytime soon, nor was she going to acknowledge that she was angry with him.
Joley was hurried straight to her bus, where the medic waited for her. The band members crowded inside, leaving Ilya blending into the shadows where she wouldn't notice him. But she noticed. He caught her irritated and somewhat fearful gaze several times.
"You have to hurry," Jerry told the medic. "She's got a plane to catch."
"She needs stitches and probably some blood. She should go to the hospital."
Joley scowled at him. "Just get it done."
Jerry nodded to the medic, who shrugged and unwrapped Joley's arm, ignoring the manager as he addressed the band. "All of you are leaving tonight. I've got a plane waiting at the airport. Prakenskii called Nikitin and let him know we appreciated all the trouble he went to, but we aren't taking chances with Joley or any of the rest of you. We've lost one crew member—and that was no accident—I we're not losing anyone else."
"What about Tish and the baby?" Logan said. "I'm not leaving without them."
"There's room. Tell her to get ready to go."
The medic poured something that burned like acid over Joley's arm, and she cried out and jerked away from him. "Ow, you sadist. What was that for?"
"To clean the wound. Hold still. I'm numbing it."
"By sticking a needle into it? Are you crazy?" She looked around. "He's crazy. Get him out of here. I'll just wrap it up."
Jerry leveled a look at her. "You need that arm sewed up. Either here or the hospital."
She made a face at him. "It was good tonight, boys. We held it together, and I think I can safely say, that's one of the worst 'gone wrong' incidents we've had."
Rick caught her head and kissed the top of it. "Yeah, baby, you were on fire. You rocked their world tonight. Even that preacher was probably jacking off just watching you, you little sinner you."
"Thanks, I think," Joley said and flashed Rick her brightest smile. "I love that shirt on you."
Rick dusted off his chest. "Drives the women wild."
Joley laughed and then quickly changed expression, glaring at the medic. "It hurts—it hurts—it hurts—it hurts," she repeated, wincing as the needle went in and out of her skin. "Damn, can't you do something to make me not hurt?" Tears glimmered in her eyes. "Brian, hit me or something. I heard somewhere you can't hurt in more than one place."
Brian swung around, a mixture of anger, guilt and fear on his face. "I told you not to use that platform. Why don't you ever listen to anyone? You could have been killed."
"Stop jerking your arm away from me," the medic said. "You need a tetanus shot as well."
Joley glared at him. "I'm sure I don't. God, you're a freakin' butcher, and now you want to stab me with another needle. Everyone go away. I'm just fine. And for your information, Dr. Frankenstein, I can sew up my own arm. Jerry, make them all leave."
"You're kicking us out?" Brian said, his gaze shifting toward Ilya.
"Yes." She rocked back and forth. The energy high was giving way under the onslaught of nerves and pain. She needed to be alone, to pull herself back together. She was too exhausted to face any of them, let alone Ilya.
Jerry waved toward the door, and the band went out. She saw Brian glance around, and then he flipped open his cell phone. Instinct told her he was calling Nikitin. Fear skittered down her spine. "Jerry. Call Brian back." Jerry didn't turn around. She yanked her arm away from the medic and stood up.
Immediately the room swirled and the walls began to undulate. The floor shifted out from under her. Ilya caught her before she went down.
"I told you she needed blood," the medic complained.
"She'll be fine," Ilya said. "I'll take it from here."
"At least let me give her the tetanus shot."
"Do it then," Ilya suggested. "Before I throw you out on your ear."
"I'm not the one that did this to her," the medic protested.
"No, but you sure don't know much about suturing wounds either," Ilya pointed out. He waited impatiently for the man to administer the shot to Joley's arm, before placing her on the bed. The medic went out, closing the door, leaving the two of them alone.
Joley tried to say something, to stop her worst nightmare from happening, but no sound came out. She hadn't been able to bring herself to come right out and tell Jerry that she had worries about whether or not Ilya was in the Russian mob. And she certainly wasn't going to admit to sleeping with him. The best she could do was push ineffectually at him with her hand.
Ilya pretended not to notice her distress. "Lie back. I'll get you some orange juice. You can drink that while I finish sewing you up."
She made a face at his back, struggling into a semi-sitting position that made her feel less vulnerable. "You're not coming near me with a needle." She meant to sound firm, but her voice was thin and a little hoarse, as if her throat was raw.
He shot her a quelling look. "Don't waste your energy on arguing. You couldn't fight your way out of paper bag, Joley." He pushed the glass of juice into her hand and pulled her arm closer to him to inspect it. Swearing under his breath, he placed his hands over the wound and sent warmth to speed healing and hopefully numb the area while he worked.
Tears coursed down her cheeks, but Joley didn't complain or try to pull away from him. He was as gentle as he could be.
"John Dylan is the member of your crew who you thought was friends with Dean. Dylan paid two kids to plant the charge to bring down the platform. He told them it was only going to shake the platform and he'd record you falling on your butt for the Internet. They thought it would be 'cool.' Stupid kids."
Joley let out her breath and pressed her free hand to her mouth to keep from weeping. Her arm hurt like hell, and Ilya's touch was so gentle it ripped at her heart. "I didn't do anything to him. I didn't even talk to him."
"He knows you spotted him. He doesn't know how, but he knows you did. He's covering something up and doesn't want you questioning him or telling anyone that he was the one you saw that night with Dean."
"He'll figure I told you. You were with me."
"He'll try to kill me." Ilya was matter-of-fact. "I'm going to give him his opportunity."
She sucked in her breath sharply. "That's stupid. You aren't a stupid man."
He paused for a moment and waited until she looked up at him. "In some areas, I can be very stupid, Joley. I hurt you and I'm sorry for that."
Her stomach protested the turn in the conversation. She didn't want him to be nice. She didn't want him near her at all, because she didn't trust herself. She was weak when it came to Ilya, and just like every other person in the world, where she was weak, she could make a terrible mistake. "Don't worry about it. I'm a big girl."
His eyes glittered dangerously and her pulse leapt. "Joley, whatever happened the other night…"
"Stop. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to think about it. I'm tired, Ilya. And I have to catch a plane tonight. I hurt like hell and I think someone's trying to kill me. If I had any idea why, maybe I could figure it out, but I don't, so I'm screwed. I don't want you talking to me, or being nice to me, or pretending there's anything at all but sex between us, because you made it clear there wasn't. I don't like mixed signals, so don't throw them at me, especially now."
He bent over her, forcing her across the pillow. The deep sea of his eyes went from calm to stormy. "You're running from yourself, and the things you need in a relationship, not from me. I might not say what you want to hear, but there are no mixed signals. I'm fully committed to you. Now. Always."
Her heart slammed hard in her chest, and as hard as she tried, her body went into meltdown from his aggression, his strength, the raw possession and hunger in his eyes. Even with one hand wrapped around her throat, his thumb tipping her face up toward him and his thick chest weighing her down, she realized he was careful of her arm, careful to keep from jarring her. "You want sex, Ilya. You don't want to share who or what you are." Her gaze slid from his. "You know you can rule me in the bedroom, so yeah, it's probably a great turn-on for you."
"Be very careful what you say to me, Joley. I know you're hurt, and you're pushing me away, but sooner or later we're going to be alone together and you're going to have to face everything you've said or done."
Fear skated down her spine. She moistened her lips. "We're not going to be alone."
His eyebrow shot up. "Really? We are now."
He simply closed the scant inches between their lips and took her mouth. Not savagely. Not with the ravenous hunger she felt smoldering beneath the surface, but with such tenderness it nearly wrenched her heart right out of her body. Tears burned behind her eyelids, but she blinked them away. Before she could stop herself, she was kissing him back. She could try to blame it on exhaustion, but truthfully, the moment he touched her—he owned her.
Someone slammed their palm against the outside of her door. "Car's waiting. Let's go."
Ilya didn't hurry lifting his head. He finished kissing her thoroughly. "We'll figure this out, Joley, give it some time."
Pressing her hand against her burning mouth, she nodded and rushed out, Ilya following at a more leisurely pace. She didn't care if it looked to him as if she was running. She slid into the car beside Brian and closed her eyes, leaving them closed for nearly the entire ride to the airport. Around her, she could hear the others laughing and talking. Inside she wept. She hated that she had become the person she despised most. Weak and helpless against her own needs.
She watched Brian as he hurried away from the band at the airport, making his way to Nikitin's car in what had to be a previously arranged meeting. She felt for him, knew what it was like to want someone that was wrong for you. She wouldn't have understood before, but her own failings had given her a tolerance for and understanding of the weaknesses in others.