Libby drew in her breath. "Drew? Are you certain? What on earth would he be doing out in this kind of weather? And what would he be doing on the cliffs? He knows how dangerous they are." The cliffs were extremely hazardous, fractured by huge cracks, weakened by the ever-eroding sea, rock crumbling away without warning. Even without the signs posted up and down the coastline, all the locals knew better than to risk their lives climbing the treacherous, unstable rock faces. "How bad is he hurt, do you know?"

"Orthopedic is with him now. You'll have to check with the ER docs, Libby. We've been so busy here in surgery today I haven't had a chance to really hear much."

"Thanks Evelyn. I'll go see him on my way out."

Libby tossed her gloves into a trash can and lifted a hand as she hurried down the hall toward the ER. She had known Drew his entire life. He wasn't a kid who did stupid things. He'd grown up in the small town of Sea Haven and he certainly knew the hazards of the crumbling cliffs due to the continual pounding of the sea and natural erosion. It made no sense to her that Drew would be out in the rain on a dangerous cliff when he had worked so hard to keep his leukemia in remission.

The ER was bustling with more than usual activity. The moment she set foot in the emergency room, she felt her body respond to the call for healing. Her stomach lurched and her temples began to throb. Somebody was in bad shape. Normally she didn't feel the call to heal so urgently, but this time every cell in her body began to crackle with energy. Her palms grew warm.

One of the ER nurses was Linda Bowers, a friend from high school. "What's going on?" Libby asked briskly.

"Helicopter rescue," Linda answered, "off the cliffs of Sea Lion Cove."

"The weather's horrible with the wind and rain. I heard it was Drew Madison. I can't imagine what he was thinking messing around out there. Everyone knows how dangerous it is."

"Jonas and Jackson have been in with Drew and from the small bits of conversation I'm hearing, they aren't so certain it was an accident. Pete Granger spotted him after Drew had apparently fallen or slid or maybe climbed halfway down the cliff. Then he fell the rest of the way onto the rocks."

"How bad is he injured?"

"No brain injuries, but surgery on his legs for certain. Ortho is looking at him. He's refusing to talk to his mother. He doesn't want to see her and she's totally hysterical. We even offered her a sedative." Linda frowned. "I think you should know, she's blaming you and your sisters."

"What? How could we be responsible for Drew going out onto the cliffs? Kate owns the property, but the cliffs are clearly marked unsafe and there's a fence surrounding the bluff with warning signs posted everywhere. She can't blame Kate-or us for that matter."

"Apparently she asked you to cure Drew."

Libby pressed her hand to her stomach. The need to act was becoming far more urgent. Someone was in dire straights and it wasn't Drew with his need for surgery. She felt the pull toward her left and even took a step in that direction before she could stop herself. "I can't cure Drew. I told her that. My sisters went with me and we worked on him to buy him more time in the hopes that research will be more aggressive."

Libby worked at staying focused on the conversation. It was important to her, but the continual draw toward the room to the left was strong. She could see through the gla.s.s part.i.tion someone hooked up to machines. Whoever the patient was, his life was ebbing away.

"Irene thinks Drew tried to commit suicide."

That caught Libby's attention. "That's just not possible. He's battled leukemia for years. He's always been determined to live."

"She put him in an experimental program with some new drug with the hopes of a complete cure. She blames the drug as well, says a side effect is depression."

That caught Libby's attention. "Not PDG-ibenregen?"

Linda nodded. "That's the drug. Why? What have you heard?"

"I warned Irene to be careful of that drug. Drew fell into the age group where preliminary reports showed problems with depression. I didn't think the drug was ready for human trials and I told her as much." Libby rubbed her pounding temples, trying to resist the pull toward the patient in the next room. "Why in the world didn't she listen to me? She asked me about it and I've done a lot of research on it. I was interested because the drug was based on the original work of someone I went to school with, but in the first phase of clinicals, there were two teens with problems and that raised a red flag to me. You might remember the original researcher, Tyson Derrick; he actually lives here on and off with his cousin, Sam Chapman. A few years ago he received a n.o.bel Prize in medicine for his studies in wound-healing cellular regeneration."

"Well, he won't be winning any more n.o.bel Prizes for anything. He was the rescuer that went down the rope. His safety harness failed and he fell. Major head trauma, internal injuries. The scans are bad. They're sending him to San Francisco, but I doubt he'll live through the night."

Libby sucked in her breath and pressed her hand to her suddenly churning stomach. "Tyson was the rescuer?" She turned her head toward the gla.s.s part.i.tion, trying to see the face of the patient. "Are you certain? He's a biochemist. A renowned researcher. He's brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. Jonas mentioned only last night that Ty worked for the forestry, but I didn't think..." Her voice drifted off.

"His parents died a couple of years ago and left him more money than everyone in Sea Haven has put together. Sam will most likely inherit everything. This must be awful for him. They're very close and Tyson's his only relative."

"That's why he worked with the forestry. Sam's a firefighter." Libby couldn't pull her gaze away from the gla.s.s. "I can't believe this happened. Who worked on Ty?"

"I'm sorry, Libby, I can see you're upset, but Dr. Shayner did a thorough workup on the patient. Tyson was intubated immediately and the doctor ordered a CT scan as well as a head and spinal scan. His pupils were blown and his corneal and gag reflexes as well as ocular movement were all unresponsive. He's comatose."

"I want to see the scans."

Linda led the way into the room without comment. "Dr. Shayner is arranging to fly him to San Francisco. He's consulting with neurological."

Libby's heart dropped as she studied the scan. "The mortality rate for diffuse anoxal injuries is high," she murmured aloud, her frown deepening. The brain had been jarred too hard with the fall, causing the anoxals to tear. "The only method for treating is stabilizing. He has both subdural and dural hematomas." Libby continued to talk to herself.

Tyson was bleeding both on the brain and underneath. The brain was swelling. Libby closed her eyes briefly. She couldn't look at him. She had to leave while she could. Walk out the door and not look back. Her legs felt rubbery. Her body swayed slightly and she steadied herself with one hand against the wall, leaning forward to take deep breaths.

"Libby, are you okay?" Linda put her hand on Libby's back to stabilize her. With a little cry she lifted her palm to her mouth. "You're burning up, Lib." Her fingers felt scalded and sore.

There was no getting around it. Libby couldn't leave Tyson, not with his brilliance, his incredible brain so capable of doing so much good. She couldn't walk out. She heard Linda as if at a great distance, words buzzing in her head, but she couldn't focus. Libby pushed off the wall and found her body moving automatically toward the room where Tyson Derrick lay close to death.

No! Libby, get out of there. It's too dangerous.

Elle, the youngest Drake, was a strong telepath. Libby heard the urgency in her voice, the fear building to terror, but she couldn't stop, even though she recognized the danger wasn't just to her-but to all of her sisters. They were locked together as their ancestors had been before them. The gifts might be individual, but they shared power and energy and somehow, in a way they didn't fully understand, they were bound, one to the other, in those gifts.

She heard her own sob of despair, her plea for understanding and apology to her sisters for her inability to stop. She caught the edge of the door hoping to give herself time to think, time to stop, but her feet moved of their own volition carrying her to the side of the gurney. Light spilled out of her body, burst from her fingertips as she approached Tyson.

Libby looked down at the pale, blood-streaked face. Her heart lurched. It was definitely the Tyson Derrick she remembered, although his piercing blue eyes were closed, black lashes forming two thick crescents over dark circles. His jet black, wavy hair spilled over his forehead, strands sticking in the blood. His shoulders were even wider than she remembered; his arms denned with muscle. Her breath caught in her throat and for some strange reason her heart accelerated.

Tyson Derrick was the only man who ever managed to get under her skin. Libby was used to deference and respect working in her field. She was brilliant and knew it. Only one man had ever bested her grades. Only one man talked down to her, sometimes so rudely she cried herself to sleep at night. It was silly, but she could never quite get him out of her mind. She thought about him more than she cared to admit. It shouldn't matter that he didn't respect her as an equal-but it did. She hid the knowledge away deep where no one, not even her sisters, would ever find it, ashamed that she could be attracted to a man who treated her so carelessly, one she didn't even approve of.

"So much blood. So much pain," she whispered. He looked mangled, his face gray and stretched. It wasn't right. Tyson Derrick was a man needed in the world of medicine. He saw things others didn't and he was tenacious in looking for answers.

Libby touched her fingertips to either side of his head.

Libby! Stop! Elle and Hannah yelled the command in her mind, desperation in their voices. The cries of the others-Sarah, Kate, Abigail and Joley-echoed through her mind and faded away as the heat built in her body.

Energy crackled around her. She took a deep breath to focus. Most of the time she relied on standard medicine, but already that place inside of her, a well of energy, of light, was shifting and opening, the force coursing through her every cell, filling her up.

It was too late to pull back. A compulsion seemed to have gripped her, a need she couldn't fight, to save this one man even at the risk to her own life and sanity-even at the risk to those she loved. It was insane, but the necessity was as elemental as breathing. She let the light and energy pour from her body into Tyson's.

Pain burst over her, through her, stabbing at her head, her chest, her insides until she thought she might pa.s.s out. She forced air through her lungs, breathing deeply to ride above the pain. Heat moved through her body, down her arms to her hands and into his brain, carrying with it raw energy and light. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, streaked her face, her arms. Stones seemed to settle in her chest, crushing her lungs.

Libby began to lose focus. She stumbled back from Tyson just as he began to stir. The heart monitor leapt with activity as did the EEG. Tyson's eyelashes fluttered. He blinked rapidly, looking up at her.

Ty knew he had to be dreaming. Sometimes, when he felt completely and utterly alone, her face came to him. Libby Drake. Like now. Perfect. No one else had such perfect features. He let himself just soak her in, his gaze fastened on her oval face. Her skin glowed in exactly the way he remembered it. Alabaster pale, so soft he wanted to reach out and run the tips of his fingers over it in a caress. Her lips were full, almost pouting. Kissable lips that conjured up way too many erotic fantasies, even when she frowned at him in disapproval. He thought about her lips far too much, even during the most exciting times when he was on the trail of an elusive answer, forgetting to eat or sleep. He fixated on her, driving the pain away for a few precious minutes while he concentrated on her.

It was her he was dreaming about when he'd told Sam of his intention to date and then marry just the other night. He'd first seen Libby Drake as a woman a few years earlier across the campus and realized it was the same girl he'd known in pa.s.sing as a child, all grown up. She had those eyes. Large, perfectly shaped, a brilliant, vivid green, fringed with long, heavy lashes. Every time she looked at him he wanted to haul her up against him and kiss her until neither of them could think straight. She just had those dreamy, come-take-me-to-bed eyes he couldn't seem to resist or get out of his head.

His gaze went to her hair. In his dreams it was always down in the s.e.xy, windblown tousled style she wore so casually all through school, but today it was pulled back away from her face and twisted into some sort of intricate knot at the nape of her neck. It gleamed a deep, rich midnight black, silky soft like the rest of her. The style should have been severe, but it only enhanced her cla.s.sic bone structure and showed off her flawless skin. When he dreamed, he managed to dream the right stuff. Even with his head pounding with the continual force of a jackhammer and his body pulsing with pain, he felt the familiar stirring of his body, the way it always did when he thought of her.

He wanted to lift his hand and touch her face. Just once, feel her skin, but when he tried to move his head, the jack-hammers erupted in a frenzy, boring into his skull. He heard a groan escape from between his clenched teeth. He tasted blood in his mouth.

Ty allowed his gaze to drift once more over her face, noting the complete concentration, almost as if she were in a trance. Strangely the pain seemed to flow up his belly to his chest and shoulders, higher to his head until he wanted to scream with the pain. Libby's face suddenly contorted into a mask of agony.

The pain in Ty's head was gone and awareness of his surroundings crept in. His dreams had turned to a nightmare. He appeared to be hooked up to machines in a place he didn't recognize. His brain no longer felt in such a hazy fog and memory returned slowly. He had grabbed the Madison kid off the cliff and something went wrong. He remembered tumbling through the air, but that was impossible. It meant his safety harness failed. Their equipment didn't just fail. He remembered the sound of bones smashing, his skull crumbling like a rotten pumpkin sh.e.l.l. It had been agonizing and he shouldn't be able to remember.

A soft, pitiful sound caught his attention and he turned his head to see Libby Drake cowering away from him. He wasn't altogether certain she was real. Their gazes locked and they stared at one another while time seemed to slow down, until he was only aware of her, of every detail. Her face paled even more. A fine sheen of sweat beaded on her skin. Her hands trembled and she pressed into the wall to hold herself up. She looked completely ill.

Libby pressed a hand to her churning stomach, looking around her, very disoriented. Where was she? Elle? Hannah? Help me. She took another step back, away from the gurney and all the machines. Someone watched her, his eyes a piercing blue, stabbing at her, so that her breath came in ragged gasps.

Get to the door, Libby. The door. Elle's voice was very calm. You're not alone, I'll be with you every step of the way.

Libby heard her sisters talking to her, encouraging her, all from a great distance, their voices brushing around her mind. Strange, she couldn't sort them out, or hear what they were saying, other than Elle.

I'm so cold. Libby shivered as she pushed open the door and stumbled out into the hall. She looked around her, unable to recognize where she was. A hallway. There were people, some looking at her, others going about their business. A man dressed in a gray suit stood just outside the door she emerged from. He looked vaguely familiar, as if she should know him. He went to step in front of her, but she shrank back, holding up a trembling hand to ward him off. He appeared puzzled, shifting slightly. Libby blinked several times wondering if she were hallucinating.

Keep walking, Libby. Concentrate on me. Elle encouraged her. I'm holding on to you. I've got you safe. Ignore him and keep coming to me. I'm on my way.

Libby couldn't feel or hear her other sisters, except maybe Hannah. Was she weeping? If Hannah was crying then Libby had to get to her. She forced her body to move, one foot in front of the other. Two nurses were talking at the end of the hall and they turned to stare at her. Libby's vision blurred and she rubbed her eyes. Her hand came away red with blood. She blinked down at her fingers.

Keep coming to me, Libby. Hannah needs you. Can you hear her crying? Keep walking, don't stop. I'm almost there.

Libby only heard Elle's voice now and it was nearly drowned out by a strange roaring in her head. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, but she couldn't understand where she was or even what she was doing. She obeyed her sister blindly, stumbling down the hall toward the doors.

Before Libby managed to make it more than a few feet, a woman rushed up to her, planting herself squarely in Libby's path.

"This is your fault, Libby. All your fault!" Irene Madison shrieked the accusation at the top of her lungs. Her face was twisted with fury and she clutched her handbag like a weapon. "You're responsible for this."

Libby wrapped her arms around herself, shivering. She could see people looking at her, but she didn't know where she was. The woman shouting wasn't making much sense. Frightened, she reached for her sister. Elle? What's wrong with me?

"Surely you don't think my son's fall was an accident." Irene's voice rose to a screech. "Why would Drew be out climbing the cliff? If you had just shown a little compa.s.sion, just a little, Libby, this would never have happened."

Libby shook her head, which sent small needles drilling through her skull. She cried out and pressed her palms to her temples, looking around wildly for a way to escape.

"You never cured him. The cancer was there, eating him alive and I couldn't just watch him die. I had to do something. You left me no choice. You refused to cure him and the experimental drug program was the only option left to me. You told me the drug could cause depression. You never said a single word about suicide." Irene's tone escalated to a high-pitched scream. "You could have healed him. Why didn't you?"

Elle burst through the double doors of the hospital, running up the corridor, just as Irene hit Libby hard with her purse, not once, but repeatedly, driving her backward. Libby put up one arm in an effort to defend herself, but she was too weak and went down hard, sprawling on the floor.

Even as she ran toward her sister, Elle lifted her arms, her face a mask of fury. Wind tore down the corridor ahead of her, strong and vicious, whirling like a minitornado, slamming into Irene with such force it nearly lifted the distraught woman off the ground.

Irene screamed and covered her face as the wind whipped around her faster and faster, holding her prisoner. Her carefully styled hair stood straight up and her clothes twisted on her body. Even her earrings pulled out of her ears and hit the part.i.tion hard enough to pit the gla.s.s.

"Elle." Jackson Deveau inserted his large, stocky frame between the youngest Drake and Irene. "Stop it." His voice was very low, but carried the hard whip of command. The wind seemed to wash over the hard angles and planes of his face, whipping his hair into a turbulent frenzy, but he stood rock solid in the face of her wrath.

Elle's eyes glittered with anger. "Tell her to stop it. She a.s.saulted my sister and you just stood there. Arrest her for battery. You're supposed to be the law."

No one argued with the deputy, not even when they were drunk out of their minds. Jackson was just too dangerous. He was always quiet and rarely spoke, but when he told someone what to do, they did it. His eyes were bleak and cold, as cold as ice. Scars ran along his face and neck and disappeared into his shirt. His dark hair was thick and unruly, his features honed by violent times. Beside Jackson, Elle looked small and fragile, her body half the size of the deputy's, but she didn't back up a step. Neither did Jackson, not even when the wild wind began to tug at his clothes.

Jonas pushed past Elle and knelt beside Libby. "Knock it off, Elle," he interrupted curtly. He'd come in with Jackson and caught the tail end of Irene's attack on Libby. "You're not helping anything. Libby's going to kick your a.s.s when she comes out of this." He switched his furious gaze to Irene. "Libby's hurt bad. She's unconscious. Irene, d.a.m.n you, what the h.e.l.l did you do?" he demanded. There was blood around Libby's mouth and nose.

Irene wept hysterically. "I don't know. I just went crazy. Did I kill her?" She remained huddled against the wall, her clothes askew and her hair a tangled mess. "I didn't mean to hurt her." Her sobs increased and she slid down the wall until she was sitting on the floor, legs outspread, clutching her purse to her as she cried.

Elle sank to her knees beside Jonas, her palm skimming just above Libby's body. She cried out and s.n.a.t.c.hed her hand away, cradling her arm to her chest, turning slightly to glance at Tyson looking at them through the gla.s.s.

"She needs to go home to the others. I'll call them in and have them waiting for her. She's in bad shape. Can you carry her to the car, Jonas?"

"Maybe she should be seen by a doctor," Jonas ventured. "I've seen you all in various states of collapse, but not like this. This seems too real."

"She needs to be home. We can take care of her," Elle repeated and this time there was a definite order in her tone.

Jackson's gaze narrowed on Elle's face. "You're giving her your strength." He towered over her, reaching down to brush fiery red strands from her face. "You're already trembling, Elle."

Elle pushed his hand away. "She's my sister. Whatever she needs. She gives to everyone all the time." She glanced at Irene, censure plain on her face. "No one is more compa.s.sionate or caring than Libby. She gives and gives until she's exhausted."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Irene made an effort to get herself under control, blowing her nose loudly.

"Not at the risk of your own life. She wouldn't want that." Jackson reached down, his fingers wrapping around Elle's wrist. "Back the h.e.l.l off, Drake."

It was impossible for Elle to remove the deputy's hand and she allowed him to pull her up without a struggle, but she kept her gaze fixed on her sister as Jonas lifted Libby into his arms. Libby's dark hair spilled from the knot and cascaded down Jonas's arm. Her face was stark white, eyes closed, dark red blood dripping slowly down her face. Jonas exchanged a long look with Jackson.

"I don't have a choice, Jackson." Elle made it a statement. "I feel what she's feeling and I can't disconnect. She's not going to make it without my support. Hannah's already with us and the others will be here soon. Hannah shouldered the worst of it. Once we all share the pain and injuries, it will be easier."

Irene pushed herself up off the floor. "Elle. I really am sorry. I don't know what got into me. I think I went a little crazy. Libby's always been good to us. Did I hurt her? Please tell me I didn't hurt her."

Elle glanced up at Jackson's rough-edged features, the dark shadow of his jaw and his bleak, cold eyes. He was staring down at her without expression, but his fingers tightened around her arm. She sighed. "The worst harm was done before you hit her, Irene. You'd better go see Drew."

"He won't let me into the room."

Elle closed her eyes briefly, shadows playing across her face as she concentrated. She sighed again as she gazed at Irene, looking suddenly weary. "He needs comfort and he wants you there. He's very confused and scared. You need to go to him."

Irene nodded and, still clutching her purse, she hurried down the corridor toward the room where the orthopedic surgeon was preparing to take the boy to the operating room.

"That was nice of you, Elle," Jonas said as he began to walk down the hall toward the double doors, Libby in his arms.

"I'm not nice, Jonas." Elle looked at Jackson when she made the admission.

A faint smile briefly touched the deputy's mouth and was gone before it could reach his eyes or warm his expression.

Jonas glanced down at the youngest Drake sister. She was obviously in pain, Jackson supporting her as she walked. "Yeah, you are, Elle. Protecting Libby when someone is pummeling her wasn't such a bad thing. You didn't hurt Irene."

Tears shimmered and Elle ducked her head. "I wanted to hurt her."

"I know, baby," Jonas said gently, "but you didn't, and that's what matters."

Elle flashed a wan grin. "Thanks, Jonas. You aren't all bad either."

Jonas laid Libby in the back of his car, her head in Elle's lap. "Get Pete's statement, Jackson, see if you can get anything out of him while I take Libby home. I'll get back as soon as possible. They're taking Drew into surgery and it will be awhile before we can talk to him again. He didn't admit it, but he definitely went over that cliff on purpose. He would have gone into the ocean if he hadn't hit that outcropping. I want him seeing someone before he ever leaves the hospital."

Jackson nodded, brushed back Elle's hair again, the gesture casual, but his fingertips lingered on her skin. She scowled as she watched him stride away.

"Why do you deliberately try to provoke him?" Jonas slid behind the wheel, glancing back at her in the rearview mirror.

Elle picked up Libby's hand, wrapping her fingers tightly around her sister's palm as if she could hold her to them. "He's always so in control and he thinks everyone should do whatever he says. And everyone caters to him. Big bad Jackson. We're all supposed to be so scared." She bent and kissed her sister's brow. "No one orders me around, Jonas, least of all him. He thinks he can tell me what to do."

Jonas kept his eyes on the narrow, winding road. The highway was steep with several switchbacks. The mountain rose on one side and the ocean shimmered on the other. "You're the only one who gives that man guff."