Oceans of Fire by Christine Feehan Page A

years and I’m tired of sitting in that huge southern house all alone, surrounded by my photograph albums and nothing else. I love my job as a Creative Memories consultant, but I want to make my memories, not just advocate to others to preserve theirs.”
    “We’re glad you’ve come, Aunt Carol,” Kate said. “We especially need help planning the weddings.” She looked at Sarah. “Or should we say wedding? Sarah and I want to have a double wedding.”
    “What about Abbey?” Joley said mischievously, nudging Abigail with her bare foot. “Maybe we’ll have three brides.”
    “Very funny, Joley. Aunt Carol, take a picture of Joley. You’ll make a fortune on the Internet. Rock star lounging at home in her favorite superstar PJs. You could sell it to the tabloids,” Abigail suggested.
    Joley merely rolled her ankle in small lazy circles. “You’d better spill the beans, Abbey. I’ve got the mother of all headaches and the least you can do is tell us how you sort of are, but maybe not, engaged to a Russian stranger who just happens to be a spy.”
    “He’s not a spy,” Abbey said.
    “How do you know, dear?” Carol asked as she tipped the camera to get a better angle on Joley. “Joley, move your head just a little. I’m picking up a glare.”
    “You can’t be picking up a glare,” Joley protested, turning her head to look behind her. “It’s dark outside.”
    “I’m certainly picking up a light at the window. Oh, it’s gone. It must have been the moon.”
    There was a sudden silence. The seven Drake sisters looked at each other uneasily. Hannah raised her arms and a wind rushed through the house, setting the drapes dancing closed across the windows. Joley sketched a complicated pattern in the air. At once silver symbols leapt to life, sparkling and fading away just as fast.
    “What did you see, Sarah?” Carol asked, her voice losing the teasing notes and becoming serious. “Because I didn’t like what I saw.”
    Carol had the gift of “sight” just as Sarah did. She was the eldest of her seven sisters. Sarah and Carol exchanged a long look and then both turned to Abigail.
    Abbey felt a chill sweep down her spine.
    “What happened in Russia, Abbey?” Sarah asked. “There is death between you and this man. I see blood and death and violence.”
    There was no accusation in Sarah’s voice, none in her expression, but Abbey wanted the floor to open up and swallow her. She was different. Flawed. Her crime an unspeakable one. She shook her head. “I can’t. Please don’t ask me. Everything will change and you’re the only refuge I have left to me besides the sea. If you love me, don’t ask me to explain.”
    “It’s because we do love you,” Sarah said gently.
    Abigail dragged herself up, tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry. I can’t talk about it.” She couldn’t talk about it, couldn’t think about it, slamming the door in her mind closed to prevent throwing herself off a cliff. She would never be free of what she’d done, the harm she’d caused. And she’d never be free of Aleksandr Volstov.
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Chapter 3

     

    CONCEALED in the shrubbery at the bottom of the hill, Aleksandr stood staring up at the house on the cliff. Abigail Drake. She’d haunted him for years. He knew which room was hers. It faced out over the hillside, with an ocean view from her balcony. The sliding glass doors were wide open and white lace drapes danced with the breeze coming in off the ocean. He had been most careful to observe every entry point, every weakness of the house, when he was inside. He’d even tested the stairs for creaks.
    The house was enormous and seemed shrouded in secrets. Fog lay heavy around the sprawling building and in the trees, as if guarding the structure and its occupants. The misty tendrils were eerie in the silvery moonbeams, wrapping the balconies and windows in ghostly gray.
    She was up in that house. In that room. Only a few yards away from him, no longer halfway around the