Drake Sisters 05 - Safe Harbor

how much he loved her. He was a man who always, always , wanted control, yet Hannah threw him off balance. There was no controlling Hannah. She was like the wind, unpredictable and fluid, slipping through his fingers every time before he could catch and hold her.
    She made him angry when few others could get under his skin. She could soothe him with a touch. He was happy just looking at her—watching her—yet half the time he wanted to yank her over his knees and spank her beautifully shaped bottom. Hannah was complicated and he needed simple. She was brilliant and he was all brawn. She was ethereal, untouchable, the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen—magical even, and so out of his reach.
    She was going to be furious with him for getting shot again. Especially as the last time had been only a few weeks earlier and he would have died without her. She'd nearly died herself trying to save him, sitting by his side for days on end, pouring her strength into him and leaving none for herself. He'd been too weak to push her away.
    He'd needed her there on so many levels, but it had been hell to watch her grow pale and fragile while he grew stronger.
    Then afterward, how had he thanked her? Not the way she deserved, that was for sure.
    He'd been so edgy and restless, so moody. When the boss of his former special black ops team had come asking for help, he'd jumped at the chance rather than telling Hannah the truth about how badly she shook him up. He'd rather look death in the face like some defiant child. All because he loved her so much it was a torment and he knew he could never have her and keep his life the way it was. It wasn't that Hannah would object to the dangerous things he did—if she'd even have him—but he wasn't about to risk putting her in danger. Over the years, he'd made enough enemies that, sooner or later, one was bound to come after him—hell, it had already happened more than once.
    He drew in a breath and tried not to wince. "Okay. You could be right. There's a chance she had something to do with it."
    Jackson's eyebrow shot up. "A chance," he echoed.
    Jonas scowled. "Keep it up. You'll be pulling every crap shift for the next ten months." It was an empty threat, but it was all he had left. He felt so damn tired and empty he just wanted to crawl in a hole and hide for a while, but he knew what was coming and there was no stopping it.
    Jackson waited until the doctor had left the room before pulling up a chair and straddling it, facing both the door and the window. "I'm serious, Jonas. You're going to get yourself killed. You stepped right under that light in full view to take that shot.
    You had to have known you were exposed."
    "Karl Tarasov, that son-of-a-bitch enforcer, put a fucking bullet in our driver's head, Jackson," Jonas snapped.
    "It was an amateur move and you know it." Jackson was silent a moment. "Or suicidal." Again he fell silent, allowing the word to hang between them.
    Jonas sighed and shook his head. "I'm tired out, Jackson, not suicidal. I was just so pissed. He didn't have to kill the driver. Terry hadn't seen anything. Tarasov did it as a statement. So fuck them. I was just so angry."
    "You have no business doing this kind of work, Jonas, I've told you that before. You just can't detach. We survived all these years because we stayed cool. You aren't responsible for Terry's death. He chose to drive the car. You weren't responsible for losing any of our men at any time." He sighed. Talking wasn't his forte and he'd been doing too much of it to keep Jonas on his feet. But this—this was important. Jonas was going to get himself killed. "You can't be emotional and survive, not in this business."
    There were few men Jackson respected—Jonas was one of them. The man never stopped caring. It didn't matter if the bullets were flying and the jungle closed in, he'd come back for you. But life in the fast lane took a toll on men who cared and it was eating Jonas one small piece at a time.
    Jonas shoved his fingers through his hair. Jackson was right. There was no way around it. "I know." But he'd never learned to turn it off. Hell yeah, he felt responsible.
    He couldn't sleep half the time, thinking about the boys, those young Rangers under his command, he'd brought home in caskets. There'd been too many of them, and of late, they'd haunted him both night and day.
    "You're messed up, man. She's messed you up. You're going to have to resolve this thing that's between you or you're