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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 not going to make it. If you're waiting to get her out of your system, don't bother. I've known you for nearly fifteen years now and it hasn't happened yet. You were in love with her then and you're in even worse shape now. You don't have a shot in hell of making those feelings go away. Bottom line, bro, over the years you've gone crazier and crazier on me. You can't do that shit and work undercover."
    Jonas swore under his breath. Jackson wasn't telling him anything he didn't already know. If he tried to deny he was that far gone, to claim that he could still hold it together, it would be a lie. He thought about Hannah every minute of every day. He dreamt about her at night when he could actually sleep. He often woke up dripping sweat, hard as a rock, his body on fire with need, the taste of her in his mouth, the scent of her in his lungs. It was getting worse, so much so that he was afraid to go to sleep at night. And when he saw her, he had to find something to push her away or he'd do something crazy like drag her into his arms and then it would just plain be the hell over. Because he didn't know how to be anything but what he was.
    "You're damned lucky she hasn't gone and found another man, Jonas."
    "Don't go there, Jackson."
    Jackson's head went up alertly, his body going still, suddenly menacing. He stood up abruptly and signaled Jonas to silence, stalking once again to the door. "We've got company."
    "You've got to be kidding me." He didn't bother to ask if Jackson was sure—the man's instincts had saved them repeatedly over the years. Jonas yanked the needle out of his arm and slid off the bed, looking around frantically for his shirt. It had been cut to ribbons, the material lying on the floor in a bloody heap. He grabbed his jacket, easing his arms into it. "What the hell did Duncan get us into? Karl Tarasov is not going to stop until he recovers the evidence. He isn't about to let his uncle go down for murder."
    Jackson held up four fingers. "They'll be waiting outside as well. The Gadiyan brothers are cracking heads looking for us."
    "Shit." Boris and Petr Tarasov headed the family of vicious mobsters renowned for their ability to launder money in any part of the world. Their criminal activities were legendary and they ruled by bloody force. Karl, Pete's son, and the Gadiyan brothers, in-laws, were their top enforcers. Having them on their trail wasn't promising.
    Jonas instinctively started back toward the door, but Jackson stepped in front of him. "What we have on them is too important to lose. You