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Now that the imminent danger of Jake Davenport had been extinguished, Dylan found himself strangely paralyzed. He'd been focused for so long on bringing the bastard down that he wasn't sure what he was supposed to do now. As horrific as the sights he'd seen during the investigation had been, they'd done one thing; distracted him from thinking about the horrors of watching his best friend blown up by an IED in Afghanistan.
Guilt invaded him as he realized it had been days since he'd even thought of Danny. He should be relieved at not remembering the fear in his best friend's eyes as he'd died in his arms. The memories had haunted him for months.
Dylan hated to admit it now, but his brother Derek had been right to push him to get off his ass and go to work for Titan Securities. His only regret was that he hadn't been the one to put the bullet in Davenport.
The last few police lingered in the kitchen, taking statements and confirming facts with Lukus and Derek. A pang of surprised jealousy struck Dylan as he watched Derek answering questions with a sleeping Rachel cradled in his arms like a child. Dylan smiled as he watched the older uniformed cop keep glancing down at Rachel, intrigued by the pacifier she was sucking subconsciously in her slumber. Her diaper was visible under her skimpy pajamas.
Dylan finally got it.
Derek and Rachel had done a pretty good job of hiding the uniqueness of their relationship from their families, yet Dylan had always known there was something different about their marriage. He hadn't gotten the behind the curtain view into their dynamic until he'd started working for Titan Securities. In the early days of the investigation, he'd had trouble separating what was happening inside the horror house that was Strictly Disciplined from what went on inside his brother's marriage, since both were filled with spankings and punishments.
One look at the love in Derek's eyes as he kept checking on his wife was all it took to understand the difference. Everything Derek, Lukus, and Markus did with their women was done in love. Never to degrade. Never to do damage. Dylan may not understand the psychology behind it yet, but anyone with eyes could see that Rachel, Tiffany, and Brianna were getting exactly what they needed from the men in their lives.
He let his gaze drift back to the sleeping form of Hannah curled up at the end of the leather couch, a dozing Connor in her arms.
I wonder what Hannah needs to make her happy?
It wasn't the first time he'd pondered this question. He'd become obsessed with her in the previous weeks. Of that he was sure. What was less clear was: why? And, more accurately, for how long? Keeping her safe had given him purpose. Was that all there was to it?
The answer came to him when a loud-mouthed cop stomped over to Hannah and jostled her, rudely waking her. Dylan was on his feet in a flash, rushing to her side. He'd known she'd wake in a panic. He saw the fear in her eyes as she glanced around, trying to get her bearings.
The cop was barking orders. "You need to wake up, Miss Martine. We have more questions for you regarding your relationship with Jake Davenport."
Dylan stepped in between them, protecting Hannah and Connor. "Back off. She wasn't in a relationship with the bastard. She was his victim, and she can answer more questions tomorrow. She's exhausted."
Her voice rose, quiet behind him. "Dylan, thanks, but it's okay. I'd rather just get this over with so we can put it all behind us."
He turned to look down at her. She was so pale. She needed sleep. If she were his, he'd order her to the bedroom. A pang of something he wasn't sure of constricted his heart.
She wasn't his, was she?
They barely knew each other, really, and the dangerous predator that had brought them together was dead now. She didn't need him anymore.
He stepped back, preparing to return to his chair; to return to his role as outside observer. The touch of her hand on his stopped him. She silently held him back.
He returned his gaze to hers. So many emotions danced in her eyes. Fear. Exhaustion. Determination. Shyness. She seemed lost, as if she would drown if one more weight were placed on her slim shoulders. A fierce urge to protect her surged up in his chest. This time, it wasn't from guns or bullets or crazed lunatics, but from the harsh life circumstances she'd endured.
They didn't speak. He just sat next to her, reaching for her hand and pulling her closer until she leaned on him.
She spent thirty minutes answering the officer's questions; thirty minutes reliving the hell she'd been put through. At times, Dylan's hand became numb from her squeezing so hard as she fought to hold it together. By the time they were done, she sagged against him, spent.
When the cop pressed for more answers about her pre-Davenport past, Dylan put a stop to it. "That's enough. She's answered enough questions. What happened before she met Davenport is irrelevant. We're done for the night. You have more questions, make an appointment with her in a few days. The bastard is dead. It can wait."
He glanced down and saw relieved tears pooling in her eyes. God, even having lived through twenty-four hours of hell, she was beautiful. Only the faint bruise remaining on her cheek marred her beauty, reminding him of how close to danger she'd been.
"Come on. Let's get you to bed." He reached down to scoop the still sleeping Connor into his arms before standing and helping her to her feet. He nodded goodnight to his brother from across the room before moving them in the direction of the hallway leading to the bedrooms. They came to a small office first, with a pullout bed. Mama Rosa was already asleep there. Dylan left Hannah at the door as he moved to lay Connor down next to the older woman.
Hannah complained. "No. I need to keep Connor with me."
Dylan had been prepared for her objection. After tucking the little boy in, he returned to her side. He took her into his arms, lifting her chin so he could look into her eyes. "No, Hannah. What you need is a good night's sleep. Connor is safe now. And Rosa will take care of him when he wakes. It'll be dawn in a few hours. I want you to get more than a couple hours of sleep."
She opened her mouth as if to argue. If she had, he would have backed down. After all, who the hell was he to tell her what to do?
Only she didn't argue. She nodded her consent, allowing him to take her hand and lead her to the next guest room. They'd left in such a hurry that they'd packed nothing, which left him in an awkward quandary. He left her standing beside the bed while he strode to the nearby dresser, rifling through drawers until he came out with an oversized tee shirt that he assumed belonged to Lukus.
Hannah watched him silently as she collapsed to sit on the bed. She was fading fast now that sleep was near. By the time he got back to her, she looked like she'd topple over fully dressed.
He started by slowly lifting the blouse she'd been wearing since she'd been discharged from the hospital. Anger flared as he saw the bruising on her left breast, knowing the marks had been left by Davenport's brutality. The clean tee shirt was huge on her, but at least it hid her damaged flesh.
