ALWAYS YOURS

by Shiloh Walker

  “You want hurt to yourself, mess your body up even worse?” Jerry asked. “How badly are you trying to fuck yourself over?”

  “Go to hell,” Dylan panted, reaching for the wheels and setting the chair in motion. “You’re not my doctor.”

  “No. I’m your commanding officer.” Silence followed and then Jerry sighed, and added, “I’m your friend.” He turned around to stare out the window over the grounds. “Your friend. And as such… Ahh…you… I thought you should know that they are watching Kirsten Evress.”

  Dylan lowered the water bottle slowly. “Watching her for what?”

  “To see if Blessett tries to contact her,” Jerry said quietly, turning around to look at Dylan.

  “Why would he contact her?” Dylan asked stonily.

  “She’s been dating Max off and on for more than a year,” Jerry said quietly.

  Stormy hazel eyes narrowed as Dylan rasped out, “He’s married. Damn it, he’s got a wife and new baby.”

  “That doesn’t matter to some,” Jerry said with a shrug. “And intelligence is watching Cassie Blessett as well.”

  “How do you know this shit?” Dylan asked.

  “Apparently intelligence has been watching him, closely, for a while. But there’s a file on him. And on her.”

  “Fuck. Fuck!” Dylan clenched his hands around the armrests of his wheelchairs and slammed his head back, staring up at the ceiling. “Damn it, do they have anything besides seeing them together?”

  “On Max? Hell, yes. What I want to know is why they left him in my unit for as long as they did. I lost five men. Five of my friends... On Kris Evress? There’s a file of pictures of them together. A year’s worth. Doesn’t add up to much, because he only had sporadic leave time and he spent most of it with Cassie. But no proof on her—until now. What she told you, is plenty of proof,” Jerry said.

  He didn’t want to ask. Seriously did not want to ask. But Dylan knew he had to know. Softly, the words feeling like jagged glass in his throat, he asked, “Does she know he’s married?”

  Jerry started to laugh. “She’s most likely guilty of treason. But that’s what seems to have you the most upset.”

  “Fuck you.”

  ****

  Kris jumped when the pounding started. It was pitch black, her head ached, and it was…Two-thirty-two a.m.

  Stumbling out of bed, she grabbed her robe off the edge of the bed by feel before walking down the hall, flicking on the light and wincing at the light. Kris had to cup her hand over the peephole to look out, her eyes still far too sensitive to see. And she couldn’t see a damn thing.

  She was getting ready to got back to bed, mumbling under her breath when the door shook under a pounding again.

  She yelped, and jumped back, before flipping the locks open, leaving the chain in place, looking through the narrow slot.

  What she saw froze her heart.

  Dylan…in a wheelchair.

  “Oh, shit…”

  She slammed the door shut and undid the chain, throwing the door open, feeling the tears sting her eyes as she stared at him. “Dylan, oh, my God—”

  “How long have you been doing Max Blessett?” he growled.

  Her mouth opened.

  It closed.

  She blinked, tearing her eyes away from the chair he sat in and lifting her eyes to meet his. “Max who?” she finally asked, feeling somewhat numb just from the shock of seeing him in the chair.

  “Max Blessett. You forget him already?” Dylan asked snidely. “You just saw him the night you called me. My height—when I could stand. Brown hair, blue eyes.”

  “His name is Max Delacourte,” Kris said, the cold look in his eyes finally starting to penetrate the fog in her brain.

  “No. It’s Blessett,” Dylan said flatly as he crossed his arms over his chest and stared at her. “Since he neglected to mention his real name, what about his wife and kid? Did he mention that?”

  At that, Kris’s legs buckled and she collapsed on the floor.

  “Wife?” she repeated.

  “Yeah, wife. You going to tell me you didn’t know?” Dylan asked coolly, staring at her with cold, almost clinical eyes.

  “What?”

  “How about the crap you told me on the phone? How I shouldn’t go on the last op? Where did you come up with that information, Kris? When did you discover he and I were on the same team and that he was going to sell them out for money? How did you find out what was going on?” he asked, lifting one brow as he studied her.

  “What in the hell are you talking about?” she cried. “Damn it, I had a fucking dream. I have them. A lot. Sometimes in time. Sometimes not. Sometimes they make sense. Sometimes they don’t. If I can figure them out, then I do what I can. I’m usually too late…” The hot tears burning her eyes spilled over and trickled down her cheeks as she stared at him. It was too much to handle. Dylan, crippled.

  Licking her lips, she tasted the salt from her tears. Using a shaky hand, she wiped the tears away. “What happened to you?” God, please…Dylan, in a damned chair…a quiet, gentle voice whispered, at least he’s not dead…sometimes they don’t come in time.

  “Because,” he snarled, leaning down and grabbing her arm, snagging it and using it to drag her to her knees. “Half of my friends are dead. And your boyfriend is the reason why. We’d all be dead if it wasn’t for your fucking phone call and I just don’t believe in coincidence.”

  Kris felt the blood drain from her face, nausea roiling in her belly. The iron hand wrapped around her upper arm was the only thing that kept her from wilting back to the floor in a boneless puddle. “You son of a bitch,” she whispered hoarsely. “You actually believe I could do something like that…” her voice trailed away and she dashed the tears away her cheeks as fury started to brew in her gut... “How long have you known me, Dylan? Huh? Nearly ten years. And you still think I could do something like that. Thanks, pal. Thanks a lot.”

  Her tongue felt thick in her mouth as she spoke and her face was starting to feel hot. And she couldn’t breathe. This wasn’t happening.

  It couldn’t be.

  Dylan didn’t actually think that.

  Did he?

  “Well, rich girl, I’m alive, and so are four other men, and none of us should be,” Dylan drawled. His eyes trailed down her face and then he looked at her arm, where her skin was going white from where his fingers bit into her flesh. A frown passed across his face and slowly, his fingers unwrapped from her arm.

  She sank back, falling to her bottom and scooting away Bracing her back to the wall, she stared at him, her eyes wide and dark. “You believe that, Dylan? Do you really believe that?”

  Kris watched as he sighed and sat back, scrubbing his hand over his face. “Hell, I don’t know. I can’t think straight, Kris. I took a fucking bullet in my back, but if it hadn’t been for you, we would have been gunned down, shot in the back and all of us would have died. You could have warned me because you felt guilty—it would make sense.”

  “No,” she said, her voice thick with tears. “No, it wouldn’t. Because I’d no sooner be party to any kind of random killing than you would. Any more than I’d date a married man. Any more than you’d date a married woman.”

  He looked at her. “I’m a Ranger. Some people would say I’m part of random killings all the time.”

  “No, you’re not,” she said quietly, shaking her head. “You know better.”

  “Max Blessett is a traitor to the United States,” Dylan said quietly. “Did you know anything?”

  “Damn it, I didn’t even know his real name!”

  A smile quirked at his mouth. Her eyes lingered on his lips and she felt her belly quiver despite herself. “Army intelligence is looking for him. Don’t be surprised if they come looking for you, wanting to ask you questions,” he said softly, before he wheeled his chair around.

  “What?”

  He cast a look back over his shoulder at her. “You can’t really think that they won’t want t
o talk to you, do you?”

  Her eyes widened and tears flooded her eyes. “This isn’t happening,” she whispered.

  “Yes, Kris. It is.”

  And that was all he said before he wheeled his chair for the elevator. “Dylan?”

  As he leaned forward to catch the door, he slid her a look.

  “Your…ah…are you going to be able to walk again?” she asked, her eyes burning as she studied the site of his long powerful body confined to that chair.

  His brows lowered over his eyes. As the elevator doors slid open, he started to roll through it. Over his shoulder, he said, “Nobody knows. Nobody fucking knows.”

  ****

  “I can’t believe you went there, Dylan,” Jerry said, pacing the room.

  “She didn’t know, Jerry,” Dylan said, panting as he lifted his body up to the bars, up and down, up and down, before walking his body back to the chair, using his hands only.

  “That was fucking stupid, boy, and you damn well know it!” Jerry shouted.

  Dylan grunted as he swung his weight into the chair. He mopped the sweat from his face with a discarded t-shirt and reached for a bottle of water. Swigging from it, he then lowered it and studied his commander in silence for a long moment. Then he said, “She didn’t know anything, Jerry. Okay? She didn’t know. Look, Dally—” his throat tightened as he thought of the slow talking Texan he’d never see again. “Dally told you things. He had dreams, or feelings that nobody could explain. But that didn’t stop you from acting on them.”

  “That’s beside the point,” Jerry bellowed, whirling around and slamming his fist into the wall. “This could make it look like you had something to do with it.”

  “Not once she’s found innocent,” Dylan said quietly.

  “Aw, fuck.” Jerry reached up, scrubbing his hands over his face, and Dylan saw the exhaustion in his eyes. And the worry.

  Quietly, Jerry said, “I’m your commanding officer, but what I say means shit.” Lowering himself into a chair, he studied Dylan closely. “Look, just…don’t go there again. Okay? I’m asking you, as a friend. And I’m ordering you, as your commanding officer. Do not go down there again.”

  “I wasn’t planning on it,” Dylan said flatly. “Damn it, I’m not a fucking fool.”

  “Can’t tell by me,” Jerry snapped, shaking his head, skimming a hand over his head. “Just make this make sense to me. Okay? Explain to me why you’d risk ruining a damn fine career in the military, having this mark. Because don’t tell me you didn’t know how this could look to intelligence.”

  Dylan’s mouth twitched. Make it make sense?

  He didn’t know if he could. But it just hadn’t seemed right.

  Kris had too much…class. The kind somebody had to be born with, not something that could ever be learned or imitated.

  He could still remember how Kris had looked sliding out of that slick little Benz she had rented when she had come trolling for Nikki all those years ago. She hadn’t gotten all that money from editing. Hell, she had been born with money, born with class.

  And something else, a fire inside of her. Polish. Class. Honor.

  How in the hell had he forgotten that?

  No way in hell would she had fucked around with a married man, not knowingly.

  And no way would she have sold out her country. She’d sooner slit her wrists with her credit cards first.

  He heard a muttered curse and glanced up. Jerry was staring at him out of hard knowing eyes and Dylan just shrugged. “She’s my sister’s best friend.”

  “More than that,” Jerry said, his eyes shrewd. “So when were you two together?”

  Dylan laughed harshly. “In my dreams.”

  Jerry arched a black brow and asked, “You never struck me as the type to look but not touch.”

  Dylan said, “You haven’t ever seen Kris. She’s out of my league.” That sure as hell didn’t keep him from thinking about her all the damned time though. And she hadn’t seemed to mind him kissing her that one time. His eyes heated at the memory and his body tensed, his hands clenching into fists.

  A few feet away, Jerry chuckled. “Ya know, for somebody who claims that a lady is out of his league, you look awful fixated on her. Maybe you ought to think about going and talking to her about this…fixation. Once she’s cleared, that is. You talk her again before that, I’m gonna kick your ass and I don’t care if you are in that damn chair. And that’s an order from a superior officer, got that, Sergeant Kline?”

  Dylan bristled a little and he scowled. “I’m going to be a civilian in a few more weeks, Jerry.”

  Jerry saw the helpless rage in Dylan’s eyes and it hit him like a sucker punch, because he could sense the pain and the fear that hid behind it. “Dylan, you don’t have to retire. You know that.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  He battled down the futile anger that rose every time he thought about it. No way was he going to continue trying to recover on a military base, and no way was he going to take a desk job.

  In a few more weeks, he wouldn’t be a sergeant in the US Army, wouldn’t be an Army Ranger, wouldn’t be doing the one thing that brought him respect. Wouldn’t be flying airplanes, wouldn’t be parachuting down into countries no sane soul would walk in.

  In a few more weeks, he was likely to be earning disability, back home in Monticello, Kentucky, unable to even work in his brother’s construction company.

  In a few more weeks, he’d be nobody. Again.

  “I spoke with Dr. Clary. Everybody’s sure you’re going to walk again. You were right, damn it. Once the inflammation settles down, you’ll walk. You’re not going to be stuck in a wheel chair, Dylan. Damn it, that ought to mean something,” Jerry snapped.

  His throat felt tight and the words sounded hollow, even to his own ears. “It does mean something. It means I’m going to be living a civilian life, dealing with a bum back the rest of my life while the traitor that did this to me walks around on two legs in prison for a few years.” That was the worst of it; the man he had called a friend had sold him out, sold out the whole unit, and had walked away from it, leaving five dead and another in a wheelchair.

  And he touched Kris, kissed her…probably took her to bed and made love to her…touched that sweet body, held her…

  A growl started to build in his throat and he thought of everything else Max had cost him. Dally, and Nick…the others. And Dom—shit, Dom was paralyzed. He wouldn’t ever walk again.

  Yeah, Dylan would walk all right, but his buddy wouldn’t. Dom was stuck in a chair. Paralyzed. He’d never have sex with a woman again, never be able to walk across the street, or even stand up and walk to the bathroom to piss.

  “He won’t be out in a few years, Dylan,” Jerry said on a sigh. “You know it as well as I do. This is the Army. Not the outside. He is going to pay for what he did.”

  “The only price steep enough is if we can kill him ourselves,” Dylan muttered. His mouth twisted with fury and his eyes narrowed. “Let us take care of it. That would be vindication.”

  “You think I don’t feel the same way?” Jerry asked softly. His eyes heated and his hands clenched. “I’d like nothing more than to gut him, rip him apart with my bare hands. But I can’t.”

  Slowly, the words coming like broken glass through his throat, he said, "If we had listened to Dally...Damn it, if I had just listened to Kris. Between the two of them, that should have told us something was wrong. And I didn’t even tell you about her.”

  Jerry’s eyes closed and he turned away. “Yes. Hell, Dylan. I’ll hate myself for the rest of my life for not listening to Dally. He knew. Somewhere in his gut, a part of him knew something was off with that last op. How many of our ops went smoother because of little things he told us? Him and that little voice of his…” A sad little smile crossed Jerry’s face and when he turned back around, his eyes were bitter, far too bright, full of rage.

  Great. Stupid fuck. “Jerry, don’t blame yourself. This is none of our fault. It�
�s Max’s. May the bastard rot in hell.” He bared his teeth in a semblance of a smile as he added, “Now, if I could just help send him there.”

  “Then you stop blaming yourself. You saved five lives, Dylan. You and her. If you say she didn’t know, that she wasn’t involved, then she wasn’t. I’ve never doubted you—no reason to start now. Which means she saved us. You saved us, five of us are still alive because of you,” Jerry said, walking over and crouching in front of Dylan, waiting until Dylan’s hazel eyes met his dark navy ones. “Are we going to let the guilt of another man’s evil wreck our already fucked up lives?”

  “Since when you did you take up armchair psychology?” Dylan asked with a ghost of smile.

  Jerry quirked a brow. “Since I stopped being able to sleep at night. But I’m not wrong, am I?”

  A listless shrug was Dylan’s only answer and with that, his eyes closed and his head fell back against the top of the chair.

  The damn chair.

  Four damn months. He had been in this chair four damn months, scared to death he’d never get out of it, scared the swelling in his spinal cord would go down and the paralysis would still be there, scared he’d find out he’d never walk again, never have any feeling in his lower body. Scared he’d never make love to a woman again, never be able to sink his cock into a woman’s satin wet heat and ride her until she screamed out his name.

  One morning, barely a month ago, he had sat in that damn bed before dawn, telling himself he could move the appendages below his waist, the legs he couldn’t even feel. He could do it.

  Then he did. His right foot had twitched, shifted just a scant inch. It had done it again five minutes later, after he had worked up the nerve to try again.

  And when the doctors came in, he was able to move that foot at the ankle, just barely. But he had done it.

  After a battalion of tests, the doctors determined the swelling in his spinal cord caused his paralysis.

  Would he walk again?

  Only time will tell, son, he’d been told. More times than he could count.

  Just this week, the doctors had told him it was very likely he would walk again. But walking was about the extent of it. He wouldn’t run, wouldn’t slink through the jungle again.