by KT Bryan
“You can’t seriously mean that.”
He looked miserable and battered. “I’m sorry.”
Sara stared mutely at his face. Her legs started to shake. Tears burned her eyes. “Don’t I mean anything at all to you?” Her voice broke, tinny and small, and the tears fell down her cheeks. “Me, or Ellie?”
Dillon let out a long audible breath. “Of course you do, both of you, and Ellie will always have a daddy, and I’ll be…but you need…that doesn’t mean--”
“Don’t go,” she interrupted, tears dripping off her chin. “Please. Don’t do this.”
“I have to. I’ll always have to. And I can’t go off on some mission and then one day come home to find you or my child dead because someone who hates me is trying to get even. I’ve already done that once, and God help me, Sara, I can’t do it again.”
He reached out to capture a tear on his finger. “I love you more than life itself, but after that, it still comes down to the fact that I’m a man with a job that doesn’t lend itself to happily ever after. And I don’t know how to do, or be, anything else.”
He lowered his voice to almost a whisper. “Right now I’m facing a prison sentence. I have nothing left to offer you. Not a lifetime of growing old. Not a rocking chair on the front porch. Not a single damn thing, Sara, and sometimes love just isn’t enough.”
The smallest spark of hope she might have had died. He wasn’t going to give in. Her hands fisted and she shook her head in disbelief. “Then I guess you’re not the man I married.”
He looked at her for a long moment, picked up her hand and uncurled her fist. Meeting her eyes with tears in his, he kissed her palm, and then placed something cool and round in the middle of it.
When she looked down she could literally feel her heart breaking. Shattering into little, tiny, miserable pieces.
Sitting there, in the palm of her hand, shiny and bright as their future had once been, was her ring.
“This is my way of trying to…of taking care of you. I’m letting go.” He turned away.
She didn’t fall apart until she heard the front door close, heard the Corvette roar away, and then she hugged her arms around her waist and lost it. Sinking to her knees, she rocked back and forth as huge sobs ripped from her chest.
Slowly she let her ring, and everything it stood for, slip between her fingers onto the floor as she said a final farewell to her dreams.
<><><>
Dillon pulled into Jake’s driveway and turned off the engine. He had to find Cummings fast and knew Jake would help him.
Sitting for a minute, he tried to clear his head, but Sara’s face flickered in his mind, and all he could see were her somber brown eyes and the anguish on her face as he’d walked away.
Walking away was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Every beat of his heart told him to stay. His honor told him to go.
And nothing felt right. None of it. Stay. Go. Half in. Half out. Nothing worked and he sat there wondering what the fuck, and wasn’t that a real kick in the ass for an educated man, an expert in psychological tactics, to think.
He couldn’t change who he was. What he’d done. But his choices had cost him and maybe, just maybe the price was too high.
You can’t live the rest of your life playing the ‘what if’ game and you can’t keep blaming yourself for your family’s death. Sanchez killed them, not you.
The ‘what if’ game. What if he was wrong? What if leaving Sara had been the biggest mistake of his life? What if he stayed and nobody ever tried to harm her?
But what if they did? What if next time she died?
“It’s suddenly too big a risk to care, because maybe, just maybe, they might die? Well guess what, Mr. Special Forces, everybody dies sooner or later.”
But he did care. How could he say he loved her one minute, then risk her life by staying, in the next?
It’s not always about you. You take chances with your life you have no right to take.”
Was that it? Was it?
Was it okay for him to die, but not her?
What kind of hell had he put her through every time he took an assignment? How many times had she gone to bed wondering if he’d be there when she woke up? How many times had she kissed him good-bye so that he could go off and fight for his country, only to possibly die in some third world shithole?
Every time he left, she never knew if he’d come home alive or in a box. But she’d handled it every time. She’d stayed.
And he’d left.
And he’d been way, way off and really, really wrong.
It didn’t take a degree in psychology to realize how stupid he’d been. Stupid and blind and stubborn and entirely too defined by his job. This was the woman he needed like he needed his next breath, the woman who made his life whole. The woman he loved more than his own life.
All a man really had in life were the choices he made. And, just like the day he’d married her seven years ago, Dillon chose Sara. Love was more than a choice, more than a feeling, it was a commitment. One he couldn’t walk away from. Not now, not ever.
Feeling a sudden desperation to tell her, to fix this, to try and make things right, he jumped out of his car and ran up the walk to pound on Jake’s door.
He needed to call, beg and plead even. He needed to ask Sara to wait this out, see what happened, and ask her to…he scrubbed a hand over his face. Hell, right now he just needed to hear her voice.
He stormed past Jake the instant Jake opened the door and went straight to the phone and dialed. “Don’t have a new cellphone yet. I need to call Sara.”
Jake followed him in and asked, “You got news? You hear something?”
Dillon held up his hand. “Give me a sec.”
In his peripheral vision, he saw Aaron lounging on the couch, saw Jake sit down with a look of concern.
The phone rang once and suddenly his hands started to shake. He gripped the receiver harder. The phone rang twice. Come on, Sara, answer.
<><><>
Sara was sitting on the side of the bed, with nothing inside her but a solemn hope that her baby was safe. That this nightmare would end soon and end well.
The slight noise didn’t click at first.
She had her legs drawn up, with her chin on her knees, just sitting there feeling hollow and alone when she heard it again.
Subtle, but out of place. She cocked her head and listened.
It came again. Faint, it sounded like the clack of a heel on tile. Coming from…she strained to hear…coming from the kitchen.
Had Dillon changed his mind and come back?
No, no, she would have heard his car. Plus, Dillon would have announced his arrival. Would have called out to her. And whoever was out there now didn’t want her to know it.
A pulse of terror shot her heart into her throat.
She heard the noise again.
Closer now.
In the hallway, outside the bedroom.
As silently as she could, she got up off her bed, never taking her eyes from the open doorway. The bedroom window was right behind her. Nailed shut. Damn it, she’d had Dillon nail it shut years ago--in case of a nighttime intruder.
And now here she was, trapped in broad daylight because she’d been afraid someone might break in while Dillon was gone.
No way could she make it past the intruder and out the door.
The footsteps drew closer. Just outside the door now.
Her gaze darted around the room looking for somewhere, anywhere to hide.
The closet was too far away.
She’d never fit under the bed. Too much junk.
The bathroom. She could lock the door and...
He was closer, she could feel it. Any second now, whoever was out there was going to be in her bedroom doorway.
Her pulse pounded harder. She inched closer to the bathroom door. And came to an abrupt halt when the phone on the nightstand shrilled.
Just then, the man appeared.
A scream froze
in her throat.
She was equal distances from the phone and the doorway. If she ran, maybe she could make it.
She ran.
<><><>
The line picked up, Dillon heard a loud thump, then a muffled shout and the line went dead.
What the-- ?
Realization hit and everything in him went to ice.
Holy Christ.
He dropped the receiver and looked at his two friends. “Cummings has Sara.”
<><><>
The kitchen was on the side of the house and toward the middle. Jake and Aaron were going in through the back, and Dillon was taking the front.
He gave the signal.
The two men nodded in acknowledgement and slipped around to the back of the house.
The front door opened quietly and Dillon entered. To get to the kitchen he had to go down two halls, make a right, and then the kitchen was on the left.
Moving quietly down the first hallway, gun palmed, safety off, he advanced toward the kitchen.
He stopped when he heard the senator’s voice.
“--kill you, you bitch!”
“I told you, I don’t know where it is.”
Calm and steady, the second voice was pitched low, and Dillon had to strain to hear it, but it was distinctly Sara’s.
Alive. Thank God, Sara was alive.
And Cummings thought she still had the flash drive.
Dillon moved down the second hall and made a quick detour toward his computer.
“Fine. Let’s...until hubby...home. You...watch me kill...maybe that’ll...your memory.”
After grabbing what he needed, he moved back toward the kitchen.
“If you kill us, you’ll be in prison for the rest of your life.”
That’s it, Sara. Keep him talking. Just a little bit longer.
The kitchen was one of those big open rooms with doorways front and back. Crouching low, he peered around the corner. Shiny white porcelain and stainless steel glittered back at him.
Cummings had Sara sitting on a high stool in front of him with the barrel of a gun up against her head. Her head was cocked sideways from the pressure and Dillon knew she had to be scared, but she was doing a fine job of not showing it.
“If I don’t get that drive, I’ll go to prison anyway. They’ll pin me for shooting Craig Duncan, for sending Rodriguez to kill you and everything else.”
“You’re the one who sent that man to kill me?”
“I had to. But that macho husband of yours got in the way.”
“So leave now. You could be in Europe or South America before anyone knows you’ve left.”
“No! I told you, I’m not--”
Dillon stepped into the room.
Aaron and Jake appeared at the back.
Cummings shoved the barrel of his gun under Sara’s chin.
Dillon pulled an old thumb drive out of his pocket with his left hand, and waved it in the air. He kept the gun in his right hand trained on the senator’s chest. “Looking for this?” He tossed it toward Cummings. The drive landed with a click and slid. “There. Take it.”
Cummings looked at the drive on the floor and then slowly gazed at the three men surrounding him. He looked like a caged animal.
Suddenly, a loud, angry voice sounded from the hallway.
What the hell?
Silence ticked by in microseconds just before Matt burst into the room to the right of Dillon. His shirt was covered in smears of blood and he stopped short about halfway into the large room, swaying on his feet, a huge machine gun pointed directly at Cummings. “That’s my sister you’re pointing a gun at.”
“You’re supposed to be dead!” In agitated fury, Cummings swung his arm toward the new target.
With dead on certainty, Dillon knew Cummings was going to shoot Matt.
Sara was too close to Cummings. Her body was snugged up against him, and if Dillon took the shot, he could miss and hit Sara.
His vision narrowed as he watched the senator’s finger start to tighten on the trigger.
He blitzed toward Matt.
Somewhere in the back of his mind he heard Sara shouting. He never took his eyes off the trigger of the senator’s gun.
He was almost there.
He stretched his body flat out and extended his arms as he pitched forward into the air.
Cummings fired.
A bullet punched into Dillon’s chest. He slammed into Matt. Both men fell.
Sara lunged for Cummings, knocking him off balance.
Cummings fired again. Glass shattered.
More gunshots ripped through the air in echoes of sound. Cummings staggered back, a look of stunned disbelief on his face. Then his eyes bulged and he fell lifeless to the floor, inches away from Sara.
<><><>
Sara scrambled to her feet, surprised she wasn’t shot.
But Dillon was.
She couldn’t breathe. Her legs started to go. She sucked in air. Braced herself against the counter.
Dillon.
Eyes closed. Too still. And blood…oh, Jesus, all that blood…
Fear bit into her chest. She half ran, half crawled to kneel beside him. Blood soaked the front of his shirt. “Somebody call 9-1-1!” She pressed her hand firmly over the hole in his chest. Panic buzzed in her head.
Matt struggled to sit up, then eased himself out from underneath Dillon’s limp body. Sara kept pressure on the wound but blood bubbled up through her fingers. Tears streamed down her face as she looked at the men moving around her. “Don’t…please don’t let him die.”
God had just given her one man she loved back, and now she prayed he wouldn’t take the other.
<><><>
Seconds crawled into hours, hours into eternity. The faces of the nurses changed periodically, depending on the shift. Day became night and Sara hadn't heard much beyond that Dillon was still in surgery.
She sat despondently in a molded green chair in a corner of the room with Dillon’s teammates spread out around her, some sleeping, some quietly talking.
Patched up from a bullet wound in his shoulder, Matt had parked himself in a chair next to her, his long legs stretched out, head thrown back, eyes closed, chest covered with his sleeping niece. He opened one eye and looked at Sara. “You doing okay?”
She nodded and sipped tepid hospital coffee.
“Yeah, me neither.” Matt blew out a long, sad breath. “I’m sorry about the pictures.”
“It took me a while, but when I thought about it long enough I figured that you’d probably sent them. Being Vega, you’d have had access. Your way of getting me mad enough to leave so I’d be safe. Kinda backfired.”
“Yeah. Kinda.” He rubbed Ellie’s back in small circles. “When I got in with Sanchez, I was sick. Worried. I wanted you safe, I’m so--
She patted his knee. “I know. I’m sorry too.”
Matt nodded, looking miserable.
“What made you go under? Become Vega?”
“Got wind of what Cummings was up to. Knew Dillon was under with Sanchez. Craig made it happen. Can’t really say more than that.”
“What about that meet on the dock a year ago?”
“Cummings crossed every wire he could. Mine, Dillon’s, the admiral’s, Craig’s. I don’t know if he wanted Dillon dead or wanted to take over the SBC. Hell, maybe both. Probably both.” Matt shifted the baby to his uninjured shoulder. “That night was a major clusterfuck. No one had the right intel.”
Sara sighed and set her coffee on an end table. “Those three years under, and especially the last one, really took a toll on Dillon. First he lost Adoña and Dreena, then his entire--”
“No he didn’t. Adoña and Dreena are alive and well.”
“What? How? Are you sure?”
“Last I heard, which would have been yesterday, Adoña and Dreena were on their way out of the country, thanks to Craig and the admiral.”
“But Dillon said…he said he saw the car explode.”
“
He did. But what he didn’t know, couldn’t know, was that Craig’s been keeping tabs on Cummings for years, hoping to catch that dumb fuck. Adoña wanted out. Too dangerous for Dreena, all that. Said she’d feed Cummings information if he arranged for Sanchez, and everyone else, to think she’d died. So he did.”
“I’ll tell Dillon when he’s feeling up to it. He’ll be so glad to hear they’re alive and--”
“Mrs. Caldwell?”
Sara's head jerked up. Standing with a thick file and a calm look on his face, a doctor in stained green scrubs searched for her.
Her stomach pitched. Legs shaking, she stood and twisted her hands together. Matt stood beside her and, still holding Ellie, wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Yes?”
The doctor strode forward. Exhaustion lined his features. “I’m Dr. Reynolds. I operated on your husband.”
And? She wanted to scream. Was he okay? Conscious? Was he even alive? “Is he--?”
“He’s fine. Barely groggy. He’s out of recovery and in ICU. Would you like to see him now?”
She nodded. Yes, she desperately wanted to see him. Problem was, did he want to see her?
With a slight smile and nod, Dr. Reynolds said, “Right this way,” and led them through the corridors of controlled chaos, deftly maneuvering around gurneys, nurses, and various hospital staff.
Matt held his girls tightly to his side. If it weren’t for men, good men, like her brother and her husband, bad men like Sanchez and Cummings would still be free to destroy lives and murder innocent people.
At the door to the room, Matt handed off Ellie and Sara hugged the waking baby to her chest. Steeling herself, she walked all the way into the small room and stood at the foot of Dillon’s bed.
He was awake, looking pale, a little rough around the edges, but okay. He was okay.
She wasn’t sure what to say, or how to say it.
Tell me you love me. Tell me everything’s going to be all right. Tell me you want me in your life forever.
He turned his gaze in her direction. And the look of wonder, of awe, of sheer joy in his eyes, said everything.
Her heart lifted. “She has your eyes. Ocean blue and bright as the sun.”
“And your chin. She’ll be stubborn, you know,” he said, his voice a little wobbly. “Probably insist on her own moat.” He sat up as much as the tubes and wires would allow, and held out his arms. “May I?”