Heston (In the Company of Snipers #25)

Chapter Eighteen

Look at that woman go. If they’d been alone, Heston would’ve kissed London after watching how she’d intimidated her former supervisor, then manhandled Bates onto the helo as quickly as Deck touched down. Then, while Asher secured Malloy, she’d harnessed Bates into the rear seat, which was extra thoughtful since his hands and ankles were cuffed. She’d run back and locked her camper, and asked Tom to watch over it until she returned. By then, Heston was already in the helo and the sun had set. There was just enough ambient light to watch London and Tom say a quick goodbye. No hug. No sign of emotional attachment between the two. Confirmed Heston’s opinion of Landry.

The mystified expression on London’s face when she climbed back up into the helo was priceless. She had no idea that ‘Look for us at eight, but expect us at midnight’ was simple TEAM code for four hours, the difference between eight and twelve pm, the amount of time it’d take Deck to get them to the backdoor —aka TEAM HQ.

Alex didn’t need a face-to-face meeting with the men who’d tried to murder his wife. Not only did he not have time to fly across country, Alex would’ve killed both Malloy and Bates on sight if he did. Effective solution, yes. Justifiable murder, probably not. But killing suspects was no way to conduct interrogations, and Heston needed answers more than Alex needed revenge. The puppet master had to go down, not just his puppets. Heston wasn’t sure who that mastermind was. He suspected Obermeyer ran the show, as Malloy declared. But he hadn’t ruled Keane out, and the mysterious Irishman needed a name. There’d be no coming back from what Heston did next, so he needed to get it right the first time, for both Alex’s and Kelsey’s sakes.

Assisted by a steady jet stream, Pilot Decker Edison made it to Virginia, within the prerequisite four hours. Heston checked in with Mark, gave him names and the rest of the intel. Told him Malloy and Bates were in custody. That Obermeyer and Keane had contracted Malloy to murder Kelsey. That Malloy had, in turn, contracted Bates to kill London.

The helo’s skids had barely touched down on the tarmac at TEAM HQ when Renner Graves jerked the side door open and declared, “Welcome home, boys.” He flashed London a big smile that Heston wanted to knock off his ugly face. “You must be London Wilde. Glad to finally meet you, ma’am. Been hearing nothing but good things about you. Name’s Renner Graves. Need a hand down from there?”

“Sure don’t, but thanks, Agent Graves,” she replied, already free of her harness and on her feet. “I assume you have a secure facility for our visitors?”

She made Bates and Malloy sound like honest citizens.

“Yes, ma’am. But these men aren’t visitors, they’re prisoners. FBI Director Tucker Chase is on his way. He’ll be taking them to the FBI’s facility in the District for questioning.” Renner looked at Heston. “Sorry, but this case falls under the Bureau’s jurisdiction. Alex called Chase direct. Probably not what you want to hear, Heston, but—”

“That’s bullshit!” Asher roared. “We nailed Bates and Malloy. They’re ours!”

Heston put a hand on Asher’s hefty biceps to keep him from exploding out the door and taking Renner down. “Let Chase have this case, Ash. The FBI should handle Malloy and Bates. It falls within their jurisdiction, and Alex trusts Director Chase.”

Alex and Tucker were tight. Tucker might’ve been an annoying Navy SEAL like Tom Landry back in the day, but Tucker Chase commandeered the only psychic unit in the Bureau. Heston had heard that Chase had some talent in that area. Bates and Malloy might live longer this way. Might yield more factual, hard evidence instead of the promised bloodletting if Alex ever got his hands on them.

“How’s Isaiah?” Heston asked as he dropped off the helo with a solid grip on the chain between Bates’ cuffs, while Ash assisted the zoned-out, world’s greatest sniper to the tarmac.

Renner grinned. “Now how’d you know Isaiah was here?”

“Because he’s standing behind you.” Heston reached around Renner to shake Isaiah’s hand. “Hey, Isaiah.”

Renner peered over his shoulder. “Damn, you’re sneaky, Zaroyin.”

“Me?” Isaiah teased. His dark blue eyes sparkled as if this were an easy hand-off, but Heston caught sight of the hefty nine-millimeter, fifth-generation Glock pistol loose in the holster cup on Isaiah’s hip. The son of Abraham Zaroyin, the mad scientist behind the catastrophic plan to implant mind-control chips in active duty military members, Isaiah was one of very few Level Ten psychics in the world.

He and Eden Winchester, another Level Ten, were the first agents to serve the federal government in that capacity. Their record for intercepting murderers, spies, and other miscreants was phenomenal, bar none. There were a few other Level Tens scattered across the world, from Russia and China to England, Algeria, Iraq, and Israel. Even on a peak overlooking the winter capital of the Dali Lama in Himachal Pradesh, India. But to date, only a handful worked for the Bureau.

“Tuck wants to meet your girlfriend, Heston. Hope you don’t mind waiting,” Isaiah said.

My girlfriend? Heston knew Isaiah never said anything in jest. If he said girlfriend, he was seeing something Heston hadn’t yet admitted. Was it possible? Did he stand a chance of getting back into London’s good graces? Was he worth her? Hell, Isaiah was probably inside Heston’s mind right now, listening while he argued with himself. He shot Zaroyin a grin and told him, “Stop it, smartass.”

Isaiah grinned. “Not for me to stop anything.” While he reached out and took a firm hold of Malloy’s cuffs, he stuck his chin at London. “She’s the one in control. Surprised you aren’t.”

He had Heston there. “Working on it,” was all the intel Isaiah was getting on that subject.

Renner grunted when a bright red Dodge Challenger careened over the tarmac, its wheels squealing. “Tuck’s here. I gotta go.”

“Good seeing you again, Renner,” Heston replied evenly.

Tucker Chase, forever a badass former SEAL and the only FBI Director without a filter, would never change. Proof positive was him slamming on the brakes and sliding that monster car sideways on the tarmac and into a perfect stop alongside the helo. Six feet of tough-guy muscle poured out of the driver’s side, while an elegant blonde with mile-long legs stepped daintily from the passenger seat.

“Heston,” she called out. Smoothing one hand over the front of her skirt, she extended the other to him as she joined the group.

He pulled her in for a quick hug instead of just a handshake. “Hey, Eden. Didn’t expect you. Where’s Ky?”

She fluttered her fingers as if she was dusting the air. “Oh, you know. Off saving the world with Tate and Keller. Texas, again.”

London was suddenly at Heston’s side, nudging his elbow out of her way as she burrowed in close. She stuck a hand at Eden. “Hi there, ma’am, I’m—”

“London Wilde!” Eden exclaimed, releasing Heston and reaching for London. “Former FBI Agent in training, former Forest Service law enforcement officer.” She grabbed both of London’s wrists. “Also currently investigating—without federal oversight, I might add—the attempted murders of two of my very best friends, Alex and Kelsey Stewart. I am so glad to make your acquaintance. Did I miss anything? Oh, yes, you graduated with honors from Texas A&M University. Weren’t you valedictorian that year? My God, you’re too pretty to work for the Bureau. Isn’t she, Heston?”

“Well, umm, yeah,” London admitted sheepishly as Eden released her wrists and gave her a quick girly hug. “I mean, about the other stuff. Not about being pretty or anything like—”

“She’s too pretty for government work,” Heston agreed, still wondering if Isaiah was right about her being in control. “London’s my best friend. Probably the smartest agent the FBI ever let slip away, too.”

He smiled down at the timid woman inside the circle of his arms, that London had turned into. Her fingers were splayed possessively on his chest and her cheeks were pleasantly pink. But she’d turned shy and quiet. His breath hitched at this new perspective of the woman he still loved. So this was what she looked like embarrassed. So damned beautiful, it was hard to breathe. Her jealousy was a joy to behold, and her being possessive of him was downright thrilling. But her being bashful in front of another strong woman was just plain adorable.

Guess Heston wasn’t the only one staking out territory tonight. Isaiah was right. She was Heston’s woman.

Tucker stalked up to where everyone but Decker had gathered. Deck was still inside his helo, probably checking off an end-of-flight safety list.

“Get these two out of here,” Tucker ordered.

“I’ve got Malloy. Can you handle that one, Eden?” Isaiah asked as he pulled Malloy toward the sleek, black, FBI sedan parked nearby.

She shot him a dazzling smile. “You know better than to ask. I can make former United States Forest Ranger Bates bark like a dog if I choose. Come on, Bates. You’re riding with me.”

True to her word, she strong-armed Bates and led him away. The guy was bigger than Eden, but he looked damned meek with her hand on the cuffs behind his back, the other now filled with a pistol identical to Isaiah’s. Which neither of them needed to take these two men into custody. Not with the psychic talent Heston knew Eden and Isaiah possessed. What he wouldn’t give to watch them interview Malloy and Bates.

“Ma’am,” Tucker huffed as he took hold of London’s free hand and tugged her away from Heston. “My unit could use—”

“No,” Heston declared, his hand already clamped on London’s shoulder, needing to protect her from this oversized, arrogant gorilla who right then thought he was charming and irresistible. “She’s with me.”

“…an investigator with your talent—”

“Save the job offer, Chase. I’m telling you.”

“…and your natural aptitude for—”

Damn, this was not going well. “London!” Heston snapped.

She looked straight at him and blew her jewel-toned bangs off her face. Those pretty turquoise eyes turned cold and calculating. Instead of answering, she gave him her chin.

Shit. He was doing it again. Bossing her. Walking all over her. Thinking he knew better, that he knew everything. Which he didn’t. She hadn’t needed his advice or his interference before. She didn’t need it now. Hell, she didn’t need anybody’s advice.

What London needed wasn’t him telling her what to do any more than she needed Tucker Chase pressuring her to work for him. She needed time and space to decide her future for herself. It might not include working for The TEAM. Might not include being bullied by the idiot who’d only ever wanted to love her and protect her for the rest of her life, either.

Yeah. That. Heston finally recognized how his internal caveman’s need to control her was pushing her away. He stopped ranting. Just let go, gave up, and trusted London like he’d trust any other TEAM agent. Like he trusted Asher and Renner and Mark and Alex.

London was intelligent and experienced. She had proven her worth—over and over. While he’d proven he was mostly stuck in the Middle Paleolithic period—again and again.

Heston swallowed hard. It was hard admitting he’d been a dumbass. Harder yet to let her go.

He’d looked up that name she’d thrown at him. He now knew precisely who Donna Reed was, and what she represented to today’s women. Also knew how brainless that sitcom had made women look back then. How her smiling, willing subservience might’ve been the norm for the nineteen fifties, but it had set the bar so low, no man nor woman should ever consider it again. Especially not London.

Heston admitted defeat, nodded at her, message received. I love you. Goodbye .

She sent back the barest nod, then tossed her head like a winner should, and Heston accepted that, too. He had to. She was a winner. Always had been. Bottom line, London didn’t need him like he’d once thought she did. She was independent. She’d go far. She might not be a good fit for the Forest Service, but she’d find her way. That was what strong women did. They shrugged off the yoke of other people’s expectations and they flew.

With a gut full of regret for not being smarter sooner, he turned his back on the high-pressure employment negotiations taking place on the tarmac at TEAM HQ. It might be best if Tucker got his way. Working with psychics the caliber of Isaiah and Eden was a tantalizing offer. London would bring a lot to their team. Heston had no doubt she’d fly higher if she wasn’t working with him. He’d hold her back. That wasn’t what he wanted for her.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, but London’s happiness was more important than her listening to his ‘manly wisdom.’ He didn’t know everything. The encyclopedias in his head were worthless stores of facts. He had an after-action report to write. He kept walking.

Isaiah was wrong. London wasn’t Heston’s girlfriend, wasn’t even his woman. In order for her to fly, to truly succeed and excel like he knew she would, she had to be on her own. Heston had to set her free, and he would. So he did. Damn it.