Heston (In the Company of Snipers #25)

Chapter Twenty-Three

Heston woke up slowly, happily. At last, he knew what his life would be like today, tomorrow, and every morning after. The talk with London last night had been long overdue. He now understood why she’d left him. She’d turned her back on her parents when they’d denigrated him. In doing that, they’d questioned her moral compass, her sanity, and her beautiful brain. They’d treated her like a foolish, inexperienced child instead of the very savvy adult she’d been. To save herself, she’d walked away from them and everything they stood for. Their plan for her to take over their business. Their plan for her to marry a nice white boy who worked for them.

That was the night she’d chosen Heston over them. But what had he done? Precisely what her parents did. Exerted too much dominance. Disrespected her. Demeaned her accomplishments and her dreams. Treated her like an idiot. Which was why she’d left him. She’d only left him to save herself. And she should have. London was not only independent, smart, funny, daring, sexy, and perfectly whole by herself, she didn’t need anyone to complete her. Never had.

She didn’t need to be babied, led around by her nose, or directed, either. She was that butterfly on the breeze, so damned beautiful. Fragile, but strong. A creature of light whose greatest need was not to be protected, but to be set free to live her life the way she wanted. The way she needed.

She was all his now, and he intended to slather her in love and kindness the rest of her days. But the sun was high. He’d slept too late. Heston opened his eyes and turned to London, his beautiful queen.

Her side of the bed was empty.

“Hey, babe, where are you?” he called out as his palm swept the bed. Not even warm. She’d been gone for a while. The shower wasn’t running. No aroma of coffee in the air. Where could she be? Heston bolted upright and called again, “London?”

No answer.

His place wasn’t that big. She couldn’t have gone far. Maybe she was in the garage? Though why, he didn’t know. He’d been in too big of a hurry to get her inside last night, and his car was still in the driveway. Hurriedly, he threw on a pair of athletic pants and a clean white t-shirt, then the ragged pair of running shoes beside his bed. Her clothes and shoes were gone. Damn.

Hammering down the steps from his loft, he cleared the common area with one sweeping glance, then hit the kitchen to verify what he already knew. London wasn’t there.

He jerked the door to the garage open and flipped ton he overhead lights. Not there, either.

Panic started tapping his shoulder. Doubt crept in. She wouldn’t have walked out again. She wouldn’t do that to him, would she? Back at his front door, he jerked it open—too easily. It wasn’t locked, yet he distinctly recalled engaging the deadbolt last night.

The tapping at his shoulder morphed into full-blown panic.

“London,” he bellowed as he ran to the end of his walk and looked both ways down the street. God, he wished it had snowed. Then there’d be tracks. But it didn’t snow in Virginia in September and London was nowhere in sight.

“Shit,” he hissed. A quick glance over his shoulder zeroed in on his car. If she’d run again…

“No,” he said, if only to convince himself. “Not this time. She didn’t leave me. She wouldn’t. She loves me. We’re getting married. Either she’s just gone for a morning run or she went somewhere to grab breakfast for us. That’s all. I’m panicking for nothing. I trust her. She’ll be back. I know she will. She wouldn’t just leave like—”

Last time.

But she was gone and she’d left no note. She used to at least tell him where she was going. Back then, he’d loved finding her decorated scraps of notes. She ended each one with Xs and Os or hearts. Lots of hearts. But this morning? Nothing.

Heston took off running, quartering each well-kept yard he flew past, scanning ahead, hoping he’d see her pretty ass ahead of him. She’d preferred to run before the sun came up and traffic got in her way. Back in Killeen, she’d pound out as many as five miles on a good morning. She’d come home sweaty but exhilarated. Sometimes he’d run with her. But she preferred to run alone. It was her time to get her head right. To think clearly. To plan her day and focus on her coursework.

Damn. Where could she be?

Heston circled the few blocks of his subdivision. Once upon a time, it had been part of an industrial area. Now it was mostly gentrified, but with an emphasis on low-income and middle-income housing. The few warehouses left from the fifties hadn’t been repurposed into swanky bars or elite hangouts, where only the rich could afford to dance and eat. Instead, the upper floors were opened to middle-class malls, Mom and Pop diners, eclectic boutiques, bookstores, shoe stores, you name it. Gas stations, doctor and dental offices, necessary stuff like that. What had once been the rundown, neglected part of town had been turned into a no-kidding neighborhood where people knew each other.

A good neighborhood, but a neighborhood where Heston still couldn’t locate London. He widened his search. The sun was high overhead when he barreled into Le Petite Sunrise Sweets Confectionary. The noon crowd was there, most of them sitting at the pink and gold bistro tables across from the bakery display case.

Charlee O’Donnell called out a cheery, “Good afternoon, Heston!” from behind the counter. “Are you back for more donuts? Already?”

“Good, they were good, yeah,” he answered automatically. He stepped to the counter and instantly recanted. “Actually, we haven’t eaten them yet, but—” he let his gaze sweep the bakery’s interior one more time— “have you seen a pretty woman with short turquoise-colored hair today? She’s about your height and she’s always smiling. Same color eyes as hair, well almost. She might’ve run this way. I don’t know.” His fingertips drummed the countertop.

Charlee’s expression turned serious. “No, I haven’t, but it’s Saturday, and I’ve been extra busy. Weekends are my money-making days. Who is she?”

“London Wilde.” He swallowed hard, not ready to divulge too much information. He went to tug his wallet out of his rear pocket to show her the picture of London he always carried, only—

His pockets were empty. No wallet. No cell phone. Shit. He’d left home with nothing but panic. Rapping his knuckles on the counter, he told Charlee, “Never mind. Just thought she might’ve come this way. You, umm, wouldn’t have a security camera, would you?”

“I’m sorry, no. It’s a pretty safe neighborhood so I haven’t invested in one yet. I know I should for insurance purposes, but right now every cent I make goes back into my business.” She wiped her fingers on the towel in her hand. “I’ve got your number so if I see her, I’ll let you know. Go home and grab your phone. Hey, maybe she’s already gone back to your place.”

“Good thinking. I’ll check. See you later.”

“Bye, Heston. Good luck finding your lady friend.”

God, he hoped he did. He took off running when he hit the sidewalk. If she wasn’t at his place, she hadn’t left voluntarily. He’d barely hit his front walk after he’d retrieved his cell phone and wallet, when a bright, arrest-me-red Jeep screeched to a stop at his curb. Could only be Harley Mortimer.

Sure enough. The TEAM’s senior agent reached over the console and shoved the passenger door open with a curt, “Get in!”

Didn’t have to ask Heston twice. He jumped in to ride shotgun. “London’s missing,” he blurted. “I’ve been all over the neighborhood. I can’t find her.”

“Yeah, well…” Harley stomped on the gas, turning his Jeep into a rocket.

The sudden acceleration jerked Heston back into his seat. “You know where she is, don’t you?”

“Not precisely, but we will soon. Been calling you for a gawddamned hour.” Harley jerked the steering wheel, and an illegal Indy 500 race was on. Harley wasn’t his usual teasing self this morning. At the intersection, he ran the red light and swerved into oncoming traffic. He didn’t slow down on the road to TEAM HQ, either.

“We got home late last night,” Heston explained. “We were tired. When I woke up, she was gone. I was worried and ran out without my phone, so sue me. What’s going on?”

By then Harley had slammed on the brakes, parked the Jeep, and was taking the steps into TEAM HQ three at a time, waving for Heston to hurry up.

Heston stayed dead on his heels. He’d no more than cleared the entry when Mark Houston slapped a tactical headset at him and told him, “Put this on. You’re tip of the spear today.”

“Me? Why? Where’s London?” Heston asked as he inserted the tiny device deep into his ear.

“Here,” someone bit out from behind The TEAM’s customer service desk.

“Where?” Heston bellowed. London wasn’t anywhere in sight as far as he could see until—

Oh, God. There. On the big screen. Behind the desk on the wall. A vicious growl percolated up his throat when his eyes zeroed in on the still image of a bloodied and battered London Wilde. She was hanging by her cuffed arms, the chain of the cuffs draped over three pipes in the ceiling wherever she was. Dressed in her clothes from the day before, she was unconscious. The side of her face that he could see was shiny with blood, her hair was wet with it. Dark bruises marked her face and neck. She was gagged.

“Who did this?” Heston bellowed, unable to control the raw panic clawing up his spine. “Where is she? Do we know?”

“Not yet. Mother’s tracking—”

“Not good enough! I will kill the bastards who did this!”

“Heston,” a calm voice of authority spoke.

“What?” he snarled, needing to run and rescue London. Needing to hit something.

Just. Not. Alex. Who, with that one spoken word, had gotten through to Heston. He still couldn’t control his mouth. “What are you doing here, Boss? Where’s Kelsey? Why aren’t you still back in Washington with her? What’d you do, leave her?”

A quiet hush fell over the crowded lobby at that vehemently tossed insult.

Until Alex quietly enunciated, “Kelsey is here. At TEAM HQ.”

Heston’s panic was so far out of control, he didn’t comprehend what ‘here’ meant. “She’s” —he looked around— “where? I don’t see her.”

“She’s here, downstairs in The TEAM clinic, you dumbass,” Murphy snarled, “Judy and Libby are with her. So’s Doc Fitz. Maybe you oughta think before you smart-off again.”

Heston looked around the lobby. Okay, yeah. He was pissed, but he shouldn’t’ve taken it out on Alex. Looked like everyone was there. Every agent. Some of their wives. Each of them fierce enough to start a war all by themselves. Or finish one.

“Taylor Armstrong, Gabe Cartwright, and Maverick Carson are also with Kelsey,” Mark added gently. “They’ll protect her and the ladies if anyone breaches this facility.”

“Which ain’t gonna happen,” Beau Villanueva cut in. “Not while I’m breathing, gawddamnit. I’ll blow the sons of bitches back to Hell!”

“As will every TEAM agent here,” Mark continued calmly. “We all know what you’re feeling, Hes. Kelsey’s in good hands, and soon London’ll be in good hands, too, because she’ll be with you. Take a breath, brother. Let us explain.”

“Hurry,” was all he managed to spit out. His chest was hollow and his ribs were caving in. He couldn’t breathe.

He was nearly out of his mind when Harley spoke up. “The hospital in Washington was no longer safe. We couldn’t control all exits or entrances, and the hospital administrator didn’t appreciate Alex taking over. So we brought Kels home last night. If you’d call in a sit rep once in a while, you’d know that.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Not like it matters, but after that last threat—”

“Christ! Another one?”

Heston got a stern head shake from Harley. “No, the same threat the caller made when he told Alex he could get to Kelsey anytime, that the next time he’d kill her.”

“We knew we had to move her,” David Tao said quietly. “Just needed to make sure we could do it quickly and safely. She’s just undergone her second craniectomy, and she’s a critical care patient. Moving her had to be done correctly.”

“My wife’s making sure Kelsey gets the care she needs,” Beau declared.

“As are Judy and Libby,” David added.

Heston inhaled a shallow breath. “Good. Okay. So Deck—”

“Not Decker. His helo’s too small for the task,” Mark interrupted. “Adam Torrey flew her home. He was already on standby, and we knew we’d need more equipment than Deck’s helo could handle. We snuck Kelsey and her equipment out through the hospital maintenance elevator—”

“And now she’s where she belongs,” Harley cut in. “With us.”

Heston all but bellowed, “But where’s London?”