Heston (In the Company of Snipers #25)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Heston heard that belt snap. One look at London turned him into a red-zone killer. There she was, on the other side of that bush, caught like a tiny, fluttering bird in Obermeyer’s fist. She was naked! The jackass was on his damned cell phone, bragging, “I caught the blue-haired pixie. This little bitch cost me plenty, and trust me, I’m taking what she owes out of her backside. You wanna watch, get here quick because I’m not waiting.”

The fuck you say! Heston silenced his comm link, tuned out the rest of the world, and zeroed down on Obermeyer. Lowering his shoulder, Heston turned into a freight train and charged straight through the bush. Obermeyer didn’t see or hear him, probably thought Heston was one of his good old boys come to watch him rape a defenseless woman. Who weighed next to gawddamned nothing!

Before Obermeyer could cry out, Heston tackled the pompous prick to the dirt and pressed his forearm to the guy’s windpipe. London collapsed on her side in the dirt. Heston shot her a quick, appraising look to make sure she was breathing. She was the important one there. She’d always come first, even if saving her meant letting Obermeyer get away.

Once it was clear that London was coming around, Heston leaned his weight on Obermeyer’s throat. “Let’s see how you like it!” he hissed, so damned angry he was spitting.

Cocking his free arm, Heston delivered a wicked right hook that wiped the smug off the bastard’s face. Again! Again and again!

Obermeyer was dressed like the stolen honor bastard he was, in high-priced cammies that had never sweated out a forced five- mile march. The spiffy Boonie hat strapped under his double chin hadn’t seen one second of combat, much less war. Probably hadn’t been worn for anything other than hunting defenseless women. No tactical vest and no gawddamned sense. Fool was completely unarmed. His fancy rifle lay on the ground. Probably tossed it when he couldn’t manage it and London at the same time.

But Heston was armed to the teeth, outfitted for close combat, and trained in all the ways there were to kill a man. And he would kill this pig. That was all Obermeyer was.

Heston let his inner caveman loose. That feral beast, along with Heston’s tactical knuckle gloves, made short work of Obermeyer’s plump lips, his perfect, straight teeth, his elegant nose, and his wide-open eyes. Heston had no fucks left to give. In short order the arrogant ass on the ground was reduced to a blubbering pile of snot, shit, and blood. Obermeyer couldn’t see anymore. His face was hamburger. His orbital bones were mush inside the ragged skin of his swollen face. Big red gaps replaced his front teeth, and Heston hoped he’d swallowed every last bit of that perfect dental work.

Obermeyer batted Heston’s gloved hands away. Not happening. He begged for his life. He cried like a weak little girl. The murderer and rapist swore he was sorry, that he hadn’t meant to get carried away or hurt anyone.

Like Heston cared? Obermeyer had the nerve to mumble apologies, to swear on his mother’s grave he’d never, ever hurt another woman again.

Too fuckin’ late.

“Man up, you gawddamned motherfucker!” Heston roared into Obermeyer’s battered face. “You’re tough enough to terrorize women and little girls, yet you can’t take an ass-whipping when you deserve it? Fucking coward!”

Tipping back on his haunches, Heston pulled out his knife, snapped it open with a quick flick of his wrist, and stabbed Obermeyer’s windpipe. The breath wheezed and bubbled out of him. He was a mighty big guy when he was hiding behind a high-powered rifle and threatening women. But he was out of shape, overweight, and he hadn’t come prepared to fight like a man.

Like the bloodthirsty devil it was, Heston’s inner caveman roared for more blood. He was out of control and it felt gawddamned good. This was why he’d been born, to rid the world of despicable bastards like Obermeyer and his cronies. With a wicked swipe of that razor-sharp blade, Heston severed Obermeyer’s carotid arteries, then jumped away from the asswipe who’d dared harm London, to avoid the blood spurting from the guy’s throat.

Obermeyer gurgled, but didn’t do a damned thing to save himself. Didn’t try once to compress the spigots Heston opened in his neck. In seconds, his heaving chest stilled.

It was over. Justice was done and revenge was sweet.

Stooping over, Heston wiped his blade on Obermeyer’s trendy camouflage pants, and finally looked for London. She hadn’t gone far. Sheathing his knife, he located her easily. She’d curled into a ball behind a bush. Typical of victims, making herself as small as possible. Her arms were around her bare legs, and her battered face was buried between her bloody, scraped knees.

Heston’s heart melted. Ripping off his blood-stained gloves, he stuffed them in his rear pocket and walked to her, uncertain of what she’d think of him now. She’d just seen him murder a man. Righteous? Abso-fuckin’-lutely. Legal? That remained to be seen. Heston wouldn’t contest a murder charge if it came down to that. He did it. He killed Obermeyer. He broke the law, and he knew the consequences. But he’d do it again to save London’s life.

Dropping to one knee at her side, he turned his comm link back on and asked, “Mother? You still with me?”

“Yes, Heston. I’m here for you, honey. How’s London?”

Honey? That was new. Heston had no idea how Mother knew he’d found London. He cared less when she told him, “Everyone not guarding TEAM HQ is on their way to assist you. Should I send EMTs or will Eric be enough? He’s closest to your location. Is she hurt bad?”

“Just Eric. Thanks.”

“Talk to me, Hes. How is she? Really?” Was Mother crying? Sure sounded like it.

“She’s alive and she’s scared. Not sure how badly she’s hurt yet. But Obermeyer’s dead.”

“Good,” Mother replied without hesitation. “Err, umm, I had drones overhead, remember?”

Oh, yeah. Drones. Damn. Mother’d seen everything.

“I’d do it again,” he growled defensively, daring her to reprimand him and ready to fight the world for London if he had to.

“I know. Honey, trust me, I know. I’m so glad you got to her in time. That rat bastard needed to die, and London needs you now. Take care of her. Eric is five minutes out.” Mother could be a nosy gal, but she really was all heart.

“Thanks, Mom.” London sniffed and Heston disconnected. “Babe,” he whispered, swiping his forearm over his forehead in case it wasn’t sweat dripping into his eyes.

London lifted her chin. Blinked. Then lurched forward and crashed into him. “Th-thank you,” she cried, pressing her bare body against his chest. “He… he was going to rape me, Hes. Him and… and those other guys. There’s seven of them, h-h-him and four bikers and two creeps in s-s-suits.”

Hiccups punctuated every sentence. Her shoulders shuddered and her chest heaved with short, hard gasps. She was sweaty and hyperventilating and still providing intel. Seeing her broken like this tore Heston apart. Gently, so as not to hurt her anymore, he gathered her onto his lap. It didn’t take long to jerk the roll of extra clothes out of his go-bag and get London dressed. She was all thumbs, tears, and stutters, trying to help, and he’d never been more sure of his love for this beautiful woman.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he said, as he tugged the extra pair of pants up her long, dirty legs. Those poor bloodied toes. She’d truly been in the fight of her life. “Sorry. No underwear. You’ll have to go commando. But you can’t walk, sweetheart. I’m carrying you out of here.”

“I-I knew you’d c-c-come. Only had to l-l-live long enough and… and f-f-fight… and… and…” Breaking down, she buried her face in her hands. Poor sweet thing hadn’t stopped fighting, not even after Obermeyer’d had her by the throat. The bastard!

“Lift your arms, babe.” Fighting to control his rage, Heston pulled his extra TEAM shirt over her arms, head, and shoulders. It was long enough it covered her bouncing knees. She was still in fight-or-flight mode, her nerves strung tight and adrenaline kicking her butt. But she was safe.

Tenderly, Heston tucked her under his chin again, one palm flat to her back, his other unholstering one of his pistols. There was no way he wouldn’t shoot the next fucker who came after London. He laid the loaded weapon within reach beside his hip, then wrapped both arms as tight as he could around London without hurting her.

She settled into him with an anxious whine. They were both shaking. Both suffering the after-effects of too much adrenaline. Her ear was flat against his heart. Her nails dug into his ribs, as if she didn’t dare let him go. He was her lifeline, and he’d never been more content than right then. Even with Obermeyer dead nearby.

“Am I hurting you?”

“I’m sorry, but, yeah. M-my ribs, Hes. It’s hard to… to catch a breath. I think one’s broken.”

Heston bit his tongue. She’d been beaten and nearly raped—gang-raped, for Christ’s sake! She’d been humiliated, made to strip for Obermeyer’s fucked-up idea of entertainment. In front of his asshole friends. The mere thought of what she’d lived through enraged Heston all over again.

His soul screamed to wreak the bloodiest vengeance on Obermeyer’s buddies. To rip every last one of them apart. To make them pay and cry and beg for mercy. The first chance he got, once London was safely out of there, he’d hunt those asswipes down, gut every one of them, and hang them by their intestines, high in the trees. They’d never, ever hurt anyone else—

“Th-thanks for rescuing me.” London’s soft whisper interrupted Heston’s feverish need to wreak mayhem.

He squeezed his eyes closed, fighting to be the gentle man she needed, not the brutal barbarian with blood-stained hands and the stink of Death clinging to him. She was safe. She was his. And best of all, Obermeyer was dead. Sometimes a man had to focus on what—or who, in this case—was in his hands, instead of wishing the moment away and going after worthless scum.

A quiet, “Pssst” broke the moment. In a flash, Heston’s pistol was in his hand and whoever that fucker who’d whispered was, he’d better be prepared to die.

Zack. Thank God. It was Zack in the shadows with an index finger to his lips and his rifle across his chest, stock up, barrel down. Striding straight for Heston, he dropped to his knees. Digging out a black canteen from under his tactical vest, Zack unscrewed the cap and handed it to London. “Here, darlin’. Have a drink. Easy now. Not too much. Not too fast, either. There you go. My car’s just a hop, skip, and a jump away, Miss London. Feel like letting me take over this hunt of yours while Heston gets you to a hospital?”

“Ah-huh, yeah,” she mumbled, water dribbling over her chin and running down her neck.

“You’re scaring her, Zack. Step back!” Heston growled. Before I have to beat your ass, too. Cuz I sure as fuck will.

But London surprised him. With a deep, shuddering breath, she faced Zack, handed the canteen back, and replied through swollen, torn lips, “Yeah, I think I’ve had enough f-f-fun for one d-d-day.”

Zack put a big, gloved hand on her shoulder. “I’ll bet you have, kiddo. You can be certain of one thing. These guys aren’t ever going to hurt you again. Our friendly FBI’s in these woods, too. Guess we interfered with their ongoing investigation into Obermeyer and his friends. No need to worry about anything, London. Heston’ll take good care of you.”

“Tucker Chase and his team? They’re here?” Heston hoped.

Zack nodded but added nothing more.

“Anyone know where Obermeyer’s boss went?” Heston asked.

Zack’s gaze dropped to London, before he shook his head and looked over Heston’s shoulder. “No, but I understand there’s an old cougar scavenging near the river today. Don’t worry about anyone but London, Hes. Get her inside my car. Eric’ll be there soon.”

Heston hoped that scavenging old cougar had ice-blue eyes and a razor-sharp hunting knife. If that cat was who he suspected, the Wirths wouldn’t last the day.

“Will do. Thanks for the intel.” It was time to relocate London. The farther from Obermeyer’s stink, the better.

Zack pushed to his feet. His dark eyes flickered into the trees beyond. “No problem, Hes. Stay frosty.”

“Wait! Don’t go! Zack!” London panicked. “You have to save them. He killed Tandy. Shot her in the back, but Maria and Felicia are still out there, hiding. P-please. You have to find—”

“Shush, darlin’,” Zack whispered, running the back of his gloved fingers down London’s cheek. “They’re already safe. Promise. A couple of Heston’s friends found Maria, an FBI agent located Felicia. Your friends are on their way to the nearest hospital. Tandy’s been recovered and cared for, too. You done real good.”

London went limp in Heston’s arms. “I didn’t. I should’ve saved Tandy, b-b-but—thank you. Thank you so much.”

Zack’s brown eyes glistened. “You can’t save everyone, Miss London. Sorry, but that’s just a fact of combat. You save who you can, then you live to fight another day. You’re an extraordinary woman. Bet you thought you had to rescue Maria, Tandy, and Felicia all by yourself, didn’t you?”

She nodded. “They needed someone on their side.”

Zack looked to Heston. “Take this warrior home, Hes. She’s done enough. We’ll take it from here.”

“Appreciate it,” Heston replied, his throat so full of respect for London’s bravery that he could hardly speak.

“It’s been really nice meeting you, Zack,” London murmured against Heston’s chest.

“London Wilde” —Zack touched two fingers to his forehead in a salute of respect— “the pleasure’s all mine. Now go. My car’ll take you anywhere you want.” With a curt nod, he disappeared into the dark.

“Wow, he’s a really, really big guy,” London whispered.

“And one of the best.” Heston cradled her tenderly, as he lifted to his feet and set a course for Zack’s Porsche. It wasn’t far, and Hes made good time. He’d barely settled London onto the passenger seat when he clocked Tucker Chase stalking around one of Obermeyer’s SUVs. Tate Higgins rounded the other SUV, the one with two pairs of muddy boots extending from the rear gate. Tucker said something to Tate. Tate stuck his chin in Heston’s direction.

Heston covered London with the blanket Zack kept behind the driver’s seat. She was quiet when Heston straightened and stared at Tucker and Tate across the roof of the Porsche. Both men were kitted-out in black FBI SWAT gear and carrying enough armament for a small army.

“Your boss with you?” Tucker asked without preamble.

Heston shrugged. “Far as I know, he’s back at TEAM HQ with his wife. Why?” He wasn’t about to admit anything, much less indict Alex or any member of his TEAM for what had happened or might happen today. Chase was still FBI and, technically, the Bureau was supposed to follow some ridiculously redundant ROEs to cover their federal asses.

Thank heavens, Tucker didn’t press for more information on Alex. Good thing. Because Heston wasn’t up for fighting two guys. Both Tucker and Tate were big as bears, and Heston had other places to be.

“Kelsey snapped out of it?”

“Not as far as I know. But Libby said Alex needed to be there when she did, so her waking up sounded imminent.” Heston nodded toward the boots. “You taking out the trash?”

Tucker scrubbed a hand over his face. “Yup. Been investigating Obermeyer and what he calls his hunting club for over a year now. Your woman okay?”

“She will be,” Eric Reynolds declared, as he stepped out from the bushes at the edge of the trees. “Where’s London?”

“Here,” Heston told him. “Thanks for meeting us.”

“It’s what I do.” Eric came swiftly to Heston’s side.

Eric was USMC down to his boots, but he should’ve been a practicing physician. That was his true talent.

Heston tipped his head inside the Porsche and told London, “Babe, Eric Reynolds is The TEAM medic. He’s going to take a quick look before we evac you to Georgetown. You can trust him. Are you okay with him checking you over?”

She swallowed hard and nodded, but didn’t say anything. Heston had a feeling something had changed since he’d sat with her under that bush. She wasn’t looking at him anymore. Her head was down. Was she embarrassed or hurting? He wasn’t sure. It was his turn to swallow hard. Was this the beginning of the end?