Page 2 of Heston
‘Too high,’Alex thought as he pushed back to his knees, breathing hard, his eyes watering at the impact. That badly spaced second hit meant a single sniper had taken both shots.The first, the steadier, more accurate shot that hit Kelsey, the second taken in haste. Too quickly. Before the sniper could regain his calm space, slow his breathing, move his rifle to reacquire the crosshairs on his scope, clear his vision enough to refocus on his second target, and fire. The son of a bitch had sacrificed accuracy for speed.
But he’d hit Kelsey! And worse, Alex had lost hold of her. In the few seconds it took him to get back to his feet, her slack body tilted backward, toward the icy snow field they’d climbed earlier. Where she would too soon slide into the creek fed by that snow field. And from there—God, no!—into the churning white water rapids of the White River.
Alex scrambled to get her back into his arms. He stretched both hands out to her, but the tips of his boots failed to dig in. Her slack weight slid too quickly from his reach. The momentum created by the steep terrain took her away and—
Splash.She fell into the White River. Face first without struggling. Without even knowing she’d been shot. Was she dead?
“Son of a bitch!” Alex ran, heart-pounding panic driving him into the river, his arms stretched over his head in a dive to intercept her limp body before she disappeared. Both of them bounced over lava smoothed slick by eons of ice and erosion, but—
He couldn’t reach her!
“Kelsey!” he roared above the noisy torrent, the frigid wind in his eyes, blurring the path forward, making it harder to differentiate her jacket from the froth and shadows of the rapids. At last, he got close enough to snag the heel of her boot. Just the heel. But he had her, by God! He’d saved her and he could fix this. He still had the sat phone she hated so much in his inner jacket pocket. He knew people, damn it, and he would call everylast one of them for help. This was not the end. But no, no, no! Her tiny boot slipped off her foot and—
“Kelsey!”
Alex didn’t feel the cold. Not the harsh smack of boulders, trapped logs, and branches pummeling his injured shoulder, his thighs, chest or glutes. Not the sting of silt in his eyes. Like a madman, he stabbed through the raging water with powerful, forward thrusts of arms and legs. His sodden boots, now heavy with ice water, held him back. He went under. The White River roared around him in a punishing maelstrom as he sank beneath it. The sky turned black, and—
Like hell!
He fought the river with all he had. He would not die until he saved Kelsey. He refused! But by the time his head broke the surface, she was nowhere in sight. No trace of her anywhere.
Son of a bitch!
He wasn’t giving up, just needed a way to slow this damned river. He couldn’t catch his breath, much less his footing long enough to be able to spot where she’d gone. No way to project his bleary sight forward or backward. No way to grab anything strong enough to stop himself from being pulled along. No way to know if she were still alive and struggling or if—or if—
The wicked current forced his head under yet again, gawddamnit! Shaking it off, he came up spitting mad, but still no sign of the woman he’d gladly die for. No sign of that damned pink pompom because it wasn’t on her pretty head where it should’ve been.
He powered on, blinking against the foamy, blistering river that would sand his corneas into milky blindness if he didn’t get his ass to dry land. Abject misery poured into Alex as he faced reality and let his body slam against one of many fallen logs, itself trapped under the raging river, between two boulders the size of Volkswagens. He had two choices: save himself and runthe riverbank searching for his wife, or keep fighting the white water and see nothing, find nothing.
Alex clung to the massive log the river kept him pressed against. There was no other way. No choice. To save Kelsey, he had to save himself first. Tears came unbidden, rolling down his face in a hot stream the river snatched away as quickly as it had Kelsey.
But he would find her. He would save her and warm her, and he would serve her to the end of her days. He would. Even if it killed him.
Chapter Two
“Meeting! Sit Room! Now, gawddamnit!” Murphy roared from the hallway into TEAM One’s work bay. “And you two…” He stuck a finger at agents Heston Contreras and Asher Downey in their shared workspace. “Get your asses over to the helo pad, and take your gear. You’re Oscar Mike and you’re already late! Keep your ears on.”
It wasn’t often Murphy cussed, which Heston interpreted to mean they were headed into a dangerous assignment. Oscar Mike was military speak for On the Move. Fine with him. Since returning from Arkansas and that debacle with agents Shane Hayes and Everlee Yeager, he’d been itching for more action.
Mark Houston’s usually calm voice issued the same command just as nasty as Murphy’s, across the hall where he faced TEAM Two’s workbay. Heston hurried faster. Jerking his already packed go-bag from under his desk, he scrambled for the side exit out of TEAM HQ, tucking his comm link into his ear as he ran. Asher was fast on his six, both men running against the tide of available TEAM agents flooding the hallway and headed for the Sit Room.
The only difference between the two TEAMs was their leaders. Senior Agent Mark Houston handled the Virginia group, TEAM One; Senior Agent Murphy Finnegan and what agents had relocated with him from the Seattle Office, comprised TEAM Two. All former military, some spec ops, but every last one of those men and women dedicated to Alex Stewart.
Soon to be VP Stewart, or so the scuttlebutt went. Which was a shame. Losing Stewart to the grandiose debacle that was Washington DC, would be an extreme waste of talent. Alexshould be President, not assigned some dead-weight job as VP, ass-kissing the toxic powers of the press, Hollywood, and Congress.
“Whatever’s up, it’s big,” Asher murmured in Heston’s comm link as they slammed through TEAM Headquarters’ side exit and headed north, around the entire complex of buildings, to the helo pad situated far south of Harley Mortimer’s barns and Maverick’s corrals. “Any ideas?”
“Could be anything,” Heston replied as he lengthened his stride. The chopper’s rotors were already spinning. “The bombing in Paris last Friday. Maybe the freighter stuck in the Suez. Latest intel indicated radicals from Syria planned to bomb it. Create more chaos.”
That brought Heston’s attention back to Murphy. It wasn’t often the Vietnam vet looked like shit, but he did today. What hair he had left was mussed, and his coloring had been damned near gray. His blue eyes usually twinkled. Murphy was good cop to Alex’s perpetual bad cop. But there’d been no twinkle today. Murph’s eyes were as ashen as his pallor.
Mark didn’t look much better, and Heston wanted to know who’d died.
“Alex is in trouble,” Murph declared from the Sit Room, his voice clipped and firm in the comm link inside Heston’s ear. “Heston and Asher are flying to Washington’s Rainier National Forest, his and Kelsey’s last known location. A Forest Service chopper will meet them at SEA-TAC, then fly them up to the Longmire Wilderness Information Center inside the park. You copy, Heston? Asher? You got your ears on and listening, gawddamnit?”
“Copy that,” both agents answered simultaneously.
Murphy continued tersely, “Forest Service’ll get you up to Glacier Basin and the White River campground, which, according to the permit Alex filed, is where he and Kelseycamped last night. But knowing Alex, he wouldn’t pass up the chance to crest either Mount Ruth north of Emmons or K Spire inside Fryingpan Glacier. Both are nearby and both have altitudes around eight thousand. That leaves two rivers you’ll need to search: the White and the Fryingpan. Emmons Glacier feeds directly into the White, then joins the Fryingpan before it dumps into the lower White at Owyhigh Lakes. Either Alex called from the eastern most tip of Emmons where it feeds the White, like Mother suspects or he called from Fryingpan before its confluence with the White.”
