Page 18 of Heston
Kelsey Stewart had taken an awful beating by the White River. She was in Intensive Care, with a broken hip, wrist, two ribs, one clavicle, and three fingers. As well as pneumonia and a severe concussion that Heston was afraid might end in irreparable brain injury. The neurosurgeon Alex had flown in from the East Coast had already removed a piece of her skull to reduce brain swelling. From what Mark said, Kelsey’s condition improved after that, but from head to toe she’d been bruised, battered, and broken. How she’d survived and who’d pulled her from the river remained the mysteries of the day. As did the identity of who’d shot her, the guy Alex called‘that gawddamned Irishman!’
He’d turned into a raging bull when she’d finally come out of the ten-hour surgery. By then, the bullet hole high on his chest, not the graze he’d vehemently claimed it was, had been treated. So had the burns on the back of his head and neck he’d gotten when the trailer exploded. For a few hours—thank God!—he’d slept due to whatever pain meds he’d been given. Which gave everyone a short reprieve.
But once he’d come to, Alex had showered, dressed in the clean clothes Murphy had brought, then had demanded—and gotten—the Cadillac of hospital beds for Kelsey and a simple cot for him so he could stay at her side. He’d flown most TEAM members to Washington. Everywhere Heston looked, he saw agents and their wives, as well as enough high-tech medical equipment to outfit an entire hospital ward. Maybe two. While the hospital’s staff handled her meds and stats, TEAM physicians Libby Houston and McKenna Villanueva, as well asHarley’s wife, Judy, attended to Kelsey’s personal needs. Things like washing her hair, talking and reading to her, reminding her that she was surrounded by family and friends. That everyone was praying for her recovery.
The same day Alex and Kelsey arrived in this hospital, London was ordered to a Forest Service disciplinary hearing, where, Heston had no idea. He hadn’t gotten any time alone with her after they’d landed, hadn’t asked the questions he needed answered, hadn’t had a chance to tell her goodbye. She’d walked away, just like last time. Without saying goodbye, I love you, or go to hell. Heston couldn’t blame her, not since he’d rejected her first.
But watching the way she’d worked so hard to save Kelsey and how she’d expertly handled Alex up on that mountain, knowing she’d willingly put her career on the line by helping Heston and Asher find the Stewarts, had been damned insightful. Told Heston he’d been wrong all those years ago. He’d been stupid. Arrogant for sure.
Because Londonwasstronger than he’d thought. Shehadknown what she was doing then, and she’d proved it now. She’d been leading them to that suspicious trailer before it exploded. Alex had London to thank for Kelsey’s rescue. Londonwasefficient and skilled. Shewasbrave. Damned brave. She’d trusted her gut up there on that mountain, had known something was odd with the trailer, and she’d stood up to Bates. Outright defied the son of a bitch when she’d gone with Heston and Asher to keep searching.
Heston ducked into the family conference room across the hall from Kelsey’s hospital room for a break. He needed a shower and shave, had been on high alert since he’d gotten the assignment to locate Alex and Kelsey. More than that a shower, he needed sleep. A short combat nap was in order.
He pulled two chairs together, one for his butt, the other for his boots. Tipping his head back, he stretched his legs and stared at the ceiling. Then closed his eyes. But all he saw was London’s pretty face. Her light turquoise hair. Her jewel-toned eyes. The quirky smile she used to get before she kissed him. The way she’d breathed life back into him, just by being on the same mountain.
Problem was, once London dug her heels in, there was no reasoning with her. Which on Mount Rainier had been a good thing. Not so much in Killeen, Texas, the night they broke up. Her dream of working for the FBI, whether he’d liked it or not, was what ended them. Not because he doubted she could do it. Heston knew damned well London could do anything she set her mind to do. But because she’d left him, just walked out of their apartment and didn’t look back. Hadn’t called to tell him she’d made it safely to the East Coast. Hadn’t answered any of the dozens of letters he’d written.
Correction: Her dream of working for the FBI wasn’t the root of their breakup. He’d made his share of mistakes that night, too. Heston knew he’d pushed her too hard and too far the night they’d fought. He’d been stationed at Fort Hood then. She’d just finished her degree in criminal justice. Probably would’ve helped if he hadn’t put his foot down like a moron and asked‘why can’t you stay home like other wives?’He cringed recalling how nasty he’d been—nasty enough she’d primly reminded him she wasn’t anybody’s wife. Which was true. He hadn’t asked to marry him yet. Sure as hell should have.
She’d been so offended at his lack of empathy that she called him a hairy ape with a brain the size of a pea, and she’d walked out on him. Which was just plain bad timing. He’d thought she’d taken off on one of her cooling-off runs, so he’d showered and fixed dinner. But when she hadn’t returned, he’d gone looking for her, even ran her usual route thinking he’d spot her and tellher he was sorry. When he didn’t find her, he’d panicked. Called her girlfriends. Called her parents, which brought him a shit-ton more disrespect from her father. But not an ounce of real concern. They weren’t happy with her‘shacking up with some Hispanic’to begin with. Their words, not his.
Truly worried, Heston had called the police department then. Another waste of time. London had only been gone hours and she was an adult. Not endangered. Entitled to make her own decisions. He hung up and waited for her to come home. But she didn’t.
She could be stubborn. Like the night she’d proudly told her parents that she loved Heston with all her heart, and she didn’t care what anyone, including them, thought. They’d made love all night once they’d gotten home. Good times. One of their best. How he’d admired her then.
But how he’d worried the next morning when he’d locked his apartment and had no choice but to board the Air Force C-130 and deploy to Somalia without saying goodbye. Without kissing her. Without knowing where she went or if she was hurt. If she’d been kidnapped.
His gaze dropped to the carpet between the size-twelves he’d stuffed into his big mouth the night of their fight. Which was why she’d walked out. He didn’t find out where she’d gone until days later, but he should’ve known. After enough digging, he’d discovered she’d taken the red-eye out of Austin that night and was in Quantico, Virginia, by the time he left the States. That was what she’d tried to tell him, her good news, that she’d been accepted by the Bureau. One of only a hundred applicants across the nation. That’s she’d achieved her dream. She’d been so excited. Bubbly. Effervescent. That was London. Stubborn, but usually happy until—
She wasn’t.
He wished he could wind the clock backward and re-do that night. Do it right. Their problem started out simple. London’s fantastic news had collided with Heston’s butt-ugly day. He should’ve handled it better. Not been so touchy. So damned rude.
He had been an ass, but only because he’d witnessed an accident with fatalities at Fort Hood, during an exercise that afternoon, and the memory was still fresh. Two privates had destroyed their M1162 Growler, the US Army’s light utility, light-strike, and fast-attack vehicle. They’d been off-road, reckless, driving too fast. Weren’t wearing seatbelts. Hit a rut. Probably never knew their front left tire had been blown off its rim. Things happened too fast after that. The Growler cartwheeled. The soldier behind the wheel died instantly. The other was ejected and hit a tree. Shattered the front of his skull. It took him a little while, but Heston was with him when he died.
He wiped his hand over his face, as the memories crushed the breath out of him again. There was no getting over it. No forgetting. He swallowed hard, forging ahead like always. He and his LT had been following the Growler. Saw the whole thing. Stayed with those poor guys until the ambulance arrived and took their bodies away. Then he’d gone straight home, thinking only of being in London’s arms, of seeking comfort. Of drowning in a bottle of Jack, preferably in bed with her sweet body wrapped around his.
Instead, the moment he’d opened his front door, Heston had been hit by a tsunami of overwhelming enthusiasm. London had been so damned excited. He’d known she’d applied with the FBI. Just hadn’t thought all that her acceptance would mean to her. Or to him. He should’ve realized that, too.
But like some alpha dickhead, instead of listening and offering sincere congratulations to the woman he truly loved, he’d rained shit all over her parade for being selfish andnarrow-minded. Had called her a dreamer. A loser. Just that fast, his future changed. She’d wanted—and had gotten—her dream career. He should’ve been supportive. At least, willing to hear her out. But he’d still been thinking of those two dead privates, their parents and friends. He’d just wanted to spend the night holding her and loving her. Not dealing with one more separation.
She probably thought he hadn’t cared at all.
‘Wonder why?’Heston thought morosely. Because he had been an ass. Because London was still the same generous, kind, vibrant, and insightful woman she’d been then. Only now…
She wasn’t his. She didn’t need or want him. There was no ‘you complete me’bullshit to their relationship, like in that Tom Cruise movie. Heston knew it now. London had been complete before they’d ever met.
He couldn’t explain the voracious need to protect her that came over him sometimes, like that night in Killeen or up on the mountain. The moment she’d disappeared around the burning trailer and he’d lost sight of her, he’d panicked. Which was what he’d done in Killeen.Shecould’ve been in that M1162 Growler.Shecould’ve been the one who died. Those two men were the same age as London. And honestly, all he’d ever wanted was to keep her safe and protect her and stand beside her and...
Shit.The thought of losing her had choked the life out of him the night they fought. Didn’t she know FBI agents were always in the line of fire? Didn’t she understand she could be sent into war-torn countries where women were treated no better than cattle? That because she’d be a federal asset, he might never be told the truth of how or where she died? That he might never even be told she had died in the line of duty?
You trust Asher. Mark. Izza Maher. Mother. Why not London?
Because London’s different. I love her. I just work with them. They’re friends. She’s my… everything.
Heston had no qualms working with Asher. Had never worried Asher couldn’t do his job. Had no problems trusting his co-workers. So why couldn’t he treat London with the same respect and professionalism? The same trust? He’d never been attracted to clingy women who didn’t know what they wanted and were afraid to define boundaries or demand respect. London was strong enough for him, and…and every bit as capable and trained as Asher. She was good at her job and she’d proved it.
So why can’t you let her be all she can be?
