Page 75 of Heston
“How about another cup of coffee?”
Alex squeezed his shoulder before he let go. “You were black ops,” he said.
Heston cranked his head around and really looked at Alex. “If I were, you know I won’t talk about it.”
That seemed to be all the confirmation Alex needed. He scraped a thumb under his chin like a prizefighter challenging an opponent.
Heston said nothing because there was nothing to tell. Yes, he’d been one of damned few Rangers selected to go undercover in the Ukraine a while back, how far back didn’t matter. He’d done his duty more times than he cared to remember. He’d taken out more HVTs than anyone would ever know. Not even Alex. And that was the end of it. Loose lips still sunk ships, damn it.
“You’ll work with Zack Lennox when you report back to duty. You okay with that?”
Heston nodded. “Zack’s a good man. I’d be honored to work with him, but nothing OCONUS until I say.”
Alex grinned a cocky grin and held out his empty mug. “Another cup would be fine.”
“But first…” Heston let that hang. There were things he needed to know, other things he needed his boss to know. “I killed Obermeyer and I’d do it again.”
“We already went over that.”
“So who ended Lancaster Wirth and his worthless son?” Heston suspected Alex had, but he needed to know for sure.
“I thought you knew,” Alex breathed.
“No, I don’t, but if they’re still out there, if they dare come after London—”
“They won’t,” Alex declared. “Rest easy, Marine. When I say no one’s coming after London, it’s because they can’t, got it?”
“Oh? Oh.” Heston swallowed hard. And here he’d been expecting his home to be breached any minute by the Irish Mafia. That Lancaster had put a hit on him, and that his men would storm over him and London with guns blazing. That he’d fall and, in the process, fail London. That they’d kill her. Or worse. “Umm, thanks, Boss. But I was Army, not USMC.”
Alex shrugged. “Too bad. You would’ve made a better Marine. Sorry, should’ve told you sooner. Please tell London they’re both dead. It’ll help her rest easy, too.”
Heston realized he and his boss weren’t much different. They’d both killed the bastards who’d dared hurt their women. There was profound comfort in that knowledge, knowing he and Alex were cut from the same hard piece of leather.
“So, umm, Mother. I mean Mom, umm, err—”
“Spit it out.”
Heston took a deep breath. “She called me honey that day at Turkey Run. I’m pretty sure she was crying when she said it, and… God, she had drones in the air over us, over me. She saw everything, and I wonder if maybe… if Mother…”
Alex hmphed. “I’m surprised she wasn’t cheering you on when you ended Obermeyer.”
“Well…” Heston had no idea what to ask. He’d just refused to share sensitive intel about his past. Alex should refuse, too, especially since this intel concerned someone who wasn’t present. “Never mind. I’ll ask Mother myself.”Someday. Not today, but some other day. Maybe.
“Mother had a little girl named Dempsey,” Alex said quietly. “She picked that name for her daughter because Dempsey was born with birth defects they both fought the rest of her life. Sadly, Dempsey died sooner than Mother expected.”
Heston stared at his empty coffee mug. “I’m sorry I asked.”
“Don’t be. Suffice it to say that Mother understands grief and loss the same as the rest of us. A person doesn’t need to go to war to have their heart crushed.”
Heston sucked in a full breath. There was more to Mother’s story, but that small insight was helpful, and one day, she might share it with him. Heston could wait.
“Another thing you might not know, Lancaster beat London because she refused to tell him where Kelsey and I were.” Lifting his free hand, Alex waved Heston’s next question off. “I know, I know. London didn’t know I’d already moved Kelsey, but the point it, she wouldn’t betray us, Hes. She refused to tell the guys who beat her anything. Just took those slaps and punches like a man. I’m damned sorry about that, but I’m also damned proud of your woman.”
Heston’s hand clenched into fists. “Gawddamn it! She’s not a man! She’s… Shit! She wasn’t trained for that crap. Why didn’t you let me kill him? I would’ve torn him—”
“Because your number one job was, and will always be, protecting London. She needed you that evening, not anyone else, certainly not another man. And Lancaster needed to meet the man whose wife he almost killed.”
Heston was still breathing fire. But yes, London had surely needed him then. Certainly, no other man should’ve held her while she’d cried. His heart rate slowed as, little by little, logic wrested control from his inner caveman—again.
