Chapter 35

Chapter Thirty-Five

Still going ninety miles per, Asher locked his brakes, cranked the wheel hard to the left, and let the Camaro drift across the bumpy, dormant field until it parallel parked itself beside the helo in a cloud of dust. Climbing out and into the shit storm as steadily as he could, he palmed both pistols and headed for the woman holding a pistol on Marlowe. Damn, his right hand was weaker than shit, but he bucked up. He would not lose Marlowe!

"Drop the weapon or I drop you," he ordered, fully aware that her pilot was momentarily unaccounted for. Heston had better show up in the next few minutes. Where the hell was he?

The woman shook her arrogant head. "Not happening, Agent Downey. It is you who must drop your weapon." She shrugged. "Or not. This woman dies for her crimes either way. I will be happy to kill her now and let you watch."

"What crime?" Asher barked, sweat rolling down his body.

"She spat on the mighty Caliph. She betrayed my king."

"You lied," Marlowe yelled. "I tried to help you escape Afghanistan, Sariah. You're the one who betrayed me. You told those assholes where I'd be that morning, I know you did."

"You betrayed the great Caliph!" Sariah screamed back. "He wanted your head but you killed my brothers. You butchered them."

Marlowe snorted. "Those creeps in that cave were your brothers? I wish I did butcher them. Wasn't that what they were going to do to me? Torture me to death before they lopped off my head and stuck it on a pike?"

"I killed those rat bastards," Asher declared proudly, "and I'd do it again. Now drop your weapon. Drop it, now!"

"Sariah, no!" the gray-haired woman screamed. "You can't kill her until I get Chuck back. We had a deal."

‘And that must be Mommy Dearest,' Asher thought. Jesus. She'd sold her daughter to Marlowe's betrayer. What a lousy excuse of a mother.

"Which you have been well paid for," Sariah replied haughtily.

Standing near the helo, Marlowe had gone silent, her mouth hanging open at the ugly revelation that her mother had also betrayed her. Sariah was going to die, and Asher didn't mind if Marlowe's egg-donor mother did, too. But his injured arm had grown heavier and was on its way to being useless. He dropped to one knee and rested it on his thigh. That adjustment was the distraction he needed.

Jumpy, Sariah whirled and fired on him.

"Asher! No, no, no!" Marlowe screamed.

But yes. Hell, yes. Asher returned fire.

Sariah's shot went wild.

His didn't. Full-on body shot. Sariah crumbled to the dirt at the same moment he became aware of the asshole creeping behind him. On his weak side. Because of recoil, his injured right arm was now throbbing and worthless. Asher turned, knowing he'd never make the shot in time. Across-body shots were always less accurate. He fired anyway.

Sariah's pilot went down before Asher's round struck. He tapped his ear to call for verification of the unknown shooter, but damn, no earpiece. Lifting his poor right arm as high as he could to shield his eyes, he searched for Marlowe.

A heavy hand clapped his left shoulder, startling him. "It's over," Heston said, as he took a knee beside Asher and wrapped a brotherly arm around him for support. "Sure wish you'd stayed home and in bed. Beau and I had this covered until you broke loose. Sit tight. Cavalry's coming."

Dressed in battle gear: tactical armor, helmet, boots, and enough weaponry to start a small war, Heston was a godsend. The rifle in the sling over his shoulder told Asher he was the one who had taken out Sariah's pilot. Thank God for honorable men and heroes.

The fight went out of Asher. He sagged against his friend. "Where's Marlowe? You see her?"

Heston nodded toward the bus. There she was, running toward him and yelling. He couldn't hear a thing. His ears were still ringing. Not until Marlowe dropped to one hip, sliding like a runner into home base and screamed, "Bomb! There's a bomb in that van!"

The crazy woman threw herself over Asher, knocking Heston out of her way and Asher onto his back. She meant to die for him? No way. He rolled her over and covered her face with his arms and head. Shielding her. Loving her. Willing to die for her.

Within seconds, the bomb blew, but its energy exploded upward, not outward. Must've been another improvised explosive. The walls of that ugly-as-sin hippie van contained most of the blast. Windows blew, sure. Asher held tight to Marlowe as the heatwave and shattered glass roared over them. She clung to him sobbing and careful of his injury. God, he loved this woman.

But it was Heston crouching over them both. His back was to the van, shielding them like the armor-plated guardian angel he was. Asher was beginning to wonder if Heston wasn't just that.

At last, crap stopped falling out of the sky and it was safe to get up, but Asher stayed where he was. Marlowe's shaking hands were cradling his weary head. She was crying and talking to him. Carefully, Asher kissed the woman he adored, breathing in her fear and relief, a heady cocktail after nearly losing her. Collapsing against her soft, sweet body, he buried his face in the secret cleft between her shoulder and neck, and he let go.

The bad guys were dead.

Marlowe was finally safe.

About damned time.