“I can’t say,” he told Persia honestly.
“Or you won’t say,” she corrected. “I get it. You were on private business. Never mind. Forget I asked. That’s where my boss comes in. I don’t know everyone for sure, but Alex has several of us working your case.” She lifted one dainty finger. “Me.” Then another and another, as she said, “Former USMC hardass, Izza Maher, former Navy Intelligence Officer, Ember Dennison, and I’m not a hundred percent sure, but I think former SEAL Adam Torrey’s also working on setting you free. Don’t worry. We’ll find out.”
Walker about choked. “Adam works for Stewart?”
Persia’s head bobbed. “Of course. Only the best guys and gals work for Alex, and trust me…” She seemed to be saying that a lot. Trust me. Walker was beginning to. “Alex wouldn’t be digging into your case if he didn’t think you were worth it.”
A shiver raced over Walker’s shoulders. He’d been fighting this battle all by himself for so damned long. No one had stepped forward to stand by him or for him until now. A stranger. A guy he didn’t know, had never heard of before, had suddenly stepped forward to challenge the entire damned Navy? Stewart thought a lot of him, some guy he didn’t even know?
Walker stared at his soup. Afraid to hope. Afraid not to. “I know Adam. We’ve served together. He still jumping out of perfectly good airplanes?”
Persia’s smile warmed him. “Of course. We all have to be HALO qualified, but he’s our flying squirrel, and you should see him with Squeaks. You’d never know—”
“You? You’re HALO qualified, too?” Unbelievable.
Her one brow lifted. “I’m qualified for lots of things, honey.”
“But he’s… Adam’s a father? What kind of name’s Squeaks?”
“Squeaks is Adam’s son, and that’s just his handle. His real name’s Jimmy Malone Torrey, but he earned that name by living, despite being born two months premature, on the desert island where Adam and Squeaks’ mother crash-landed. You might’ve heard of her. Shannon Reagan, the billionaire, Paul Reagan’s daughter. Remember him?”
Walker certainly remembered the asshat who’d delivered more POS equipment than life-saving gear to the Navy before he’d died.
Persia continued, “I can’t wait to get you back to Alexandria, Virginia. That’s where TEAM headquarters is. Alex is a hardass, but I think he’ll be thrilled to meet you in person.”
That’d be different, someone ‘thrilled’ to meet him, not just glad they’d arrested him. Walker dared to hope. “But he doesn’t know me.”
Persia’s pretty clean hand landed over Walker’s battle-scarred knuckles. “When I applied to work for Alex, I was pretty sure he’d fire me every time I turned around. Whatever you do, don’t call him ‘sir.’ He hates that. Just Mr. Stewart, okay?”
Her fingers fluttered over Walker’s. “He’s former USMC, and he’s lethal. But he’s got something against officers. I’m fairly certain he’s been working your case for a while now. I’m just glad he asked me to come get you.” Her voice softened. “And I’m glad I was smart enough to leave the Bureau and look for a better job, or I wouldn’t be here right now…”
With every word, her head had tilted closer to his. Man, Walker wanted to kiss her.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he murmured, sure he shouldn’t kiss her, but just as sure he would. There seemed to be nothing between them that they couldn’t conquer together.
Until the front door slammed open and one angry Hispanic woman with fire flashing in her black eyes bellowed. “Get the fuck away from her!”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Persia nearly swallowed her tongue. “Izza! No! This is Hotrod. It’s okay!”
“I don’t care who he is, I said back the fuck off!” Izza kicked the front door closed behind her. “On the floor! Face down! Now, fat ass!”
Obediently, Walker lifted both hands and slid off his stool.
But Persia was quicker. Turning on her companion agent, she grabbed his arm before he made it to his knees. “No, Izza. You back off. You’ve read his transcripts. He’s not guilty.”
“I don’t know that, and neither do you.” Izza’s pistol still aimed at Walker.
“Yes, I do,” Persia declared sternly, her temper up now. “He’s sick. For God’s sake, look at him, Izza. He can barely sit up straight long enough to eat, and he shouldn’t be kneeling. I’ve given him a first dose of antibiotics, but he’s not strong enough—"
Izza’s neck jerked so quickly around, her ponytail flipped over her shoulder. “You what?! You’re playing doctor now? With this joker?”
“It’s all right,” Walker said as he clasped both hands behind his head. “Let me go, Persia.”
“No, it’s not all right, and it’s not fair!” Persia told him even as he tilted forward. When his eyes rolled back in his head, she barely had time to slide beneath his head and shoulders to buffer his fall. With a grunt, he collapsed on her thighs, his face to her belly, one hot arm circling her waist. Man, he was burning up again.
“Damn it, Izza! You’re a mother! You’re supposed to be able to tell if someone’s really sick or not! Can’t you see he’s injured? Maybe even dying?”
“He could be faking!”
Persia had her hands all over Hotrod’s head, neck, and shoulders by then. “Get me the digital thermometer from my first-aid kit. I should’ve taken his temp before. He’s hotter than hell.”
“Why didn’t you if he’s so-o-o-o sick?” Izza had her full swagger on. Sometimes, she could be as dense as a man.
“Because I had to cool him down first, smart ass. He’s been beaten, and he was already hot to the touch when we got here.”
“What the hell have you done?”
“What you would’ve done if you’d been here. What took you so long?”
“That creep went after Hans Koning. I couldn’t just leave him there holding the bag after you and Judge escaped, could I?”
“What creep? Where’s Koning?”
Izza jerked her head toward the closed front door. “Standing outside. Waiting for me to let him in. One of the guards said he helped you and Judge escape. Is that true?”
“Yes. Let the poor guy in. He’s the only reason I was able to get Hotrod out of that place. We need to talk with him.”
Again with the cocky head tilt. “Not until you tell me why you keep calling that bastard Hotrod?”
Oh, shit. Persia’s world was about to implode. She might as well come clean. Okay then. Here goes. “Because that man is Lieutenant Walker Judge, and Hotrod’s his SEAL handle.”
“And you know that how?”
Persia’s heart stuttered up her throat, suffocating her. This was where she lost her new-found career and her hard-won reputation, and where Alex would fire her. But that rep was based on her spot-on instincts, solid undercover work, and the sheer willpower to get the hard jobs done. She could’ve walked away from that mission into Domingo Zapata’s lair any number of times, yet she hadn’t. No matter how ugly or tough that heinous cluster of bunkers he’d called home had gotten, she’d stayed true to the mission. She’d followed her heart and completed one helluva nasty-assed operation. She’d done the damned job!
Swallowing hard, she faced her best friend and answered truthfully. “Because I watched him come ashore in Florida. He’d just swum a hundred miles from Cuba, Izza. Without tether or one bit of back-up support. I saw him get on his knees and kiss America, and then I—”
“You. Kissed. Him.” Every word out of Izza’s mouth was a vicious shot to Persia’s heart.
Squaring her shoulders, she raised her chin. Her mother had always said it was tougher to stand up to friends than enemies. “Yes, Izza, I did, and I’m glad I did. He’s not who everyone says he is. I know.”
“Because you kissed…” Izza’s big brown eyes widened. “You think you know him? Oh, crap, you let him… You and he… You didn’t!” The censure in her hiss could have melted iron. “
What have you done?!”
“No, Izza. What have you done? Judge him like everyone else? Condemn him before you know what you’re talking about or what’s he’s been through? Were you there when he allegedly murdered his CO? Do you know for certain he did it?”
“Crap, Persia, are you sure he’s innocent?”
Easing Walker to the floor, Persia stepped into Izza’s line of fire. “Yes,” she said, pressing her hand to her heart. “I. Know. The same way I knew Zapata would believe me when I faced him down in his hellhole. The same way I was able to nail his ugly ass to the wall. Trust me. I know damned well that Walker Judge is innocent.”
At last, Izza wavered. Her glance zipped to where Walker lay unconscious, then back to Persia. It took a couple more seconds before she lowered her piece. But her chest still heaved with every hard breath. Her chin was still up, and the weapon remained in her hand, challenging Persia to give her more proof than just her heart.
“Read the transcripts over again if you don’t believe me,” Persia begged. “Let me show you what I found. What I saw. I’ve marked several sections. It’s almost as if Ember laid out a defense case for Hotrod. It’s all there.”
“You mean Walker Judge, damn it. Stop calling him Hotrod,” Izza hissed. “Crap, yeah, I read his file. It’s all there, and it’s clear as day, Coltrane. Judge did it. Christ, there were witnesses who saw him go into Goff’s home. Morgue shots of the dead body that he admitted, in court, were Goff’s.”
“But he wasn’t even in the country when Goff was murdered.”
“Is that what he said? How gullible are you?”
“But witnesses can be bought. Morgue shots can be photoshopped.”
“The Navy doesn’t want him back!”
Persia cocked her head. “Wait a minute,” she murmured, her heart breaking all over for this unwanted, yet most-wanted man. “They disavowed him?”
Izza’s lips thinned. “That’s what I said. Nobody wants him. Shit, I’ll bet his folks don’t even want him back.”
A wave of empathy welled in Persia’s heart, crushing her. “They’re both dead, Izza,” she said quietly. “They died within months of each other a couple years ago. Soon after, his only brother was killed in action. He has no family.”
Izza’s olive complexion paled. “I… I didn’t know that.”
“It’s in Ember’s file, honey. Could it be you missed other things, too?” Which made Persia’s case feel even more solid. “Think, Izza. If he were Connor, would you go along with whatever the Navy said, or would you know, deep in your gut, that they lied? That something was wrong if they’d accused a man like your husband of cold-blooded murder? Wouldn’t you do everything you could to help him? Wouldn’t you fight for him?”
Izza rolled one shoulder. “Connor’d never kill a man in cold blood.”
“Not even when the woman he loved was being tortured by—”
“Yeah, yeah, stop it, all right. Just stop!” Izza bellowed, even as she waved Persia off. “Walker Judge isn’t your husband!”
Izza might turn belligerent even when faced with reasonable explanations, but she couldn’t deny the fact that Connor had run to rescue her from the Mexican drug cartel that had gone ape-shit crazy in Utah. How he’d been injured when he’d gotten there, yet had walked straight into the airplane hangar where she’d been held, bleeding and all, with a dozen murderers firing at him. With shotguns and rifles pointed at his head. But he hadn’t gotten shot. Hadn’t hesitated. Not even once.
Persia knew for a fact that Connor had mowed those bastards down, then cried like a baby when he’d finally had Izza’s battered body back in his arms. When he’d been convinced they’d beaten her so hard that she and his unborn baby were dead… That they’d killed everything he’d marched into Hell to save.
One didn’t have to work for Alex very long before hearing all The TEAM’s legends. How tall, handsome Mark Houston had rescued Libby from yet another cartel, this one from Russia, who’d buried her alive. How affable, gentle Harley had interrupted a deranged FBI agent inside his apartment. The guy had been prepared to slice Judy into bite-sized pieces, then wash the remnants of her body down the drain. But Harley had busted his door down, then busted that murderer. Shot him dead, then broke down because he’d almost lost the woman he adored.
Then there was the story of stalwart Gabe Cartwright, who’d been so certain that he’d gotten Alex killed, that he’d sworn his soul to protect Kelsey. In the course of that warrior’s vow, he’d met Shelby, the woman who’d challenged his warrior ethics, his second amendment rights, and ultimately, the woman he’d taken a bullet for.
But the legend Persia loved best was how Alex had rescued a complete stranger, a battered woman, in the middle of the great Pacific Northwest. How he’d sheltered Kelsey and protected her from that day forward. How that hard-assed jarhead had become Kelsey’s most faithful servant and her best friend. Persia still couldn’t comprehend how those two had ever made a child, but Lexie was proof that they had, wasn’t she? And because there had once been hope for Alex, there could be hope for Walker Judge.
“Call it my sixth sense,” Persia pleaded. “Hell, call it women’s intuition, I don’t care. But I do know Hotrod, and I believe him. He didn’t do what the Navy accused him of, and it’s up to you and me to prove it.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Walker smiled as he lay there with his sweaty cheek planted against the hardwood floor. He’d never felt so bad, nor so good, at the same time before. Persia believed in him enough to fight for him. How rare was that? Only Team 18 had ever fought for him as hard as she was fighting her companion agent now. Which seemed surreal, a mere woman who only weighed a hundred ten—if that—ready to take on the world for a man she—liked? Had she said love? His head was buzzing and he couldn’t recall. She’d said a lot of nice things to him and about him. But he was pretty sure she hadn’t said that word. Not love.
But you love her…
Yeah, well…
He squeezed his eyes tight against his insistent conscience. Or whatever that nagging voice in his head was. Love her? Hell, he didn’t even know her. Not yet. But he wanted to. An ordinary date would be nice. Maybe two or three… Then maybe love might enter the picture.
She was at his side again, pulling him into her arms. Tipping his head to her chest. Breathing her sweet spirit over his forehead and into his face. “You should see the bruises on his back. This man’s been beaten. He’s injured and sick,” she told her friend Izza in no uncertain terms. “Tell Koning to come in, then help me get Hotrod into bed. First bedroom on the right.”
Walker stared up at her. “Hey, hey, hey,” he huffed like an idiot. He had so much more to say, but the words wouldn’t come. Even if they did, he wasn’t sure they’d come out right.
Izza grunted. “Next to yours? Are you kidding me?!”
“Will you knock it off and help?” Persia’s exclamation thundered through every cell of Walker’s weary body. Felt warm and pleasant. But at the same time, it felt like a shockwave of what he’d always thought the word of God would’ve felt like. If God had ever spoken to him.
“I’m… good,” he tried to tell her, but it came out unintelligible, sounded more like a horse talking. A hoarse horse. Ha! Now he knew he was delirious, and none of this was real. Too bad. But a beautiful, graceful, smart woman like Persia would never believe someone like him. Would she?
Then they were lifting him, and he was surprised how strong these two women were. Walker lost track of time and space, simple things like that. The bed beneath him was too soft and too warm. Too small for his long legs. Someone turned the sun off, and he was lost in a night with no stars. Cool, gentle hands moved over his body. His face. Someone pressed the sweetest kiss to his cheek. Then quiet, blessed darkness.
“So someone beat the shit out of him,” Izza groused. “So what? That doesn’t make him innocent.”
By then, Persia had doctored Hotrod as much as she
could. She’d changed the butterfly strips over his battered eye and left him in his room with the lights out, a cold compress under his neck, and a bottled water on his nightstand. He’d been talking out of his head, not making sense, and she regretted making love to an injured man. That hadn’t been smart, and yet she couldn’t have stopped herself, hadn’t tried. He’d needed the reconnection and the intimacy. So had she.
Hans Koning sat by himself at the front room table, thumbing through his cell phone like a high school teenager after spring break on the beach with a new batch of porn. Izza had set him up with a bowl of soup, several slices of bread, and a bottled water, but he had yet to touch anything. All he seemed to want was whatever was on his phone.
“No, but maybe this transcript will,” Persia murmured, setting Ember’s file on the breakfast bar between herself and Izza. “I marked the places where, when the prosecutor CO John Cudahy finished questioning witnesses, and Hotrod’s attorney, failed to cross-examine. He didn’t object very often throughout the entire trial, but when he did, the judge over-ruled him anyway. It was as if Kroft didn’t care whether his client was convicted or not.”
“Ah, yes,” Hans muttered from the front room. “Look at this, ladies.”
Persia made room at the counter for him to stand between them.
“I knew I’d seen Lieutenant Judge before yesterday. Of course, back then, I didn’t know I’d get to serve as his counsel one day. This is a news clip taken during the early stages of his trial. Tell me what you see.” He turned the volume up and his phone on its side, so both Izza and Persia could watch.
The panoramic view of the courtroom on Naval Base San Diego, California, had been taken from the side of the courtroom. Whoever the cameraman was, he’d caught Hotrod’s brave profile when he was led in between two USN Masters-at-arms and escorted to the left of the two polished wooden tables facing the bench.
Walker (In the Company of Snipers Book 21) Page 23
