Walker (In the Company of Snipers Book 21)

by Irish Winters

  That seemed to perk Walker’s tired ears up. “Goff’s money trail? Why?”

  “Yes, Commander Wallace Goff, and because too many things didn’t line up during your trial. I’ll tell you what I know, but it’d be better if Beau explains everything. He’s been on your case non-stop for months. You’ll meet him as soon as you’re up for more visitors.”

  “I’m up for it now. Bring him in.”

  “No, Walker. You need to rest or you won’t heal. And you need to heal to fight. You’ve had two concussions.”

  His chest heaved. “I guess. But why me?”

  “Why not you?” Persia asked as she took possession of his hand again and pressed his knuckles to her lips. “You have this crazy notion that you’re expendable, but you’re not, Walker Judge. Let me call Beau. He’ll—”

  “No,” Walker ground out. “You’re right. I’ve had enough for one day. But what the hell’s your boss thinking? Me ready to travel in three hours? Shit, I can barely hold my head up.”

  “He knows full well what you need right now. He’s got a jet on stand-by at a private airfield. I’ll get a wheelchair. You won’t have to do anything but come with us when we leave.”

  “Where are we going?” he asked, his eyes growing heavier with every question.

  “To Ireland,” Persia replied softly. “A good friend of Alex’s lives there. We’ll be off everyone’s radar, and you’ll be able to recover.”

  “Who… who’s us?” he asked as his lashes fell.

  Persia pressed his fist against her breasts. “Us is you and me. Us is your friend Brimley and his dog, your entire SEAL team, Trevor Duncan, Captain Dooley, Smoke Montoya, and…”

  By then, Walker was out cold, breathing evenly, his hand slack in hers. “And a couple other experts you haven’t met yet,” she murmured. “Us is my boss and my friends, too. Beau, Adam, and Zack. We’re all in this together.”

  Reaching her fingers into his hair, she smoothed it off his forehead, then slid her fingers down his cheek, loving the feel of his skin and scruff against her palm. He needed a haircut. She needed to kiss him.

  Lifting to her feet, she leaned into Walker and pressed a fervent kiss to his forehead. “Sleep easy,” she whispered. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

  “Damned right you will,” he growled as his arm circled her waist and up she went, into bed beside him. “Get comfy, junior agent. I’m tired, and you’re not going anywhere.”

  Persia tipped her forehead into his cheek, not going to argue.

  “You saved me,” she told him breathlessly. “Back in that bedroom. After my nightmare. Izza told me what you said, and how you said it. She likes you, Walker.”

  “Izza’s okay,” he answered dreamily. “But you’re the woman I love, Persia. Only you.”

  Her heart stopped. Love? Was he serious? Did he even know what he’d just said?

  Opening his eyes, Walker shifted to face her. His free hand settled on her jaw. His thumb landed on her chin. He pressed his warm lips into her forehead. “Persia Coltrane,” he breathed, then pulled back enough to look into her eyes. “It’s true what I just said. I meant it. I do love you. Shhhhh. You don’t have to love me back. I’m not asking for forever. I just needed you to know that my life changed the second I laid eyes on you. There you were, stuck in that ridiculous Adirondack chair.”

  That made her smile. “I looked stupid trying to get out of it, didn’t I? Did I look like a turtle on its back?”

  He grinned, his blue eyes soft and hazy. “You never look stupid. No way. Not you. If anything, you’re a little scary sometimes. You’re confident and strong. You’re tough. Some would say you’re bitchin’. It’s obvious you’re highly trained, just as lethal as most male operators I know. Plus, you like what you do. You’re good at it. It shows.”

  “Women are strong, too.”

  “They are,” he agreed on a sigh. His fingers lifted to her hair, threading through a thick chunk of it, shoving it back over her shoulder. “But you’re more than just an operator, Persia. You’re beautiful and you’re mine. Stay with me tonight. I’ll keep your nightmares away and you’ll help me rest.”

  His breath was heavy in her face by then. Heavy, sweet, and male.

  “Okay,” she replied, easily snaking a hand around the back of his neck. “I’ll stay with you, but just for tonight.”

  Walker pressed her into his side, his nose in her hair. “We’ll see about that,” he murmured thickly. “We’ll see…”

  The next day found Walker passing through a quaint Irish village in County Tipperary, Ireland. The ancient stone fortress known as the Rock of Cashel dominated what little of the countryside Walker could see from the side window of the SUV he was quarantined in. By then he’d met an associate of Stewart’s, Senior Agent Murphy Finnegan. He owned the farm where Walker was now headed. It was Murphy who sat with Walker now. Not Persia.

  She’d slipped out of his bed sometime this morning before two male nurses had arrived to get him ready to travel. He knew he had a concussion. Jesus Christ, what next? He hadn’t yet recovered from that beat down inside the ICC, and the bullet hole in his shoulder was nothing to sneeze at.

  Yet he was glad for the company. Murphy reminded him of Brimley. Damn, it had been good to see the old fart yesterday and to finally know what had happened, that Rover and Persia Smiles were safe. The first chance he could, Walker meant to get back on that yacht. He needed a better look at the evidence he’d found. He was sure it led back to someone Goff had known before his demise.

  “How are you feeling, son?” Murphy asked from the driver’s seat.

  Walker was stretched out in the back seat, one boot on the seat, the other on the floor, and his head tipped back against a cushion, facing Murph. “I’m good.”

  Murphy grunted, his grin reflected from the rearview mirror. “I used to lie, too. Then I married my current wife, and Moira’s a pediatrician. She’s got no problem calling me a liar to my face. So be honest. I’ve got meds if you need them.”

  “I could use a couple aspirin.”

  Murphy tossed a prescription bottle over the seat. Then handed a bottle of water back. “Figured as much. You’re looking a might green. You need me to pull over?”

  “Nah,” Walker said as he popped the cap off the water and swallowed the prescribed dose of little white pills. Pain pills were a necessary evil. Like now. But he’d watched too many guys fall to opioid addiction. He handed the bottle back to Murphy. “Thanks.”

  “Your head pounding, or is pain just tap-dancing up your spine?”

  Murphy was one of those grandfatherly types who seemed to know how to talk to people, even hard-nosed SEALs. Which Walker surely wasn’t at the moment. “Tap-dancing,” he admitted as he leaned back and closed his eyes, shutting the bright, cheery sunlight out of his throbbing head. He’d never been carsick. Sure as hell didn’t want to initiate Murphy’s SUV by tossing his cookies. Walker swallowed hard and told his gut to man up. “How much farther?”

  “Two clicks. You need anything else? I’ve got chips, crackers, beef jerky.”

  Yes, Persia. “No. I’m good.”

  “She’s waiting at my place,” Murphy replied as if he’d read Walker’s mind. “Agent Coltrane. Alex is there, too. They went on ahead to get everything ready.”

  “That’s nice,” Walker murmured, the pain meds taking over what little resistance he had left.

  When the SUV came to a gentle stop, whoever opened the back doors did it quietly. He vaguely remembered being laid on a gurney, then a smooth ride into a stone cottage that was as big as a barn. Then someone fussing over him, settling him into bed, wiping a cool cloth over his face and brow. Caring about him. “Persia?”

  “Shush,” she whispered. “Sleep, Walker. No worries. The Irish Guarda is onsite, along with several TEAM agents. They won’t let anyone onto this property, not like people know where we are anyway. Alex will explain everything when he gets back.”


  That’d sure be nice. “Thought he was already here?”

  “He’s a busy man,” Persia murmured into Walker’s ear.

  Walker let the soothing darkness take him.

  A while later, he woke to quiet conversation coming from beyond his darkened room. Walker rolled to the side of the bed and put both bare feet to the hardwood floor, testing his head for dizziness and his gut for nausea. The side effects of concussion. When he felt neither, he inhaled a full cleansing breath. The tantalizing aroma of grilled meat filled his nostrils. Then… tacos?

  It was time to get moving. Cautiously, he lifted to his feet, then used the en suite head, a nice touch with American-style toiletries. Once he’d showered and finished with the necessities, he took a look at his reflection in the mirror over the sink. Not too bad. He needed a shave and a haircut, but his skull wasn’t pounding and his eyes were clear. He passed a damp, cool towel over his face, and folded it over the rack. After brushing his teeth, he made for the ongoing conversation outside his door. It stilled the moment he showed his face.

  “You’re up?” Persia asked with a surprised smile.

  You’re gorgeous, he thought. But he asked, “What’s cooking?”

  “The guys out back are grilling steaks, and Izza’s making enchiladas and homemade tortillas.”

  His stomach growled. “She can cook, too?”

  “I heard that,” Izza called from the kitchen.

  “You’re a rock star!” Walker yelled back at her.

  “Too little, too late, buddy. No salsa for you.”

  Damn, he would’ve begged for salsa now, but not in front of Stewart.

  Persia, Murphy, Stewart, Quinn, Trevor, Brimley, and Ryder were seated in chairs and on couches around a massive wooden coffee table in the center of the room. The rest of Walker’s men sat cross-legged on the floor between the chairs, all with brown bottles of Guinness in hand. Hans sat beside Persia, a scuffed-up satchel at his foot. Smoke Montoya sat cross-legged with Rover sprawled across his lap. The dog jumped up and bounced over Nguyen Li’s legs on his way to meet and greet Walker.

  “Hey, boy, how ya doing?” he asked as he stroked the happy, tail-wagging boy. “You missed me?”

  Rover whined and wiggled like a big furry kid.

  “No, he misses the shark we’ve been eating,” Brimley announced, saluting Walker with his bottle raised high. “Come on in, son. Have a seat. We’ve been talking about you.”

  “I’ll bet,” Walker said as he looked to Stewart, who nodded sideways at the vacant chair next to him. Stepping over Amerigo Torres and Urban Sweeney, Walker made his way. Might as well get it over with.

  “About time,” Stewart grumbled the second Walker’s ass hit the cushion.

  “Yeah, well…” He yawned just to tweak the uptight guy. “You know how us SEALs are.”

  Those laser blues could’ve sliced titanium, but Walker wasn’t up to taking crap from anyone. Especially not some jarhead with attitude. “What’d I miss?” he asked brightly.

  Persia beamed from her place across the circle.

  “Him,” Stewart growled, his arrogant chin now stuck at the two men who’d just come from the kitchen. One as big, shaggy, and dark as a bear, the other—

  “Adam!” Walker called out, back on his feet again, damned if he was going to sit like a weak-kneed pansy in front of his SEAL brother.

  Adam cut through the circle with long strides. “You’re looking good,” he said as he pulled Walker into a manly chest bump, then gently cuffed his good shoulder. “Shit, it’s been—”

  “Three years,” Walker said as he eased out of Adam’s rugged embrace. “I hear you’re married. You got a kid?” Man, this blond behemoth looked good. Tan. Broad across the chest and shoulders. Still grinning as if he were on top of the world.

  “We do, yes. Stop by and visit once you’re back in the States. I’ve been telling Squeaks and Shannon about you. They’re dying to meet the man behind the myth.”

  Walker blinked. There it was again, the same brotherhood as the last time he’d worked with Adam. Front and center. Always faithful. Always ready to take a guy in. Feed him. Make him part of his family. “What the hell kind of name is Squeaks?”

  A dimple dented the center of Adam’s big square chin. “That’s what he said when he was born. He squeaked, so—”

  “Bullshit,” Izza interrupted. “Shannon didn’t even know she was pregnant when that plane crashed. But when her water broke, me and Connor were on the other side of the island. Adam was the only one there, so he delivered her baby. All by himself. Bet Squeaks wasn’t the only one squeaking then.”

  Both Adam’s shoulders lifted. “Nothing to it. Like catching a home run.”

  “Ha!” Izza barked. “That sweet little guy was just what we needed back then. Squeaks shouldn’t have lived. He came two months early, and we were worried we’d never—”

  “Ahem,” Stewart growled impatiently.

  He sure had a way of dominating—and ruining—a perfectly great reunion. Walker wanted to laugh in his face. Instead, he cuffed Adam’s bicep and promised, “Later, bro. Drinks for sure.”

  “At my place,” Adam added, his joy at being a husband and father so obvious, it stabbed Walker’s heart. Man, he wanted what Adam had. That undefinable something that made this flyboy seem—grounded. Maybe anchored. As if he’d found something that mattered more than those risky HALO jumps and the adrenaline rush that came with them.

  Persia had the funniest glow on her face. Her eyes sparkled. Light. That’s what she was, an unexpected light in the middle of a very bleak year.

  Stewart growled again. Walker turned on him with a great big grin. Apparently, he was part of Stewart’s TEAM now, and his new boss expected him to listen. Wasn’t that son of a bitch in for a surprise?

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Persia couldn’t take her eyes off Walker. She wouldn’t have, either, except Alex had tasked her to lead this briefing. Most everyone who needed to be here had arrived, thanks to Alex’s private jet. If needed, Ember was on standby back at TEAM HQ.

  Persia began with Hans. “Mr. Koning. Would you please tell us what you discovered while examining the International Criminal Court’s evidence against Walker Judge?”

  He turned to Beau. “I believe Agent Villanueva can show what I found better than I can explain.”

  “You bet.” Beau flipped open the laptop balanced on his knees, then nodded at Walker. “I’d sure like to know what you did to piss off so many people.”

  “You’re not the only one,” Walker replied evenly.

  “But you’ve got folks in foreign countries looking for your ass.” Beau flashed four fingers. “The States, England, Jordan, and now, the Netherlands.”

  Walker shrugged as if he didn’t care. But Persia knew different. He was suddenly as tense as he’d been before the safe house was breached. “SEALs are lucky like that. So what do you have on me?”

  “Watch and learn,” Beau replied as he worked the keyboard, then activated the mini-projector he’d placed in the center of the coffee table.

  Heads turned, and people shifted positions to watch the video that sprang to life on the wall opposite Alex and Walker. Persia took in the panoramic view of what would have been a lavish wedding somewhere in Jordan. The day had been sunny and bright. A slight wind was blowing from the east, fluttering the hundred or so flags atop three magnificent stretch tents. Stone planters of pink, magenta, and cream-colored hibiscus flowers, along with small green palm trees, were set at the corners of the tents. An over-abundance of already lit string lights circled each tent support and lined the ceilings inside, as well as the roofs.

  Stretch tents were designed to be airy, yet waterproof, more like ceilings without walls than actual tents. These three were constructed of light, weather-resistant fabric stretched between uprights that varied in height from the few twenty-foot tall center supports, to shorter poles and stakes set at various i
ntervals on the periphery. Every tent allowed visibility from every possible outside angle. Every guest, coming or going, tiny or stalwart, was on view.

  “Watch the tent on the right,” Beau said. “That’s where the marriage ceremony was supposed to take place.”

  Unlike the others, which were both massive enough to house three long banquet tables with enough settings and seats for seventy-eight guests, the wedding tent held a single ornate table. That was where the bride and groom would’ve eaten their first meal as husband and wife. Long cedar garlands stretched between crystal goblets and gold lanterns, all set on a pristine linen tablecloth. Small potted palm trees stood at each end of the table. An elaborate, aquamarine Persian rug, as wide and long as the tent itself, carpeted the ground beneath it. After the meal, the bride and groom would’ve danced the first dance of the rest of their lives on that plush carpet.

  Walker leaned forward, his elbow on his knee and his chin cupped in one hand. But there was no light in his normally twinkling eyes. The laugh lines that usually spread like tiny rays of sun from the corners of his eyes, were missing as well. He probably knew more of Jordan’s wedding customs than Persia did. Which was why he looked more sad than curious. To face all the dreams that this family had lost, had to be difficult.

  Persia flashed her attention back to the video, which now showed crowds of guests mingling, all waiting for the bride and groom to arrive and the ceremony to begin. It seemed as if brown-eyed, brown-haired little kids were everywhere. Running. Squealing. Chasing each other. Playing tag. Just being kids...

  The sight of all that innocence about to be annihilated was heart-wrenching. Her gaze strayed back to Walker. His eyes were on those little ones, too. But the hand that had cupped his chin before was a fist now. His right shoulder rolled, then rolled again, as if he couldn’t sit still. Which was an interesting tell. Why did the sight of children about to die illicit the reaction to run? Did he want to run to save them from the carnage he knew was coming because he’d planned it?

  That didn’t feel right. When Adam told Walker about Squeaks, he’d looked thoroughly pleased. Delighted, even. Had Walker known this Jordanian prince and his family? Was that why he seemed ready to explode out of his chair? Or did he think everyone gathered here today would turn on him, accuse him of murdering those children? Betray him like the rest of the world had?