“You murdered the Green Berets in London, too,” he told Goff, his anger rising like mercury in the middle of a New York City heatwave. “It was you who sabotaged that Blackhawk, then sicced NCIS on me. You planted all that evidence. You sold Emily Dooley to some asshat in China. A three-year-old little girl to an adult male pervert!”
Goff’s eyes narrowed. The man was flat-out crazy, and whatever swim he’d just taken had done him in. He didn’t seem able to catch his breath. His hands shook, but the shotgun in his hand was still plenty lethal. Of course, a coward like him needed a double-barrel to hit his targets.
It all made sense now. In for a penny; in for a pound. Walker went for broke. “You stacked the court against me. You, along with your NCIS buddies, contrived evidence, then leaked that evidence to the press. You worked with Prince Khalid to murder all those people!”
Goff’s cheeks puffed with an outrageous, annoyed exhale. “You still don’t get it, do you?”
“What?” Alex asked, still as calm as ever and once more steadfast at Walker’s side. “That you’re behind one of the largest human trafficking enterprises in the world? That’s how you did it, isn’t it? You used Navy personnel and Navy assets to move your cargo. Most sailors onboard probably didn’t even know what you were doing, but they took orders well, didn’t they? You worked for Peckering, and together, you bastards created the Black Dragon Syndicate to—”
“He worked for me!” Goff bellowed. “Damn it! They all worked for me! That moron Khalid! Peters! Pickering! Who do you think bought the meatpacking plant for Montego’s sister, just so she could tear assholes like you apart? That was her plan. Steal your wife and daughter. Sell them to your enemies. Capture you and chop you into fuckin’ small pieces!”
Man, this guy was insane. Yet he couldn’t seem to shut up.
“Who owns this…?” He waved his free hand at the yacht as if that explained everything. “All this is mine! I’m the one who makes everything work. I’m the genius behind this world-wide-operation. But you…” Once again, he narrowed down on Alex, the business end of that double-gauge wavering like the heavy end of a post. “You need to die. You’re fuckin’ bad for business.”
Walker felt Persia stir beneath his fingertips. She was coming around. Good. But he needed her to stay down until this mess was—
BLAM! Goff had just fired a shot straight up in the air. “Get off my Goddamned boat!”
“We’re not going anywhere,” Walker replied, still shielding Persia from this madman’s view.
“Leave the girl. She’s mine now. All of you. Get in the water.”
“We leave, she leaves with us,” Alex growled.
The business end of Goff’s weapon lowered on Walker’s thigh. “Like I said, she’s not going anywhere. But you four… Get the fuck off my boat or I’ll turn you into shark bait.”
Walker knew it then. One shot from that double gauge would kill him and Persia. If he reloaded quickly enough, the next would rip Alex, McQueen, or Izza to shreds. There was no choice. Walker had to leave Persia again. His heart climbed up his throat—until he remembered that rope.
He stabbed a finger at Goff. “This isn’t over.”
“Off!” Goff screamed, his face red, the veins in his neck thick and pulsing. “Not the dock! Over the side. Get in the damned water! Now!”
Walker shot a desperate look at Izza as, slowly, she climbed the rail and dropped feet first into the harbor. McQueen and Alex went next. Then Walker. The way Goff’s shotgun tracked him as he climbed the rail, he wasn’t sure he’d get off Persia Smiles alive.
Goff looked down at them from the aft deck. He had Persia now. The ass leered as if he’d won the lottery. “You’re finished, Judge.” His weapon tracked to where Alex bobbed alongside Izza. He aimed. The bastard was going to shoot!
“Dive!” Walker bellowed as the blast boomed like a cannon. He couldn’t see through the diesel-laden murk that gathered alongside docks. The water was so dark and polluted, Walker couldn’t tell blood from fish guts.
Still underwater, he arrowed straight toward shapes that looked like bodies, arms, and legs. But another blast peppered the surface tension directly overhead, sending a dozen or so pellets zipping into the dark.
By then, the yacht’s props were churning, making visibility nil. Walker had no idea who’d been shot, if anyone. Quickly, he withdrew to the yacht’s hull. Surfacing out of sight below the rail, he finally saw Alex, McQueen, and Izza alongside the fishing boat behind Persia Smiles. They weren’t helpless and they looked uninjured. He should’ve known.
Something big splashed right in front of him. Ryder! Shit! Walker grabbed his buddy, rolled him over, then slung an arm around his neck and under one arm to keep him face up. The engines revved. And smooth as silk… Persia Smiles eased away from the dock.
Goff finally had everything he needed to hurt Walker. He had Persia.
Like. Hell.
By then, Alex had swum to his side. “I’ve already called shore patrol,” he sputtered, treading water as the yacht’s wake rolled over their heads and into their faces.
Walker shoved Ryder’s limp body into Alex. “Take care of him.”
“You’ll never catch Goff,” Alex growled as Persia Smiles puttered past the docked cruise ship on her way to open waters.
“Bet me.” With one last look to get his bearings, Walker dived, then kicked upward and rolled his hips and shoulders into the same speed stroke that had brought him from Cuba to Florida not long ago. Once again, he was swimming home. Only this time, that home was Persia.
The world disappeared as his powerful arms pushed water and the futility of what he was doing, out of his way. He had room in his head for Persia. Only her. Walker filled his mind and heart with his one good reason to live.
Stroke after stroke took him closer, but he still had to slow every minute or so to clear the water out of his eyes and keep on target. The yacht had to move slowly through this crowded channel, but she was gradually slipping ahead, and, inch by inch, Goff was getting away.
No. He. Isn’t.
Walker threw himself into his task. SEALs never quit. Goff should’ve known that. Throw a SEAL a bone and what did you get? A shiv carved from that bone and stuck in your gut. This was it. The day he’d been living for. The crime he’d been condemned for. The day he finally killed his CO.
As if on cue, a rusted garbage scow chugged between Persia Smiles and the end of the channel. The yacht slowed. Walker advanced. Powerful forward strokes brought him within reach. And there it was. The rope he’d draped over the rail the day he, Brim, and Rover had gone swimming. The just-in-case rope, dragging behind the yacht like a good luck charm.
Shit. Where is Brim? Walker cursed himself for not thinking about his friend until now. The last time he’d seen the old guy, Brim had been ashore and taking Rover for a walk. But finding Brim had to wait.
Silently, Walker took hold of that rope, looped it around his fist, and pulled himself forward. Timing was everything. He needed to breach the aft deck, make damned sure Persia was okay, then end Goff. He’d be in the cockpit, steering the yacht toward the open ocean. He’d never know what hit him.
The garbage scow must’ve cleared out of Goff’s way. The yacht picked up speed. The gentle wake became a torrent. Hand over hand, Walker forged ahead. He kept his head down even as a deep burn began in his biceps and pecs. Burn was good. Every inch gained brought Persia closer. It did!
Fighting the weight and drag of the water rushing over him, at last, Walker was close enough. He slapped one hand onto the swim deck and dug in. Then the other hand. Like the SEAL he would forever be, he pulled himself aboard, inch by inch, then peered under the aft deck railing. Persia still lay on the recliner, out cold and covered. The weapons everyone had dropped were gone from sight, no doubt tossed overboard. Goff wasn’t in view, but that rat bastard Rodrigo was still belly down and out cold.
Running a quick hand over his face, Walker scru
bbed the last of the seawater away. Over the rail he went, his eyes fastened on the cockpit door. Gently so as not to wake her, he placed a hand on Persia’s bicep. She was warm and breathing evenly, and there was his SIG, right where he’d left it, hidden within the wrinkled blanket.
He palmed the pistol, checked the breech to make sure it was still loaded, then crept stealthily into the master stateroom. He’d left something hidden there, and he needed it now. The universe really did provide.
Back on deck again, he headed up the few steps to the cockpit, his pistol in one hand, the ‘surprise’ in the other. His way forward was clear. Goff needed his day in court.
He never knew Walker was behind him until Walker stuck his pistol in the base of his skull. One shot would sever his spine and blast one helluva hole through his throat. His twelve-gauge lay on the deck beside his foot.
“Stand up. Slow and easy. Don’t even—”
“Like hell!” Goff slammed the throttle forward.
Lurching backward, Walker landed on his butt, but maintained possession of his weapons.
Goff crouched, scrambling for his double-gauge.
“Fuck!” Walker cursed, on his back now, the yacht’s powerful engines screaming, and all that forward momentum holding him down.
Goff’s fingers curled around the shotgun’s barrel as he lifted it off the deck.
No fuckin’ way! Fighting Mother Nature’s law of physics, Walker pulled himself up onto one elbow, tipped forward, gripped his SIG, aimed and—
The yacht bucked, sending both men bouncing.
Goff lost control of the shotgun.
Walker rolled to his knees, clawing his way forward.
Too late. Goff already had the double-barrel staring down at Walker. There was no time to aim. Goff had the drop on him.
No try. Just do! Walker stabbed that hypo of Special K into Goff’s meaty thigh. And—
B-BOOM! Holy Jesus, two weapons fired simultaneously.
Walker ducked and cringed, sure he was dead. Only nothing hit him. Not a single buckshot. No impact. Lifting his chin from his chest, he looked to Goff. A dark red hole blossomed in his left shoulder. He sagged to the deck, his knees folded under him, and his head lolled back on his shoulders. The man was going down.
Walker glanced up at the bulky shadow blocking the cockpit hatch. “Brim!” he bellowed as he clawed his way to his knees, then stretched forward around Goff’s body and throttled back. Instantly the yacht settled, the backwash of her wake lifting her high on the billowing waves.
“Hey,” Brim growled. “Looks like I got here just in time.”
He was the one who’d shot Goff. But the pistol in his grip and that killer look on his face… So. Damned. Beautiful.
“Sure… good to… see you,” Walker huffed, the adrenaline pounding through his head like a sledgehammer on a rampage.
Brim lowered his piece to his thigh, the barrel pointed safely down. “Always figured it was better to be seen than viewed. What’d you stab him with?”
“Special K. Same crap I got stabbed with a couple months back. Damn…” Walker breathed, shaken and stirred, by hell. Stirred to his soul that this old warrior had only ever had his back. Like Alex and McQueen. Like Adam and Smoke and… and… Trevor and Julio and… Zack and Eric and… And every single last one of them. He ran the back of his hand over his eyes, more emotional than he imagined he’d be when this nightmare ended.
“Son,” Brimley said evenly. “You’re okay, you know that?”
Walker didn’t want to break down in front of his friend. But he’d been running on empty so long. Fighting lies and slander. Always alone. Looking over his shoulder, until… Persia! He had to get to Persia. She was his anchor. One touch from her and he’d settle down. He’d be okay.
“Go git your woman,” Brim said softly. “She needs you, son, and by the looks of you, you need her.”
Walker could only nod, his throat too tight for words. His heart was so damned full.
“’S okay. I’ll take care of this jackass. You want me to toss him overboard?”
“Ah…” Yes! “No. Bandage him up. He’s got to go back to the States. People need to see. People need to know.”
Brim set his hand on Walker’s shoulder. “Trust me. The only people that matter already know.”
That did it. One minute Walker was on his way to Persia, the next, he was wrapped in one helluva bear hug, his eyes watering, and his man card in question.
“Thanks,” he ground out, back slapping Brim.
“Aw, git,” Brim growled, shoving Walker away from him as if he couldn’t tolerate emotional displays when Walker knew damned well he could. “Go on, git. Give that sleeping beauty a kiss. Not me. I got a mess to clean up. Don’t need you tracking anything up on deck.”
“Where’s Rover?” Walker had to know.
“Locked up below. Why? You need another snuggle?”
Walker had to smile at that teasing insult. “Man, I’m glad I stopped in São Miguel.”
The left side of Brim’s thick, gray, street-sweeper mustache twitched. A twinkle lit the dark of his eye. “Me too, son. Me too.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Persia couldn’t remember ever feeling so bad and so good at the same time. Heck, she couldn’t remember much of anything. Not where she was or how she’d gotten here. Her poor head pounded like she’d just come off a week-long drunk, while the rest of her aching self was deliciously cocooned between the warm arm wrapped around her shoulders and… Walker’s chest? Well, that answered a few questions. As long as she was with him, nothing else mattered. Her cheek rested easily against the solid muscles she craved, her thigh and knee against his hair-roughened leg.
Peeling one eyelid open, she breathed into his neck. What a pleasant view, the scruffy underside of this man’s chin. It embodied all that he was. Strong and brave and true. His show of defiance in the face of betrayal. He was her one true hero. The man she trusted with her secrets. Confided in. Wanted.
Her fingers were splayed over his belly, another fine way to wake up. For two cents, she would’ve let those fingers walk up his chest to cup that sexy chin before she covered it with kisses. Instead, she traced her fingertips through the trail of hairs leading past his navel to those hot, steamy parts below. Once her fingers slid over and around his manhood, he’d wake with a smile and a promise. Funny how that happy trail reminded her of Men Working signs. As if any woman needed a sign to lead her into temptation. Man working, indeed!
But why was he in her bed? Or was she in his? Okay, that was disconcerting. If they were still on his yacht, why wasn’t she rooming with Izza?
Panic intruded like a thunderclap. Persia shoved away from Walker, needing room to breathe. To think! The last thing she recalled was—
Peckering! Where was he? Is he here! Her pulse spiked. Her fists clenched. She would not be taken again!
The same out-of-control fear she’d lived with in Brazil, roared through her now, lighting up every last panic receptor, sending her survival instincts into overdrive. Would she never be free from monsters? Adrenaline screamed, ‘Run!’
He’d caught her! She was sure. After all the good she’d done in Minas Gerais… After all the women and children she’d saved…
Hysteria lifted inside her chest, demanding to be heard. A scream crawled up her throat like a tsunami, blocking her good intentions and her last shred of logic. Drowning her. Suffocating her.
Just as quickly, a big warm wave slipped up her spine and tangled in her hair. “I’ve got you, Persia,” Walker whispered, his warm, moist lips pressed against her forehead. “I’m here, and you’re safe, sugar.”
“I… I…” She couldn’t speak!
“It’s okay. You’re okay. Alex and McQueen, me and Izza found you, and that asshat Peckering’s dead now. Come on, try to relax. There’s nothing you and I can’t overcome together. Deep breaths.”
His chest expanded as if he needed to show
her how it was done. Which he did. She was barely able to match his breaths with her own.
“Slow down. One, in. One, out. There you go. You’re on my yacht. You’re in my room. Izza’s on deck. Ryder’s on guard with her. Breathe with me, baby.”
Clinging to his broad shoulders like a crazy drowning woman, Persia mashed her face into his chest. “What…?” she squeaked like the timid little mouse she was not. “Guarding who?”
“Peckering’s gopher, Rodrigo. He can’t get you. Trust me.”
“W-w-what happened?”
Walker held onto her so gently. So carefully. “Peckering poisoned you, sugar. Least he tried. But the rest of us saved you, and Peckering’s dead, and his toady, Rodrigo, isn’t going anywhere. Right now, he’s shackled outside the cockpit and Izza and Ryder are keeping track of him. I’ll gladly chain him to the anchor if you want. You can throw him overboard, or you can make him walk the plank. Either way, he’s all yours. Alex wanted to call the authorities, but I’m captain of this ship, and you get first shot at him.”
“H-h-he…” Shit, it was so hard to think. Persia licked her dry lips, sure she was making a fool of herself, clinging like she was to Walker. “He injected me with something, I think… In my neck.” Her fingers drifted to the tender spot below her ear. “I… I lost my phone… and Alex… I called Alex because…”
Because she’d known Peckering was going to kill her for helping Walker. She’d seen it in his eyes. True evil, as wicked as the malevolence that had poisoned Domingo Zapata’s soul, had stared back at her. Then he’d pushed her into… somewhere else. That was all Persia remembered. Admiral Peckering shoving her backward. Her falling. The sting in her neck.
She’d only been in a skimpy bikini top and cutoff jeans. An overwhelming need to cover up and hide consumed her usual sass. Her bravado. The disguise that had worked until now.
“Yes, ma’am,” Walker went on smoothly, his palms moving warm and sure over her body. Stroking calmness back into her. Smoothing over her jagged edges. Filling in all those damned cracks.
Walker (In the Company of Snipers Book 21) Page 38
