Walker (In the Company of Snipers Book 21)

by Irish Winters

  “Already handed her over,” Zack clipped. “She’s been doped, but David’s wife will know what to do. Nancy’s a doctor. Harry’s straight ahead.”

  “Got him in sight,” Persia replied breathily.

  “See you at the helo?” Walker asked. That was the plan. Meet up with Zack, David Tao, and the rescued girl. Get the hell out of China.

  But Zack didn’t answer. When Walker glanced over his shoulder, the big guy was gone.

  Walker doubled down on getting Persia safely inside the quaint Chinese rickshaw parked curbside straight ahead. Once aboard, Harry, a spry youngster of fifty-five, steered toward the south entrance to Tiananmen Square, where armed guards now blocked entry. One barked at Harry. Another shoved him back from the gate, his eyes sharp with anger.

  Humbly, Harry bowed, turned the rickshaw away then pulled his ‘tourists’ alongside the southern wall and away from trouble.

  Persia let out a soft breath. “So far, so good.”

  “Don’t jinx us. We’re not out of this yet,” Walker murmured into the side of her head, breathing in the flowery scent of her hair.

  “I wonder what’s wrong with Zack. He’s got the girl.”

  Walker didn’t want to think of all the things that could be wrong. “Don’t worry. Zack can take care of himself.” But something wasn’t right. He could feel it.

  Harry set a quick pace to the prestigious Bank of China, a well-known, thirty-story landmark seven miles west of Tiananmen Square. Corporate helos were known to take off from that rooftop daily. It might seem risky flying from a state-owned banking institution in this particular country, but that was the point. To be seen. They just had to get there before the country was locked down. Which meant Harry had better run.

  And he did. Because of Zack’s humble friend, the rest of the operation went like clockwork. Within minutes, Walker and Persia were at the landing pad, then belted inside the helo. Zack was already seated across from them, quiet and remote, while David Tao sat up front in the co-pilot seat, the girl asleep in his arms.

  Only now…

  Walker’s mouth went dry. This was that deadly pregnant pause that came to every operator in the last seconds of every mission. Just when exfil was imminent and freedom was so close you could smell it… When they weren’t safe quite yet, and everything could still go wrong…. When he could lose everything. His wife. His life.

  If they were caught now…

  If this helo didn’t take off exactly as planned…

  If they didn’t clear Chinese airspace in time…

  “Here, Junior Agent,” David said as he turned around and laid the unconscious girl Zack had rescued in Walker’s lap, interrupting his brain-numbing anxiety. “You earned this. Please keep her warm.”

  The helo lifted, and automatically, Walker’s hands closed around the tiny dark-haired girl wrapped inside the plush gray blanket. She was so fragile, dressed like a fairy in soft green silk. Obviously Chinese, her long straight hair had been braided and flopped over one shoulder. Her thick black lashes rested on plump, rosy cheeks like velvet butterfly wings. She smelled of baby powder, which only added another layer of perversion to Fong’s sticky sins.

  “She’s so quiet,” Persia’s voice breathed over Walker’s earphones. “Is she okay, Zack? What’s wrong? You’re just as quiet.”

  He took too long answering.

  Walker’s head came up. “Did he hurt her?” snapped out of him. “That’s it, isn’t it? Did he already—?” He couldn’t speak the ugly word.

  There were tears in the big man’s eyes. Zack choked. He looked away, cleared his throat, and shook his head. But he finally whispered, “No, Walk. Not that. There were two girls in his cage. This one was alive. I had to…” He faltered. “I had to leave the other one.”

  “Shit,” Walker hissed, his heart shredded at such awful news. After all they’d done, they’d still arrived too late. One dead child was one too many.

  Rage filled his All-American soul. “How do you stand it? How the fuck can you keep coming back to this… this… country?” The precise curse for the vile practice of virgin sacrifice in this part of the world escaped him. How could adult males ever believe it was acceptable to hurt children?!

  Persia’s hand settled warm on his shoulder. “It’s the way of the world, Walk,” she said calmly. “Pedophilia has been around as long as murder. Fong didn’t create it. He’s just one of the many who practice it. A wise man once told me I wasn’t Joan of Arc and I wasn’t Jesus Christ.”

  He didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. It was too hard to swallow or think.

  Yet she kept going. “It’s taken me a long time to puzzle it out, and Doc Fitz is a good one to talk with if you need to. But the thing is, we’re not here to save the world. That’s not our job. But we are here to grow and learn and become who we choose to become. That’s our primary mission in life. We get to choose, Walk. Light over darkness. Goodness over evil. The point is who we are at the end of every day. Did we do our best? Did we do any good? Were we kind and loving and thoughtful? Did we save each other?”

  “But there are so many kids out there—” The thought of what Fong had done to the other girl was unbearable.

  “We can’t save them all. Get used to it,” Zack growled. “Sure wish we could. Wish I were Jesus Christ. Hell, I wish Persia was Joan of Arc!”

  “But I’m not,” she said firmly. “And we’re here to save as many of these little ones as we can. That’s your job from now on, and I’ll always be here with you guys. Anytime. Anywhere.”

  The helo banked westward. They were well over the city, but not out of Chinese airspace. Zack had turned to the window, maybe thinking of his girls and his wife. Still hurt and still as angry as Walker. But just like Walker, going to strap on and perform this same type of operation again tomorrow and the next day and the next. For as long as he could.

  Freeing one arm, Walker drew Persia inside this precious bubble of life. His heart was back on track and his goal was once more crystal clear. “You mean everything to me, I hope you know that.”

  She leaned into Walker, her dark brown eyes focused on the sleeping princess in his arms. “I do. Isn’t she beautiful? Makes you want a baby, huh?”

  He smiled at the way her female mind worked these days. Persia was definitely baby hungry. Slipping his headset off so no one would hear, he leaned into her ear and said, “Not exactly, but it does make me want to make you.”

  That earned him one of her heart-melting smiles. “You’re incorrigible, Hotrod.”

  And just like the first time he’d met Persia, Walker was once again Hotrod and the Princess. Yeah. He could do it. He could spend the rest of his life saving princesses. Maybe a few princes. A few queens. He’d save as many trafficked victims as he could. One at a time.

  That was what SEALs did. They never slowed down, never backed down, or gave in. They geared up, showed up, and gave their all. Sometimes their lives.

  Always their hearts.

  The End

  Thank you for reading Walker’s story!

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  Other Irish Winters’ best-selling books/series

  In the Company of Snipers

  Alex

  Mark

  Zack

  Harley

  Connor

  Rory

  Taylor

  Gabe

  Maverick

  Cassidy

  Adam

  Lee

  Ky

  Hunter

  Eric

  Jake

  Seth

  Beau

  Renner

  Beckam

  Christmas Hearts

  Coming soon:

  Jamiso
n

  Deuces Wild

  King of Hearts

  Joker Joker

  One-Eyed Jack

  Ace

  Hearts and Ashes

  Smoke

  Ash

  SOBs Novels

  Angel

  Assassin

  Vaquero

  Coming soon:

  Kruze Sinclair’s story

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  Keep reading for another tasty tidbit!

  Preview of Vaquero

  An SOBs Novel, #3

  Julio Juarez, currently attached to an elite, former military group of covert presidential watchdogs, watched and waited in the trees. He wouldn’t move until Pagan Sinclair lifted the woman he loved, Julio’s sister, into his arms and carried her into her poor excuse of a house. It had taken Pagan nearly two years to track Paloma down. They had a lot of catching up to do.

  The hut she called home was insufficient by United States standards, but she was happy here. She’d made a life for herself in this humble Mexican village. Better yet, the people accepted her. Julio’d checked. Everyone thought highly of her. They might not be rich or famous, but it was obvious they considered her part of their familia. That was all Julio wanted for his baby sister, that she finally had what she’d been searching for.

  Whether Pagan actually stayed in this part of Mexico for long remained to be seen. Julio suspected not. The Sinclair Boys all had bigger-than-life, winner-takes-all personas. He and his brothers, Chance and Kruze were meant for better things than the simple, unobtrusive, backward ways of village life. Pagan was one of those Chris Kyle types, a former Navy SEAL still out to save the world. He’d been born for more than happily-ever-after in a wooden hut. That’d never be enough for him.

  But the Sin Boys were not Julio’s problem, and he’d interfered in his sister’s life enough. “What do you say, amigo?” he asked the sniper fidgeting at his side. “Are we done here?”

  “Yeah. He’s got what he’s always wanted. Let’s move.” Kruze grunted as his fingertips toyed with the cigarette he had yet to light. Whether they realized it or not, snipers who smoked had a death wish. If tobacco didn’t kill them, their target would once he or she caught a whiff off that cancer stick. Kruze was in desperate need of a nicotine fix. It was time to move before Pagan realized he’d been followed.

  Julio faced west. The Pacific lay beyond the sandy, grass-covered berm, so close he could smell the salt in the water and the seaweed on shore.

  Paloma had chosen her hideaway well. Southeast of the Baja Peninsula and north of Guadalajara, she could’ve lived out the rest of her days here if she wanted. Maybe she would, but Julio doubted that also.

  Now that Pagan had come for her, it was easier to leave. Julio had a date with the ocean. One he couldn’t break. That was where he was headed. To the Pacific and his dead wife, Bianca.

  “Where to?” he asked his compadre.

  Kruze hooked a thumb over one shoulder. “Back to Sonora.” Which meant he’d soon cross the border from Sonora into Tucson, where he’d catch a ride home to Montana.

  Julio had never understood this recalcitrant Sinclair brother. Of the three, Kruze was the tight-lipped one, caught forever between Chance, his domineering older brother, and Pagan, the razor-sharp baby of the three. Surrounded by a good strong family, Kruze still didn’t seem to appreciate the richness of having two brothers who loved him the way Chance and Pagan did. If anything, Julio got the impression Kruze avoided his brothers, which was just plain sad. Familia meant everything to Julio. He’d give his soul to have his back.

  But that day was gone. During the past two years, Julio had lost everything. With a sigh, he offered his hand. “Then this is adios, amigo.”

  Kruze squeezed harder than Julio expected. But no problem. Everything with Kruze seemed to be a contest of wills or strengths. As if he needed to prove he was tougher, he stared Julio down and held on for a fraction of a second too long.

  Wincing, Julio let his friend think he’d won. What did it matter? In the end, they were all losers.

  “I’ll see you around, won’t I?” Kruze asked, suddenly more perceptive than Julio had given him credit for.

  Playing along, he lifted his shoulders. “Of course. Why wouldn’t you?”

  “Hell, I don’t know,” Kruze muttered, as he let go and ran his fingers over his head. “Just thought maybe you were tired or something. Maybe sick and tired. Like me.”

  “We are all sick and tired, my friend.” Wasn’t that the truth? “But there’s someone else I need to visit before I leave. Be at peace, brother.” Then he lied and said, “If you need me, call. I will always come.”

  Kruze’s head nod said he believed his friend. “Later then,” he said, as he faded into the fronds and tall grasses that grew along this stretch of the beach.

  Breathing a sigh he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, Julio set a steady pace away from Paloma and toward the pounding surf. This stretch of the Pacific wasn’t the exact location he’d planned on, but it was the same ocean Bianca had once sought out, and that was good enough.

  He ran his palms over the tips of thigh-high grasses that clung to the sandy shoreline, letting them tickle what was left of the shredded husband and father in him. Which wasn’t much. But Bianca would’ve loved this beach and this view. So would Tomas. Which was why Julio was here.

  The tide was in. The tremendously huge rollers pounded the surf, demanding to be heard perhaps even miles away. Anyone might slip and fall to their death. It was possible, especially if they were foolish enough to be caught on those massive rock fingers that broke through the sand and reached for the ocean. That took the beating the surf dished out. That waited for him.

  Gulls hovered overhead, caught in the brisk breeze like living kites. They squawked. Their silvery gray wings flapped. They screeched and they called. And once again, Julio heard Bianca’s sweet siren call in the wind.

  ‘Come with me,’ she begged again. Just like she’d begged that last day.

  Yes. This stretch of the Pacific would work just fine. He would leave the earth here. He could float away and finally be done with the lies all survivors told their well-meaning friends and neighbors. Because, no. He was not okay, and he would never be okay again. The pain had to stop. This was the only way.

  The greatest regret Julio carried was that he hadn’t gone with Bianca that day eighteen months ago. Her depression had grown more stifling over the three months since she’d been found. But sweet battered Tomas had cried non-stop the night before. It wasn’t until early morning that he’d finally fallen asleep from exhaustion. Their son hadn’t been right since Julio rescued them from Domingo Zapata’s hellish, Brazilian home. But worse, Julio hadn’t understood how Bianca could want to run away to the beach when her only child needed her so desperately.

  So he’d held Tomas, while Bianca left the two of them behind. She’d always told him that sitting near the ocean gave her hope. Like a fool, he’d believed her. But hope was not what she’d gone to find that day. Only relief from the demons Zapata’s cruelty had embedded deep in her soul. Only the final peace of never having to wake again.

  Ironically, a SEAL had pulled her lifeless body out of the ocean just off Coronado that morning. A SEAL like Julio could’ve been, had Zapata not broken his life and ripped his family away. This guy had simply been swimming with his girlfriend when he’d spotted Bianca. But he’d never resuscitated her. Hadn’t even tried. There was no need. No reason. You can’t bring a woman who’d slashed her forearms from wrists to elbows back to life.

  Bianca finally had what she’d wanted. A way out.

  As for poor sweet Tomas? Julio swiped at the bitterness stinging the corners of his eyes. He hadn’t been able to save his son, either. The two people in the world he treasured most were gone. In the end, Zapata had taken everythi
ng. Even Tomas’ will to live.

  The breeze off the ocean was stiff once Julio crested the berm, and at last, the dazzling Pacific stretched wide and long, deep and turquoise-blue ahead of him. He could almost feel its tender, cold embrace wrapping around him. Holding him down. His greatest fear at this pivotal point in time was that he’d struggle when the final moment came. That his body’s natural instinct to survive would kick in and sabotage everything. That he’d be forced to live without Bianca and Tomas.

  Like his wife, Julio needed the pain to end. His soul begged for relief. Julio steeled his courage. It must not fail in this, his final endeavor.

  An old man tottered along the shore at Julio’s left while a black dog scampered into the waves, chasing sandpipers or fish. Julio no longer cared what the man saw or who the dog belonged with. He truly cared about so few things these days. Now that Paloma was in Pagan’s good hands, he had one less reason to worry or live.

  With one hand, he tugged his shirt over his head, tossed it to the sand, and began jogging along the shore. That way the old man and the dog wouldn’t think it suspicious when he dove into the surf. They might think he was crazy. They might try to rescue him. But by then, Julio’s powerful strokes would’ve taken him beyond their reach. He was an excellent swimmer. Every SEAL, even the ones who rang out, knew how to swim. He’d give it his best until he tired, then he’d roll onto his back and float. He’d close his eyes and pray, until the Pacific took him under the way it had taken Bianca.

  He was deep in the shallows when a buzz in his rear pocket told him he had an incoming call. Julio’s heart kicked an odd beat and a half. He stopped short of the beckoning waves. “No,” he told himself with conviction. “It’s too late. I’m not answering.”