“Will you stop?” Izza giggled. “And keep your voice down. People are watching.”
“Of course they are,” Persia stage-whispered. “You and Connor are better than Brad and Jennifer ever were. You stayed together.”
“Okay, okay, but hush. If you must know, it happened while we were deployed to Camp Baharia, Iraq. We were both USMC sergeants, only he was short, nearly ready to go home. I had a couple more months left in-country.”
“Whoa, Baharia? Really? Was he part of the USMC plus-up in Fallujah after those American contractors were killed?”
Izza nodded. “Yup. Him and my brother, Jamie.”
“And…?”
And Izza’s cheeks ballooned as she expelled a big breath. “We got a tip where several IEDs were placed, so we were part of an eight-man patrol. But the tip was a lie, and we were ambushed. Everyone else got away, but Connor and I got separated. Had to hunker down in a bombed-out, POS barn. Things just kind of happened after that. One minute bullets were flying, and I was so scared I was afraid I’d wet my pants. But I didn’t, you know. And I didn’t scream, either. I’m tougher than most grunts, but the next thing I knew, Connor had his arms around me, and I was… and he was…”
“He kissed you,” Persia hissed. “Didn’t he? Connor kissed you in the middle of a firefight, and that’s when you knew!” How incredibly romantic was that?
Again, the loveliest blush climbed up Izza’s neck. She made a funny face, stuck her fingers under her shirt collar and scratched her collarbone. “Actually…”
Persia couldn’t help it. She nudged her shoulder confidentially into Izza. “You didn’t... You did! You kids made love in a bombed-out building? While you were being shot at?” This story was so much better than any Harlequin romance on the market.
Izza nodded, the cutest smile tweaking her lips. “Yeah. We did. Right there in the hay, while those assholes were lobbing mortars at us and screaming bullshit about American infidels and fatwas and crap like that.”
How romantic! Scary, but still… so, so romantic.
“Yeah,” Izza whispered. “I knew it then. I was going to marry Connor if it was the last thing I did, only…” The smile dropped off her face. “Things got kind of complicated after that. My brother Jamie, uh, was killed the next day in a different firefight, and Connor was there and—”
Persia let her hand fall over Izza’s on the armrest between them. “I’m so sorry, honey.”
She shrugged. “Thanks, but I…” Both shoulders lifted into a resigned shrug. “It took me a long time to forgive him for not saving my baby brother.” Izza swallowed hard. “I was so mad that he chose to save some strange Iraqi woman and her kid instead, that I quit the Corps. Actually, I was kind of forced out, because of my, umm, unresolved PTSD. But then we ended up working together for Alex, and Connor found out I was pregnant, and—”
“You were what?” Persia about dropped her teeth.
“Yup. I was prego.” Izza nodded as if she needed to confirm her story. “That didn’t help. By the time I told Connor, I looked like I was hiding half a watermelon under my shirt. And I was bitchier than hell because, well, because he’d lived, and Jamie didn’t, and I was still so mad and so, so hurt.”
Persia hated to ask. “Umm, so… who’s the baby’s fa—”
“Oh, she’s Connor’s all right. That’s why we named our little girl Jamie, after Connor’s best friend, my brother. Only Connor didn’t know I was pregnant when he first saw me afterwards. We didn’t get to say goodbye in Iraq and…” She rolled her eyes. Izza had the brightest, sparkly eyes. “Men are soooooo dense! I swear. I was as big as a blimp, but he never suspected. And I was damned if I was going to tell him, because then he’d feel responsible and think he had to do right by me and marry me, and, shit. I didn’t want to be any guy’s obligation. I’d never planned to fall in love or have kids, it just happened. But then I hated him, and, you know... Somehow things worked out.”
Persia’s brows lifted as she squeezed Izza’s hand. “No, I don’t know that. I’m twenty-nine, and sure, I’ve kissed a few guys, but there’s only been one man I thought cared for me as much as I cared for him. But he was just another ass who walked out on me. So, no. I’m not looking for love or romance. It’s not worth the pain or trouble. Life sucks, and then you die, that’s my motto. But good for you. You’ve got Connor, and it’s so obvious he adores you.”
Izza flipped her hand over and interlocked her fingers with Persia’s. “Life does not suck, girlfriend. It’s damned hard sometimes, yes, but it’s also damned great most of the rest of the time. I know that, and so do you. Don’t lie. I saw the way your eyes sparkled before. You were thinking of that man you cared about, weren’t you? Confess.”
Yes! “Nope. Nada. Not me. I’m done with the dating game,” Persia insisted, shaking her head vigorously to emphasize to Izza, and maybe to herself—and Hotrod, the ass!—that she meant what she said. “You’ve mistaken me for Ember or Kelsey or Mei Lennox, or heck. Even little Lexie. She has such a crush on her father.”
“Alex does have that effect on women.” Izza sighed. “You should see him in a tux. Oh, mama, do females heads turn when he walks by. Mmm. Mmm. Did you know he gave me away at my wedding?”
“Really? Alex? He did that for you?” How sweet. Which was not how Persia would’ve ever described her cantankerous boss, even on a good day. Abrupt, maybe. Driven, absolutely.
“He lost his first wife and daughter to a car crash years ago,” Izza said quietly. “I didn’t know him then, but I know Kelsey’s the reason he’s the man he is today. And now they’re having another baby. That was the best news I’ve heard in a long time. Hope it’s a boy.”
“I didn’t know that,” Persia murmured. “He was married before? He had another family? Wow. No wonder he looks at his wife and little girl like he does. They’re his second chance.”
“Then I’ll bet you didn’t know Kelsey had two little boys before she met Alex, but her ex murdered them,”
“Oh, my, no!” Persia couldn’t imagine. “How can they stand to be around each other? Isn’t that too much personal tragedy for one couple to overcome?”
Izza shook her head. “Not when you love each other. I think they might even love each other more because of what they’ve survived. No one understands another person better than someone who’s walked through the same kind of fire.”
Persia had no words. Alex a grieving widower? Kelsey a mother of murdered sons? Yet they seemed so upbeat and happy when they were together. And Alex almost acted nice—then.
Izza patted Persia’s hand. “The point is, we only see the tip of the iceberg, not what’s going on beneath the surface. Alex is a really good guy. He’s just been through a lot of shit like the rest of us. Give him time. He’ll grow on you. I promise.”
“Okay, sure,” was the best Persia could offer on that subject.
Despite this enlightening conversation, Alex was not the problem her brain was currently stuck on. It was that other badassed guy with blue, blue eyes. What had Hotrod been through? Was there a legitimate reason he’d up and left her without saying goodbye? Or was he just another loser who used women, then tossed them aside?
As fast as that thought crossed her mind, Persia discarded it. Yes, Hotrod had left without saying a word, but he was no slouch. No man who could swim from Cuba to Florida, was. That long-distance swim had required discipline, a shitload of endurance, and the sheer determination to never quit.
When the flight attendant came back with Persia’s flute of champagne and Izza’s three scoop sundae with extra hot fudge and a mountain of whipped cream with a cherry at the peak, conversation ceased. And that was okay. Persia lifted the champagne to her lips and sipped while she stared at the clouds beyond the window. Night had fallen, but the moon was high enough that it cast a silvery light over the few wispy clouds, making it seem like the moon was racing the jetliner.
Soon, dinner would be served, then another
round of drinks or sundaes. Before long, cabin lights would dim. Pillows and blankets would come out, and seats would be tipped back for a good night’s sleep. The flight ahead was long, and she was exhausted after the day she’d had. But Persia had work to do. Might as well get at it before dinner.
How she wished she’d never met Hotrod. He’d been stuck in her head, messing with her concentration since that foolish one-night-stand. But man, could he kiss. Her tongue ran a full lap around her lips, remembering. Like it or not, every time she turned around, her mind took her back to the sublime cinna-minty taste of his mouth and the sweet musky scent of the all-male body he’d rubbed against her. The feel of those hard ridges beneath the sensitive pads of her fingertips. The warm, wet suction of his mouth when he swallowed her nipple.
That same old ache started low in her belly, then morphed into liquid heat further below. Persia crossed her legs, wishing her body would stop betraying her. Okay, so that one night with Hotrod had left an indelible mark on her psyche—or something. But it hadn’t marked her heart, because it couldn’t. She wouldn’t let it. She refused to fall for another loser. She’d had that wake-up call during her senior year in college. Once was enough.
She was so over Hotrod. So what if he had a killer bod. Only…
He had left his mark on her, hadn’t he? No woman was completely over a man if she couldn’t get him off her mind.
But he was the one who’d run out on her, remember? After she’d given him everything. Her body. Her marmalade. Her pancakes. Bacon. She’d all but gushed all over the ass! Even anointed his handsome body with her healing Aloe Vera gel because—
“Oh, my gosh, you’re doing it again,” Izza murmured, her drop-down tray stowed, and a crisp blue blanket pulled up to her chin.
Persia cast her the most sarcastic glare she could come up with. “No,” she told Izza very clearly. “For the last time, I’m not thinking of any man. But I am going to finish this drink and read about the idiot SEAL we have to escort back to the States. You look sleepy.”
“Yup. Think I’ll catch a few winks before dinner. Wake me when they start serving.”
“Will do. Sleep tight and stop worrying about me. I’m fine.” Just peachy.
Speaking of peaches… Hotrod preferred peaches over melons. Firm, fragrant, delicious peaches that fit snug inside his hands. ‘Makes me want to rub them all over my face. Can’t do that with a pair of melons.’ Which was precisely what he’d done with her breasts. He’d rubbed his face all over them. Between them. He’d slathered them with wonderfully wet kisses and—
Oh, for hell’s sake. Stop already!
“Hmmpf,” Izza mumbled. “That’s what I used to say. See you in a few.”
Persia nearly snapped a vertebra looking at Izza to make sure she wasn’t replying to what Persia wasn’t sure she hadn’t spoken out loud. Sheesh! Hotrod was driving her nuts. She had to stop thinking about him.
“Go. To. Sleep,” she growled at her traveling companion. And stop reading my mind, you crazy woman, you.
With one last swallow, Persia finished her champagne and set the glass aside. Time to work. Dinner would be served soon enough, and she had a lot of reading to catch up on. Walker Judge, huh? Why did that name feel more than just a little familiar? Persia was certain she’d never met the guy. The only SEAL she knew was retired Navy, currently working for the Bureau.
Her fingers trembled as she tugged her computer up from her gear bag, then dropped her tray and set the laptop front and center. She’d already set her display for night reading, so the monitor wouldn’t disturb others in the cabin. Not that she meant to work all night. But she’d stashed Ember’s file under the laptop’s lid in her haste to get out of the office in time to catch that express flight. Intent on reading as much as she could before dinner, Persia laid the file on her computer, flipped it open, and started reading.
Navy SEAL, check.
Nearly twenty years serving his country, check.
Various commendations and medals, not only check, but wow. Eight Bronze Stars with Valor, two Joint Service Commendation Medals with Valor, four Presidential Unit Citations. One Purple Heart. All these and still the Navy prosecuted him?
No wife. Both parents deceased. One brother, also deceased. Check, check, and holy shit. Some serious deployments into hot spots all over the planet. This SEAL had one hell of an honorable record.
Bless her heart, Ember had also included the details of Kenny Judge’s obituary, as well as a brief rundown on Walker’s family. Seemed he’d come from a long military history. He’d followed not only in his father’s footsteps by joining the Navy, but his grandfather’s and great-grandfather’s, as well. It was very apparent that Judge had always known what he’d wanted to do with his life. Interesting factoid for a Navy SEAL convicted of murder.
Next, his lawyer’s brief on the trial. That took a while to read through, but it was interesting.
Walker’s JAG NCIS attorney had readily declared Walker’s exemplary service record, yet Navy brass had consistently ignored the medals for heroism above and beyond the call of duty, that they themselves had awarded him. Over and over, the JAG prosecutor had blatantly disregarded Walker’s constitutional right to innocence before being proven guilty, as well. Through well-timed, albeit illegal leaks to dishonest reporters, NCIS had succeeded in trying him in the press. Even the men and woman selected as peers for his jury had been hand-picked by Navy brass. Yet, they’d actually done an honest job. Something his defense attorney hadn’t.
The more she read, the more unanswered questions Persia had, and the more she believed something was fundamentally wrong with the Navy’s top echelon. His new lawyer, a civilian attorney out of San Antonio, Texas, seemed to think that as well, and had already petitioned for an appeal.
Without having met the man, Persia leaned toward Walker Judge being the real deal, the ideal warrior. He could’ve been that face on the Navy’s recruiting posters. So what if he liked to rough-house and had gotten into a few brawls over his career? Wasn’t that what SEALs did?
The real problem here seemed to lie within the Uniform Code of Military Justice, the military’s criminal justice system. Vastly different from the civilian system, the UCMJ had its own body of laws, and military tribunals were supposed to interpret, enforce, and protect those laws. They were supposed to be impartial and fair. They were supposed to be founded on truth.
Yet Persia knew all about those sanctimonious military tribunals. If some pompous general or admiral wanted a lower-ranking lackey to end up in Leavenworth—wham, bam, yes, sir, it’s done. Good men and women didn’t stand a chance against the butt-kissing and rule-bending that went on behind closed Navy and Army doors these days. Not unless they were wealthy and could afford the best lawyers, which most sailors could not. Even then, those lawyers had better watch their backs. Heaven help anyone who didn’t kiss the right ass in the current vicious, highly-charged, political clime.
Ember had included other clippings of military ops Judge had been on. But faces were blacked out and the details had been heavily redacted.
The cabin lights just flashed on. Dinner was on its way.
Hurriedly, Persia leafed through the rest of the file. A photo of Judge would’ve been nice. It’d be good to know what this guy looked like. She was about to call it quits when she came to another folder tucked into the first. Interesting. She thumbed it open and—
No way...
Her brain registered the prong fasteners at the folder’s top. Her eyes noted the color of the folder. Blue, for common missions, not black, for classified, eyes-only missions.
But her heart…
OhmyGod! That face. That handsome, stalwart, sexy, scruffy, irresistible, handsome face. It was him. Walker Judge! Only Walker Judge looked exactly like Hotrod. His lips, so perfectly set with silent determination. So… damned… kissable.
Those incredible, crystal blue, as pure as the ocean before the morning rain, eyes. Even no
w, they seemed to be looking straight through her.
Those perfect, kissed-by-the sun, sandy-brown brows. His thick eyelashes made him just plain little-boy adorable. Even all dressed up in what appeared to be his official USN photo, he looked as if he, too, remembered their one night together.
Like a complete idiot, Persia lifted that wonderful file to her nose, sure she’d detect the same luscious hit of wind, sand, and sea, combined with the distinctly male musk that had rolled off his skin that day. His mouth. The cinnamon on his breath.
She couldn’t breathe deeply enough. Didn’t dare swallow. None of this was real, not the hammering in her heart, most assuredly not the eight-by-eleven glossy portrait of USN Lieutenant Walker Judge staring up at her from Ember’s meticulous file.
Talk about being ambushed!
But it was him. Persia would know. No other man could steal her breath like this guy had, when he’d first stalked out of the ocean like a svelte, sexy, dripping wet predator. To be honest, she’d been enthralled the moment she’d seen him. He’d put on one helluva strip show peeling out of that wetsuit. He’d been exhausted. That had clearly shown in how his shoulders slumped when he’d dropped his ass to the sand. How he’d sat there staring at the surf for so long, as if he’d just wanted to breathe.
But those tanned, chiseled shoulders… Wide. Thick. Impressively bulged and muscled. Capable of sweeping her off her feet. And yet, he’d rolled to his hands and knees, and he’d kissed the sand the moment he’d cleared the surf, like someone who’d been away from home too long. Someone who’d been emotionally impacted by that homecoming, obviously overjoyed to be back in America. Which told her how much he loved his country. Made her wonder now why he’d been in Cuba. She hadn’t thought to ask. Now she wished she had.
Also made her think of that sandy, but heartfelt kiss to America’s farthest southern shore. Did murderers love their country like Hotrod loved his? Did they swim a hundred miles just to get back to her, risking life and limb through shark-infested waters?
Walker (In the Company of Snipers Book 21) Page 18