“Because Senator Sullivan and I had no idea the Navy would ever let this bogus charge go to trial. But when they did…” Stewart blew out a long, deep sigh. “We had to do something. Hell, don’t ask me why, but Kruze wants in on this mess with the rest of us idiots.”
“Because he’s a SEAL,” Julio murmured, his dark brown eyes zeroed in on Walker. “And SEALs stand together.”
Walker stared back at Julio. Behind that gentle Mexican/American’s quiet demeanor was a will of iron. Julio might not have finished BUD/S, but he was every bit a SEAL, right down to his soul.
It seemed unimaginable. All these brothers and sisters...
All ready to stand and fight for him.
As always, Walker’s gaze ended on Persia. Like the sassy warrior she was, she gave him her chin, that cocky show of attitude and courage.
“But that makes each of you” —Walker scanned the room, making eye contact with everyone— “accomplices.”
Julio shrugged. “No, amigo, it makes us familia. If that makes us accomplices, it is only because we have chosen to be your brothers and sisters.”
“And I have proof positive that Cudahy’s office leaked deliberate misinformation about your case to the press,” Adam interrupted. “Only the press didn’t choose to investigate that. They just ran with it—”
“And ran your good name into the mud,” Persia said quietly.
Walker stared across the room at the woman he adored. He needed a moment with her. Maybe a lifetime.
“And those two ensigns who testified against you, Chief?” Ryder asked, the whites of his eyes bright against his dark skin. “I had a little talk with them once you disappeared. They’re ready to recant, but someone’s threatening them. They won’t say who, and they’re scared. Once we clear your name, I’ve got a feeling you’ll see them again.”
“NCIS has some explaining to do,” Stewart added.
“I never stood a chance—”
“No, son, you didn’t,” Brimley offered quietly. He hadn’t said much throughout this meeting of minds. He’d just sat back in the recliner next to Murphy Finnegan’s, his hands clasped over his belly, while he’d absorbed every last piece of evidence. Every lie and every twisted fact.
Rover was still making rounds, collecting ear scratches, belly rubs, and leftovers, but Brimley and Murphy looked calm and serene. Neither said a word until now.
Walker looked at the Vietnam Vet who’d befriended him. Brim had endured his own share of the mighty free press’s backstabbing, name-calling, and slander. Hell, he’d been spit on when he’d come home, character assassinated by the media, and hung out to dry by the country that should’ve had his back.
“Let me guess,” Walker said to Murphy. “You’re a Vietnam vet, too.”
Murphy murmured with a sly smile, “Mi casa es su casa.”
“It’s sure good to get these facts out in the open,” Brim said matter-of-factly. “But who said what and who did what doesn’t get you where you need to be, does it?”
“It sure as fuck matters to us,” Ryder Dahl roared. “We stand with our Chief.”
“I get that, sir, I really do,” Brim replied evenly, his palms forward to placate restless SEAL Team 18. “Loyalty’s a damned noble thing, and you’re right to stand by your chief. Walker’s one helluva good one. But what he really needs to know is precisely who’s behind all these lies. He needs to know why he’s been targeted.” Brim looked around the room as if letting that sink in. “Seems to me, all we’re looking at here is plenty of means and opportunity. But we ain’t yet uncovered intent or motive. Sure, some fat-assed admiral jerked a few chains and a couple of his boys yelled, ‘Yes, Sir!’ Then bent over and asked for another butt-reaming. Some chains of command work like that. But we still don’t know who’s behind this particular blanket party.”
“Peckering,” Izza cut in. “Look at the jerk. He’s breaking USN law like its nothing, and he’s proud of it.”
“Maybe,” Stewart replied quietly. “But we need to keep our eyes on the real target, not the smoke and mirrors.”
“And who would that be?” Izza growled. She seemed more than willing to square off with her boss. “Who’s got enough power to influence a Navy trial, plant evidence to incriminate him for crimes committed in England, at Buckingham Palace, for crap sakes? Then all the way across the ocean with the ICC? If it’s not Peckering, who the hell are we looking for, Boss? The President?”
“I’ve got a yacht,” Walker announced a little too loudly.
Stewart looked at him as if he’d sprouted two heads. “So?”
Walker ran a hand over his face, wishing he felt better. He might’ve thought of that earlier. Might’ve sounded smarter now. “I found something.” He stared into Brim’s knowing eyes. “I think I can prove intent. Might even be able to prove who’s pulling the strings behind this mess.”
Brim nodded. Just once. A silent affirmation of agreement and solidarity.
“Is that the one dry-docked in Portugal?” Stewart asked.
Walker nodded, then looked across the room at Persia. “I stole it on my way out of Florida, then changed its registration and name to avoid the Coast Guard.”
“To…?” Stewart asked pointedly.
“To Persia Smiles,” Walker whispered. “It’s Goff’s yacht, Coronado’s Sea Nymph. But I took it and I changed its name to… to Persia Smiles.”
Stewart sat back with a growl, but Walker didn’t care whether Persia’s boss knew how much she meant to him or not. There, across the room, sat the only one whose opinion mattered. And she was smiling.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
As soon as the meeting broke, Walker headed straight to Persia. She couldn’t get to her feet fast enough before he latched onto her hand and said, “We need to talk.”
He took her through Murphy’s kitchen at a fast clip, past platters of grated cheeses, lettuce, and chopped peppers and tomatoes. Past crocks of steaming black beans, chili, and seasoned ground beef. Out the back door and into what looked more like an expansive meadow than a backyard. What a view. It was a charming quilt of crooked green little pastures tied off with rows upon rows of stone fences. The Rock of Cashel, high on the hill, lorded over the quaint village below it. It’d be nice to visit that castle someday. Just. Not. Now.
“Oh, hi, Zack,” she said as she was hurried past one of The TEAM’s baddest bad boys. “This is Walker. Walker, Zack Lennox.”
He acknowledged Zack with a perfunctory, “Ah huh. Pleased to meet you.” And kept going.
“Don’t go far, Persia,” Zack cautioned. Decked in tactical armor and armed with a short stock rifle tucked barrel down and against his chest, he’d only allow them a short moment alone before he broke up the party. Eric Reynolds was also out there somewhere. And, if Kruze Sinclair had caught an express out of Dublin, it wouldn’t be long before he showed, too. There wasn’t much privacy on Murphy’s private estate, and Persia didn’t want to be caught in a compromising position. Which she was pretty certain she would be. Compromised. Soon.
“We need to stay within sight of the house,” she told Walker when he pulled her around the corner of Murphy’s garage. The only cover there was an overgrown rose bush to her left and the thick branches of an old oak tree overhead.
“We’re close enough,” he muttered, then jerked to a quick stop.
Before she knew what he had planned, he’d backed her against the side of the garage. She barely had time to ask, “What’s wrong?” before his mouth mashed onto hers.
“This,” he ground out, his fingers in her hair, holding her head steady as he deepened the kiss, turning it wet and wild and desperate.
She was instantly in heaven inside this man’s arms, encased in sheer muscle. Raw, feral energy rolled off him, engulfing her in their own private bubble of passion and lust. His shoulder muscles bunched with latent power, and that chest... Her nostrils flared, breathing in the scent of the same soap she’d showered with
. Only on Walker, it smelled so much better.
He should still be flat on his back in bed. “Talk to me,” she murmured around his lips.
“This,” he growled more earnestly, as if that one word explained everything.
Persia knew then she’d made all the right choices during her life. Because here and now, she was filled with Walker Judge. Tenderness for this lonely warrior crashed over her like a soft ocean wave. Canting her head, she opened her mouth wider to give him better access.
His kisses turned ravishing, as if he couldn’t make love to her mouth fast or good or deep enough. She melted against him, matching her softness to the rigid, hard angles pressing her to the wall. This was physical communication at an elemental level, and she gave back as good as she got. He needed to understand she’d always be there for him. No more words. No need for talk. Just him. Just her.
Growling, his hand slid under her shirt, then swiftly breached the lacy barrier of her bra, pushing it up and out of his way. Cupping her bare breast in his palm, he moaned into her mouth. His callused thumb worked her nipple with sure quick strokes, turning the sensitive bud into an express line straight to her core. Just that sweet, forbidden, carnal touch, with Zack and Eric within shouting distance, changed this reckless rendezvous into something intensely erotic. Excited shivers danced up the insides of her thighs. What if they were caught?
Lifting one knee, she wrapped it around his thigh. Which didn’t get her precisely where she wanted to go. Walker solved the problem. Still squeezing her breast, he hooked his free hand under her knee, pulling her in close and tight, grinding the most incredible hard-on against her.
“Not here,” she tried to tell him, but her words and willpower were lost in his passionate kisses. Each stroke of his warm, wet tongue over hers was an internal branding, as if he needed to control something. Or someone.
The instant she realized that, Persia calmed. She trusted this man more than she’d ever trusted anyone else in her entire career. Whatever internal battle he was fighting, it was her battle, too. That’s what this was about. She was his anchor in the storm. So be it. Her inner goddess stepped up to the challenge of standing with and for this warrior. She was proud to carry his mark.
At last, the sweet mauling slowed. Then ceased. Heaving hard, breathy pants like a draft horse that had just run a race, Walker lowered his forehead to her shoulder. “You have no idea what you mean to me. You just don’t know.”
“Try me,” she whispered as she came back to earth, then ran her fingers through his hair, holding him to her like she’d never let him go. “Maybe I’m smarter than you give me credit for.”
“It’s not that. I already know you’re smarter and braver than most people. And I know the guys here are all trying to help, and I appreciate it, I do.” A gust of heated breath landed inside her shirt. “But you have to understand, all this time, I’ve been running. I’ve been alone. I didn’t dare trust anyone. I couldn’t. Only Brim. Only you. Then suddenly I’m surrounded by an army that’s ready to go to war with me. But it was like a gauntlet in there. I felt like I was taking a beating. I had no idea… Hell, I don’t even know anyone on your team. But shit.” He ran a hand over his sweaty head. “They’re all crazier than I am.”
“Why?”
His brows went up. “Do you think I’d let them go through with whatever they’re planning? They can’t come to Portugal with me. Neither can you. It’s not safe. I’m not safe. It’s just a matter of time before—”
She pressed her finger over his flapping lips. “Try and stop me.”
Walker cocked his head, his eyes pleading. “No. You have to stay here where it’s safe. I can’t hurt anyone else, especially not you. Whoever’s behind these accusations against me is one powerful man. He’s willing to kill, and I won’t let him get to you. Not any of your guys, either.”
Rolling her shoulder like a bantam-weight prize fighter might before she delivered a knock-out punch, Persia shifted out of Walker’s embrace. She needed space to fix her bra and straighten her clothes. “I’m not asking, Hotrod, and neither are my friends in there. I’m going with you and Alex, and you can be damned sure Izza doesn’t care what you think, either. She’s going, too. So are every last one of those guys. They’re your guys now, too. So, get over yourself. We’re on your side. Deal with it.”
Damned if he didn’t slip a hand around her neck, and double damned if his eyes didn’t tear up. Instantly, Persia felt bad for picking on an injured man who obviously needed a good long nap instead of more confrontation. Walker wasn’t thinking right.
“You really believe in me, don’t you?”
She hadn’t expected that question. “Why shouldn’t I?” she asked as she smoothed the wrinkles out of her pleasantly man-handled clothes. “The Navy’s way out of line, Hotrod. And we’re going to prove it.”
His shoulders shuddered with a drawn-out sigh. “You just don’t know—”
“What? Tell me.”
“What it’s been like all these months. Even alone, I still had to watch my back. I couldn’t let my guard down, and I couldn’t trust anyone. The few times I did, I put them at risk. That’s why I left Julio and Trevor on the sandbar that night. They’d already done more than enough, and how did I pay them back? By putting their reputations and their lives in danger. By making them targets. That’s why I never reached out to Ryder or my team. How could I do that to them? To anyone?”
By then, his palms were warm on her hips, his thumbs stroking softly up and down her waist. “But then you came along,” he muttered, his voice ragged, “like a bright shining star, and you changed everything. I’m sick of fighting the world, Persia. I just want to go home. I want to kiss America again and be able to breathe without watching my back. I want to be with you.”
“When this is done,” she told him firmly, her hands again around the back of his neck, “and it will be over soon, let’s go back to my place in Florida. Let’s both kiss the beach, then make love all day and all night under the stars.”
A wan smile tweaked his lips. “That’d be so damned perfect, wouldn’t it?”
“I think so.”
“So, tell me.” His voice turned hard. “Who is your boss? Really.”
Persia looked at the blue sky shining down through the leafy branches overhead. Until then, she’d thought Alex was nothing but a hardass, with a soft spot for his wife and daughter. She knew better now. She’d just watched him work a miracle for a man he hadn’t met until a day ago. She couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled up from her heart.
“Oh, you know the type. Former jarhead. Hard-assed, short-tempered troll. He’s the same as you, Hotrod. He’s willing to march into Hell for what and who matters.”
“See, that’s what I don’t get. Why me?”
She couldn’t suppress her tender feelings for this stubborn man. “Why not you—?”
“You do know the boss’ll have your asses for this, don’t you?”
“Eric!” Persia hissed, her heart pounding up her throat. She let her hands slip down Walker’s chest to drop to her sides. “You just scared ten years off my life!”
Eric Reynolds was another tall, dark, and handsome warrior, only he worked out of the Seattle TEAM office for Murphy Finnegan. Outfitted the same as Zack, he stood calmly at the opposite corner of the garage, but she was certain he’d seen too much. “Kruze Sinclair just showed, and he brought someone with him.”
“God, who now?” Walker snapped.
Persia smoothed a hand over his taut shoulder. Man, this guy needed a break. Even good news was stressing him.
“Senator McQueen Sullivan,” Eric replied easily, his dark eyes warily quartering the scene, taking in the way Walker still had a good hold on Persia.
“Shit! Why’s he here?”
She couldn’t help but smile. Walker seemed to have a hard time accepting help from everyone. “What’s wrong with Sullivan? I thought he was on your side.”
“I… I ran out on him, too.”
“You do that a lot, do you, Judge? Run out on folks who are trying to help you?” Eric asked good-naturedly, as he headed their way. “Bet I know what’ll make you feel better.” Reaching under his left arm, he pulled a pistol out of his holster and handed it over grip first. “There’s gear, a go-bag, holsters, and plenty more ammo inside. It’s time to get moving.”
The moment Walker’s fingers touched that weapon, he racked the slide and blew out a deep breath. “Thanks. And you are?”
Eric extended a gloved hand. “Former Navy medic, former USMC asshole, Eric Reynolds, on your six, Chief Judge. Damned proud to make your acquaintance and glad as hell we finally caught up with you. At least…” Eric winked at Persia. “Looks like she did.”
She didn’t hesitate, didn’t let Eric think she was embarrassed, either. “Apparently that’s all Walker needed, to be armed and dangerous again.”
“As he should be. You ready to engage the enemy again, Chief?”
Persia answered for the man at her side. “Let’s do this.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The meet and greet with Kruze and McQueen Sullivan ended up being more back-slapping than head-butting. For that, Walker was grateful. Then Stewart declared a moratorium on further action until everyone recovered from jet lag. The gang settled down for a day’s worth of R&R at Murphy’s. Because the house couldn’t hold everyone, Walker’s men camped in the fields and trees around the estate, along with Alex’s male agents, Hans, Kruze, Brimley, and Rover. That left the guest rooms for Stewart, Senator McQueen Sullivan, Walker, and the two female agents, but it also provided a veritable ring of security around the place.
After the wear and tear of one hell of an intense day, Walker took a quick, hot shower and toweled off. He’d just gotten into bed when his door cracked open. He was facedown, too exhausted to care who needed to talk with him now. Until petal-soft angel fingers drifted over his shoulders, down his back and settled on his bare butt.
Walker (In the Company of Snipers Book 21) Page 32