Anxiously, she fingered the hem of the oversized t-shirt someone had dressed her in, so glad she was covered and safe and… She mashed her face against Walker’s chest, breathing him in. Of course she was safe. Walker was here.
He kept soothing. She kept trying not to fall apart. Why was she always doing that? She wasn’t weak or cowardly or all that feminine. She could hold her weight against any man. She could, and she had, damn it.
“Rodrigo injected you with an insecticide, but you’re okay now,” he murmured, his voice caressing all her ruffled feathers. “Did you know that boss of yours carries a freakin’ emergency room with him when he travels? Once Izza persuaded Rodrigo to confess, Alex administered the antidote, and here you are, safe and sound. Ready to fight another day.” Walker’s hands smoothed down her bare back again, both landing on her butt. He spread his fingers wide and cupped her cheeks, massaging a fraction more of her paranoia away. “How are you feeling?”
“Everything aches. My head the most.” But I’m scared, damn it. I hate being scared.
Now she knew exactly what the women and children that Zapata imprisoned had felt like…
Their utter helplessness…
The defiling loss of personal power…
The shame and humiliation…
The degradation!
Like Domingo Zapata, Peckering had left his mark. Panic swelled again. He’d overpowered her. Would’ve killed her—or worse. He would’ve sold her into the worst kind of slavery imaginable—forced prostitution, enhanced with mind-numbing addiction. She’d been smug when she’d left her pistol behind on the yacht, so sure of herself, that she was smart enough to take all comers. That she was only going to be gone a couple minutes. What a fool!
“I’ve got just the thing for those body aches,” Walker said as he rolled over and reached for something on his nightstand.
Persia couldn’t help but take advantage of the view of his deliciously tanned, naked male body stretched like a feast before her. The way his ropey muscles rippled along his abdomen and chest, over his ribs. The way his coiled bicep flexed when he grabbed whatever he was after.
This perfect view of the man in her life always seemed to pull her back into the here and now. Tipping forward, she kissed a path up the taut column of his neck. Nuzzling into that neck, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply. This was all she needed. The scent of this man’s skin in her nose. The salty taste of her very own SEAL on her tongue. His strength and every last bit of his kindness surrounding her.
With a playful growl, Walker caged her inside his legs and arms. He rattled a small green bottle in her face. “No sex for you. Not yet, sugar. You’ve been through hell, and you need a couple of these pain pills and nothing but rest and more rest today. All day. Maybe tomorrow, too.” His lips brushed warm and soft over her mouth. “Trust me, Persia. I almost lost you. I’m not taking any chances.”
“I don’t want sex,” she breathed into his chin. Yet even as she told him that, she cast her gaze between them and down the length of his magnificent chest past his belly. Walker was a gorgeous, handsome beast with his ass in the air like it was and his manhood just inches from her fingertips. “B-b-but… I’d sleep much better if we did. I mean, if you want to.”
Her sexy beast smiled.
“Oh, come on. Are you sure you don’t want to make love with m-m-me?” she whined like a spoiled brat, nipping his chin. Needing quality time with him to replace the apprehension churning in her gut. “An orgasm will help me forget everything that happened better than lying around resting and thinking.” And worrying. And wondering…
He blinked those sexy blues like he was having second thoughts. But then, “No,” he murmured. But he sounded less sure of himself, like a little more coaxing might push him over the edge.
But Persia honestly didn’t have the strength to argue her case. Walker was right. She had been through hell. She blew out a small sigh through pursed lips, not up for sex like she wished she were. She wanted it. Knew his mouth all over her body would help her forget. But what she needed now was the warmth of the massive body wrapped around her. Like a great, big, impenetrable castle wall. A stronghold with hairy arms and legs and muscles that nothing could get past or through. Her private force field.
Tears. Damned, weak, silly, feminine tears flooded her eyes.
Walker rolled onto his side and took her with him. He tucked her under his arm.
She let him become everything. Her rock. Her fortress.
“I couldn’t get away,” she cried, out of control again. “I… tried. God, I tried!” Sob. Sob. Sob. “But I never stood a chance. One minute I was… I was me, damn it! I was strong and invincible! I could fight anything! But the next, he was there, and someone came up behind me, and I was… I was… weak!”
“You, Agent Persia Coltrane, are not weak,” Walker growled, his deep voice vibrating soft and low in her ear, “and you’re sure as hell not nothing.”
She closed her eyes, shocked she’d spoken those pitiful words out loud.
“You think you’re the only one who’s ever been shanghaied? Guess again, sugar. It was two against one. An ambush. By a fuckin’ Navy admiral, a United States officer, you should’ve been able to trust, for fuck’s sake.”
Wow. Two fucks in one sentence. Walker’s vehemence actually helped. The tension in her shoulders eased.
“And don’t forget you were the one who got my sorry ass out of ICC’s detention unit. Or that I was the one who got bushwhacked by a female Russian spy with a tranquilizer dart full of fuckin’ Special K, and I don’t mean the kind that goes snap, crackle, pop, either.”
He was trying hard to make her laugh. She almost did. Instead, Persia sucked up what was left of her shattered pride, still shaking like a leaf. She forced a swallow, determined to catch her balance. “But I really would like to make love with you.” Someday soon.
“And I’m dying to be inside you, but what you need most right now is this…” He dipped his head and swallowed her lips. “Just this,” he mumbled, licking his way inside her mouth, his slick, sweet tongue sweeping her regrets away, making soft, gentle love to her tonsils. Healing her heart and soul with his breath and his mouth. Somehow, even his love for America seemed wrapped up in this tender, wet kiss. Sex or not, he was still giving her everything he had to give.
Tears welled again, but Persia hung on, squeezed them away, and gave back as good as she was getting. Walker was right. Her cup truly was empty. But this was also making love, just on a more elemental level, where spirits joined and soared and danced and loved without end. Where miracles happened and stayed and happened again. Where a damaged heart could finally… heal.
This feeling of oneness between her and Walker was intimacy in its most spiritual dimension. It came without physical demands or expectations. Without grunts and groans and precautions. Like the waves on an eternal beach, it rolled over her, seduced her with its gentle power of peace and wellness, of being right with the world.
Peckering was dead. She was not. That simple truth spoke volumes.
At last, a full cleansing breath filled her lungs. She sniffed, feeling stronger. Her body didn’t have to orgasm to prove she was loved. Walker hadn’t made a sexual play yet, just held her, and kissed her, and let her acclimate to her new normal. Yes, she’d been taken down, but he had her back. He always would. This solid wall of male dominance and power was right now, blanketing her with his entire body, with every last piece of his genuine, loving heart, and his all-American soul.
Walker Judge loved her. He’d told her, and now he was showing her in the kindest, sweetest way possible. He was all she needed.
“I love you,” she murmured, her eyes closed, yet finally opened. She didn’t need to be a one-woman army anymore. Never again. She was part of something bigger now.
She was part of Walker.
Chapter Forty-Six
It’d take a couple days, maybe a good long sleep, but Walker k
new Persia would be back on her feet and fighting the world before they made San Diego Harbor. There was no weakness to the lioness in his arms. Yes, she’d been beaten by a master jackass, but only because she’d been outnumbered. That was simply the law of the jungle. Even a pack of cowardly hyenas could take down a solitary king—or queen—of beasts. But it was Peckering lying on a cold metal slab in Puerta Vallarta’s morgue right now. Not her.
Best yet, she’d finally told Walker she loved him. What more did he need?
At the moment, Persia Smiles was tracking north along California’s southern coast, headed toward San Diego Harbor. They’d left Puerta Vallarta behind late last night. Walker’d told Persia she could have Rodrigo, but he’d already turned Peckering’s toady over to the local police. Guess it was illegal to kidnap foreign citizens, even if you just wanted them to walk the plank. Go figure.
Not that she would’ve done anything to him anyway. But Goff? He was still here, and it’d be interesting to see how Persia handled seeing him.
By the time Walker had returned to port yesterday, Alex, McQueen, and Izza had Ryder out of the water and onto the dock. Someone had called the port authorities. A medic was checking all of them. Well, make that a medic was checking Ryder and Izza. Alex and McQueen were giving orders as usual. Persia had still been asleep, Rodrigo hadn’t stirred, and Rover had still been locked below.
The first thing Alex had done when Walker’d tossed him a line, was secure his yacht to the well-bumpered dock. Alex had acted as if he were a mere deckhand, then he’d lifted his ruggedized sat phone from his rear pocket and held it out like a trophy. “You finish it?”
Brim had shot back with a surly, “We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t, would we?”
“Good. We now have all the evidence we need to prove your innocence, Agent Judge.”
Walker had glanced at the sat phone in his palm. “Does that mean you recorded everything he said?”
“If he didn’t, I sure as hell did,” McQueen had groused. “When I get through with you, LT, you’re going to be a free man.”
Sweetest words ever…
Until Alex had caught sight of Goff, bandaged and cuffed to the aft railing like the dog he was. “He’s still alive? Thought you said—”
“Wanted him alive, Boss.” That word had rolled easily off Walker’s lips.
“He’s got nothing,” Goff had sputtered. “Just you wait! I’ll put all of you in Leavenworth.”
“Who shot him?”
“US Army Sergeant Brimley Scott, at your service,” Brim had said as he’d grabbed Alex’s hand.
“You asshats have nothing on me!” Goff had screamed. “You can’t prove anything!”
But Alex had grinned. He’d actually grinned!
By then, Izza was onboard sitting with Persia. But when she’d seen Goff’s hands, she’d jumped to her feet and yelled. “That ring! That’s the same ring! Crap, it was you!”
He’d turned an icy glare to her. “Stay away from me. You can’t have it. It’s worth more than all of you put together.”
She’d spun on the ball of her foot, her ponytail whipping over her shoulder. “Alex! It was him! He was there!”
“Where?” Alex was on board by then.
“At Walker’s trial. The first day. I’ve seen the video footage. He was in court, and I can prove it!”
“You can’t prove anything!” Goff had roared.
“Oh, yeah?” She’d stalked to where he’d crouched, her hands on her hips and her swagger on full-beam. “You and Peckering thought you were clever to sit in on his trial, behind his back where he couldn’t see you. But you’re dumber than shit, because Hans has a video of Walker’s trial. I don’t know how he came to have it, but that was you sitting in the last row of the spectator section. And that ring on your finger proves it. You were there!”
“But, but, but…” Goff had sputtered.
By then, Alex had been peering down at the massively ostentatious, bright gold ring that, without words, declared, “I always wanted to be a real Navy SEAL, but, boo, hoo, I’m a lying pussy!”
Talk about penis envy.
“Stop! You can’t—”
“You son of a bitch!” Alex hauled back and punched Goff square in the face. “Stolen valor will never make you half the man Walker Judge is!”
Whoa. Walker’d startled at that blatant praise. “Boss,” he’d started to tell him not to hit Goff again. The man had sure looked like he might.
But Alex had hissed, “Shut up, Junior Agent. This bastard’s not worth shit. Don’t you dare defend him!”
Walker’d wanted to laugh and cry at that outrageous order. He’d been praised and bitched out in the same breath. Made a man feel like he was finally going to be A-Okay. But he couldn’t let his boss beat a defenseless prick, err, man. He’d put a hand over Alex’s flexed bicep then. Holy shit, this man was made of steel, piss, and vinegar.
“I know that,” he’d told his new boss. “but America needs the truth, and to prove our case, we need to turn over a live suspect to someone other than NCIS or any branch of the Navy.”
“Already taken care of,” McQueen had drawled. “The US Attorney General will be there waiting when we dock. Pretty sure he’s bringing a couple Marines with him. Heads are gonna roll, son. Trust me.”
But Alex had still been steamed. And God, Walker had wanted to let him beat the shit out of Goff. He’d wanted to do the same, but…
“That’s not who we are, Boss. He’s the asshole. Not us.”
It had still taken a full minute before Alex had cooled down and backed off. Damned if that spit-in-your-eye loyalty hadn’t been further confirmation that Walker had chosen well.
For the duration of the short trip to San Diego, Alex had kept Goff sitting on his ass, flex-cuffed to the railing on the far end of the aft deck. He’d only uncuffed the rat bastard twice, once to escort Goff to the head, then when he’d allowed Goff ten minutes to eat. Not one second more. Then back into flex cuffs Goff went to await judgement day.
If it’d been up to Walker, he would’ve keelhauled Goff for the duration of the trip home. But common sense and his innate sense of honor demanded he prove to the world and to Alex that, above all, he was everything Goff was not. Honest. A vow-keeper, not a vow-breaker. That he’d only ever supported and defended the Constitution against all enemies, foreign and domestic. That, like Alex Stewart, he’d done the job America had asked of him.
Turned out the Senator and Alex were good for their word. The moment they’d put Puerta Vallarta in the rearview, Senator Sullivan had called the Secretary of Defense and provided all the evidence his and Alex’s teams had uncovered. Every last detail. About the bogus trial. The human trafficking. The gangs in Guatemala. Officer Bruno’s disappearance. Renzo’s suspicious suicide. Persia’s abduction. The fact that Goff had also bribed the ICC judge. Hans Koning was the one who’d discovered that. He was another unexpected ally in what had become an all-out battle for Walker’s freedom and his life.
The Sec Def had taken it from there. Yesterday’s morning news had reported he’d fired his underling, the Secretary of the Navy. Not that the man had known what Peckering and Goff were into, but purely on principal. As the top naval officer, the Secretary of the Navy was responsible for everything that went down on his watch. Turned out, the Sec Def was especially pissed the Navy had been depriving quite a few American sailors of their rights to fair trials. Apparently, Walker Judge wasn’t the first accused of crimes he hadn’t committed, but the Sec Def was adamant that he would be the last.
As always, America’s talking heads were spinning the blatant corruption under Admiral Peckering’s command. NCIS, the Naval Criminal Investigative Service, was also under hot and heavy scrutiny, not only by the US Attorney General, but by the very press they’d leaked all their slanderous lies about Walker Judge to. But that was the media for you. Ready to turn on anyone, even their buddies, if it made a buck.
By
the time Persia Smiles purred into San Diego Harbor, Captain Spenser Cole, the presiding judge over Walker’s trial, had been called in to answer to the US Attorney General for his too-close association with Prince Khalid, as well as the US contracts that had come out of the now-suspect program management review years earlier.
McQueen seemed to have enough clout to make heads roll and do it quickly. The Navy prosecutor overseeing Walker’s trial, Commander John Cudahy, had failed to show that morning when summoned to the Sec Def’s office in the Pentagon. The Coast Guard had already found his body, floating offshore near Chula Vista. There was no evidence of foul play. Investigations were pending.
But Miss Sunday Night Breeze had no trouble making plenty of statements on last night’s late-night propaganda show. Where Walker had once made a typical-male error in hooking up with her, Commander John Cudahy had turned his male stupidity into a fine art. He’d proposed to Breeze. She had a ring to prove it. And a prenup! No wonder he’d committed suicide. Allegedly committed suicide, that is…
Lieutenant Cameron Kroft, who’d never seen combat and shouldn’t have been assigned to defend a Navy SEAL, had been swiftly summoned back from his cushy new assignment in Hawaii. Instead of sipping Mai Tais on a Waikiki beach, he was now headed for Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL Training Center in Coronado, CA, per Sec Def’s direct order. Looked like Kroft was going to learn what being a SEAL really meant. No pre-BUD/S apprenticeship training. No mentorship from any former or current SEALs. And no Admiral flying cover for his sorry ass. Just wham, bam, out of the kiddie-pool and straight into the deep end—with the real sharks.
By all accounts, numerous news reports, and most of all, according to Senator Sullivan’s terse conversations with the Sec Def, former USN Lieutenant Walker Judge was well on his way to being a free man. Somehow, the missing Navcompt 3065 leave request had finally been ‘officially’ located. Lo and behold, it had been duly signed and recorded—by Goff—just like Beau Villanueva had said. How about that? The Navy made a big deal of how thoroughly they’d searched for what was now being heralded as proof positive of Peckering’s, Goff’s, Spenser’s, Cudahy’s, and Kroft’s crimes.
Walker (In the Company of Snipers Book 21) Page 39