trouble of plucking them.”
“I had a brother,” Izza murmured from the doorway.
Walker glanced up at his unexpected visitor, standing half-in, half-out of the room, dressed in running pants and some guy’s blue shirt with USMC emblazoned in black stencils over her chest. The shirt hung to her knees.
Izza had made it quite clear she didn’t trust him, and Walker couldn’t blame her. Not with the conviction on his record, and all those other accusations hanging over his head. But here she was, come to save Persia, too.
“Come on in,” he whispered, then let go of Persia long enough to wave her friend to join the party. Persia had settled down by then, but she wasn’t fully awake. So he kept her right where she was, at his side, his voice low and steady.
“Older brother or younger?” he asked as Izza took his place at the foot of the bed.
Izza Maher was a tiny thing, six or eight inches shorter than Persia. Instead of an uptight ponytail, her hair hung in lazy black spirals over her shoulders and down her back tonight, making her look more like a little girl than a grown woman. Or maybe it was that too-big shirt that made her look smaller than she’d seemed before. Of course, she’d had a weapon in her hands then. That definitely would’ve made her seem bigger than life.
“Younger,” she answered, her voice soft and quiet, as her coal-black eyes scrolled appraisingly over him holding onto her friend. “I heard what you said. You know, when you asked Persia to come back. That was… nice.”
He shrugged, needing Izza to trust Persia more than him. “Baby brothers are the worst,” he murmured, forever wishing he could have his back.
“Jamie,” Izza whispered. “Jamie Ramos. That was his name.”
“Army?”
She shook her head. “No, USMC, like me. Dumb butt never took anything seriously, though. Not his career. Not getting ahead. Not until” —she blew out a breath between pursed lips— “it was too late.”
Walker knew all about eternally too late. “If you don’t mind me asking, when did you lose him?”
“A couple years ago.” She was biting her bottom lip by then, her eyes focused on the blanket not him. “Firefight. Twenty miles outside Camp Baharia. Iraq. You?”
He took a deep breath. With his parents already gone, he hadn’t shared anything about Kenny’s death with anyone. There’d been no one to tell. Guys were like that. Hiding behind false bravado. Holding back. Carrying on as if working were the only thing that mattered. Had to be some kind of primal defense mechanism, an instinctual need to never show weakness. To always be the baddest Neanderthal in the fight.
Truth was, when Kenny’d been killed in action, Walker had buried his pain so deep, most days he didn’t feel or acknowledge it. He’d relegated those personal pains to history. He’d had men to lead and missions to fulfill. But night times…? All that buried shit floated back to the surface, like Halloween ghosts gasping and groaning out of a sticky black tar pit of lost dreams and grief. Memories. Who needed them?
“Yemen,” he admitted, his arm tightening around Persia’s waist. She’d relaxed, and he’d tipped back to the headboard with her. “Province of Marib. He was there supporting a UN Special Envoy. Drone attack by Houthi rebels, Iran’s buddies. Took out Kenny and three others.”
“Navy SEAL like you?”
He shook his head. “Nope. Kenny was dumb like you and Jamie. Had to be a Marine.”
“The USA’s involved in too many other countries’ civil wars,” she said, still talking to the blanket.
“True, but in most cases, we’re the only support some of those smaller, weaker countries have. If it wasn’t for us, Iran would’ve taken over that part of the world by now. The latest Khomeini in power already kills anyone who gets in his way. His own people included. Women and children alike.” Which was true. One Khomeini was as bad as the next in Walker’s book.
“I know, but…” Izza let that hang.
“Tell me about him,” Walker urged gently. He didn’t want to fight this impetuous woman. Hell, he didn’t want to fight anyone. He just wished women didn’t think they had to prove they were as tough or tougher than men. But the world had changed, hadn’t it? To get ahead in any career, a woman had to work harder, fight longer, and run faster. He knew that. In most cases, she had to be willing to stand against slander, backstabbing friends, and continual character assassination whenever