Walker (In the Company of Snipers #21) - Irish Winters Page 0,102

she pulled ahead of the pack and proved she was, in fact, a helluva lot better. Walker had certainly seen how hard men and other women were on any gal who stepped up and succeeded where they’d failed. Or where they hadn’t even tried to go.

So… Izza was a jarhead, huh? As soft and pretty as she looked in the dim glow of that nightlight? Nah. He couldn’t imagine her geared up like a guy, toting a hundred pounds of ammo, her face painted, and marching off to battle. Just didn’t sit right with him.

Walker tried not to be sexist. He just didn’t want women to have to fight to the death, not if he was around. That was a man’s job, to protect home and hearth. To do the dirty jobs, so women could live gently and in peace.

Her shoulders lifted, but Izza seemed intent on smoothing the wrinkles out of the covers instead of looking at him. “He was all I had,” she whispered to that blanket.

“And you miss him.”

She nodded. “Yeah. I do. As big a pain in the ass as Jamie could be, as much as he liked to tease, that shithead was my brother, and he always stood up for me.”

“That’s what brothers do.” All at once, Walker knew where Jamie was. Yet he asked, “Where’s he buried in Arlington?”

“Section 60. With all the others.”

Arlington’s Section 60 was where many of those killed in Afghanistan and Iraq now lay in honored glory. Or so the poets said. Walker had found it a sad, wretched place where too many ghosts still walked and talked... and cried.

“Kenny’s there, too,” he admitted softly. Speaking his brother’s name still felt somehow irreverent. But with Izza, someone who’d lost as much as he had, it felt okay. Maybe even good. “Want to bet those two boys are still telling lies and taking dares?” Kenny never could resist a dare.

Finally, Izza’s chin lifted and her dark eyes zeroed on him. “You’re not so bad, you know.”

What could he say? Nothing. So Walker shrugged, content to be on her good side for now.

“Please take care of my girlfriend, Walker Judge. Like you said before, I mean. Don’t let anyone take her. Persia thinks she’s tougher than she is, but she’s not, you know? Not really. Keep her safe. I don’t know why but she likes you, and she thinks you’re worth saving. I’m not convinced, but she is, so make damned sure you are what she thinks you are. Promise me.”

He bowed his head in humble submission, never more sure of any other order in his life. “Yes, ma’am, I promise to keep Persia safe, always. Goodnight, Izza. I’m real glad you’re here with us.”

“Me, too,” she said as she lifted to her feet and padded from the room, leaving him alone with Persia still in his arms. Which told him that Izza trusted him more than she’d let on. She was a lot like him. Too tough to cry. Too broken to let her heart show. But he also sensed there was more to that story about Jamie than she’d ever admit. He’d always stood up for her. Against who?

“You have a good friend in Izza Maher,” he told his sleeping beauty.

“Drink. I need a… a drink.”

“Of what?” he wondered out loud.

“Wh-whisssss-key…” —she hissed like a tire going flat— “…helpssss…”

That got his attention. Whiskey helps, huh? Also explained the hint of alcohol he’d detected on her breath the first night on the beach. “It helps what, sugar?”

She huffed, hard little panting breaths through her nose. “Nightsssss. Dreamsssss. All that sh-sh-shit.”

“Of Florida?” He doubted that, but he needed her to talk to him, at least verify what he suspected.

Persia slapped one hand to his chest and pulled away. “No. Him. Poor, poor, babiesss…”

Walker froze even as he kept hold of her waist. Babies? She’d tortured babies while she’d been undercover? No, not Persia. “What babies?”

Another huff. Another hiss. Another sad, “Poor, poor babies…”

“What did he make you do to them?” He cringed at what she might say next.

“K-k-kill. I had to… h-had to...”

Oh, shit. Zapata’d made her prove how bad she was, and to maintain her cover, she’d done as he’d demanded. Or had she? “No, Persia. Sugar, I know you, and you’d never hurt a baby.”

She nodded adamantly. “Yeah. Had to. Baby lambsssss…”

Oh, thank God! Lambs. Not children.

“Did you eat lamb stew afterward?”

“No. Never. The blood…” Whimpering, she rubbed a hand over her sternum. “So… much… blood. Babies bleed. It was