Walker (In the Company of Snipers #21) - Irish Winters Page 0,111
back doors, he declared, “I’ll move ammo to drop spots, front and rear, for quicker access.”
“Then do it.”
Immediately, Walker carried half the ammo boxes to the exit, the other half to the front door. As soon as he finished, he asked, “Which way’s the safe room?” He didn’t plan on saving himself, but Hans and the rest of his team would live to see another day. Absolutely.
Persia stalked into the hall, backed up to the linen closet, and slammed her boot, heel first, against it. Instead of opening outward, the door slid up with the slightest hydraulic hiss, revealing another vault, similar to the front door, complete with a retinal scanner array.
“Well, bless my heart. Are you telling me we’re going to need this, soldier?” she snapped, her middle finger doing its thing again. Her eyes flashed the sexiest brown flames Walker had ever been blessed with. His blood thickened, and his cock sprang to hot-damned attention. She might think she was a weakling because she’d had a few nightmares. But no way. This woman rocked her authority with poise and enough confidence to inspire even Hans. Who, Walker damned well noticed, was staring at Persia, as if she were a movie star and he was her greatest fan. That crap had to stop.
“Not if yours are the only retinas that’ll open it,” Walker countered, used to leading, not following.
“Relax,” Izza soothed. “We’ve got you covered, big guy.”
Not what he wanted to hear. “Prove it.”
“Fine,” Persia growled without any hint she’d just shared intimate secrets with him. “I’ll open it, just for you.”
Whoa, the sarcasm. He loved it.
“For your information, this door stays unlocked until someone shuts themselves inside and locks it. Is that understood? All you need to worry about is how to hit the big, square, palm-sized button inside this room. Can you handle that, Lieutenant Judge?”
And now I’m back in the Navy. Every word out of her mouth carried an implied dare. That last one, Lieutenant Judge, was a glove slapped across his face, challenging him to a duel. Not Hotrod? She was steadily provoking him to question her authority.
And hot damn, he was falling farther in love with every snarky order out of her hot, wet mouth. He’d worked with female soldiers and jarheads before, but never one as sexy or as sure of herself as Persia, and none who’d been in charge or pushed his buttons like she did. Even the way she stood in the hall with her shoulders squared, her feet spread, and her chin lifted, declared, ’Just try me.’
The rowdy caveman in him roared to life to do just that. The impulse hit him to step over the imaginary line she’d drawn, to try her. To throw her belligerent ass over his shoulder, smack that ass, then carry her back to his den. Make a fire, then make her his. In every position possible.
“I asked if you understand me?” And now she was being an ass. A sexy, dominant, drill-sergeant-worthy ass. “Does that suit your particular Navy skillset, LT?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Walker shot back at her. She had never before looked as hot as she did right then. How was he supposed to fight ICC assholes, when he wanted to rip her clothes off and fuck the hell out of her? Make her scream?
The vibration of heavy equipment rattled the house, ending that daydream. Sounded like a tank had pulled up to the front door. Stewart had better be right about this safe house’s ability to withstand 120-millimeter rounds.
Walker turned to his assigned duty location, as Persia strode past him, her head held high and the buttstock of her rifle pressed into her shoulder. This woman was ready to fight, and he could barely tear his eyes off her.
Until a shot splattered the front window, and a hail of gunfire erupted at both the front and back of the house. Sounded like an entire hive of killer bees had been set loose. Yet nothing breached the structure or came through the window. Tiny impressions, like rock chips on a windshield, were the only damage to the glass.
And here we go…
He took position to the right of the windowpane, with Persia at the left, nearest the front door. Peering out, it looked like a small army had arrived. No tank, but three armored vehicles, all black and lacking high-power armament. But deadly just the same.
“Persia?” Izza called from the rear door. “Report.” She looked as steady as Persia, but Hans was plenty rattled, breathing