Walker (In the Company of Snipers #21) - Irish Winters Page 0,115
in her life, that she’d discounted the concept of forever as a myth. Didn’t want to live more heartache than she’d already witnessed.
Life was so damned tough for some people. There were no promises, even with marriage vows. Julio Juarez was proof of that. He’d gone through hell on earth with his first wife and son, only to lose them in the worst ways possible. Yes, eventually he’d found Meg, and they were living their happily-ever-after. But what were the chances Persia would find that kind of connection? Even with the man who’d just taken a bullet for her? He’d already left her once. Why ask for a repeat?
Izza’s head came up. “Boss is here. Beau and Adam, too. They’ve taken care of whoever those asshats were. Boss is on his phone. Looks pissed.”
As usual. “Those guys weren’t BSB. But I’ll bet someone at ICC is behind them being here.”
“Agreed. I’m just surprised it didn’t happen sooner. Come on. Let’s get your boyfriend here cleaned up and ready to travel before Alex wants a full Sitrep.”
“He’s not my boyfriend, Izza.”
“Yeah, right. Try telling that to the guy who sat up with you all last night during the nightmare you had.”
Oh, shit. The dimmest shred of Hotrod calling her out of a very dark place came back to Persia. In her usual nightmares, she would’ve been running from Zapata. Hotrod knew that now. Did Izza? Had she seen?
Gingerly, Izza tilted him forward so Persia could get to her feet. By the time they were both standing, Adam had run in from the rear door. Quickly, his eyes scrolled over Persia, Izza, then fell to Hotrod. “Walker got hit? Damn, how bad?”
“Took two hits,” Persia reported as evenly as she could. “One grazed his head, the other’s a through and through.”
Adam knelt, a couple bandages in his hand. “Let me have a look. Hold him steady.”
Persia knelt, then tipped Hotrod into her shoulder while Adam double checked the exit wound, then slapped pressure bandages in place. She cupped the back of Hotrod’s hard head and pressed her cheek to his sweaty hair. How had this happened? Not the wounds in his body, but the holes in her heart? She’d never felt as close to any other man as she did Walker Judge.
A moan eked out of him when Adam pressed too hard.
Persia closed her eyes, feeling every last bit of his pain in that moan. Wishing she could go back in time and do things differently. Yet every decision point in her past, every pivot point, even her seemingly innocent choice of colleges, had brought her to this day and this particular wounded warrior.
Shuddering, he arched his back.
“Take it easy,” she whispered. Somehow, his bloody hand found hers. Persia lifted that hand to her heart. “Adam’s here to help. Relax, Hotrod. We’re safe now, and I’ve got you.”
When she opened her eyes, Alex was standing over her, those icy-blue, razor-sharp blues of his, slicing and dicing through her tough-girl persona. Looking through her. Analyzing. Judging. Always quartering her like he seemed to do with everyone and everything.
Well, let him look. If he could dish it out, he could take it. “Boss, this is Walker Judge, aka Hotrod,” she told him clearly. “He’s injured, and I’m going with him.”
Alex’s lips pursed with what had, until now, always seemed like disapproval. Yet he growled, “You’re damned right you are. Step aside. Let me at him.”
Persia released Hotrod’s hand as Alex took a knee, then lifted him into a fireman’s hold. Without another word, Alex jogged out the front door with him.
“Ladies…” Adam’s big, square chin jutted toward the front way out. “The authorities are on their way. We can’t be here when they arrive. We have to go now.”
“I never did like this safe house,” Izza muttered.
But Persia took one last look down the hall. She’d conquered one of her demons in this house. In that room. It might be the right time to conquer the other….
Chapter Thirty-Three
He’d turned into Bill Murray, and this was freakin’ “Groundhog Day.” Once again, waking up alone in bed, feeling like a Bradley tank had run over him, not knowing where he was, but knowing this shit had to stop.
Something beeped up beyond his head. Walker peeled one eye open. Shit. He was in a hospital this time, and that beeping noise came from the machine tracking his vitals. At least he hadn’t flatlined, and he wasn’t back in that ICC cell.