Walker (In the Company of Snipers #21) - Irish Winters Page 0,27
in another breath, she swallowed hard. “I know. I know. Let the rest go. I should do that only…” Her voice cracked. This was Mark, damn it. Not Alex. Maybe if she told someone besides Doc Fitz. “I… I still see them when I close my eyes,” she whispered, her eyes on the floor like a damned little girl afraid of the dark. Which she was. “Every night, Mark. Those little kids. Those poor women.” That sweet innocent baby lamb…
“Would you like to know why Alex is meeting with the Senate Majority Leader today?”
Well, ahh… that was odd. Mark didn’t usually ignore anything Persia said. Maybe this was his way of distancing himself from a messy, tear-jerking, emotional confrontation with a seriously impaired female junior agent. Maybe he didn’t care like she’d thought he did. She held her sharp tongue, feeling utterly stupid for thinking any man might actually be sensitive enough to care. Okay then. This wasn’t his problem. Just. Hers.
She ran a hand over her eyes to brush that foolish notion away. There. Gone. Moving on now.
Mark stretched a hand across his desk and fluttered his strong, manly fingers for her to take hold. Like a drowning woman, Persia reached for him and took hold. By then, she was trembling. Talking was over-rated. Running seemed a much smarter option.
“He’s seeking legislation to make it mandatory for every female or male agent sent into hell-holes, like Zapata’s, to go in with at least one partner. With back-up,” Mark told her, his eyes hard and serious, but his voice as warm as melted butter. “No man or woman should ever go undercover without close emotional, physical, and tactical support, the way you did. We don’t send our TEAM agents out one by one. I don’t know why the Bureau and Agency do. It’s not smart, and it’s not safe. USMC snipers always have a spotter. Alex believes every federal undercover operator should have someone on their six, too.”
“Ohhhh,” breathed out of Persia. She didn’t know what to say. Alex was doing that? Now? It almost sounded like he was doing it just for her.
Mark’s brown eyes softened even more. “It’s called post-traumatic stress, Junior Agent. I know you understand the concept, but living with it is something else. Shit happens, and it’s a good thing you’re smart enough to be seeing Doc Fitz. Which is also why you and Izza are handling the Queen of England’s security while this conference is in New York. It’s only for a week, and it’ll be fun. You’ll see.”
“Fun?” Persia hadn’t realized how tense she was until that precise moment. Automatically, her lungs relaxed. It was easier to breathe. To think. “Oh, good. I mean…” She swallowed hard. “Th-thanks.”
“You’re welcome,” Mark replied evenly, still holding her fingers. “And to be clear, Alex isn’t angry with you, not at all. He’s proud as hell, Persia. Of you and all you did for your country. You sacrificed plenty, and he knows it. But he’s pissed with the Bureau for pawning you off on the Agency for this particularly brutal op. The Zapata brothers were despicable assholes, excuse my language. The Agency should’ve sent a damned army, not one woman. Not that you weren’t capable, because you proved you were. But the cost was too high, wasn’t it?”
She nodded. “I sleep with all my lights on,” she confessed. “I… I…” Her mouth snapped shut, on the verge of telling him about that flask.
He squeezed her fingers. “I did that when I first came home, too. I think most of us did, maybe still do. Trust me, kiddo, you’re not alone, and Alex is a hundred percent on your side. He, of all people, understands what you’ve been through. What you’re still going through.”
“He does?” She grimaced at how he’d stormed out of the Sit Room, though. Alex hadn’t seemed to understand then. Just because she hadn’t been paying attention. She blinked. Damn it. Tears. She had to blink fast or they’d get away from her. What is wrong with me?!
Again, Mark seemed able to read her mind. Opening the side drawer at his right, he tossed one of those small packets of tissues at her, and he was smart enough not to say a word.
Persia slipped a fingernail through the perforated open-here and tugged one, then two tissues out, wiped her cheeks, and blew her nose. Feeling like a loser. Nothing said unprofessional like whining and crying on the job. When she could finally speak without falling