Walker (In the Company of Snipers #21) - Irish Winters Page 0,37
like his dad.
Then there were Eric and Shea, both dark-haired and obviously in lust and love with each other. Outright sexual tension radiated between them like a couple of horny teenagers who couldn’t wait to leave. If he wasn’t leaning a shoulder into her, she was smiling at him like they shared some deep, dark, naughty secret. Only it couldn’t be dark, not the way their eyes sparkled at each other. No, it had to be love, and nothing about love was dark. Persia knew that for sure, because she’d grown up in a house full of it.
Even Izza had a man she adored in her life. Connor would be back from Afghanistan before long, and where would that leave Persia? Alone, damn it. Always alone. Suddenly she wanted to be back in her cozy Florida bungalow, snuggled in her bed with the handsome man whose name she knew… Was. Not. Hotrod!
Those darned tears glimmering at the corners of her eyes had to stop, before she lost her mind and gave herself away. She refused to waste one more tear or another minute, thinking about that loser. He was the one who’d ditched her, remember?
At last, Alex turned to Lexie and winked. “That, kiddo, is tonight’s bedtime story, so eat all your dinner.”
“Okay!” she answered, clapping with childish delight. “I get a new baby sister and a new story!”
“Hey,” Izza muttered. “You gonna take this or not?”
Persia jerked her attention away from the sight of that grinning little girl across the table. Ah. The elegant crystal platter of boiled beef, boiled cabbage, and… were those boiled turnips? Just what she needed, flatulence on top of heartache. Cabbage, really? Who ate that stuff anymore? Only it did look good drizzled with browned butter and sprinkled with green herbs and onions. And the beef smelled divine.
“Yes, sorry. I was daydreaming. Got it,” Persia whispered back. She took a tiny helping of each, then passed the platter. What would it hurt? Pushing the food around on her plate gave her fork something to do, while she pretended to be a happy, carefree professional.
Why not take another one for her country? Seemed like that was all she ever did.
Chapter Thirteen
Walker worked his way up the African coast toward Portugal, where he spent a week lounging in the peace and quiet off the Azores. That week turned into two, then three. He was still a good thousand miles from anywhere. Communication with anyone in the States to the west, was sporadic at best.
For the first time since that night with Persia, Walker let his guard down. He left the security of his yacht behind, to roam the bustling docks of busy São Miguel, the largest island in the Azores archipelago. The last time he’d been here, he’d been with SEAL Team 18. The best in the fleet. Not that its reputation mattered now. Still...
Once upon a time, he’d been USN Lieutenant Walker Judge, and commanded the rowdiest, best, most honorable SEAL Team in the fleet. Not one of his guys had backstabbed him during his trial. How he ached to reach out to them. Just to talk, to see if they knew something he didn’t. Just to hear their voices.
Lieutenant Junior Grade Ryder Dahl, Walker’s executive officer and a damned good friend. Loyal, and built like a big, black refrigerator. Hence his handle, Black Sabbath, shortened to just plain Sabbath. But there was nothing plain about Ryder. Yes, he could make the ladies swoon when he wanted to, but the man had an uncanny talent for strategizing his team’s way out of impossible situations. Which was what Walker needed now.
Then, the three ensigns on SEAL Team 18. Both Steel Arrington, aka Frosty, due to his shock of bright white hair, and Nguyen Li, aka Trigger, second-generation Vietnamese-American, were top-notch snipers and as deadly as they came. Ensign Dallas Perkins hailed from Austin, TX., hence his handle: Tex. As the Team’s language expert, Tex had an uncanny talent with various Pashto dialects, a plus with as much time as Team 18 had spent in the Middle East. Walker never trusted the supposedly vetted local translators. Too often, those friendlies turned into assassins.
Petty Officer First Class Urban Sweeny, aka Red, because of his bright red hair and all those freckles, handled communications equipment. Petty Officer Third Class Amerigo Torres, aka Scarecrow, rounded out Walker’s team. A proud Latino and a naturalized Mexican-American citizen, Amerigo was one of those ordinary looking types who could ghost in and ghost