Walker (In the Company of Snipers #21) - Irish Winters Page 0,61

in Guatemala? came back quickly.

You bet. Gotta love those beaches outside Monterrico! Walker deliberately kept this communication obtuse. No sense showing his hand.

It took a few seconds before Dooley answered. During that time, Walker envisioned his friend suppressing the same mountain of rage that he had. Just the thought that Goff might’ve been behind Emily’s kidnapping, that he’d sold a child as pure and sweet as that little girl to the highest bidder—

Dooley came back with two skull-and cross-bones emojis. Walker took that to mean he wanted Goff to die all over again. Walker got to the point. Need a favor. Big time. Not sure you can assist with facial recognition, but I’ve got 21 females in the same sitch. Hope you might know a guy who can tell me who these ladies and girls are.

Send what you’ve got. I’ll see what I can do.

Just want these gals home.

Understood.

And the bastards behind this POS enterprise in jail or dead.

What’s going on? How did you come across this information? Where the hell are you, brother?

Walker swallowed hard at that unexpected endearment. Brother. How he wished. His reply would’ve been spontaneous if Kenny had been doing the asking. No doubt at all. The question was one any concerned friend would ask. Yet Walker hesitated, his fingertips ready to send the answer that could betray him. He trusted Quinn, he truly did, but to send a reply that would out him—

Never mind. I trust you, Walk. No worries. Send what you’ve got, but watch your six. As soon as I have something, I’ll be in touch.

Will send everything I can in a couple minutes.

Copy that.

Walker signed off, his fingers trembling, making it hard to type the right keys. It was a sorry day when he couldn’t trust a Navy brother.

He hadn’t yet powered up the flash drives. Didn’t know if he had the stomach for it. What type of files could be so large they required that much storage? They had to wait until morning. Right now, he needed to send those photos to—

“Hey! You still awake?” Brim bellowed at Walker’s door. “We got a helluva lot of flashing Christmas lights headed our way.”

It took Walker mere seconds to secure the evidence back in the wallet, then run a quick program to erase the computer’s hard drive. But the incriminating information inside the wallet could put him in prison, if those Christmas lights belonged to the local authorities. Which meant trouble.

Stuffing the wallet inside his shirt, he jerked the door open, the lockbox in his other hand.

Brim’s face was red and sweaty. “Listen, young fella. I don’t know what you pulled out of that contraption, but something tells me it’s gonna cause us a heap of trouble. What’s say we put it back where it was before these hotshots get here?”

Peering through the porthole, Walker took in the two rapidly advancing police cruisers. In a twist of sheer luck, the prow of the boat now pointed toward the quickly advancing boats. A demand bellowed over their loudspeaker, probably for them to desist and allow the authorities to come aboard.

“Good thinking,” Walker said as he all but ran aft. Jumping down from the lounge area, he dropped to his knees on the swim deck and lifted the loose plank. Like before, the rusted nails screeched. But time was running out. Swiftly, Walker put the box back where it had been.

Brim caught his arm, as the plank settled back into place. In his hand: three weather-proof lag bolts and a flex-head ratchet. “Figured them nails need replacing,” he muttered. “Why don’t I head these jokers off at the pass, while you make things pretty back here?”

“Thanks, Brim. Whatever you do, don’t resist. Let them come aboard. This is probably just a routine safety check. No worries, okay? We haven’t done anything wrong.” At least you haven’t. Me? I’m just wanted for murder.

Brim replied, his lips pursed beneath that street-sweeper mustache. “Whatever you say, Cap’n, You’re the skipper, I’m just your crew. Sure hope you know that.”

Back on his knees, Walker didn’t have time to reply. The request from the Azorean shore patrol’s bullhorn wasn’t friendly. They’d soon be all over this yacht. His fingers fumbled the bolts. Hurry!

Chapter Twenty

“Boss wants you in his office yesterday,” Beau muttered darkly from his TEAM agent desk in the work bay, not from the customer service desk where he’d been working alongside Ember.

“What’s going on?” Persia asked. “Did Ember get tired of you or are you headed out on