Walker (In the Company of Snipers #21) - Irish Winters Page 0,73

Valor, four Presidential Unit Citations. One Purple Heart. All these and still the Navy prosecuted him?

No wife. Both parents deceased. One brother, also deceased. Check, check, and holy shit. Some serious deployments into hot spots all over the planet. This SEAL had one hell of an honorable record.

Bless her heart, Ember had also included the details of Kenny Judge’s obituary, as well as a brief rundown on Walker’s family. Seemed he’d come from a long military history. He’d followed not only in his father’s footsteps by joining the Navy, but his grandfather’s and great-grandfather’s, as well. It was very apparent that Judge had always known what he’d wanted to do with his life. Interesting factoid for a Navy SEAL convicted of murder.

Next, his lawyer’s brief on the trial. That took a while to read through, but it was interesting.

Walker’s JAG NCIS attorney had readily declared Walker’s exemplary service record, yet Navy brass had consistently ignored the medals for heroism above and beyond the call of duty, that they themselves had awarded him. Over and over, the JAG prosecutor had blatantly disregarded Walker’s constitutional right to innocence before being proven guilty, as well. Through well-timed, albeit illegal leaks to dishonest reporters, NCIS had succeeded in trying him in the press. Even the men and woman selected as peers for his jury had been hand-picked by Navy brass. Yet, they’d actually done an honest job. Something his defense attorney hadn’t.

The more she read, the more unanswered questions Persia had, and the more she believed something was fundamentally wrong with the Navy’s top echelon. His new lawyer, a civilian attorney out of San Antonio, Texas, seemed to think that as well, and had already petitioned for an appeal.

Without having met the man, Persia leaned toward Walker Judge being the real deal, the ideal warrior. He could’ve been that face on the Navy’s recruiting posters. So what if he liked to rough-house and had gotten into a few brawls over his career? Wasn’t that what SEALs did?

The real problem here seemed to lie within the Uniform Code of Military Justice, the military’s criminal justice system. Vastly different from the civilian system, the UCMJ had its own body of laws, and military tribunals were supposed to interpret, enforce, and protect those laws. They were supposed to be impartial and fair. They were supposed to be founded on truth.

Yet Persia knew all about those sanctimonious military tribunals. If some pompous general or admiral wanted a lower-ranking lackey to end up in Leavenworth—wham, bam, yes, sir, it’s done. Good men and women didn’t stand a chance against the butt-kissing and rule-bending that went on behind closed Navy and Army doors these days. Not unless they were wealthy and could afford the best lawyers, which most sailors could not. Even then, those lawyers had better watch their backs. Heaven help anyone who didn’t kiss the right ass in the current vicious, highly-charged, political clime.

Ember had included other clippings of military ops Judge had been on. But faces were blacked out and the details had been heavily redacted.

The cabin lights just flashed on. Dinner was on its way.

Hurriedly, Persia leafed through the rest of the file. A photo of Judge would’ve been nice. It’d be good to know what this guy looked like. She was about to call it quits when she came to another folder tucked into the first. Interesting. She thumbed it open and—

No way...

Her brain registered the prong fasteners at the folder’s top. Her eyes noted the color of the folder. Blue, for common missions, not black, for classified, eyes-only missions.

But her heart…

OhmyGod! That face. That handsome, stalwart, sexy, scruffy, irresistible, handsome face. It was him. Walker Judge! Only Walker Judge looked exactly like Hotrod. His lips, so perfectly set with silent determination. So… damned… kissable.

Those incredible, crystal blue, as pure as the ocean before the morning rain, eyes. Even now, they seemed to be looking straight through her.

Those perfect, kissed-by-the sun, sandy-brown brows. His thick eyelashes made him just plain little-boy adorable. Even all dressed up in what appeared to be his official USN photo, he looked as if he, too, remembered their one night together.

Like a complete idiot, Persia lifted that wonderful file to her nose, sure she’d detect the same luscious hit of wind, sand, and sea, combined with the distinctly male musk that had rolled off his skin that day. His mouth. The cinnamon on his breath.

She couldn’t breathe deeply enough. Didn’t dare swallow. None of this was real, not the hammering