Walker (In the Company of Snipers #21) - Irish Winters Page 0,78

sank onto the designated metal chair. It should’ve been cold to the touch, but like everything else in this miserable dungeon, it was sticky and too warm. He put both hands on his knees to still his trembling.

Hans disappeared, while the guard dropped one knee to the floor at Walker’s feet. “You think you are going home, but you are not,” he growled as he removed the cuffs, then the shackles, with all the gentleness of Attila the Hun. “Not while I work here, buddy. Not today.”

Buddy? “Do I know you?” Walker had to ask as the man scraped the shackles sharply across his ankle, as if to make a point. “Have I offended you somehow?” Because I’d sure like to. You’re as big an ass as my CO was.

“All you American Navy SEALs offend me,” he hissed. “You think you are so much smarter than the rest of us.”

Ah, so that’s what this was about. A WWE wrestler wannabe challenging the reigning champion. Walker had no response for that. He’d let Karma take care of this guy.

Very shortly, Hans returned, pushing a comfortable leather chair on wheels through the doorway. “Sit. Here, please,” he told Walker as he rolled the chair far from the interrogation table. “Please. I am sorry you had to wait so long for me. My supervisor detained me. Your guest will be here soon.”

He shot a few more terse words at the guard, who had no problem tossing them right back. After a quick exchange, Attila bristled. Hans’ entire demeanor darkened, but whatever he’d said seemed to end the power struggle. Like a petulant child, Attila stomped around the corner and out of sight.

Walker had yet to move. He was weak, but he was damned if he’d admit it.

“You are not well, sir,” Hans said quietly, his head tipping toward the chair. “Please take a seat.”

“I’m fine. Who’s my guest? Wouldn’t be an old guy with a dog, would it?”

“Hey there, LT Judge,” a woman called out behind him. “Happy to see me?”

Walker looked over his shoulder. Suddenly he couldn’t catch a breath. Felt like he’d been sucker-punched. Or shot point-blank. The walls spun. Stumbling forward, he sank into the chair Hans had offered before he fell on his face.

The person now entering the interrogation room with her sexy hips swaying and her luscious lips smiling was none other than—

Oh, sh-sh-sh-sh-shit!

The anticipation of finally seeing Brimley and Rover faded into outright terror. This was his guest? The woman who hated him? The goddess he’d dishonored by walking out on? Could this nightmare get any worse?!

“Per…Per… Persia?” he croaked, sure he was delirious and seeing things. Wishing he were seeing things. This couldn’t be happening!

When she headed straight for him, he turned his head and closed his eyes, prepared to get slapped, punched, or spit on. He deserved whatever she dished out.

Instead, Persia dropped to her knees, her palms clamped over his thighs with a breathy, “Hotrod.”

In his wildest dreams, he’d never expected to see her again, surely not here. But the way she’d said his handle when she knew his real name… He turned his head and looked at her. Then he felt worse. He didn’t want her to see him like this, not so weak, certainly not in this damned clown suit and beat half to death.

But what a sight for sore, tired eyes. Persia looked so damned pretty it hurt his heart. Dressed in black jeans and shirt, she’d already shrugged a hefty bag off her shoulder, unzipped it once it hit the floor, then pulled a bottled water out. Twisting the cap off, she offered it to him.

His hands were shaking so much, he couldn’t get a good enough grip on the damned thing. Walker set the bottle on his knee to keep from dropping it and to keep him from looking weaker.

Those deep, dark chocolate eyes might as well have been razors. She knew who he was, damn it, or she wouldn’t be here. Yet she seemed genuinely happy to see him. Not pissed off. Not hateful or mean. Her fingertips on his thighs were so gentle, he wanted to cry.

“I’m sorry,” he told her sincerely. “But I—”

“Shush,” she replied, glancing over her shoulder. “Mr. Koning’s giving us a few moments of privacy, but we have to hurry. Can you walk?” She leaned between Walker’s knees, almost against his cock, her gaze slipping over his face, diagnosing and inventorying all she saw.

“Who are you? Persia? R-r-really?” Not just anyone could get