Walker (In the Company of Snipers #21) - Irish Winters Page 0,79
into the International Criminal Court building. It was too well guarded.
“There’ll be time for questions and answers later. We have to go now. Stop shaking, so I can unlock these stupid cuffs and shackles.”
“You’ve got keys?”
“No, I’ve got a hairpin, shit. Of course I’ve got keys. Hans gave them to me.”
“Hans is working with you?” Nothing made sense.
“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”
“Okaaaaay.” He was all for leaving. “But where are we going?”
“Out,” she growled, glancing at the door Hans had left open again. “The prosecutor overseeing your case is an insensitive ass, and the judge is an idiot. But Hans Koning believes you. He’s on your side, and I’m breaking you out.”
Walker closed his eyes, sure he was out of his mind. Persia, here? Couldn’t be. Hans letting him go? None of this was real. Had to be hallucinations, which meant he was damned sick.
“Where’s Brimley?” he asked the first random question that popped into his head. “And Doggo? Have you seen an old guy with a big dog around here?” Because they’d be real. Not—Persia. Her being here and being so nice made no sense.
“Please shut up, Hotrod. You’re running a fever, and you’re talking nonsense. We really have to go. Now!” When the cuffs and shackles clattered to the concrete floor, she ran her tongue over her bottom lip, and damn…he was distracted. That sweet, honeyed tongue. Those lush, red lips. Her mouth. He wanted another taste of that wine. Oh, wait. She was a whiskey girl. But if this were just a dream…
“Did you hear me?” she snapped, tugging him out of the chair by one hand, the other clamped tightly around his waist. “We don’t have much time. Alex doesn’t want anyone in the press to know you’re here, so Izza’s upstairs, creating a distraction. Come on, Hotrod. You’re a big guy. You have to help me do this.”
Alex who? Izza? What kind of name’s that? “I am,” he muttered as the concrete floor danced beneath his stupid orange shoes. “But I look like Bozo.”
“Yeah, well, I happen to like clowns.” She huffed, dragging him toward the table, where she opened her bag. “Here. Put this on.”
Damned if she didn’t pull a lovely pink poncho stamped on its back with DIVA COMING THROUGH! out of that bag. Instead of tossing it at him, she lifted his arm and started to dress him like a kid.
“I’ve got this,” he murmured, then struggled like hell getting the hole in that plastic thing over his head and facing the right direction. In the end, Persia’s dogged persistence was the only reason DIVA COMING THROUGH! ended up on his back, not his chest. Small consolation. It was still pink and clashed with his orange jumpsuit and shoes and… Who cares?!
“There,” she said, her bag on her shoulder again, her arm around his waist and her wonderfully soft-in-all-the-best-places body pressed flush to his side. “Let’s go.”
Too late. Attila was back, his rifle pointed in Walker’s face, and yelling, “Stop, or I’ll shoot!” loud enough to wake the dead.
“Will you shut the fuck up?!” Persia hissed as she let Walker go, and… BAM!
Whoa. She’d just cocked her fist back like a prizefighter and punched Attila’s square, ugly face. After he dropped his weapon and accordion-folded to his knees, she kicked and nailed his family jewels. He curled, whimpering into a fetal position.
“I think I love you,” Walker mumbled like an idiot.
“Will you move it?” she snapped, pulling him past a drooling Attila, into the hall, and away from the interrogation room and his prison cell.
“Where we going? Really. You can tell me,” he murmured as he stumbled along. Not like even then, he would know where he was.
“Home,” she snapped, her hand on his chest, keeping him upright and walking. “But first…” She rounded the corner, and he found himself pushed up hard against the wall.
He cringed like a pussy. Here comes the slap down. Either that or he’d wake up back in his cell, and this would all be a dream and—
One of Persia’s soft sweet hands cupped his jaw. Her fierce gaze scorched him, but her other hand on his chest was so gentle. So warm. The air between them seemed somehow full of flowers and stardust and hope. Then she was in his face, and her mouth was on his, and she swallowed every last one of his worries. He didn’t deserve her kindness or her sweet breath or her tongue in his mouth—but he took it.