Walker (In the Company of Snipers #21) - Irish Winters Page 0,80
of her biceps, he held her fast while he gave back what he could. A rumbling, throaty growl moaned out of her, as she returned the favor with vigor, damned near eating him alive. Walker wanted to fall on his knees in adoration of the amazing woman who was swallowing his worry. Unless this was all a dream. The one he’d had every night since he’d walked out on her. I suck. I deserted this woman. I don’t deserve her rescuing me now. Why the hell’s she here?
She didn’t let up on him. Just kept rubbing her palms over his shoulders and down his arms. When she growled again, he was all in. Walker tilted his head to access more of her mouth. Only when both his eager hands dropped to her black-encased backside did she break the connection.
Without saying anything, she jerked her bag off the floor, and then they were speed-walking down that long hall to nowhere again. Her pulling him along; him trying to keep up because, besides being sick, he was now dizzy from that steamy kiss.
Then they were around another corner and running up concrete steps. Her taking two at a time; him holding tight to the handrail, so he didn’t fall backward and die before he got away. Another long damned hallway that, thank heavens, was empty of armed guards.
Suddenly, a siren blared overhead. The overhead lights started flashing yellow. A pair of twenty-foot-high doors with long push bars blocked the exit at the end of this hallway. And Walker knew he had to save Persia. She was the important one, not him.
“Run,” he told her. “Get out of here!”
“Will you knock it off? I’m here to save you!”
“But you need to leave.”
“Not without you. Keep moving,” she ordered, her tone as hard as steel, “or neither of us will make it.”
“Who’s gonna kill us? We’re American citizens, for Chrisssst sakesssss.” He was slurring like a drunk. Staggering like one, too.
“Tell that to whoever signed the ICC’s warrant for your arrest. The judge upstairs refused to acknowledge President Adams’ signed extradition orders, and your prosecutor’s a Nazi moron. Your buddy, Hans Koning, got me into the ICC, but he told me you were in rough shape, that I might not be able to get you out. Also told me to watch out for the jerk with the rifle. Which is why I decked the motherfucker. Now move it!”
How Walker adored a woman who cussed like a sailor.
“Hans helped you rescue me?” Man, that sounded pitiful. Him, a SEAL, needing to be rescued by a wimpy guy in a business suit and a tie. What the hell? Had the world turned upside down and inside out?
“Yes. He’s on our side.” Persia shoved Walker through one of those gigantic doors and all but pushed him down yet another set of stairs. Outside. Where the air was cool and free. His lungs automatically inhaled freedom.
“That way. That one,” she hissed, steering him toward a—
“What is it with these people? Is orange the Goddamned national color here?”
“Shut up and get in!”
Walker obeyed, ducking into the orange clown car parked at the curb. They’d exited into an alley. But it was a damned tight fit getting his long legs, big orange feet, and much too large ass into the passenger seat of a car the size of an extra-mini Geo Metro. “Didn’t know they still made these things.”
Persia climbed in the driver’s seat and slammed the door. “We’re in one, aren’t we?”
“My brother bought one a loooong time ago. Only it wasn’t orange. It was greeeeen. Hey, it’s a stick.” Walker cupped the plastic knob lovingly. You didn’t see many manual transmission vehicles in America anymore.
“Yes, it is, genius,” Persia breathed. Impatiently, she brushed his hand aside, pressed the ignition button, and stepped on the gas.
Just as Walker expected, gears screamed when the car lurched forward and died. “Take it easy. On standards, you got to use the—”
“Don’t tell me how to drive,” Persia snapped, restarting the car, shifting swiftly from neutral to first gear, her left foot pumping the clutch pedal smoothly. Man, she worked this baby like a guy.
Walker slumped into the seat when she hit second and stepped on the gas, cranking the wheel while the car squealed away from the curb. His knees were in his chest, but his eyes were still on Persia. “I think I love you,” he murmured, mostly to himself. He thought.
“Heard you before,” she hissed, the tiny toy car hurtling