Walker (In the Company of Snipers #21) - Irish Winters Page 0,99

hell’s sake? Persia had said he was former USMC and operated a business out of Virginia. Was he so rich that he’d gone international? Nah. Jarheads weren’t that kind of smart.

Damn. There it was again. Not a scream, but a whimper. A sob. Someone in this house was not happy. Walker was back on his feet, lightheaded and unarmed, but on his way to somewhere…

Once out of his room, he palmed the wall to keep steady. The dim glow emanating from the kitchen area lighted the way, but he wasn’t sure which way to go. Left or right? He couldn’t imagine Persia or her belligerent friend crying out, which was what he’d thought he’d heard. But someone had.

With each step, the walls seemed to breathe, moving forward, then backward, closing in on him, then doing it again. He shook the eerie sensation away and held still, waiting for another sound. Once again, he doubted himself. Nightmares and fevers were tricky. They could make you believe things that weren’t real or events that never happened. Like the shit-filled caves in the mountains of Afghanistan where terrorists hid and lived and plotted... Like Goff’s ghost…

Another anguished cry sounded from the room next to his. Persia. Oh, yeah. She’d said her bedroom was next to his. Palming her door open, Walker peered inside. The nightlight across from him was a nice touch. And there she lay, tangled in a mess of twisted blankets and sheets, with one long leg and bare foot hanging off the bed. Her hair was spread over her face, a pillow on the floor.

Quietly, he crossed the room. Would’ve made it all the way to her side, if she hadn’t suddenly sat up like a crazy dead woman with her eyes bugging out of her pretty face. She raised her hands, turned her head to the side in front of her face, and whimpered, “No, no, no! Don’t make me! I c-c-can’t hurt him! He’sssss sssso ssssmaaall.”

Walker stopped dead in his tracks. Hurt him, who?

“Persia, sugar,” he whispered, his palms forward to placate her as he took another step closer. “It’s me, Hotrod. I’m here now. You’re going to be okay.”

Her head turned in his direction, but her eyes were blank and unseeing. Sweat darkened the center line of her pink tank top. The poor thing’s chest heaved, as if she’d just run a marathon. Tears streamed down her face. She shook her head. “Pleasssse, I… I… I can’t. I can’t do it. Not to a b-b-baby. Don’t make me…”

Thankfully, he was at the foot of her bed by then. Shaking like a damned pansy from his short stroll, Walker sat his ass down with an ungracious thump. He was out of breath, sweating, and dizzy, but he was here for her. He knew that he stunk. He hadn’t showered in who knew how many days. But a man didn’t have to smell sweet or look good to rescue a person. He just had to show up.

Walker placed a trembling hand over the mussed covers on Persia’s ankle. Thank goodness, she didn’t jerk away. “It’s just a nightmare,” he told her quietly, then pursed his lips to keep from panting like a beast and frightening her. “Wherever you are now isn’t real. But I am. Come back to me. No one can hurt you, sugar. Give me your hand. Just reach out. Let me help.”

Her nostrils flared, but her eyes were still bright black and wide. Her breaths came in hard, short pants. So much terror etched her sweet face that he hurt for her. Wherever she was, it had to be an ungodly place for her to be so frightened. Persia was not a fainting violet. The woman had grit and grace, and somewhere close nearby, a loaded Smith and Wesson, .380 auto.

“He’s h-h-here,” she murmured huskily, then licked her lips, her gaze darting back and forth, over Walker’s shoulder and around the room. But who else did she think was here?

There was no sense telling Persia that what she was reliving in her mind, wasn’t real. To her, right now, the monster she faced was alive and breathing. So, Walker held onto that delicate ankle. He rubbed his hand up her blanketed leg, then back down, again and again. Warming her. Pulling her gradually back from whatever edge she was standing on, taking her back from the demon threatening her. Had to have been that rat bastard, Domingo Zapata. She’d surely seen hell on earth while working