everywhere. Too much…”
This courageous woman might’ve been able to take down killers the world over, but hurting a tiny creature as pure as a lamb was the straw that had broken her.
Walker pulled her against him and bowed his cheek to the top of her sweaty head, aware of how much she’d kept bottled up inside. No wonder she’d turned to alcohol. Sure explained her nightmares now. Stewart’s safe houses weren’t stocked with booze, and she desperately needed a drink.
“It’s okay. It’s over. You’re with me now. Breathe, Persia. Wake up. Let the past go and just breathe. I’ve got your six.”
“B-b-but… they c-c-cry when I hurt ’em,” she sobbed. “They cry!”
“I know, sugar, I know,” he murmured, rocking her now and wishing he had a time machine to go back and end Zapata before she’d ever met the bastard. She’d be safe now, not haunted by the ghost of a lamb.
Persia didn’t reply, just turned more fully into his arms. Her breasts flattened against his ribs, and her nose landed in the hollow of his neck. She moaned and her breathing evened out again. Every soft puff of her breath over his still feverish skin tickled and chilled. Once again, Walker was lost in the mystery of Persia Coltrane.
Needing to be closer to her, he sank his nose into her smooth, sleek hair. It smelled of some kind of flower he’d never be able to name. Flowers weren’t his thing. Firearms, warheads, and gunpowder were. Fire any weapon, he could name the make and model of the pistol, rifle, tank, or missile that fired it, as well as the caliber. Months and years spent training ingrained those skills into every warrior’s head. Hyper-awareness only sharpened those details more. But death honed them laser-sharp.
Watching other warriors die was the epitome of a refiner’s fire. Watching them give their all for an intangible belief as simple as freedom. Inalienable rights. All the things that made Americans different from so many other people in the world. To lose the warrior at your side honed your own instinct to survive. Made you a better, more deadly, killing machine. Also made damned sure you walked alone the rest of your days.
Until this woman had burst into his life like a falling star, war had been Walker’s one true calling. But now? He was beginning to like flowers.
Smoothing his free hand over her head, he brushed the tangled strands out of her eyes and away from her face. He curled both arms around her, leaned back, and stared at the ceiling. The road ahead that had once seemed so clear had grown unbearably difficult lately.
First, losing his folks within months of each other. Kenny had bawled like a baby at Mom’s funeral. Dad had gone three months earlier, but he’d known all along that smoking those damned unfiltered cigarettes caused cancer. Smoking had always been his choice and his biggest weakness. But when Mom died of lung cancer caused by Dad’s second-hand smoke? It had damned near killed Kenny. In one fell swoop, the Judge boys lost everything. Violet and Booker Judge had been, hands-down, the best parents any kid could’ve asked for.
Yet even at his mother’s funeral, Walker had held everything in. He’d been the strong one who’d handled both funerals, then handled Kenny through the depression and survivor’s guilt that followed. Funny how kids blamed themselves when they couldn’t rescue the people they loved most.
Walker stroked his fingers through Persia’s soft hair, then lifted a handful of silky strands to his nose. Remembering always hurt. After Kenny’s funeral, Walker had returned to Team 18. It felt good to be a winner-takes-all SEAL again, instead of a grieving son and brother.
It wasn’t until Quinn Dooley reached out for an assist to get his daughter back that Walker had finally gotten his head back together. When he closed his eyes at night, he could still see sweet Emily’s teary, red face mashed into her daddy’s neck, while she sobbed and whined and clung to him. He could still see Quinn falling to his knees on the tarmac, cradling that girl against his heart like he’d never, ever let her go again.
He didn’t blame Quinn for needing that assist. Couldn’t. Everyone needed help some time, even hardguys like aircraft carrier captains. Even hard guys like me.
Sighing, Walker pressed his lips into Persia’s hair, at last understanding what he’d seen written all over Quinn’s face the day Emily came home. It was time to be humble. Time