Page 15

That collision in the hall must’ve knocked something loose. Temporary insanity, maybe. Except…no. A voice whispered from somewhere deeper. It’s him, honey, and it was never temporary.

She had her back against her door and he was leaning in, and she was wondering how she was going to sleep without his warmth. That grin flared as they stared at each other and then they laughed just from the sheer joy of being this close to each other.

Her heart jumped along with her stomach. She couldn’t imagine Rob ever doing that. Stare at her like she was his next breath.

“If I didn’t have early BOPE in the morning, I’d take you to breakfast.”

She wanted to drag him into her room and make that a reality—breakfast in bed. But she had no intentions of bedding this man until she figured stuff out. Jumping over their obstacles wasn’t going to work, and she knew it.

“Joker is such a slave driver,” she whispered.

“You have no idea. I swear the man’s a Terminator underneath all that skin and muscle. Believe me, he doesn’t have to say, ‘I’ll be back.’ He never leaves.”

She laughed hard at his spot-on Arnold impersonation, and the joke, and just because she wanted to, she set her hand against his chest, her palm tingling, remembering the swell of muscle, and that hard, flat disk beneath her fingers.

She bit her lip to keep her mind on the conversation.

“You’re so bad.” Leaning in, she looked up and down the hall, her voice lowered conspiratorially.

“But, do you see a flash of red behind his eyes?”

Zorro threw back his head and laughed. “Only in the dark and when he’s completely pissed off.”

“Which is often,” Joker said. “Good evening, Dr. Quinn.” Then seconds later, a growl. “It’s lights out now , Martinez.”

“Oh, shit.” Zorro said with a mock-anxious face and a wince. “See, I told you. Never. Fucking. Leaves.”

Joker chuckled as the door closed behind him.

But she heard the affection in his voice when he said Martinez . “You better go before you get in trouble, Martinez .”

His eyes flashed. He sighed. “I’m always in trouble.”

“Yeah, it’s his mouth,” Buck said, tipping his head to her. “He doesn’t know when to shut it.”

He tilted his head and there was that grin again.

“Sadly, he’s right.” He stepped closer, his eyes darkened, his gaze turning hot and intimate.

“But I do know what to do with it right this second.” She met him before he’d even come halfway, bringing his mouth into full contact with hers in a slow, soft and so unbelievably gentle kiss that it left her absolutely breathless, and her whole body turned to jelly.

“Give me your phone,” he said, as she leaned back into the door for support. She fished it out of her pocket. “Unlock it, chica .” He took it and typed so fast, he was done in seconds. He lowered his voice. “Feel free to text me. Joker doesn’t have to know.”

“Martinez, I’m going to come out there and put a boot in your ass,” Joker growled through the door.

She giggled as he backed up, his eyes on her, his voice distracted.

“Yes, sir, boot in my ass. Copy that loud and clear,” he said softly, not taking his eyes off her.

Then he whispered, “It’s a good thing I know a doc with sunshine hair.

” He lifted his hands before he went into his room, his thumbs moving over an invisible keyboard, mouthing, Text me.

Inside her room, she had to sit down on the edge of the bed before she had a nervous breakdown.

She closed her eyes. What the hell was she doing?

There was no running now, not from him. First off, she didn’t want to, second off, there was so much baggage in the shit she was lugging around, she didn’t want to hurt him any more than she already had.

She made a distressed sound, her chest heaving. This was probably going to be the biggest mistake of her life.

She covered her face, whispering to herself, “Why the hell are you torturing me, universe? I’m a doctor.

I help people. I would have to pick the one conference in the world Zorro and his team attended.

” What were the odds? It wouldn’t matter.

He was math in motion, and she was already fucked and fucked up.

Bear. Flint. His family . What was this, bring your family to combat day?

Her chest got tight, her body too warm, and she started to breathe faster.

She couldn’t do this. She should go. This would be a disaster.

She sat on her bed, dislodging her conference bag.

It crashed to the carpet, the contents exploding across the rug.

Pens, folders, charging cords, a notepad, a flash drive, and Rob.

His photo landed face-up. That black-and-white headshot from the journal article. The one Madeline insisted on printing for the tribute. It looked up at her now, eyes steady, smile frozen.

Her stomach twisted.

She sank to her knees, stared at the image, and swallowed the scream caught in her chest. She was stuck.

No matter how fast she wanted to run. No matter how badly her feet itched to flee.

She was stuck. There was a tribute to deliver.

A promise to keep. A dead man’s story to uphold.

He deserved that. He deserved her courage.

Everly sat back on her heels, the silence of the room pressing in like judgment.

Oh, God. What had she done?

Her phone chimed. She jolted, breath catching in her throat.

Every part of her felt too hot, too raw, like her nerves had been stripped bare.

The room was quiet, but her thoughts were anything but.

Had she been resisting the inevitable because he was going to push her into facing some truths she didn’t want to face, let alone decipher?

Still awake?

Her fingers trembled as she reached for the screen, her pulse thudding hard enough to shake her bones. For a moment, she just stared. One message. Simple. Somehow, it cracked something open. She swallowed, then typed back.

Yes.

Seconds passed. The dots appeared. Disappeared. Then reappeared.

So…with this ceasefire, does that mean you’re going to be nice to me?

She huffed a soft, almost-laugh, the edge of a smile curling despite the tangle in her chest.

Define nice.

Umm…no yelling. No deadly dry zingers. I’m pretty sure you have a whole file on me.

LOL. Several. Color-coded. I’m sure you’ll give me more material by morning.

Who, me? I have no plans to heckle you during the keynote.

Liar.

Slander. You have no proof.

You are a menace.

I could give you smoldering looks. Then conveniently drop my program and have to bend over to pick it up.

She stared at that one longer than she meant to.

In tight jeans?

Can be arranged. Although the Navy issued us some truly scandalous PT shorts…

You wear those and I’ll hack the A/V system and put your baby pictures on a loop across every monitor at the conference.

Oof. Ruthless. But fair.

A pause.

Still…I was a really cute baby.

You’re incorrigible.

There was a longer pause.

You’re fucking beautiful.

Her breath caught.

The words glowed on her screen. No emoji. No deflection. Just truth offered gently. Quietly. Like he knew exactly how dangerous it was to give it voice. Her hands hovered. She blinked, trying to steady herself.

I don’t know how to respond to that. Zorro…I’m freaking out over here.

What? Why?

A beat.

I’m coming over. Open the door.

No. You’ll get in trouble.

What’s Joker going to do, take away my milk and cookies? Revoke my badge of honor? Send a passive-aggressive email to Command?

He might put a boot in your ass.

Wouldn’t be the first time. Besides…

There was a discreet knock.

She was off the bed in an instant, breath caught in her throat as she crossed the room barefoot, heart drumming like thunder in her chest. Her hand hesitated on the handle for just a second, then she opened the door.

Zorro stood in the dim hallway, barefoot, sweatpants slung low on his hips, and a black tee, the words Lift.

Run. Shoot. printed in bold white across the fabric.

With one quick move, he ripped off the shirt, now bare-chested, bronzed, and breath-stealing, that steady, impossible gaze pinning her in place.

His torso was cut from shadow and moonlight, defined planes of carved muscle dusted with the faint sheen of a recent shower, a small scar just beneath his left collarbone, two tracing the edge of his ribs, one old, one new and still healing.

His dog tags made a musical chime as they settled, tangling with that chain and medal.

Her breath caught again, and this time it stayed trapped.

God, he was beautiful and completely unaware of it.

“This is for you,” he said, voice low, almost rough. “So you’ll stop overthinking.” He took one step closer, shirt extended between them like a peace offering—or a challenge. “So you’ll remember someone’s here for you.”

She didn’t know how to breathe, let alone reply.

Then his expression softened, no less intense, but quieter somehow. “If it doesn’t work,” he murmured, “text me. I’ll come back.” He paused. The grin was slow, devastating. “I’ll be your big, hot, muscly teddy bear. No questions. No expectations.”

Like that was supposed to help her sleep.

Before she could react, he leaned in, his hand rising to cradle the back of her head. His palm was warm, firm, fingers threading through her hair like he had every right to be there.

Then he kissed her. Hard. Full and hungry and protective and so completely Zorro that it left her swaying.

“ Go ,” she whispered, blinking hard, you impossible man. “Before you make me do something reckless.”

He turned, bare back flexing as he made it three steps across the hall as Joker’s door creaked open. Zorro was already inside his room, door still open. Damn, he moved fast.

Everly shoved the shirt behind her back in one panicked motion.

Joker squinted.

She lifted her chin. “Can’t a girl get some ice?”