Page 52

Everly reached him, kneeling beside Zorro’s motionless form, her hands slick with the blood of the man who’d threatened him. His body lay crumpled behind her, forgotten in the shadowed blur of violence she’d unleashed to protect what mattered most.

Through clenched teeth, Zorro’s breath hitched as he tried to speak.

“Don’t move,” she snapped.

He coughed once, then groaned. “Bear, my brother. Flint. I need to?—”

“Stay still.”

“Don’t let them die, Everly, babe.” He dissolved into pleading in Spanish.

“We won’t. Everything’s under control.”

“Help is on the way,” Joker growled.

The team surrounded them. Professor was already running toward Bear and Flint.

The elevator dinged and people started to unload.

EMTs in navy jackets carrying life-saving gear, BOPE officers flanked either side, weapons at the ready.

But one man stood out. “Jules!” she yelled, hearing the relief in her voice.

Dr. Jules Marchand, brilliant, so competent, part of the French army reserve.

“Where do you want me?” he asked, his accent thick.

He moved like a man who’d done this before, war-zone casual, eyes clear, hands steady.

Blood dotted the hem of his tan polo. There was a fine edge to his jaw, like precision lived in his bones.

He wasn’t rattled. He wasn’t asking permission. He was here to help.

“Bear. The man on his back with the two weeping children who won’t let him go.” A woman rushed over to him, sleek, Native American, banged up, but she applied pressure, Zorro’s sister corralling his nieces. A BOPE medic and EMTs were already working on Javi.

“The dog?”

“That’s Flint. Handle him like a patient, not a pet. He outranks them all.” She looked up, breathless. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you ,” he said. “We follow your lead, Dr. Quinn.” He motioned to the EMT with him and they ran over to Bear. She focused back on Zorro.

“Med kit,” he rasped. “Backpack. Side pocket. Right zipper.”

She looked up. Buck was the closest. “Help me. Get his vest off, his clothes. Move! I need the med kit in his backpack.”

She grabbed hold of Joker’s vest and pulled him across her lap. “Put pressure here!” Buck worked off the backpack and pulled out the kit. He handed it to her, then he was pulling off Zorro’s vest, ripping apart the buttons on his shirt.

She yanked open the side pocket of his pack and froze for half a beat, not from hesitation, but from awe . Of course he was ready . God, she loved him for that. It was so him. So perfectly, methodically him.

Tourniquets, top right.Chest seals. Hemostatic gauze. Pressure dressings.

HyFin, QuikClot, Israeli bandage, trauma shears already unlocked. Airway tools. NPAs. OPA. Nasal cannula. Pocket mask. Decompression needle. Stethoscope.

All of it.

Labeled. Sorted. Accessible with one hand in the dark.

This was what he carried. Every day. Not for himself, but for them.

This was Zorro’s love language, quiet readiness, warrior medicine, the unflinching intention to keep people alive when everything else fell apart.

Her throat tightened as she grabbed the pressure dressing because he knew what the world could do, and he still chose to meet it with this.

She shouldered Joker out of the way, knocking him on his butt, assessing the wound. “Low left quadrant,” she muttered to herself. “No visible exit, no pulsatile flow. Still bleeding.”

Her hands were steady as she opened the hemostatic powder and packed it deep into the wound. Zorro hissed through his teeth, his hands fisting.

“Breathe,” she told him. “You’ve had worse.”

He grunted, his voice compressed. “Your bedside manner’s slipping.”

“You want sweet? Survive this, and we’ll talk about so many bedsides.”

He gave her a crooked grin, pale and blood-streaked but so fucking Zorro it nearly split her in half.

“You’re hot when you boss me around.”

She wanted to kiss him so badly as she pressed gauze into place and wrapped it tight, locking in the pressure.

He cried out, and her heart spiked, working hard to remain detached.

Her heart pounded, but she didn’t let it speed her hands.

She’d learned long ago how to move when fear tried to claw up her throat.

He raised his brows, the pain still contorting his face. “Wait until you see the goodies I have in the second pocket, babe. I think I might get doctor points for it.”

She grabbed the kit again, unzipped the pocket, and almost cried. “Plasma.” She bent down and kissed him hard on the mouth.

“Only Zorro could get a hot kiss for packing plasma,” D-Day growled, huffing out a short laugh. The rest of the guys chuckled.

Of course he had fluid. Of course he had a pressure cuff. Of course he had enough hemostatic gauze to plug a gunshot wound in two men.

She moved fast now, flipping open the admin set, flushing the line, sliding the IV home like she’d done a thousand times before, but never with stakes like this. Never with him .

This wasn’t just gear. This wasn’t just prep. This was Mateo Martinez, laid open in nylon and MOLLE webbing. Everything he’d been trained to carry for others, and tonight, it was for him.

Her fingers tightened as she started the flow.

“Status,” she yelled.

“Bear is responding, I don’t like his BP. You sharing that plasma?” Jules looked over his shoulder as he worked.

She turned to Blitz. “Get this to Dr. Marchand, stat.” Blitz took the bag and the needle kit and sprinted away.

“The dog is all right. Took a blow to the head. He needs an MRI. Patched up a wound in his thigh. He’s a tough guy,” the EMT, with the dimple in his chin, said. She breathed a sigh of relief as Flint got shakily to his paws and shuffled over to Bear with a soft whine.

“Javi is packed and ready to go. BP is good. Pulse is steady. Let’s move!” the BOPE medic said as several of his guys ran toward them with a stretcher.

“Bear, too. Get him out of here and to the hospital.” He turned to look at Everly. “You need anything else?”

She nodded, gratitude shining out of her eyes. “Yes, could you go to the hospital with Bear and operate on him. I trust you, and I need someone I can trust,” she whispered. “He’s…important.”

“I can do that.”

“I owe you.” She gave him a grateful smile.

“You don’t owe me a thing, young woman. I’ve used your procedures and innovations so many times and saved so many lives. We all owe you. I’ll go ahead and smooth things out with the hospital. Good luck with your man.” He hurried away.

“The dog goes with Bear. Don’t separate them until he’s in an OR, then find him a vet, a damn good one and an MRI. I’ll expect to see them when I finish operating on Zorro.”

The EMT nodded, gently picking up the dog as he followed the men transporting Bear.

He blinked, his breathing shallow but controlled. “Hang on,” she whispered fiercely to Zorro, leaning close, kissing him again.

“Is she allowed to do that?” Blitz asked. D-Day shoved him.

Behind her, Buck muttered quietly, his voice steady and certain. “That’s one hell of a job, Doc.”

Everly slumped, trembling, chest heaving with a surge of dizzying relief. “He’s ready to go. Let’s move.” The team took over stretcher duty as they rolled him carefully on, then ran for the elevator.

Once inside, Zorro kept his eyes on her, his breathing shallow but focused.

“Tell me this earns me at least a little pity sex.” She choked on a breath that almost sounded like a laugh.

Around her, quiet, tense laughter bubbled up, deep relief mingling with grateful respect. His lips twitched. “Worth a shot.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” he murmured, voice fading just a little. “But I’m yours.”

Her chest clenched. Hard.

“I know,” she said quietly. She exhaled shakily, her eyes filling as she stared down at Zorro’s pale, resting face.

Alive because of her. She had saved him, just as surely as he’d saved her, and that truth pulsed through her fingers where they gripped the stretcher.

She wasn’t letting go. Not now. Not ever. But they weren’t out of the woods yet.

With a clinical eye, Professor said, “You look like shit.”

Zorro squinted. “Fuck you, Einstein.”

D-Day’s brow furrowed hard, jaw tight. “You sure you’re not downplaying this?”

“I’d never lie to you,” Zorro said, lips twitching. “Except about how much you snore.”

Even Joker cracked a grin at that. “He’s fine,” he said dryly. “If he’s still giving D-Day hell, we’ve got at least a half hour before he codes.”

“Half hour?” Zorro wheezed. “That’s more than enough time for me to deliver a heartfelt goodbye and a list of posthumous demands.”

Buck leaned in. “Asshole. Drama queen. Fucking drama queen asshole. I’ve got another rope with your name on it.”

“Rude,” Zorro said. “You just don’t want to admit I make blood loss look sexy.”

Everly cut him a look. “I swear to God, if you don’t stop flirting while I’m keeping you alive?—”

“I can multitask,” he breathed, and then gave her that smile, the soft one, ruined around the edges, soaked in pain and still impossibly full of light.

“I heard that’s bad for your health,” Blitz said.

Zorro choked out a laugh. “ Goddammit , Blitz. Don’t make me laugh, you fucker.” He quieted, then, with his voice as serious as it had ever been, said, “You guys know that I love you right?”

The team quieted at that, not with discomfort, but with acknowledgment. No more jokes. No more comments. Just a pause. Even for warriors, some truths land hard . But Zorro was just Zorro, and her heart ached with the love she felt for him.

“Hey, no one said it back…sad monkey face.”

Then Joker said, “Martinez. Fucking Martinez.” The guys said it one by one until the tears that had formed in her eyes overflowed.

Then Joker’s voice cut in as the elevator opened. “Let’s move double time. Evac’s waiting. Zorro, you keep talking. Don’t care what, just stay conscious.”

“Copy that,” he said weakly. “So, have I told you all about the time I delivered a baby in the jungle, shirtless ?”