Page 10 of Zorro

She froze at the gut punch. Her voice came out harsh and winded. “I was studying your wounds, deciding on the best course of treatment.”

He cleared his throat, his head bowed, chest heaving. “My mistake,” he murmured.

She swallowed hard. Reached for gauze, her traitorous body betraying her, the ache for him now real, and she couldn’t pretend anymore it was just hormones. She started to clean the superficial cuts, anything to anchor herself. But her eyes, still disloyal, swept too long, too slow, tracing the faded line of the old scar that ran just beneath the new one, a jagged graze just above the ribcage.

Same place. Same man. Different war.

She swallowed. Hard. Stay detached.

Her breath caught and her training failed her, again.

“So, what’s the prognosis,” he murmured. “Will I live?” There was that teasing tone, but this man had a way with subtext. She could hear the ache beneath his words.

She didn’t answer. Didn’t trust herself to speak, so she shushed him. She’d seen so many wounds today, and none of them affected her this way. The bruising had spread beneath the skin, a violent mix of purple and sickly yellow, tender around the edges. It should have made her clinical, sharp-edged, efficient.

But her hands didn’t move with detachment as she drew up a shot, then slid the needle in, one percent lidocaine with epinephrine, just under the skin, the sting brief. Her eyes caught a glint of metal just beneath the hollow of his throat, not the worn dog tags, the edges smooth from years of movement, but a medal, a small oval, silver, also worn. The image stamped into it was too faded to identify, but she knew instinctively what it was. God and war. Did they fit together? She wasn’t sure whether she believed in either anymore. But he did.

She didn’t want this information. Didn’t want to wonder about…not the flirt…not the warrior…but the man.

She cleaned around the gash in silence, dabbing gently, her fingertips steady but her chest in knots. The smell of antiseptic mingled with the faint musk of blood, sweat, and something uniquely him, earth and salt and heat. She couldn’t seem to separate herself from the moment, couldn’t find that careful wall she always built between her work and everything else.

“Everly?”

His voice was soft, low, a whisper that curled around her name like a tether. Her hands froze. Slowly, she looked up. Their eyes met. That grin was gone now. In its place was something else, unspoken, unfinished. The kind of look that made her heartbeat lose its rhythm. Her pulse skittered. Her breath caught.

“How long have you been in the Philippines?” he asked, quiet but direct.

She wanted to dodge it. The way he was looking at her, intense, searching, it made her skin feel too tight. Suddenly she wasn’t so sure that kiss had gone unnoticed.

“Dr. Sunshine!” Gator’s voice rang like a cannon blast. “Where the hell have you been all my life?” The room filled with boots, laughter, broad shoulders in motion. Blitz, Bear, D-Day, the whole damn team, except their leader, Joker. That explained it. They were off-leash. Banter ricocheted off the walls, all good-natured teasing and familiar chaos.

Everly turned slowly, eyebrow already raised, so thankful for the interruption.

Behind Gator, the rest of the team filed in like overgrown children in a candy store.

“I got a boo boo, Doc,” D-Day said solemnly, holding up a bruised hand. “Think it needs kissing.”

“Mine’s worse,” Blitz added, limping dramatically. “I should go to the front of the line.”

Zorro sighed from the table. “Can’t you see she’s busy?” Zorro snapped. The whole atmosphere of the room changed dramatically.

Everly crossed her arms, trying to salvage the much-needed barriers, shoring up her armor to survive the next few minutes. “Oh good. A whole parade of toddlers. Shall I get juice boxes and coloring books?”

Gator leaned against the doorframe. “Only if you’ve got the Spider-Man ones.”

Zorro was frowning, those dense eyes sending daggers, and she hated how much that made her stomach tighten.

Zorro pointed toward the door. “Out. All of you. Unless you’re actively bleeding.”

Every one of them froze at that tone. Expressions going sly, brows lifting, grins forming. D-Day’s assessing blue eyes shifting between her, then Zorro. They filled with glee, his mouth kicking up. She thought she was going to pass out when he opened his mouth. Oh, no, please don’t let him say what I think?—

“Okay, amigo,” he said, his tone placating and knowing at the same time. “We’ll leave you with your girlfriend and bleed quietly outside while we wait our turns.”

Zorro swore under his breath as they backed out, comments flying between them in a tone that was too low for her to hear, but she could imagine.

The quiet was deafening. She turned back to him, reaching for the threaded needle and the gauze. Quietly, she stitched the wound, using the gauze to clean any residual blood that welled.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he said, his tone like a gunshot.

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