Page 129 of Zorro

In Rio, she had lived inside it. It had marked her forever.

“Hey, chica,” came a voice behind her, low and warm and impossible. “You look like someone needs to take the world off your shoulders.”

She froze. Her breath caught.

She turned.

Zorro stood in the doorway, dressed in light blue scrubs. Right in the same exam room where she’d once told him not to touch her, and now, all she wanted were those hands on her, everywhere, grounding her, saving her from herself.

She eyed his clothes. “You’re supposed to be in the goddamned hospital. What did you do?”

He shrugged, wincing, favoring his left side. “Okay, okay. Maybe all I can handle is a beach ball on my nose right now.” He gave her a sheepish grin, eyes twinkling with that mischievous glint that no woman, probably not even his mother, could resist.

He swayed slightly.

She was across the room in a flash, arms around him, holding him upright and anchoring herself in the same motion.

“Oh yeah,” he breathed. “That’s much better than a beach ball or a heavy world.”

She sobbed into his neck, her hands fisting the fabric of his shirt.

“Ah, Everly…”

She grabbed the front of his shirt and shook him, tears hot in her throat. “You scared me,” she snapped. “You were doing your job, and you scared the shit out of me.”

Then she saw the blood.

“Damn it. Come here.” She guided him, none too gently, to the gurney and pushed him down. She pulled his shirt off without preamble, dragging it over his head. His molasses eyes tracked her hands, full of honeyed heat and something even deeper, something that made her chest clench.

“You ripped your damn stitches,” she growled. “They were healing so well.”

“Ouch,” he muttered, mostly amused. “I packed my own med kit. Ran out of painkillers after my driver ran over that damn bumpy road.”

“Do not be charming, Martinez,” she warned, her tone snapping like Joker’s when his team acted out. “I swear to God, I’ll sedate you with a mallet.”

He opened his mouth. She gave him the Look.

He wisely shut it.

She ripped off the bandage. He winced, but the smile stayed.

“You kissed me in all that chaos and blood and death…” His voice softened. “I’ve never felt more alive.”

She grabbed the lidocaine and injected it around the wound. He didn’t flinch this time, just watched her. His eyes said everything that was in her heart.

She snipped out the ruined stitches, jaw clenched tight and started again.

As she threaded the last one, he whispered, “Everly. I tried to be patient. I know what I do scares the hell out of most people.”

She exhaled through her nose. “I’m not most people.”

“No. You’re not.”

She covered the wound with a fresh bandage, and then there was nothing left to do but face him.

“I saw you,” she said quietly. “Uncle Sam’s weapon.”

“That side scared you?” His pinched face evened out as the anesthetic took effect.

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