Page 137 of Zorro

Zorro chuckled. “Nah. It’s that, for once, I’m not patching up your bloody asses in a war zone.”

That earned a few grunts of agreement.

Buck grinned. “Only because you finally let Doc Sunshine get her hands on you.”

Zorro didn’t answer. Just rolled the cold bottle against the back of his neck and let the smile tug at his mouth. Everly Quinn. Complicated. Infuriating. Addictive. He’d taken a bullet, delivered a baby, and wouldn’t let go of a dream to get here, but she was now the hardest truth he didn’t want to run from.

Gator checked his roasted marshmallow and gave Bear a side glance. “So, Kemosabe, you’re the last man standing. Have I noticed a certain spark with a CIA spook?”

Bear didn’t move. Just reached down to rub behind Flint’s ears.

Zorro grinned. He couldn’t help it. It was nice to have the heat off him. “Ah, come on. Bear’s not afraid of no ghost.”

D-Day leaned forward with a grin. “Man’s got that far-off look. Like he just heard a wolf howl under a full moon and it said her name.”

Joker snorted, taking a pull from his drink. “Careful, boys. You poke the bear, he bites.”

“I ain’t scared,” D-Day muttered. “He’s got that same look Z had in Rio, right before he tackled Everly into the pool.”

“Exactly,” Blitz said, smug. “That’s the face of a man undone by a woman who could kill him three different ways with a paperclip.”

Bear finally looked up, slow and deliberate. “You about done?”

“Nope,” Buck said, smiling wide. “But we’re pacing ourselves. She’s got eyes like a thunderstorm. Am I right, Locklear?”

Bear’s voice came quiet, like a knife slipping between ribs. “I’m about to start exposing some secrets and guilty pleasures.”

The laughter faltered just a beat. Blitz blinked. “Wait, what?”

Bear leaned back, posture lazy, eyes half-lidded like none of this mattered. “Yeah. You think you know me. You think you’ve got me pegged. But I bet I can guess every one of your favorite juice flavors.”

Zorro arched a brow. “You trying out for party tricks now, Bear?”

Bear’s voice cut through the low hum of laughter, slow and steady, tone deceptively mild.

Buck sat up like a kid at recess. “Okay. Do me first.”

Bear didn’t even blink. “AriZona Cowboy Cocktail. Mucho Mango. You keep three in the minifridge and one in your truck.”

Maritza, sprawled in a folding chair, choked on her drink. “Oh my God?—”

Buck squinted at Bear like he was reading his soul. “There’s a rope burn in your future, man.”

Joker, deadpan, glanced at Pippa. “I’m afraid.”

Pippa, without missing a beat, sipped her hibiscus tea. “Be brave, darling.”

Bear pointed, solemn as a judge. “LT? LMNT brand. Tactical Tangerine. You log your sodium intake, don’t you?”

Joker’s brow furrowed. “Goddammit.”

Professor leaned back. “Let me guess. Mine involves a historical figure.”

Bear didn’t hesitate. “Einstein-brand cold-pressed pomegranate–blackberry fusion. Sold only in Germany. You bulk order it during sleep cycles you call ‘creative storms.’”

D-Day cracked his knuckles. “Hit me.”

Bear shrugged. “WWII-themed pouch brand. Cherry-Grenade. Tagline is literally ‘Make Every Sip a Battle Cry.’”

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