Page 27 of Zorro

“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.

---