Page 36 of Ground Zero
“Occupational hazard. Thankfully, I trained to serve as a tactical medic when necessary. I thought the skills could come in handy, and it turns out I was right.” She pulled on latex gloves and began cleaning the wound with antiseptic. “Danny always said I packed like I was expecting a war zone.”
There was that name again.
Danny.
Were the two of them just friends? Maverick didn’t feel it was his place to ask, but his curiosity was blazing.
Part of him hoped they had just been friends and nothing more.
Which was silly. Sheridan was the enemy . . . and an ally.
Their relationship was complicated, to say the least. But his attraction to the woman needed to be shelved. This was not the time for it.
Sheridan continued to work on his cut. Her touch was gentle but sure, and Maverick found himself acutely aware of her proximity. Acutely aware of the way she bit her lower lip inconcentration. Aware of the faint scent of her perfume mixing with the antiseptic. Of the careful way her fingers probed the edges of the cut.
He’d been bandaged before, plenty of times, but somehow this felt different. More intimate.
It wasn’t just that Sheridan was beautiful—though she was, even with exhaustion etched around her eyes. It was the way she focused on him with such careful attention. The way her dark hair had escaped its professional bun to frame her face. The realization that this federal agent who’d arrested him just hours ago was now tending his wounds with the same dedication she’d shown fighting beside him.
The thought was dangerous. She was FBI. He was a suspected terrorist. And the two of them were caught in the middle of a conspiracy that could get them both killed.
But sitting here in the lamplight, feeling her gentle hands on his skin, it was hard to remember why any of that mattered.
“This is going to sting,” she warned before applying more antiseptic.
“I’ve had worse.” But Maverick still tensed as the liquid hit the wound. “Tell me something about yourself that’s not in your FBI file.”
Sheridan glanced up at him as she threaded a needle. “Like what?”
“Anything. Where you grew up. What you wanted to be when you were a kid. Your favorite movie.” He needed the distraction, both from the pain and from his growing awareness of her as a woman rather than just a federal agent.
“I grew up in San Antonio.” She began to stitch the deepest part of the cut. “My dad—he and my mother both are second generation El Salvadorian—was Air Force, so we moved around a lot when I was younger. It was just me—I never had any siblings, though I always begged my parents to have morechildren. Instead, we had dogs. Never less than two, never more than four. I wanted to be a veterinarian until I was nineteen.”
“What changed your mind?”
“A criminology class I took as an elective my sophomore year in college.” Her hands moved with steady precision as she worked. “The professor was a retired FBI profiler, and she opened my eyes to how much science and psychology went into catching criminals. It was like veterinary medicine but for society—diagnosing problems and healing communities instead of animals.”
Maverick watched her face as she spoke, and he saw the pain that crossed her features whenever she mentioned her partner’s name.
“Danny was right.” Maverick ignored the stinging pain of the needle going through his skin. “What you do matters.”
“Does it?” A frown played across her lips. “Sometimes I wonder if we’re just playing catch-up while the real criminals stay three steps ahead.”
“You caught me,” he pointed out.
That earned him a small smile. “I’m beginning to think that wasn’t entirely a challenge. You weren’t exactly trying to disappear.”
“Fair point.” He winced as she pulled the thread tight. “What about favorite movie?”
“The Princess Bride. Cliché, I know, but I love the sword fighting and the romance.”
“How about your name?” he continued. “Is there a story behind it? It doesn’t exactly sound Hispanic.”
“It’s Irish, actually. Apparently, it was the name of the nurse who helped deliver me. I didn’t know this until later in life, but my mom had previously lost three babies during pregnancy. She feared losing me too. So when I was born, they were elated.”
“So they named you after the nurse . . .”
“That’s right. I always wanted to meet the woman, but I never did.” She tied off another stitch. “Your turn. Tell me something that’s not in your Blackout personnel file.”
