Page 12 of Hidden But Not Safe

Naz shook his head in a jerk of motion.

The last of Julio’s tension faded.

Once Julio left, Naz found his duffel bag and dragged on a spare shirt. Then he settled against the wall, stretching his legs out in front of him. At least it wasn’t the same wall as before. Remembering the way Meg had looked enveloped in his shirt didn’t help him sleep. He didn’t think sleep would come at all, but the drained feeling that he often felt after battling back his memories finally let him close his eyes. Exhaustion took over.

So did his nightmares.

He jerked awake, his heart racing from the weight pressing into his shoulder.

Meg rested against him, her eyes closed. The jolt of his body hadn’t woken her. Curly, brown hair hid her face and tickled his skin below the sleeve of his shirt.

She was still wearing his other one, not that she had much of a choice. She could have changed into that flannel from before. Naz hadn’t seen it tied around her waist lately. Wondering what had happened to it was a nice distraction from the warmth creeping inside his chest.

He should have hated having her pressed against him.

He didn’t.

The warehouse had no windows, and the rolling door had been shut for the night. He pulled out his phone. It was about an hour before dawn, but he doubted he’d get back to sleep.

Naz brought up his texts. Diego’s name was listed first because the activity was most recent, but it wasn’t Diego he owed a heads-up to.

He tapped on the next name down. Ramiro Rodriguez still made him nervous even after five years, but Naz wouldn’t be working for him if he didn’t trust him. While Diego worried about Naz, Ramiro was all business with him.

Naz appreciated that.

But Ramiro also got bent out of shape over his lack of communication, so he sent off a text.

‘Had an episode.’

The immediate dots popping up made Naz wonder, not for the first time, if Ramiro ever slept. No matter when he contacted him, the man responded.

‘Need back up?’

‘No.’

‘Any little girls?’

Ramiro and Diego said “little girls” when they meant bodies. Naz didn’t fully get it, but he’d heard the cartel use the same terminology.

‘No.’

‘That’s progress.’

Heat crawled up Naz’s neck. Ramiro and Diego had both cleaned up plenty of his messes. Neither ever reamed him out about it. They just helped take care of it.

‘Need something new?’

Ramiro was offering to pull him. Naz considered it. Sex wasn’t nonexistent when working for the cartel, but the drug-running portion of the trade tended to keep it to a minimum, as long as Naz passed up the protection gigs at the clubs or bars.

With Meg around, he’d been exposed more frequently to sex, which wasn’t good for him. He shouldn’t be hesitating.

His gaze drifted down to Meg’s legs, stretched in front of her and barely touching his. The striped cloth shoes covered her feet. Her hand rested over her thigh, which his shirt covered. The yellow Post-it tucked under her finger was bright against the black of the shirt.

Curiosity dug into him, and he pulled the square paper free, careful not to touch her.

She’d written, ‘I’m sorry.’

He wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for. Running to him? Naz could taste her fear the night before, a familiar taste. It wasn’t just the sex; it was the panic she’d let loose that had triggered him.

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