Page 92 of Hidden But Not Safe

She leaned into his touch, her hand bracing on his bare chest.

“Please?” she repeated. “I don’t see the cartel attacking during the day, even if they find us.”

It would be better to have a clearer head. His body was telling him to sleep.

Naz nodded in agreement.

“I’ll make you something to eat, then crawl in with you. We can just snuggle all day in bed. How does that sound?”

It sounded amazing to him. He pressed his lips against her forehead before he pulled away, moving back into the bedroom. He didn’t like being naked, so he reached for the shorts he’d discarded the night before, dragging them on.

To his surprise, Meg slipped the black shirt she liked to wear over his head.

“I want you comfortable. And this way, it’ll smell like you more.” Her lips tried for a smile, but the expression faded before it formed.

Naz crawled back into bed. He fell asleep before Meg joined him.

When he opened his eyes next, he wasn’t sure how much time had passed. Meg’s head was on his shoulder, her arm slung around his neck. She hadn’t bothered getting dressed, and she lay naked beside him.

The plastic cup he’d begun to think of as his sat on the dresser near his gun, the oatmeal she’d made for him hours before likely cold and gross.

Naz felt less groggy, but he was sweating like a pig. A chill mixed with the likely fever. He couldn’t protect Meg like this. He needed to contact Ramiro, who’d been sending threatening messages all week. Ramiro was pissed, but he’d still help.

Trying to untangle from Meg woke her. Her naked body stretched as her eyes opened, focusing on his. “Feeling any better?” she asked.

Her worry made his chest tight. She cared if he died. The reminder added to the ache.

“Meg.” His hand reached out, trailing over her bottom lip like she often did to him.

Her pupils dilated. Her lips kissed his finger before she pushed it away.

“Don’t try to distract me. You were sweating all afternoon.” She sat up, her hands tugging the blanket over him. “You didn’t wake up when I shook you either. That’s not like you. I’m worried. I think your fever is getting worse.”

Naz nodded in agreement, reaching for his phone. Ramiro knew doctors.

Somewhere in the house, something slammed hard enough for the sound to carry to the bedroom. A crash and the sound of splintering wood followed.

Naz grabbed his gun instead of the phone; his eyes locked on Meg’s, but adrenaline made it too difficult to say anything. He bolted out of the bedroom and down the hall.

They were already inside. Naz didn’t recognize them, but he didn’t have to. Someway, somehow, the cartel had found them.

It had only been a matter of time.

Instead of shooting the men who were already inside, he focused on those still coming through the door, wanting to make them reconsider. They jerked back out of sight to avoid the bullets.

The man who had made it farthest in reached him, and Naz smashed his gun into his face. The man cried out, flinching back, and Naz shot the one just behind him before the third was on him, slamming him into the wall hard enough for his mind to swirl.

Naz managed to shoot toward the collapsed front door, barely avoiding a punch to the face. The glancing blow set his ear ringing. A second punch hit the wall where he’d been, sending a picture crashing.

The first man had blood running down his face from his broken nose and looked pissed about it as he grabbed for Naz’s gun. Naz blew his finger off, the scream from the man satisfying.

The other guy punched him in the stomach. He didn’t punch as hard as Rocks had, but he didn’t need to when it landed that close to Naz’s infected wound. Dots danced in front of his eyes. He forced his torso not to curl, kicking out to give himself a moment to breathe through it.

Another man was entering through the front door. Naz shot him, too, but then the closest one grabbed his gun hand and slammed it against the cornered edge of the wall where the hall ended, making Naz’s next bullet go wide.

Naz dropped the gun. Voices laughed at him in his head, making it harder to concentrate. No. He couldn’t have an episode. There were too many of them, and he needed to think, not just react.

He headbutted the asshole in retaliation, absorbing his cry of pain to steady himself. The man flailed for his nose and gave Naz a view of the other guy on the ground. The man’s hand that still had all his fingers shook, his gun weaving in his grip.

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