On the nightstand: phone, charger, the little notepad the marshals left with their emergency number. I set the wine down beside it and pull back the covers. The sheets are cool. The silk slides against cotton, and my skin wakes up all over again. I lie on my side and try to will my mind quiet.
It doesn’t listen.
Today plays back in jump cuts. The monitor room. The thin carpet. Roberto’s outrage. The tech’s shaking hands. The way Luca sat and watched, silent, and then the way the room shifted when everyone else left—just an inch—and I forgot for a second that we were two people on opposite sides of a line. The sound of his voice when he spoke, expressed his grief for my mother.
I take a longer sip and set the glass down too fast. It clicks against the table. I flinch. Get a grip, Elena.
I should text the marshals that I’m turning in. I should set my phone on Do Not Disturb and let the night be boring. I should stop hoping for the thing I’m not admitting to.
It’s ridiculous to even think…
I shake my head and pull the sheet up over my knees, leaning back against my pillow.
The apartment settles with the familiar creaks and groans.
A scrape from the hallway has me sitting up fast. My heart pounds so hard, I can barely hear anything at all.
It’s nothing, I tell myself. Pipes. The neighbor’s cat. Heat expanding in old wood. Absolutely nothing.
It would be impossible.
A soft step just outside. Then my bedroom door swings inward, slow, like a breath.
“U.S. Marshals,” a low voice says immediately, both hands up in the doorway. “Elena?”
Air returns to my lungs in a rush that almost hurts. I yank the sheet to my collarbone.
“It’s me,” Lawrence adds, stepping into the wash of lamplight. Another deputy hovers behind him in the hall, angled to keep the sightline, palms open. “You didn’t answer the check-in.”
I blink at the nightstand. My phone is face down, Do Not Disturb still on from court earlier. I’d meant to text and forgot. My heart keeps trying to run a marathon inside my ribs. “Jesus, you scared me.”
“Sorry.” He means it and also doesn’t. “We called twice.”
“You could have called a third time. Or knocked!”
“We didn’t want to alert anyone if there was a chance…” the deputy says from the hall, apologetic.
“So you scared me half to death and broke in?” I push a hand through my hair and try to slow my breathing.
Lawrence takes a careful half step in, eyes flicking to the floor, then back to my face. He does a quick scan, taking in the wineglass, the bottle on the nightstand.
“Everything all right?” he asks.
“Yes.” I sound too defensive. “Yes. I was in court earlier and forgot to turn off ‘Do Not Disturb.’”
“Put us on your ‘allow’ list,” he says mildly.
“I will,” I say. “Can you just get out now, please?”
Lawrence’s mouth tightens, but he keeps his tone even. “We’ll key the lock back and be gone in sixty seconds.”
“Make it thirty.” I pull the sheet higher and angle my body away from the door. The nightgown suddenly feels like a mistake. “And knock next time. I may be under protective orders, but I still have my right to privacy.”
He nods once, professional to the bone. “We’ll do a quick loop, then won’t disturb you again.”
He gestures to the deputy, and they step out.
I hear quiet footfalls down the hall, a low murmur into a radio, the soft thunk of my front door closing and opening as they check it.
