His chest rumbled under her cheek. “Cuddling in the conference room?”
She smiled. “Maybe. I think I’ve decided it doesn’t matter where I am, as long as I’m with you.” She inhaled, gathering her courage. “I love you, Marshall Kelley. I always have. I’m sorry it took fighting a global conspiracy to bring us back together.”
“I’m not,” he said. “I would take on the world if it meant I got to keep you in the end. I hope you know how deeply I love you, too.”
The declaration sent a thrill through her. He loved her. And he meant to keep her. That was all she needed. Her career had taken a drastic turn. Her beloved townhouse was unsafe to return to. She had a target on her back painted by the most dangerous criminal mastermind in the world.
But she was happier than she had ever been, thanks to the man holding her and the faith they’d both rediscovered.
Whatever was still to come, they would face it together. There was undoubtedly evil in this world. In fact, she’d come face-to-face with it far more intimately than she’d ever expected. But she agreed with Marshall. She wasn’t going to let it steal her happiness.
“I don’t want to go to Hale’s funeral,” she said.
At her words, Marshall shifted and created some distance from her. “Are you sure? I know how important he was to you.”
She nodded. “I’m sure. Richard was someone I trusted. But he betrayed that trust. And I don’t need to go to his funeral to close that chapter of my life. He did that quite firmly when he turned me over to Sidarov’s men.”
Marshall studied her face, as though he were looking for the lie. “I am sorry that I killed him,” he said softly, emotional agony coloring his expression. “If I could have?—”
She laid her hand on his heart. “I know. It’s okay. You didn’t have a choice. He made his decisions. And I made mine. Even if it was a little too late.”
“It’s never too late to make the right decision, sweetheart.”
He leaned in, bringing his lips to hers. She kissed him back with all the promises they’d made, said and unsaid. Being together, after all these years, felt impossibly right. The bitterness and unforgiveness and hurt had peeled away, like the bark of a birch tree. Underneath the withered layers came fresh acceptance, tenderness, and love.
She slid her fingers into his hair, tying herself to the familiar strength of him. Marshall responded immediately, as if he’d been holding himself in check until now, his arms tightening around her, his mouth warm and sure and reverent all at once. There was no urgency in it—no fear, no chase. They were simply two people who had finally found their way back to each other.
A soft swish of fur tickled her chin and Norah pulled back with a laugh. Cleo took the newly opened space and laid herself on Marshall’s lap.
“Cleo,” she chastised. “He’s mine.”
Marshall huffed out a quiet laugh, one hand automatically dropping to Cleo’s back to stroke it in much the same he’d been doing to Norah earlier. “She has impeccable timing,” he said solemnly, as if this were a professional assessment.
Cleo flicked her tail, clearly pleased with herself, and settled in as though she had personally sanctioned the moment.
Norah shook her head, smiling despite the sting of tears pressing behind her eyes. “I swear she does this on purpose.”
“She’s protecting her territory,” he said, stroking the cat with slow familiarity. “Which, apparently, includes me.”
Norah arched a brow. “Apparently.”
Cleo purred louder, the vibration steady and unapologetic, and something in Norah’s chest loosened. The absurdity of it—the danger they’d survived, the threats still looming, the weight of everything unfinished—collided gently with this small, ridiculous moment. A cat. A kiss interrupted. A man she loved looking at her like she was the answer, not the complication.
She leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to Marshall’s cheek, just below his temple. “I meant what I said,” she murmured. “About my choices. I’m choosing us.”
His gaze softened, serious beneath the humor. “So am I.”
He reached up, cupping her jaw, thumb brushing lightly along her cheek. Cleo allowed it, magnanimous in her rule, though her tail gave one warning flick—as if to sayDon’t forget who runs this operation.
Norah laughed again, quieter this time, and rested her forehead against his. The future was still uncertain. Sidarov was still out there. Jackson was still missing. The Syndicate hadn’t been dismantled—not yet.
But she knew where she belonged.
And she knew that real love was not something evil would steal from her again.
Not with Marshall’s hand warm at her back. Not with faith steady in her heart. Not with Cleo purring like a small, smug engine of domestic peace between them.
Whatever came next, she was ready.
