She realized the truth she didn’t want to admit. She wasn’t refusing him. She was refusing the idea of abandoning the mission.
He watched her for a long moment, something fierce and unresolved tightening his expression.
Then he nodded once, sharp and final. “Then I’m staying.”
Her breath jolted. “Marshall?—”
“It’s not up for debate.” No raised voice. No physical crowding. He was very good at shutting down an argument.
She looked at her destroyed apartment. At her trembling cat. At the mess inside her chest.
She didn’t want to be alone. Not tonight, maybe not ever again.
She nodded. “Okay.”
His shoulders eased slightly. Norah rubbed a hand over her face, the adrenaline bleeding away, leaving her shaky and hollow.
“Get some water,” he murmured.
She didn’t argue. She filled a glass with trembling hands, drinking until her breath came easier.
When she returned, he was locking the chain, checking the deadbolt, resetting the alarm she hardly ever used. He moved through her space with quiet precision.
She sank onto the couch, exhaustion pulling her down. Marshall joined her, a steady anchor in a room that no longer felt like her own. He reached for her hand and she stared at the connection.
His voice was ragged as he did something she never expected. “Lord, thank you for Norah’s safety tonight. AndCleo’s. Give her peace and restful sleep tonight after this intrusion. Help me catch the ones who did this to her home. Most of all, help me keep her safe.” His voice cracked, and Norah got just a hint of the emotion simmering under the surface. “Please, God.”
She wiped the tears that had emerged during his prayer.
A strange peace settled over her. It was like God had physically reached down and loosened her muscles after hearing Marshall’s prayers. For the first time since she walked through the door, her lungs expanded without tension.
Marshall had prayed for her. And he wasn’t going anywhere.
CHAPTER 17
NORAH
Norah swipedher badge at the lobby turnstile two days later and forced her breathing into something resembling rhythm. Her reflection in the elevator doors looked the way it was supposed to, with her tailored suit, neutral lipstick, and carefully straightened hair. Perfectly composed.
But the longer she stared, the less she believed it.
How could she be even remotely composed after everything that had happened this weekend?
She passed the glass-walled conference rooms, offering nods of hello and clinging to that carefully crafted composure. Someone had rifled through her apartment. Someone had taken her notebook. Someone at Summit—maybe even in this hallway—knew she was digging.
The thought made her pulse quicken, but she smoothed her jacket and kept walking.
“Morning, Norah.”
The voice came from her right. Blake was a young associate who never met a mirror or a rumor he didn’t like. He flashed a grin, leaning casually against her office doorframe. “You survived the weekend. How was the wedding? Good to go back home?”
Her mind flicked instantly to the dance floor and Marshall’s chest beneath her palms.
To the soft, shattering moment where the world had narrowed to the heat of his breath and the question in his eyes.
“It was good. But I’m always ready to come back to the city,” she said, slipping past him.
True enough. Though the city hadn’t exactly welcomed her home gently.
