He just couldn’t.
But her instincts—those same instincts he’d once praised—were ringing like alarms now.
And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t silence the slim possibility that the man who’d shaped her professional life might be standing in the shadows she’d been warned about.
CHAPTER 18
MARSHALL
Marshall hadn’t slept morethan an hour at a time all week.
That’s what happened, apparently, when a man spent a week sleeping on the same couch every night—boots on, gun holstered, half-dreaming through the quiet creaks of a Georgetown walk-up while its owner pretended she didn't notice him standing guard.
The fatigue was there, as were the subtle aches caused by too little sleep on an unsupportive sofa.
His team said he was obsessed. He’d called a crew over on Sunday and put her house back in order. She’d been overwhelmed but he hadn’t felt like there was any other option. Watching Norah pick through the destruction one item at a time before she’d given up and escaped to church had been torture.
Obsessed? That wasn’t the right word. Restless, maybe. Coiled. Intense. What he was feeling was something sharper than anything the Army or Black Tower taught him. No amount of training prepared you to watch someone you cared about pretend they weren’t afraid in their own home.
And Norah had been doing exactly that. Even the new furnishings couldn’t dispel the fear.
And beneath all of it—threading through every sleepless night—was the growing sense that he wasn’t steering this anymore.
A lack of control he hated. A pull in his gut he didn’t trust. A whisper he refused to acknowledge.
Trust me. Follow me. Surrender this to me.
He clenched his jaw against it. He didn’t hand things over. He handled them. He fixed what broke. He stood between danger and the people who needed him.
But the harder he held on, the more everything slipped sideways.
By the time the gala arrived, he was operating on caffeine, instinct, and a level of protective focus Miranda started calling Marshall Mode.
Stephen’s voice crackled in his ear. Stephen had been working with Black Tower for a few months, ever since Joey brought him in. She still sometimes called him by his hacker name, Vertigo, but Marshall felt ridiculous doing so. Nicknames in the Army were one thing. Computer geeks with aliases? He didn’t get it. “You’re early. You okay?”
No.
Butokaywas a luxury he hadn’t indulged in since the night he found Norah shaking in her ruined apartment, just like her cat had been. He had the indescribable urge to fold Norah into his jacket like a kitten, one he could wrap completely in his safety.
“Yep,” he said instead, stepping out of the black SUV in the parking garage. He pulled his jacket straight, adjusting the fall of the charcoal tux that felt unfamiliar and restrictive compared to armor. What a strange life he had led, that he preferred the feel of Kevlar to wool with satin accents.
Other than Stephen watching the hotel’s security feeds from Black Tower HQ, Marshall was on his own tonight. Joey hadbeen assigned to Geneva, and much of the team—including Jackson—was there.
Ten minutes until Norah arrived.
Ten minutes until he would have to pretend he hadn’t memorized the sound of her footsteps in the morning, or the scrape of her mug on the counter, or the soft way she said his name when the fear slipped through her control.
Stephen hummed in his ear, a habit he had when he was studying multiple screens at once. “You’ve got a whole floor of DC’s finest and enough old-money donors to start their own country. Try not to punch anyone before Norah shows.”
“Not planning on punching anyone,” Marshall muttered, scanning the service corridor that fed into the ballroom. The hotel was a labyrinth of marble floors, gilded wall sconces, and strategically placed cameras. He knew the layout as well as the Secret Service who was sure to be present. He was going to have to leave the safety of the service corridors and go to the lobby eventually.
But his thoughts kept sliding back to Norah.
“Joey said to tell you Norah’s going to look incredible,” Stephen added. “Just mentally preparing you.”
Marshall closed his eyes for half a second. It didn’t help. He had been preparing all week.
“It doesn’t matter how she looks,” he said.
