He flattened against the wall beside a push-bar door, breathing hard. “Voices,” he mouthed.
Marshall eased Norah into the angle of the wall, putting her in the shadow of a maintenance cabinet. She pressed back, shoulders shaking.
He leaned in close, close enough that he could feel the tremor travel through her.
“Breathe,” he said quietly. “In. Out. Just like before a presentation. You’ve done harder things than this.”
Her laugh came out strangled. “I’ve never outrun a kill squad before.”
He couldn’t help it—his mouth almost smiled, sharp and brief.
“First time for everything,” he said. Then softer, “You’re not alone anymore, Norah.”
Her eyes lifted to his. For a heartbeat, the corridor, the shouting, the clatter of boots—all of it faded.
Then Landon looked back at them, eyes high alert. “They’ve got the dock,” he murmured. “Morris’s muscle. At least six, probably more outside. Armed, but keeping it low profile. We poke our heads out, they’re not going to ask for a dance card.”
“And behind us?” Marshall asked.
As if in answer, the echo down the corridor thickened. Voices layered over each other. Someone barked an order in Russian. Another answered in English.
Landon grimaced. “That would be Sidarov’s fan club.”
Trapped between a private army and a kill squad with diplomatic immunity.
The sirens swelled, crawling under Marshall’s skin.
“We can’t just sit here,” Norah whispered. “They’ll sweep the hallway.”
Marshall’s mind ran the map. Could they force an overhead door? Drop to the alley? Too exposed. Could they double back and try another route? No time. No guarantee it wouldn’t lead into another kill box.
Marshall’s ribs hurt with every breath. His shoulder throbbed where he’d hit the wall. His legs burned from the sprint.
None of it mattered.
He reached up and smoothed a strand of Norah’s hair back from her face. His hand shook, just once.
He leaned in, forehead nearly touching hers. “When I move, you go with Landon,” he said. “He’ll get you to the SUV. From there, you put as much distance between you and this mess as you can. You don’t look back.”
She shook her head, tears bright now. “No.”
Landon swore under his breath. “This is touching and all, but we’ve got about forty-five seconds before this turns into a corridor execution.”
Norah’s fingers tightened painfully around Marshall’s. “I am not letting you leave again,” she said, every word an anchor.
His chest clenched.
He had walked away once. Told himself it was duty. Training. The right thing.
He was not that man anymore.
He turned toward the door to the loading dock.
Through the small wired-glass window, he could see motion—shadows crossing, the silhouette of a man with a weapon held low, professional. Another shape beyond that. The faint wash of light from the alley painted everything in shades of gray.
The exit was blocked.
Behind them, the echoing footsteps of Sidarov’s people closed in, voices growing clearer. They were being driven toward the dock like game toward a trap.
