Chapter 32 Norah
NORAH
Cleo had solidly ensconced herself as the new queen of Black Tower Security, as evidenced by the way she lounged in the middle of the conference room table, completely unconcerned by the intense discussion happening around her.
Despite Norah’s insistence that she could lock Cleo in the apartment, Ross had declared her more than welcome anywhere on the premises.
Norah turned her new employee badge between her fingers. Black Tower Security. Senior Financial Analyst. As far as titles went, it was technically a promotion, but a niggling part of her felt quite sure she hadn’t earned it.
One week of living and working at Black Tower and she was still finding her footing with the sudden career shift. The relationship shift between her and Marshall, however, felt as natural as breathing.
They spent every evening together, and her desk had conveniently been placed in his office.
The giant man named Tank who previously shared the space had even smiled as he moved his own belongings to make room for her.
Miranda ensured her that despite his size and ever-present glower, Tank was a teddy bear.
Apparently even the smallest smile from the towering man was a glowing endorsement of her presence.
In fact, the entire Black Tower team had welcomed her with open arms. Even if she never said a word in the constant briefings and updates as the team continued their efforts to dismantle the Syndicate.
“Has anyone heard anything from Jackson?” Ross asked, as the meeting was coming to a close.
Marshall shook his head, a pained expression on his face. Norah laid her hand on his knee, and he set his own on top of it. Norah’s eyes flew to Miranda’s, but she was shaking her head as well. Jackson was firmly in the wind, and no one could find trace of him.
“Okay, that’s it for today then.”
Marshall squeezed her fingers as everyone around them moved toward the door.
“I didn’t want to tell you this, but I know you deserve to make the choice yourself.”
Norah almost laughed at the lead-in. “That sounds promising,” she teased. “What’s going on?”
Marshall didn’t return her smile. “Hale’s funeral is set for tomorrow morning.”
Norah flinched and tried to pull her fingers from his. He didn’t let them go. “I can’t imagine how hard this is for you. But I promised myself I would support you either way. Do you want to go?”
Norah’s head spun, emotions warring with each other.
She met Marshall’s gaze and saw the love and concern in his eyes.
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “One part of me knows that the man was going to kill you or me. Or both. That he was using me and didn’t care at all what happened to me in the end. ”
Marshall’s mouth tightened. Understandably, he had never liked Hale.
“On the other hand, I have all these memories of his guidance and friendship. I know his wife. He was like a father to me. And all of that doesn’t just go away, even if he ended up . . . How could I miss someone like him?” she cried, her voice breaking on the last words.
Marshall pulled her into his arms. “Because you’re a good person, my love.
You trusted him and you were loyal to him.
It doesn’t matter that he proved he didn’t deserve that honor.
You’re allowed to feel however you feel.
And if it would help you find closure to go to his funeral, then that is what we’ll do. ”
“Is it safe?” she couldn’t help but ask.
“We’ll make sure it’s safe,” he replied, tucking her head firmly under his chin. “I’ll always make sure you’re safe.”
She let her cheek rest on his chest and settled her weight on his lap. “There’s still so much left to do. Sidarov—”
“Shhh,” he interrupted, placing a hand on the side of her face.
“I don’t want to talk about Sidarov. There is a lot left to do to take down the Syndicate.
So many loose ends. And it’s not just Morris’s campaign or Sidarov’s plans.
I’m convinced Jackson is innocent, which means there is a real mole within Black Tower.
” He sighed. His hand trailed down her neck and then her back before making a leisurely path up again.
It felt warm and heavy through her blouse.
“I simply refuse to let the evil in this world steal the happiness we’ve found.
I’m learning to remind myself that the victory has already been won.
Evil will never truly prevail. God wins in the end, right? ”
“Right,” she whispered, feeling more than agreeable.
Hearing him speak so openly of his faith?
That was new—and it had her heart swelling with joy.
Not to mention, she felt like putty in his hands and would likely agree to anything he said as long as he never stopped touching her.
Was this how Cleo felt when she was petted?
No wonder the cat interrupted her anytime she was on her laptop and demanded to be stroked.
“I could stay like this forever,” she murmured.
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 say Don’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.
And for the first time in her life, Norah Winslow wasn’t calculating the risk.
She was embracing the reward.