Page 52 of What We May Be

“Did someone say hacker?”

Charlie spun toward the Texas accent that boomed from the doorway… and rocked back on her heels. The voice wasn’t wholly unfamiliar—she’d spoken to Agent Marshall on the phone twice—but it was louder and deeper in person, not crackling over a patchy line. And Agent Marshall himself looked nothing like what she’d expected. He was spindly Jefferson Marshall’s son and a cyber legat for the FBI. She’d pictured a likewise spindly agent, rumpled and overworked, who lived on Red Bull and nothing else. At no time had she pictured a man as big and broad as Abel, in his midforties with bronze skin, a sprinkling of silver in his dark hair, and flecks of amber in his dark eyes. Add to that the wide-brimmed white hat and pointed-toe boots, the worn Levi’s and rust-colored Longhorns T-shirt, and Emmitt Marshall shouted cowboy.

Nothing about him shouted hacker.

More surprising than the agent’s appearance, though, was Sean’s reception to his arrival. Barreling past Charlie, he practically launched himself at Agent Marshall.

Marshall stood firm and returned the fierce hug, slapping Sean’s back. “It’s good to see you, Hale.”

Sean drew back, one corner of his mouth lifted. “Missed you too, though I gotta say”—he patted the other man’s T-shirt covered chest—“not exactly funeral attire.”

Agent Marshall straightened Sean’s coat and tie like he’d done it countless times before. “You’re fancy enough for the both of us.”

His voice was rumbly and affectionate, and Charlie suddenly felt like an intruder. Like the roller coaster her life had been on lately had taken another unexpected turn.

Thank fuck for Maggie, who had absolutely no problem butting into the agents’ reunion. “Umm, Sean, care to introduce us to your friend?”

“Pardon, ma’am,” Agent Marshall said, beating Sean to the introductions. He removed his hat and shot Maggie a grin. “Emmitt Marshall.” And damn if Maggie didn’t put a hand to the table to catch herself.

Charlie bit back a laugh that died when Agent Marshall’s dark eyes landed on her. A warm smile stretched across his ruggedly handsome face. “You must be Charlie.” He crossed the room, a hand outstretched. “I’ve heard a lot about you. All of it good.”

Her gaze shot to Sean, who ducked his chin but not before she saw the streaks of red hit his cheekbones. Agent Marshall’s hand closed around hers, bringing her back to the man directly in front of her. She cleared her throat. “Agent Marshall,” she said. “Good to put a face to the voice.”

“That’s enough of that Agent shit,” he said with a wink. “Just Marsh, please, and tell me how I can help.” He jutted a thumb over his shoulder at Sean. “Should I start by getting that one in line?”

She lifted a brow. “You think you can?”

His dark eyes twinkled with mischief. “Oh, I know I can, sweetheart.”

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