The cold air hit Caroline like a slap in the face. She stood on the sidewalk, shivering, watching as Jarrod Romero walked toward a black SUV parked at the curb. He moved stiffly, his injured arm held tight against his body, but he still moved like a man who owned the world.

He stopped at the car and turned back to look at her. "Get in."

Caroline blinked. "What?"

"Get in the car, Caroline." His voice was calm, but it wasn't a request.

She didn't move. "Why? Where are we going?"

He sighed, a sound of pure frustration. He walked back toward her, stopping just a few inches away. He was so tall she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. Up close, she could see the exhaustion etched into his features, the tight lines of pain around his mouth.

"I am not in the mood for games," he said, his voice low. "You just had a scalpel at your throat. You were pushed down a flight of stairs. And now you were assaulted in a public place by a man your mother forced you to date. Am I correct?"

Caroline flinched at the accuracy of his summary. "How do you know about my mother?"

"I know everything I need to know," he said, his gaze piercing. "You are a liability to yourself right now. You are exhausted, you are injured, and you are making poor decisions. So I am making the next one for you. Get in the car."

Caroline's pride bristled. "I don't need a babysitter, Colonel. I'm fine."

"You are not fine," he said, his voice hardening. "You are one bad decision away from getting yourself killed. Or worse, married to that idiot."

The mention of marriage struck a nerve. Caroline's eyes stung. She looked away, blinking rapidly.

"I can't go home," she whispered. "Not like this. My mother will just... she won't understand. She'll say I provoked him. She'll say I ruined it."

Romero was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was softer, though no less commanding. "Then don't go home. Come with me."

Caroline looked up at him, startled. "Where?"

"To somewhere safe. Where you can sleep, and eat, and not have to worry about who is going to attack you next." He held out his hand-his left hand, since his right was in the sling. "Trust me."

Caroline stared at his hand. It was a large hand, calloused and strong. She thought about the last twenty-four hours. The assassin, the fall, the way he had wrapped his body around hers to protect her from the stairs. He had gotten hurt because of her. He had defended her against Cromwell, and against Preston.

He was the only person in her life right now who wasn't trying to control her or use her. He was just trying to keep her safe.

She reached out and took his hand.

His fingers closed around hers, warm and solid. He led her to the SUV, opening the back door for her. She slid inside, the leather seats cool against her skin.

He walked around to the other side and got in, wincing slightly as he settled into the seat. The driver, K.C. Bell, didn't say a word. He just put the car in gear and pulled into traffic.

They drove in silence for a while. Caroline stared out the window, watching the city lights slide past. The car was warm and quiet, and despite everything, she felt her eyelids growing heavy.

"Where are we going?" she asked again, her voice sleepy.

"My place," Romero said.

Caroline's eyes snapped open. "Your place?"

"It's secure," he said, not looking at her. "It has a security system, and my team is nearby. You will be safe there."

"I don't know if that's appropriate," she said, though she didn't move to stop the car.

Romero finally turned his head to look at her. His gray eyes were unreadable in the dim light of the car. "Neither is getting your throat slit. But here we are."

Caroline opened her mouth to argue, but the words wouldn't come. She was too tired. Too broken. She just didn't have the energy to fight him anymore.

"Okay," she whispered.

He nodded and turned back to the window.

The car pulled into the underground garage of a luxury apartment building in the West End. Bell parked in a reserved spot near the elevator and got out to open the door for them.

Romero led Caroline to the elevator, his hand resting lightly on the small of her back. It was a protective gesture, guiding her rather than pushing her.

They rode the elevator in silence. The doors opened directly into a penthouse apartment. It was sleek and modern, all glass and steel, with a stunning view of the city skyline. But it was also sparse, almost sterile. There were no personal photos, no clutter. It looked like a place where someone slept, not where someone lived.

"Sit," Romero said, gesturing to the sofa.

Caroline sat down, sinking into the soft leather. He walked into the kitchen, moving one-handed, and came back a minute later with a glass of water and a sandwich on a plate.

"Eat," he said, setting the plate on the coffee table in front of her.

Caroline looked at the sandwich. Turkey and cheese on whole wheat. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. She picked it up and took a bite, her stomach growling in response.

Romero sat down in the armchair across from her, watching her eat. He didn't say anything, but his presence was a solid, reassuring weight in the room.

When she was finished, she set the plate aside and took a long drink of water. The food and the warmth were making her even sleepier. She leaned her head back against the cushions, her eyes drifting shut.

"Thank you," she murmured. "For everything."

"You don't need to thank me," he said, his voice rough.

"Why did you do it?" she asked, not opening her eyes. "Why did you jump? You could have been killed."

There was a long pause. She heard him shift in his chair, a soft hiss of pain escaping his lips.

"I told you," he said finally. "I protect what's mine."

Caroline's eyes opened. She looked at him, confused. "I'm not yours, Colonel. I'm just a nurse."

He met her gaze, his eyes intense. "You are under my command. You are under my protection. That makes you mine."

The word hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning. Caroline felt a shiver run down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

"I don't understand you," she whispered.

"You're not supposed to," he said. He stood up, wincing again. "The guest room is down the hall, second door on the left. There are clothes in the dresser you can sleep in. The bathroom is fully stocked."

He turned and walked toward the master bedroom, pausing at the door. "Lock the door. And don't leave this apartment without me."

Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

Caroline sat on the couch for a long time, staring at the closed door. Her mind was racing, but her body was shutting down. She finally forced herself to get up and walk down the hall.

The guest room was as impersonal as the rest of the apartment, but the bed was soft and the sheets were clean. She changed into a pair of oversized t-shirt and sweatpants she found in the dresser, washed her face, and crawled under the covers.

She lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling. She thought about the assassin, about Preston, about her mother. She thought about Jarrod Romero and his cryptic words.

"You are mine."

She didn't know what that meant. But as she finally drifted off to sleep, she couldn't deny the tiny spark of warmth that had ignited in her chest. For the first time in years, she felt safe.

Caroline woke up to the smell of coffee.

She lay in bed for a moment, disoriented. The room was bright with morning light, and the sheets were soft. For a second, she didn't remember where she was.

Then it all came rushing back. The attack, the fall, the cafe, the Colonel.

She sat up, her heart racing. She looked around the room. It was the same impersonal guest room. She was still wearing the borrowed sweatpants and t-shirt.

She got out of bed and padded down the hall. The apartment was quiet. The living room was empty, the blanket she had used the night before folded neatly on the couch.

She walked into the kitchen. A pot of coffee was brewing on the counter, and a note was propped up next to a mug.

Had to go to the Pentagon. Make yourself at home. K.C. is downstairs. - J.

Caroline stared at the note. It was written in a sharp, angular script. She ran her finger over the 'J', a strange feeling fluttering in her stomach.

She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the kitchen island. The apartment felt different in the daylight. Less sterile, more like a fortress. She could see the security cameras mounted in the corners, the reinforced glass on the windows.

She sipped her coffee, her mind wandering. She needed to go home. She needed to go to work. She needed to face her mother.

But she didn't want to.

She wanted to stay here, in this quiet, safe bubble, where no one could yell at her or try to kill her.

Her phone buzzed. She had left it in her purse by the door. She walked over and dug it out.

Twelve missed calls from her mother. Three from Brenna. And a text from an unknown number.

This isn't over, Caroline. You can't hide forever.

Caroline's blood ran cold. It was Preston's number. She had given it to him when they exchanged contacts before the first date.

She deleted the text and blocked the number, her hands shaking. She couldn't deal with him right now.

She called Brenna.

"Caroline! Oh my god, are you okay? I've been calling you all morning!"

"I'm fine," Caroline said, though her voice was hollow. "I'm... staying at a friend's place."

"A friend? What friend? I thought you were going home."

"I didn't go home," Caroline admitted. "I ran into Colonel Romero. He... he brought me to his place."

The line was silent for a full five seconds. Then Brenna let out a squeal so loud Caroline had to pull the phone away from her ear.

"He took you home?! Oh my god, Caroline! That's huge! That's like, romance novel huge!"

"It's not like that," Caroline said, her cheeks flushing. "He was just being protective. He said I was under his command."

"Under his command," Brenna repeated, her voice dripping with innuendo. "I bet he did. So, what's his place like? Is it a bachelor pad? Does he have a hot tub?"

"It's a fortress," Caroline said, looking around at the security cameras. "And there's no hot tub. Just a lot of guns."

"Even better," Brenna said. "When are you going back to work?"

"I don't know," Caroline said. "I need to talk to Cromwell. He was pretty mad yesterday."

"Screw Cromwell," Brenna said. "Romero put him in his place. You should have seen him, Caroline. He looked like he was going to rip Cromwell's head off."

Caroline felt a small smile tug at her lips. "He did look pretty scary."

"Scary hot," Brenna corrected. "Okay, I have to go. Call me later with all the details!"

Caroline hung up and poured another cup of coffee. She took a shower, washing off the grime and the fear of the last two days. She put her own clothes back on, since the borrowed ones were too big, and sat down on the couch to wait.

She didn't have to wait long. At noon, the front door beeped and Jarrod Romero walked in.

He looked slightly better than the night before. He had shaved, and his hair was damp. But his arm was still in the sling, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

He stopped when he saw her sitting on the couch. "You're still here."

"You told me not to leave," she said, standing up. "I didn't want to get shot by your security team."

A ghost of a smile touched his lips. It was gone in an instant. "We need to talk."

Caroline's stomach clenched. "About what?"

He walked past her into the kitchen, pulling a bottle of water from the fridge with his good hand. "About your situation."

"My situation?"

He turned to face her, his expression serious. "You have a target on your back, Caroline. The man who attacked you is still at large. And he knows what you look like. He knows where you work. Lieutenant Petersen is the key witness from Operation Atlas, which dismantled a major domestic terror cell. That's why he's a target, and because you were there, because you've seen the assassin's face, you're a target, too."

Caroline felt the blood drain from her face. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that you can't go back to your life. Not right now. Your apartment is not secure. Your hospital is compromised. And your family..." He paused, his jaw tightening. "Your family is a liability."

The words stung, but she knew he was right. Her mother would invite the killer in for tea if she thought it would land Caroline a rich husband.

"So what do I do?" she asked, her voice small.

Romero set the water bottle down and took a step toward her. "You stay here. With me."

Caroline stared at him. "Here? With you?"

"It's the only safe place," he said. "I can protect you here."

"For how long?" she asked. "I can't just hide in your apartment forever."

"No," he agreed. "You can't. Which is why I have a more permanent solution."

Caroline's heart started to pound. "What kind of solution?"

He met her eyes, his gaze steady. "Before we proceed, I need to create a maximum security protection file for you. That requires your full legal name, date of birth, social security number... I need your driver's license."

Numbly, Caroline retrieved her purse and handed him her license. He took a quick, clear photo of it with his phone. "Thank you," he said, his expression unreadable as he handed it back.

He looked at her, his gray eyes intense. "A legal one. One that will give you my name, my protection, and the resources of the entire United States military behind you."

Caroline's breath caught in her throat. "Are you... are you asking me to marry you?"

"I'm not asking," he said, his voice firm. "I'm telling you. It's the only way, Caroline. If you are my wife, you are a military dependent. You have access to bases, to hospitals, to security details. No one will be able to touch you."

Caroline felt like the floor had dropped out from under her. "This is crazy. We barely know each other."

"We know enough," he said. "I know you are brave. I know you are loyal. And I know you need help."

"That doesn't mean I should marry you," she said, shaking her head. "Marriage is supposed to be about... about love."

"Love is a luxury," Romero said, his voice hard. "Survival is a necessity. I am offering you survival, Caroline. Take it."

Caroline looked at him, standing there in his kitchen with his arm in a sling and his eyes like steel. He was offering her a way out. A way to escape her mother, her stalker, her dead-end life.

It was insane. It was reckless. It was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard.

But she was so tired of being afraid.

"Okay," she whispered. "I'll do it."

Romero nodded, his expression unreadable. "Pack your things. We're going to the courthouse."

The car ride to the courthouse was a blur.

Caroline sat in the back of the SUV, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. She was wearing her rumpled dress from the day before, her hair still damp from the shower. She looked like a mess. She felt like a mess.

Jarrod Romero sat beside her, staring straight ahead. He hadn't said a word since they left the apartment. He was on his phone, typing out messages with his thumb, his expression focused.

K.C. Bell was driving. He also hadn't said a word. The silence in the car was suffocating.

Caroline's mind was racing. What was she doing? She was about to marry a man she had known for two days. A man who had threatened her boss, fought off an assassin, and ordered her to move in with him. This was the plot of a bad movie, not her life.

But every time she thought about backing out, she remembered the feel of the scalpel at her throat. She remembered Preston's sneering face. She remembered her mother's voice, sharp and demanding.

She had no other options.

The SUV pulled into an underground parking garage. It was private, guarded by men in suits who nodded at Romero as they passed.

They got out of the car and walked toward a private elevator. Romero placed his hand on the small of her back again, guiding her forward. His touch was warm and steady, a grounding presence in the chaos.

The elevator doors opened onto a quiet hallway. The floors were marble, the walls lined with portraits of serious-looking men in black robes. It smelled like old paper and furniture polish.

"This way," Romero said, steering her toward a set of heavy oak doors.

He pushed the doors open without knocking.

The office beyond was huge, more like a library than a workspace. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with thick legal volumes. A massive desk sat in the center, behind which sat an older man with silver hair and wire-rimmed glasses.

He looked up as they entered, a surprised expression on his face. Then he saw Romero, and his face broke into a wry smile.

"Jarrod," he said, standing up. "You certainly know how to make an entrance."

"Justice Roberts," Romero said, walking into the room. "Thank you for seeing us on such short notice."

"Short notice?" Roberts chuckled, coming around the desk. "You called me at six in the morning and told me it was a matter of national security. I haven't had a call like that since the Cold War." He turned his gaze to Caroline, his eyes kind but assessing. "And who is this young lady?"

"This is Caroline Thompson," Romero said. "She is the reason I need you to perform a marriage ceremony. Today. Now."

Roberts's eyebrows shot up. He looked from Romero to Caroline, then back to Romero. "A marriage ceremony? Jarrod, are you serious?"

"I never joke about security," Romero said, his voice flat.

Roberts studied him for a long moment, then sighed. "Very well. I suppose if the Colonel says it's a matter of national security, I can't very well say no." He walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a leather folder. "Do you have the paperwork?"

Romero reached into his jacket with his good hand and pulled out a thick envelope. He handed it to Roberts, who opened it and began to scan the documents.

Caroline watched, her heart pounding. The paperwork was already filled out. Her name, her date of birth, her social security number-it was all there. He had used the information from her license, just as he said he would. It was disturbingly efficient.

She looked at Romero, but he was watching Roberts, his expression unreadable.

"Everything seems to be in order," Roberts said, setting the papers down on the desk. He looked at Caroline. "Miss Thompson, are you here of your own free will? Are you being coerced in any way?"

Caroline swallowed. Was she being coerced? No, not really. She had agreed to this. She had said yes.

"No," she said, her voice steady. "I'm not being coerced."

Roberts nodded. "And do you, Jarrod Romero, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"

"I do," Romero said, without hesitation.

Roberts turned to Caroline. "And do you, Caroline Thompson, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do you part?"

Caroline looked at Romero. He was staring at her, his gray eyes intense. There was something in his gaze, something she couldn't quite read. It wasn't love, but it wasn't just duty either. It was a promise.

She took a deep breath. "I do."

"Then by the power vested in me by the District of Columbia, I now pronounce you husband and wife." Roberts smiled warmly. "Congratulations. You may kiss the bride."

Caroline's heart stopped. Kiss? She hadn't thought about the kiss.

Romero stepped closer to her. He reached up with his good hand and gently cupped her cheek. His touch was warm, his fingers rough against her skin.

He leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. It was a brief, chaste kiss, over in a second. But it sent a jolt of electricity through her body, making her toes curl in her shoes.

He pulled back, his eyes still locked on hers. "It's done," he said softly.

Caroline nodded, unable to speak. It was done. She was a married woman. She was Mrs. Jarrod Romero.

Roberts handed them the marriage certificate, his signature already drying on the paper. Romero took it with one hand, his other hand still resting on Caroline's cheek.

"Thank you, Justice," he said. "I owe you one."

"You owe me more than one," Roberts said, shaking his head. "But I'll consider this a down payment. Now get out of here before someone sees you."

Romero nodded. He took Caroline's hand and led her out of the office, back down the hallway, and into the elevator.

The doors closed, and they were alone.

Caroline looked down at their joined hands. His fingers were warm and strong, wrapped around hers. She felt a strange sense of calm wash over her, a feeling of rightness that she couldn't explain.

It was crazy. It was impulsive. It was probably the biggest mistake of her life.

But as the elevator descended, and Jarrod Romero's thumb stroked the back of her hand, she couldn't bring herself to regret it.