Chapter 5
Sabine
The hum of the tires changed as we left the highway for a narrower road. Streetlights thinned until there were none at all, only the sweep of our headlights across dark trees and the pale glint of gravel shoulders. I sat forward slightly, trying to see past the dash.
The first thing I spotted was the gate. Tall iron bars rose between two stone pillars, the metal worked into an old pattern that caught the light and sent a shiver up my spine. A security camera sat in a shadowed corner, its lens reflecting a small spark from our headlights.
The gates began to swing inward before we reached them. Kara slowed just enough for the SUV to glide through. The sound of the outside world faded with the road behind us, replaced by the steady crunch of gravel under the tires.
The gates closed behind us, the sound muted through the SUV’s frame.
They were supposed to make me feel safe.
All they did was press the air tighter, the bars falling away into trees that blocked every line of sight.
The SUV’s cabin felt warmer than it had a second ago, my pulse climbing in a way I didn’t like.
The highway hiss fell away; no other engines, no houses, just our lights and the dark.
From where I was sitting, safety looked a lot like being trapped. My fingers curled tight in my lap, nails pressed into my palm. I told myself it was just the change in air pressure or the darkness closing in, but the weight in my chest said otherwise.
I hoped Mark was right about these women being vetted, clean.
They could kill me out here and it would take days, or more, before anyone even knew I was missing.
A damp, earthy scent seeped through the vents, the kind that clung to your clothes and stayed.
The tires drummed a steady rhythm over loose gravel, every bump sounding louder in the silence.
We followed a long, curving driveway lined with trees so close they formed a canopy overhead.
Branches filtered the headlights into broken strips of light and shadow across the hood.
The air felt heavier here, closed in, as if the trees were holding their breath.
Even the night insects sounded far away, like we’d driven off the map.
The longer we drove, the more I realized I couldn’t see where the driveway ended. Or if it did.
When the canopy finally opened, the house appeared without warning.
It loomed at the far side of a wide courtyard, built from pale stone darkened in patches with age.
A slate roof angled steeply toward the sky, and the windows were deep-set, catching slivers of moonlight.
The center of the structure arched high enough for the SUV to pass through.
We rolled under the arch, tires crunching louder as we entered the courtyard. Stone walls enclosed the space, dotted with small, warm lights near the ground that cast long, soft-edged shadows. In the middle, a circular drive wrapped around a bed of low shrubs and trimmed hedges.
The SUV rolled to a stop near the porch. For a moment, I just stared at the house, trying to imagine it as a “safehouse.” It looked more like something from an estate magazine than a place meant for hiding. Nothing about this place wanted to be temporary.
The engine cut and Kara stepped out, her door closing with a solid thud. She took a slow look around the courtyard, eyes moving from the house to the walls and back to the arched entrance we’d come through.
Ellie got out next, pulling my bag from the back and setting it at her side. Her attention didn’t settle anywhere for long, drifting between the shadows and the higher points along the wall.
I reached for my door handle, but Kara was already there.
She opened it for me, standing close enough that the cooler night air carried the faint scent of her perfume over the heavier smell of stone and damp earth.
Her shadow cut across me, filling the space and leaving nowhere to step but back.
Her hand came toward my elbow, palm open, as if to guide me toward the steps.
“I can walk,” I said, a little sharper than I meant.
“It’s dark,” she answered evenly. “Uneven ground. Easier if you let me lead.” Her hand hovered there, not touching but close enough that I could feel the heat of it through the air.
My skin reacted before my brain had decided what to do with her.
It wasn’t an offer so much as an opening to see if I’d let her close that last inch.
She was measuring me, not just for compliance, but for how I’d break if she pushed. And the worst part was, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to pass the test or fail it. That flicker of temptation made me all the more determined to shut it down.
The idea of being steered like a lost tourist for even another minute grated. I shook my head and stepped back instead. “I’ll manage.”
The look she gave me wasn’t annoyed. It was…
calculating, like she was filing away exactly how far I’d go to keep her hands off me.
Ellie turned, watching without saying anything.
My skin prickled in warning. I’d made it sound like a choice, but we both knew better.
I sized her up the way I sized up sources—looking for the weak spots first, the cracks you could press until something gave.
I stood, taking a step back to put a little more distance between us, but my foot slipped into the rock border of a garden bed. The sudden drop twisted my ankle sideways, sending a sharp burst of pain up my right leg. I tried to catch myself, but the jolt made my ankle buckle.
The next thing I knew, my hands were on the gravel and my breath had caught in my throat. The grit bit into my palms. Pebble cuts lit up like sparks.
Fuck. If I couldn’t walk, I couldn’t run. The thought landed like a bruise. The SUV, the gates, the stone walls—all of it pressed closer.
Kara was beside me before I could push myself upright. One hand braced my shoulder, the other steadied my arm so I didn’t topple completely. Her grip was unshakable. She could keep a body steady, willing or not. Her voice was calm, measured. “Where?”
“My ankle,” I said, trying to keep my tone level. “It’s fine.”
She shifted her weight to give me space. I pushed up to stand, but the second I put weight on the injured foot, the pain flared sharper. My ankle gave out again, and I grabbed her forearm before I could fall a second time.
Her grip tightened at my elbow, anchoring me. “Stop.”
The word was quiet, but it carried the kind of authority that left no room for argument. I stayed where I was, jaw tight, heat rising in my face that had nothing to do with the cool night air.
Ellie stepped closer, setting my bag down on the gravel. “Can you move it at all?”
“Not without it feeling like something’s tearing,” I said.
Kara’s eyes held mine for a moment. She didn’t sigh, didn’t shake her head, but I could tell she’d already decided what came next.
Ellie’s gaze swept the courtyard before she crouched near my injured foot, careful not to touch it.
“You’re not walking on that,” she said. The position put her close, low, looking up at me through the fringe of her lashes when she spoke.
I didn’t like her kneeling in front of me.
It was too much eye contact, too much room for the wrong kind of tension.
I wondered, fleetingly, what Kara would do if Ellie’s hand lingered.
I shifted my weight to the other leg, the ache in my ankle pulsing in time with my heartbeat as I moved to attempt standing again. “It’s not that bad.”
“You can’t put weight on it,” she replied. Her voice was even, but her eyes flicked to Kara like the decision was hers to make.
Kara let go of my elbow and stepped in front of me, blocking the view of the house. “We’ll handle it. Don’t move until I say.”
The gravel was cold under my palms when I pressed them there for balance. My pride bristled at how easily they’d taken control of the situation, but my ankle throbbed too sharply to argue.
Ellie straightened, stepping back to give Kara room. Kara glanced over her shoulder toward the entrance, scanning it once before looking back at me.
“Ready?” she asked.
I knew that whatever she had in mind, it wasn’t going to involve me walking.
I gave a small nod, more from instinct than agreement.
Kara’s arms slid under me, one behind my back, the other beneath my knees.
The motion was smooth, but I still caught my breath when my weight left the ground.
My ribs tightened against her arm, like my body couldn’t decide if it was bracing or leaning in.
I caught the faintest rhythm of her breathing, steady and slow, like nothing about carrying me required effort.
Her grip was strong, her breasts warm against my side. The faint warmth of her body contrasted with the cool air that lingered around the courtyard. My ankle throbbed with each step she took toward the house, but her hold kept me from jolting it again.
I hated the way my body relaxed against her like it trusted her. Instinct isn’t consent. It wasn’t permission, just muscle memory, an action that hadn’t caught up to my brain. She carried me like this was routine, like she was used to deciding where someone went and how they got there.
Ellie opened the large side door, revealing a wide sweep of hardwood flooring lit by sconces along the walls. The air inside carried the faint scent of polished wood and something floral I couldn’t place.
We crossed a broad foyer where a staircase curved upward to the second floor. The steps were carpeted in a deep, rich red, the banister dark with age. Above us, a chandelier threw warm light across the space, catching the edges of framed oil paintings that lined the walls.
Kara carried me through an arched opening into a living room that felt like something from a museum auction. A stone fireplace dominated one wall, its mantle carved with intricate patterns. Deep leather chairs flanked it on either side, and Persian rugs overlapped across polished hardwood.
Every surface seemed chosen, every detail intentional. It was the opposite of the sterile, forgettable hideouts I’d read about in other people’s investigations. This place had history.
Kara didn’t pause to let me take it in. Her focus stayed forward, her stride carrying us toward the center of the room where a long, low couch faced the fire.
She lowered me onto the couch, the cushions giving way under my weight until I sank in slightly.
The leather was cool and supple from years of care.
She adjusted a pillow behind me without asking, her hand brushing my shoulder as she stepped back.
The heat of her touch stayed longer than it should have, an echo I tried to shake off by shifting in the seat.
The fire crackled softly, heat reaching me in slow waves.
A crystal decanter and matching glasses sat on a side table near one of the chairs, the amber liquid inside catching the light.
Heavy curtains framed the tall windows, their fabric thick enough to block the view outside entirely.
They’d block sound too, if you pulled them shut.
I scanned for a landline and found nothing.
I wished I had my phone, but of course it was useless without the battery and SIM card.
Every frame on the walls could have been hiding a camera.
My neck itched like I was already being watched; the kind of slow creep that makes you want to turn around even when you know you’ll see nothing.
I kept my face neutral anyway, just in case.
I kept looking around, cataloging details the way I did on an assignment.
The rugs were worn in the center but rich in color, edges still sharp against the floor.
The carved mantle held no family photos, only a heavy clock and two candlesticks.
Even the throw draped over the arm of the couch felt expensive under my fingertips, soft and finely woven.
This was not the kind of place I’d imagined when Mark said he wanted me to be somewhere safe.
I’d pictured bare walls, maybe a rental cabin in the woods, or one of those dingy apartments that you see in action movies.
A space meant to be abandoned as easily as it was occupied.
This, by contrast, felt rooted. Permanent.
Questions pushed forward in my mind: who owned this house, and why was it the one they brought me to?
Kara didn’t explain. She glanced toward the arched doorway, then back at me. “Don't move.”
The words felt like a test. I shifted forward, just an inch to see if she’d turn back. Her gaze cut back to me, sharp and exact, and my knees stilled. Message received.
“I’ll secure the perimeter and check the camera feeds.”
Before I could ask how many cameras there were, or why they needed them in a place like this, she was already moving toward the hall. Her steps were silent over the rugs, her posture the same disciplined line it had been all day.
Ellie appeared from the foyer, setting my bag near the sofa.
She carried a black case closer, setting it on the floor by me and unzipping one side.
Inside, neat compartments held rolls of gauze, antiseptic packets, bandage tape, and small instruments that caught the light.
The clean, sharp scent of alcohol rose as she shifted a few items to the side.
The click of zippers and glass vials made the room feel smaller.
She glanced at my ankle, then back into the kit. “Sit back. I’ll take a look at the damage.”
The faint sound of a door closing came from deeper in the house.
Kara, on her circuit. Ellie didn’t look up.
I watched her from where I sat, my ankle throbbing in time with my pulse.
Up close, there was nothing rushed about her.
Her locs were pulled back in a neat bun at the nape of her neck, the ends just visible where they were secured.
The line of her jaw was broken by a thin scar near her chin.
I wondered how she’d gotten it, and why I cared.
Her eyes were a deep brown that seemed to hold their own stillness, like a placid surface with a depth I couldn’t gauge.
She moved like a woman with all the time in the world, but nothing about her felt casual.
Every choice was deliberate, and I couldn’t tell if that was better or worse than Kara’s constant edge.
The fire crackled softly behind us, and for the first time since we’d left my loft, I noticed my shoulders had loosened just a little.
Ellie snapped a pair of gloves from the kit. “This might sting.”