Chapter 6
Ellie
Firelight slid across Sabine's ankle, the skin already swelling in a pale ridge above the strap of her shoe.
A jagged wound angled across her ankle and lower calf, where a rock had torn through her skin.
I crouched beside the table, placing the towel so it caught the light from the fire, and set out the antiseptic, gauze, and elastic wrap in a neat row.
“Let me see,” I said, keeping my voice level.
She angled her leg toward me. The shoe slid free with a slow give, and I caught the quick flare of discomfort in her eyes before she smoothed it over.
Her skin was warm under my fingers, the heat running higher around the joint.
She stayed still, but her gaze cut briefly to mine, like she was checking whether I meant to hurt her.
“This might hurt a little,” I told her, tearing open the antiseptic packet. “If the pain spikes, tell me.”
She gave a short nod.
Her breath caught at the first touch of the wipe.
"I know, I'm sorry. I'll try to be quick." I hated that I was hurting her, causing her distress, but I had a job to do. She would hurt less if I cleaned and wrapped her injuries.
She didn’t pull away, but her shoulders tightened. I kept the motion steady, working from the cut down toward the swelling, checking the color and how far it spread.
“Where did you learn to do this?” she asked, watching my hands.
“Field medicine,” I said.
“Military?”
I met her eyes for half a beat, then looked back at the injury. “I was a medic.” Nothing more. “Any allergies? Medication today?”
“No.”
Her voice was steady, but I could feel her wanting to press. I gave her the gauze to hold against the wound while I reached for the wrap.
She glanced toward her bag. “I should grab my—”
“Let me finish first.” I didn’t raise my tone, but I didn’t leave space for argument. She held my stare a second longer than most people would before letting it go. Stubborn.
She kept the gauze in place while I tested her range of motion, flexing the foot just enough to read her limits. The swelling was contained for now, but I’d need it elevated and wrapped before it had the chance to spread.
“This next part will help the most if you stay still,” I said, taking the gauze back from her.
Her shoulders loosened a fraction. I began the first turn of the wrap, anchoring it low before moving up toward the joint.
The rhythm of the work settled into me, my focus narrowing to the shape of her ankle under my hands and the small, unguarded tells she didn’t realize she gave: the hitch in her breath when my thumb brushed too close to the wound, the way her toes curled against the cushion.
I finished the last loop of the wrap, smoothing it down so the pressure sat even. Her pulse ticked steady at the base of her ankle. I checked the line of her foot, the way her toes shifted as she adjusted.
“Any numbness?” I asked.
“Not yet.”
I eased a cushion under her heel, raising the joint above her knee. Her gaze tracked the movement, then stayed on me as I tested a gentle flexion. The wrap held. No sharp recoil in her expression.
“Good,” I said. “We’ll ice it every hour. No weight on it tonight, okay?”
“You always this careful?”
“Yes." My eyes flicked up to meet hers. "When it matters.”
Her mouth curved slightly, though she didn’t look away. The fire popped, drawing a soft light over her face and the blanket pooled in her lap. I kept my voice low, not to hide the words, but to keep her anchored where she was.
“Permission to move your leg a little more?”
“Yes.”
I shifted her foot a few inches, adjusting the cushion so it supported her calf as well as the ankle. My hands lingered half a second longer than they needed to before I stepped back.
I draped the blanket over her legs, tucking it lightly so it stayed in place. Her eyes followed my hands as I smoothed the wrinkles out, feeling her muscles flex. This was a job, my client. I had no right to notice how warm her skin felt. I needed to get myself together and be a professional.
A faint smear of grit marked her palm. I took a folded wipe from the kit and brushed the debris away carefully, noting her pulse at the wrist and how it sped up slightly at my touch.
Her fingers stilled under mine as I cleaned each one, making sure no dirt or grit remained.
Just work. Not an excuse to touch her more.
“Better,” I said, discarding the wipe.
The air between us tightened with mutual awareness and a touch of heat. I didn’t move to fill it with words. Her eyes darkened as she looked into mine, her pupils dilating a little in the firelight as she bit her bottom lip.
Footsteps crossed the foyer. Kara walked into the room, her attention fixed on the wall panel beside the fireplace. She pressed a control, and the flat screen above the mantel came to life.
The image cut to a local anchor behind a sleek desk. “Developing story tonight. A star witness in an ongoing corruption probe was killed in a single-car accident just after eight tonight.”
The broadcast switched to shaky footage of a guardrail twisted open to the edge of a ravine. Headlights from an emergency vehicle painted the wreck in cold white bursts.
I glanced at Sabine. Her fingers curled around the edge of the blanket, knuckles pale. She didn’t look away from the screen.
The photo of the victim appeared next: a man in his fifties, suit jacket and striped tie, smile frozen for some corporate headshot. The ticker scrolled under him: No foul play suspected.
Kara stood with the remote in one hand, her phone in the other, scrolling through something as the segment repeated. “We tighten protocols. No solo movement,” she said, voice low.
I read the details on the ticker without moving closer.
Location: rural highway outside a small town west of the city.
Time: less than three hours after the news site had run a follow-up on Sabine’s article.
The pattern fit too neatly to be chance.
This was Bellante territory: fast cleanup, clean press narrative.
The anchor’s tone shifted back to routine as the screen returned to a wide shot of the desk. Kara turned down the volume until the voice was a muted hum. The room felt bigger and colder, the edges of the stone walls sharper.
Sabine pulled the blanket tighter around her. Her eyes stayed on the flickering images, but I could see the shift in her breathing, the way each inhale stretched a fraction longer than it had minutes ago.
Kara kept scanning her phone, jaw set. Whatever she was reading, it was already feeding into the next move. She stepped toward the hall, phone to her ear. The door shut softly behind her, leaving the low hum of the muted broadcast and the pop of the fire.
I stood and crossed to the kitchen. The stainless-steel fridge hummed quietly in the corner. I opened the freezer, scooped a handful of ice into a clean dish towel, and knotted the ends to keep the cubes in place.
Returning to the living room, I sat on the couch by Sabine's feet, staying level with her instead of standing over her. Her eyes tracked me. The news footage caught my attention again.
“That car accident wasn’t random,” I said.
She didn’t blink. “You’re saying it was them.”
“I’m saying the timing and method fit a pattern.”
Her jaw tightened. “And I’m next?”
“You are not next. You’re not alone here,” I said, letting the pause hold between us a moment. “We will keep you safe.”
Something in her gaze wavered: the hint of trust forming at the edges, not solid yet, but there. Like she wanted to believe me and hated that she might.
I reached for the ice and settled it over the bandage, adjusting until it lay evenly. “Tell me if it gets too cold or your foot goes numb.”
She gave a short nod.
Her attention dropped to my hands as I smoothed the edge of the cloth. I kept my touch light, practical. The urge to let it linger was there, steady as a heartbeat, but I shifted back to give her space.
For a second, I thought she might say something more, but she stayed quiet.
In the other room, Kara’s voice carried low and steady through the closed door. Whatever she was setting in motion, we would be ready for it.
A moment later, she came back into the living room, her steps echoing across the hardwood. She stopped near the end of the couch where Sabine and I sat.
“Perimeter’s clear,” she said. Her tone didn’t leave room for debate.
I nodded. “Motion sensors active?”
“Every zone,” she confirmed. “All boundaries are tied in with the cameras.”
I glanced toward the windows, their heavy curtains drawn tight. “Roving coverage?”
She shifted her weight, crossing her arms. “Half-hour intervals. No predictable pattern. The approach road stays covered at all times.”
Sabine’s gaze moved between us. She didn’t say anything yet, but her brows drew together just slightly, the first sign she was tracking more than we were telling her.
“And the others?” I asked.
Kara looked at me, then at her, as if weighing whether to answer in front of her. “Not too far out,” she said finally.
That landed. Her grip tightened on the blanket in her lap. She sat a little straighter. “Others?”
She didn’t answer right away, just studied Sabine in that unreadable way she had. It made most people stop asking questions. I stayed quiet as the pause played out.
“They’ll be here soon,” she said at last, still not offering more than that.
I caught the shift in Sabine's breathing, the quick blink she gave before fixing her eyes on Kara. Her suspicion wasn’t loud, but it was there.
“Full coverage when they arrive,” I added, meeting Kara’s eyes to confirm we were on the same page. “North sector first.”
She gave a single nod. “We’ll brief them when they get in.”
The fire popped in the hearth, a sharp break in the quiet. Sabine kept her focus on Kara like she was willing her to keep talking. Kara did not. The silence settled again, not quite comfortable, not quite hostile, but full enough that I knew it wouldn’t last long.