Chapter 21
Sabine
I wished I’d brought my book downstairs, but I was unwilling to disturb the tiny grey kitten that had finally settled into sleep on my lap.
Her whiskers twitched as she dreamed, her body impossibly small against my thigh.
The morning sun slanted through the crack in the heavy drapes, painting stripes across the rug.
From the kitchen came the sounds of Ellie preparing coffee: the clink of mugs, the gurgle of water filling the reservoir, the grinding of beans.
The scent would reach me soon, rich and comforting.
It was becoming part of the team’s morning ritual that I could grow accustomed to in this strange limbo of protection.
Cam appeared in the doorway, her thick black hair tucked beneath a worn navy ballcap. She wore dark jeans and a plain t-shirt that did little to hide her muscular frame.
"I'm heading into town, El," she called out. "Need to get cat food and supplies."
Ellie leaned out from the kitchen. "Take the black SUV. Less conspicuous than the van.”
"Already planned on it." Cam nodded, checking her watch. "Kara's monitoring the feeds, Alex is on standby comms."
"Check in every thirty," Ellie reminded her.
"On the half-hour, I know." Cam pulled her keys from her pocket. "Standard route, no deviations."
I watched their exchange with fascination. They operated like a well-oiled machine, each word carrying weight and purpose. No wasted breath, no unnecessary elaboration. It reminded me of newsroom crisis coverage, but with higher stakes and better training.
Cam's eyes flicked to mine briefly, acknowledging my presence without warmth or hostility. Just assessment. Then she was gone, the front door closing with a soft click behind her.
The kitten stretched in her sleep, tiny claws extending into my jeans before retracting again.
"Breakfast?" Ellie called from the kitchen. "I've got fresh berries."
I hated to disturb the tiny kitten, but my stomach growled in response to Ellie's offer.
"Coming," I answered, scooping up the little grey ball of fur. She mewled in protest as I bent to place her in the cardboard box where her siblings tumbled over one another. Their calico mother watched me with suspicious yellow eyes as I lowered her baby into the pile.
"There you go, little one," I murmured. "Back to the family."
I pushed myself up from the wing chair, wincing as weight settled onto my right ankle. The sprain throbbed more now than it had earlier. I hobbled across the living room, pausing at the kitchen threshold to catch my breath.
Ellie stood at the stove, her back to me.
Morning light caught the edges of her locs, which she'd gathered into a loose bun at the base of her neck.
The soft cotton of her faded blue t-shirt stretched across her shoulders as she moved between pans, flipping something that smelled like cinnamon and butter.
"French toast," she said without turning around. "My grandmother's recipe."
I eased myself into a chair at the kitchen table. "Smells amazing."
"Secret ingredient is vanilla bean. Not extract." She glanced over her shoulder, her smile warm but professional. "Sleep okay?"
"Better than the night before," I admitted. In truth, I had read until my eyes wouldn't stay open a minute longer, unwilling to let the racing thoughts in my head take hold.
The calico mama cat slipped into the kitchen, winding between the table legs before settling near Ellie's feet. Her tail flicked lazily as she watched the cooking.
Ellie slid a plate of golden-brown toast onto the counter, then reached for a bowl of mixed berries. "Feel like helping? Nothing standing required."
Before I could answer, she placed a wooden cutting board in front of me, followed by a paring knife and the berry bowl.
"Just quarter the strawberries," she instructed. "The rest can stay whole."
I picked up the knife, its weight familiar in my hand. Such a simple task, cutting fruit for breakfast. A month ago, I'd been racing to meet deadlines, chasing leads that would eventually put me in this safehouse. Now I was quartering strawberries while a bodyguard made French toast.
"This is nice," I said quietly, surprising myself with how much I meant it.
Ellie nodded, flipping another piece of toast. "Sometimes normal is exactly what we need."
The kitchen door swung open and Alex strode in, her boots silent on the tile floor.
She wore black tactical pants, paired with a fitted grey t-shirt that hugged her full breasts and muscular torso.
Her dark hair was pulled back in a severe bun, not a strand out of place.
She moved with precision, like someone who calculated the energy expenditure of each step.
She didn't look at me as she reached for a mug from the cabinet.
My hands stilled on the cutting board. I watched her profile, willing her to turn, to acknowledge my presence.
To give me something—a glance, a nod, anything that suggested last night had happened.
That I hadn't imagined her hands on me, her mouth against mine, the weight of her body pinning me to the mattress.
Nothing.
"Coffee's fresh," Ellie said, sliding another piece of French toast onto the growing stack.
Alex poured herself a cup, black. Her movements were economical, almost mechanical. I cut another strawberry, the knife blade catching the morning light.
"Morning, Alex," I said, my voice coming out steadier than I felt.
She took a sip of coffee. No response. Not even a flicker of recognition that I'd spoken.
Heat crawled up my neck—not desire this time, but humiliation. I'd been naked beneath her less than twelve hours ago. She'd made me come so hard I'd seen stars. She'd looked into my eyes while Kara held me down, had whispered things against my skin that made me shake.
And now I was furniture. Invisible.
I forced myself to focus on the strawberries, on the repetitive motion of cutting, quartering, setting aside. The knife's edge bit into the cutting board with each slice, a quiet rhythm that anchored me.
"South gate cameras are acting up again," Alex said to Ellie, as if I weren't sitting three feet away.
Ellie glanced between us, her brow furrowing slightly. I caught the question in her eyes before she masked it. She'd been here last night too. She knew exactly what had transpired in my bedroom.
"I thought you fixed those last night?" Ellie flipped another piece of toast with perhaps more force than necessary.
"I did." Alex took another sip, her profile sharp against the morning light streaming through the window. "They're throwing error codes now. Going to head out with Kara, see what's happening."
I kept my head down, focusing on quartering strawberries. My fingers trembled slightly, and I pressed the knife harder against the cutting board to steady them. The juice from the berries stained my fingertips red.
Last night played in my mind like fragments I couldn't quite piece together.
Alex's hand around my throat, her voice low and dangerous in my ear.
The way she'd looked at me afterward—not soft, never soft, but present.
Seeing me. And then she'd simply walked away, leaving me shaking and confused in Kara's arms.
Now she stood six feet from me, discussing security protocols as if I were invisible. As if I hadn't gasped her name. As if she hadn't made me wonder, for long terrifying moments, whether pleasure and fear could exist in the same breath.
I stole a glance at her face, searching for any crack in that perfect mask, any hint that somewhere behind those storm-glass eyes lived a person capable of vulnerability.
Nothing.
Ellie's spatula hit the pan with a sharp clang. "You want breakfast before you go?"
"No time." Alex set her half-empty mug in the sink with careful precision. She turned toward the doorway, and for a split second, I thought she might look at me. Hoped for it, even as I hated myself for hoping.
She walked out without a backward glance.
The silence she left behind felt like a physical weight. I stared at the strawberry beneath my knife, watching juice pool around the blade.
"Hey." Ellie's voice was soft. I looked up to find her watching me, concern evident in the set of her mouth. "You okay?"
I nodded, not trusting my voice. The knife slipped, nicking my finger. A bright bead of blood welled up, startling against the pale flesh of the strawberry.
"Sabine—"
"I'm fine," I said quickly, sucking the small cut. The metallic taste grounded me. "It only hurts a little."
Ellie crossed to me, gently taking my hand to examine the cut. "It's shallow," she said. "But let me clean it."
As she finished applying the bandage to my finger, the front door opened with a soft click. I tensed automatically at the thump of boots on the marble, my fingers pausing over the half-cut strawberry.
Kara appeared in the kitchen doorway, her tall frame filling the space. She wore full tactical gear, a heavy vest that added bulk to her already imposing physique. The rifle hung across her chest on its strap, her right hand resting casually on the grip.
Alex and I are heading out to check the perimeter,” she said, her voice calm but clipped.
Ellie nodded without turning from the stove. "Got it. Timeline?"
"Standard sweep. Two hours max." Kara's eyes scanned the kitchen before landing on me. "Morning, Sabine. Ankle better today?"
I nodded, surprised by the direct acknowledgment. "Getting there."
"Good. Stay inside, obviously." Her professional tone never wavered, but something in her eyes softened almost imperceptibly. "El, we'll check in on the half-hour."
"Copy that," Ellie replied, flipping another piece of French toast with practiced ease.
Kara turned to leave, then paused. "El, save me some of that. Smells like your grandmother's recipe."
"Always do," Ellie said, a smile in her voice though her back remained to us.