Chapter 33
Ellie
I had one job: get Sabine into the van and keep moving. Fourteen years of training kicked in as I guided her across the driveway, my hand firm against the small of her back. The engine was already running, Cam hunched forward in the driver's seat, fingers tapping against the wheel.
"Watch your head," I murmured as Sabine ducked into the backseat.
The cat carrier was already secured, the little gray one pressing its nose against the metal grate, mewing softly.
Sabine slid in beside it, her face pale in the dim interior light.
Her jaw was set in that stubborn way I recognized, trying so hard to look brave.
My heart twisted. I wanted to tell her everything would be okay, that Alex would make it out, that we had contingencies for our contingencies.
Instead, I leaned in before closing the door.
Her lips were soft under mine, trembling slightly.
I kept the kiss gentle, a promise wrapped in the only reassurance I could offer.
"Buckle up," I whispered against her mouth, pulling back just enough to see her eyes widen slightly. Her fingers fumbled with the seat belt as I closed the door.
I took a deep breath, scanning the property. No movement by the tree line. No unexpected vehicles. Just Kara standing sentinel by the house door, waiting for Alex. The air felt electric against my skin, like the moment before lightning strikes.
We were running out of time.
I caught Kara's eye across the driveway. She stood like a sentinel by the house door, her posture rigid as she watched for Alex. The afternoon sun caught on her blonde hair, turning it golden.
"Rendezvous at Alpha?" I called out, keeping my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
She nodded once, crisp and certain. "Yes, Alpha. Keep your burner on. I'll call if anything changes or we need to divert."
The words were few, efficient. We'd been running ops together long enough that we didn't need lengthy explanations. Just the essentials. Alpha meant the first stop on the way to our secondary safehouse. Burners meant our disposable phones. Simple, clean.
I climbed into the passenger seat beside Cam, who sat with both hands on the wheel, her dark eyes fixed on the rearview mirror. Her jaw worked silently, the only sign of tension in her otherwise calm demeanor.
"Alpha," I told her. "Burner stays on."
Cam nodded, her movements economical as she shifted into gear.
The van rolled forward with a gentle lurch, tires crunching over gravel as we moved slowly toward the south gate.
Not the main entrance with its ornate archway that we typically used, but the service exit hidden behind a row of cypress trees.
The path less traveled. The one nobody would expect us to take.
I kept my eyes fixed on the side mirror, watching the house for any sign of movement. My breath caught when the heavy oak door finally swung open.
Alex emerged with three thick blue books clutched against her chest. A fur coat draped over one arm trailed behind her like a silver shadow.
"Nice coat, Alex," Cam murmured, eyes never leaving the rearview.
I couldn't help the smirk that tugged at my lips despite the tension knotting my shoulders.
Sabine watched Alex intently. I noted how her shoulders relaxed slightly when Alex reached the Range Rover safely. The connection between them was palpable, even now. Especially now.
My training told me to stay focused on the mission parameters, but something made me glance back at Sabine again. Her eyes remained fixed on Alex, as if memorizing her every movement, storing it away for whatever uncertain future awaited us all.
Cam's hands tightened on the wheel. "Ready?"
I nodded, turning my attention forward. "Ready."
Alex pulled the door shut and I watched her through the side mirror. Kara was already sprinting toward the Range Rover, but Alex remained rooted in place.
She tilted her head back, gaze traveling up the Gothic mansion's facade. I couldn't see her expression clearly, but something in her posture made my chest tighten. Walking away from her childhood home, the place her mother had loved so much. My heart hurt for her.
Seconds stretched. My fingers tapped against my thigh, a nervous habit I thought I'd broken years ago.
Kara called out something I couldn't hear through the van's closed windows.
The sound seemed to break whatever spell had held Alex in place.
She turned sharply, jogging to the passenger side of the Rover with the books clutched against her chest, the silver fur coat trailing behind her like a battle standard.
"Let's go," I told Cam, keeping my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins.
Cam nodded once, pressing her foot to the accelerator. The van surged forward, tires crunching over gravel as we picked up speed. In the mirror, I watched the Rover pull out right behind us, keeping pace as we headed for the gate.
"You're going to be fine," I said, keeping my voice level. "We've run this exact scenario sixteen different ways."
Sabine swallowed hard, her throat working visibly. A thin sheen of sweat glistened along her hairline despite the chill in the air. She nodded once, jerky but determined.
"I know," she whispered, fingers uncurling slightly from the armrest. "I trust you."
Something warm unfurled in my chest at those three simple words. After twelve days of suspicion and questions and resistance, she finally trusted us. Trusted me. I wanted to reach back and take her hand, but instead I gave her a small nod of acknowledgment.
Gravel crunched beneath our tires as Cam navigated the driveway through the wall of trees on either side. Her MP7 sat near her right hand, ready to be called into service.
I glanced at the side mirror, tracking the Range Rover that followed close behind us. Kara kept a perfect distance, not so close as to risk collision if we had to brake suddenly, not so far that we'd lose visual contact.
The south gate loomed ahead, its wrought iron gleaming dully in the fading light. Cam's hands remained perfectly steady on the wheel, her breathing even. Only the slight tightening around her eyes betrayed any tension.
"Almost there," I murmured, more for Sabine's benefit than anything else. "Just a few more minutes and we'll be clear."
Cam reached up and pressed the button on the remote clipped to the visor.
The gate swung open with excruciating slowness, each inch of movement stretching time until I could barely breathe.
Our van finally passed through onto the empty country road, and Cam made a clean right turn, her movements precise and unhurried despite the tension crackling in the air.
I kept my eyes fixed on the side mirror, watching as the Range Rover made the same right turn seconds later. The gates began closing behind them automatically, the metal teeth meshing together with a finality that made something in my chest loosen slightly.
"All clear," I murmured.
The van picked up speed on the country road, trees standing like sentinels on either side. We were maybe a quarter mile from the property now. I glanced at Cam, noting the set of her jaw, the readiness in her posture.
The ground trembled beneath our tires. Not violently, but unmistakable. I felt it through my seat, a subtle vibration that traveled up my spine. Cam's hands remained steady on the wheel. She had expected this. We all had.
I twisted in my seat, looking back through the rear window.
A column of flame and smoke rose into the sky, orange and red fingers shooting upward like some terrible flower blooming in fast motion.
There was no explosion visible from this distance, just fire, hungry and determined, consuming the Gothic mansion that had been our sanctuary, and Alex’s home for more than three decades.
The sight should have horrified me. Instead, I felt a cold satisfaction settle in my bones. Fire erased evidence. Fire bought us time. Fire meant we might actually get Sabine to safety after all.
I turned back to face forward, meeting Cam's eyes briefly. She gave me the smallest nod, a gesture so subtle anyone else might have missed it. But I understood. Phase one complete.
Behind me, Sabine gasped so loudly I heard it over the engine's steady hum. I twisted in my seat to see her pressed against the window, her face a mask of shock and horror.
"What the fuck?!" Her voice cracked.
Cam kept her eyes locked on the asphalt ahead, her expression unchanged. "It was necessary," she said, voice flat as the horizon. Her hands remained perfectly positioned at ten and two on the wheel, our speed never wavering.
I shifted to face Sabine fully. Her eyes reflected twin pillars of fire, pupils contracted to pinpoints despite the van's dimness. "Don't worry, Sabine," I said, keeping my voice steady. "Focus on now. On what's ahead."
Her gaze snapped to mine, tears spilling over.
"But the house..." Her voice trembled like a plucked wire.
"How? Why?" Each tear caught the orange glow as it tracked down her cheek.
I remembered how she'd walked those halls for twelve days, gradually letting down her guard, finding moments of peace in that Gothic monstrosity.
"So they can't track us," I explained, watching her face carefully. "So they don't find your fingerprints there." I paused, letting each reason land. "So we have time to get away."
Sabine looked back at the receding inferno, now just a bright spot against the darkening sky.
I watched comprehension slowly replace shock in her expression.
Her breathing steadied. Her shoulders lowered a fraction.
The kitten pressed its nose against her fingertips through the carrier bars, and she absently stroked its fur.
"Time," she repeated softly, almost to herself. "How much time does it buy us?"
"Enough," I said, though I wasn't certain. "For now, enough."
The road curved toward a bridge spanning the river. Cam slowed our approach.
Without a word, she rolled down her window. Wind rushed in as she unclipped the gate remote from the visor. Her movements were fluid, almost casual, as she tossed it out in a perfect arc. The small black device tumbled through the air before disappearing into the sparkling water below.
I tracked the Range Rover as it followed us onto the bridge.
Kara maintained perfect distance behind us, just as we had rehearsed countless times.
Her window was already down, arm extended.
I watched her flick her wrist, sending her remote following the same trajectory as ours.
It vanished into the river with barely a splash.
Neither of them hesitated or looked back. We had run this scenario so many times that it had become muscle memory. Every movement calculated, every contingency planned for. The precision of it all still impressed me, even after years of working together.
I glanced at Sabine. Her eyes were wide, following the path where both remotes had disappeared. I recognized the moment understanding dawned on her face—we were cutting ties completely. No electronic trail. No way to trace us back to the property. No way for her to return to her old life.
Her gaze met mine, and I saw the weight of it settle on her shoulders.
The only path now was forward, into whatever uncertain future awaited us.
She nodded once, almost imperceptibly, and I knew she understood what we had all accepted long ago: sometimes survival meant burning bridges, both figuratively and literally.
The late afternoon sun slanted through the trees as our van ate up the empty country road.
I watched the speedometer hover at exactly fifty-five, Cam's steady hands never wavering from their perfect ten-and-two position.
In the rearview mirror, the Range Rover maintained its distance.
Twenty yards behind us, just as planned.
I turned to check on Sabine. She hadn't spoken since the bridge. Her profile was sharp against the window, her features cast in gold as she watched the sun begin its slow descent toward the tree line.
I ran through my mental checklist again. Sabine was here, physically unharmed. The cats were safe. Alex was following with Kara, both vehicles intact and on schedule. No injuries. Clean extraction. The plan was working.
But something in Sabine's expression made my chest tighten.
The journalist who had fearlessly exposed the Bellante family now looked lost, her world condensed to this van, this moment, this uncertain journey.
The reflection in her window showed a woman caught between worlds—the one she'd destroyed behind us, the one we were racing toward still formless, undefined.
I wanted to tell her it would be okay, that we knew what we were doing. But I had promised her honesty from the beginning. So I stayed silent and watched the trees blur past us, their shadows stretching longer with every mile.
I checked the time on my watch: 15:37. Alpha in ten hours if we maintained our pace. After that, we'd move to the next location. I knew the route like the back of my hand, though Sabine wouldn't know until we arrived.
The plan was working. We were on schedule.
Our convoy cut through the countryside as the sun melted into the horizon. The Range Rover remained steady behind us. Kara never failed.
Ahead lay Alpha, our first safe house. Temporary refuge. A place to breathe before the next leg.
Behind us, the mansion continued to burn, evidence turning to ash. The Scorpions would likely be mobilizing now, their network lighting up with chatter. But they'd find nothing but charred remains and false leads.
And between those two points existed only this moment: the hum of tires on asphalt, the purr of well-tuned engines, the occasional rustle from the cat carrier. Just movement. Just forward.
Sabine's eyes had lost that wild, haunted look. Her breathing had steadied. The journalist who had stared down the Bellante family was still in there, gathering herself.
I reached back over the seat, my hand finding hers where it rested beside the carrier. Her skin felt cool beneath my fingers. I squeezed once, a silent promise.
She hesitated only a moment before squeezing back, her grip firm and certain.
She didn't let go. Neither did I.
Together, we watched the golden sun swallow the road behind us.