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, itsmantle 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.
