I locked my phone, but my shoulders stayed tight. I told myself it was just noise. People talk. People posture.
Still, my gaze kept drifting to my coworkers hovering at the windows lining three walls. I told myself it was fine. My car was old, but it was fully insured. I could replace it.
A delivery guy came in through the side entrance, holding a stack of padded envelopes. The security badge clipped to his shirt didn’t hide the fact that I had never seen him before. My eyes followed him until he was out of sight.
The clock on the wall ticked loud enough to make me notice it. I flexed my hands, stretching my fingers until my knuckles popped. My coffee had gone cold.
Someone from copy passed by with a smile. “Hell of a piece,” she said, resting her hand briefly on my shoulder.
“Thanks,” I said. My voice was even, but my throat felt tight. I stood and walked to Mark’s door, tapping on the frame. He was on the phone, but looked up and nodded toward the chair across from his desk. I sat, rolling my neck. The headache was worse than before.
“A detective will be up to ask questions and take your statement. I have Barb from Legal coming over to sit in on that.”
“Is that necessary, Mark?” I squeezed the bridge of my nose. I knew the story was going to be a bombshell, but I didn’t expect it to go quite like this.
“Yeah Sabine. It’s necessary.”
I took a deep breath. “Fine. Tell me about this security business. Tell me how you know they’re not connected to Bellante.”
“That was my first question, whether they’re connected to anyone here. My cousin in Philly gave me the name of a company he’s used before. They're sending a female team. Ex-military, vetted, clean. They’ll assess the threat, decide what needs to be done, and do it. That’s what we’re paying them for.”
“Decide what needs to be done and do it? Do what exactly? Shadow me? Keep my dishwasher from exploding? How am I supposed to work with a babysitter on my ass?”
He stood, shaking his head at me, and crossed to his door, closing it firmly. “You’re not going to be working for a while, Sabine.”
I sat up straighter, my shoulders tightening instantly. “The fuck does that mean?”
“You’re in danger, that’s what it means. Come on, Sabine. You know how the Bellantes operate. You have documents that can destroy them. This story… the AG will open an investigation. She won’t have a choice. If all goes well, they’ll arrest these motherfuckers. But the network is big, wide.” He exhaled loudly, running a hand through his unruly hair. “It’s a fucking hornet’s nest, that’s what it is.”
“So what? I just sit in my apartment and watch reality TV and wait for… what? I’ve never run from danger before, not with any of my stories.”
“I don’t know. I really don’t. But this isn’t some crank calling your desk or sending vague threats. The car is a clear escalation. The goddamn story’sonly been out since four this morning and we’re already waiting for a fucking detective over your burned-out car!” His phone rang, cutting him off just when he was getting loud. He answered, listened for a moment, then hung it up as he stood. “Barb’s waiting for us in the conference room.”
“Great.” I followed him back through the bullpen to the hall that led to the elevators.
Barb was already at the head of the long table where we held morning meetings and planned stories. Her black suit was immaculate. She set her briefcase on the table and gestured to the seats on one side of her.
“All right,” she said, hands folded. “You’re not in trouble, Sabine. But you’re a reporter who has published a high-profile story, and your property was just destroyed in what looks like a targeted act. The police want details, obviously. We’re going to limit those details to what’s relevant to the arson itself.”
Mark gave me a pointed look.
Barb went on. “If they ask about your work, you tell them to feel free to read the story in today’s paper. If they ask about anything beyond what’s directly in that expose, you say you can’t discuss unpublished material. If they ask about sources, you say that’s protected under federal law. Don’t speculate, don’t guess, don’t try to ‘help’ fill in blanks. Answer only what you know for certain about the fire.”
“I don’t know anything about the fire. Hell, I only have Mark and Zach’s word that it was my car that caught fire.”
“Oh, it is your car,” she said, looking over her reading glasses at me. “In any case, stick to the basics. I’ll be in the room with you the whole time.”
A knock rattled the glass panel in the door before either of us could say more. A tall man in a rumpled suit and long coat opened the door tentatively. Barb stood and crossed to him, her heels clicking sharply on the linoleum.
“Detective Michael Reilly with the City Police, ma’am,” the man said, extending his hand.
“I’m Barbara Welsh. Attorney for North Coast Globe, and I’m here on behalf of the paper and Ms. Barrett in her capacity as an employee.”
He gave Barb a polite nod before looking at me. “Sabine Barrett?”
I nodded and he stepped closer, extending his hand to shake mine.
“Ms. Barrett,” he said, flipping open a notebook. “Your car was torched less than an hour ago in the Globe parking garage. Security footage shows a hooded individual breaking the driver’s side window and pouring accelerant. Do you have any enemies?”
