"To hide their sister at this remote safehouse while she grieves," I confirmed, sliding a mug toward her. "Perfect cover. They think she's here recovering from trauma, when really she's the one who took the ledgers and gave you the information to expose the family."
Sabine wrapped her hands around the mug but didn't drink. "And they have no idea?"
"Why would they? She's the baby sister. The one they've always protected." I took a sip of my coffee, watching her over the rim.
"So the Bellante family is funding the operation that's hiding their betrayer," Sabine said slowly. Her eyes, sharp despite her exhaustion, narrowed. "And protecting me protects her."
It wasn't a question, but I nodded anyway. "Your story exposed them, but didn't reveal your source. If they find you, they'll make you talk. If you talk..."
"They find out it's Alex," she finished.
"Exactly."
Sabine set her untouched coffee down. "What happens when they find out? Because they will, eventually."
The question hung between us. I had no good answer. I'd run the scenarios a hundred times, calculated the odds, mapped the escape routes. They were all dangerous. But maybe one of them could work. If we got lucky. If we moved fast enough. As long as Alex’s cover held, it was a future problem.
"We have contingencies," I said instead.
Sabine's gaze cut through my professional veneer. "That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have right now."
She studied me for a long moment. I could almost see the gears turning behind those intelligent eyes, the journalist brain dissecting my non-answer, finding the holes in our plan that I'd been trying not to think about.
"This can't last forever," she said quietly.
My stomach tightened. She was right. She saw what Alex refused to acknowledge, what I tried not to dwell on during my night watches. The Bellantes would work through their list of suspects. Eventually, they'd start looking closer to home. Eventually, they'd question why their baby sister had insisted on this particular security team.
"One day at a time," I said, the words tasting hollow even as I spoke them. "That's how we survive this."
But looking at Sabine, at the clear-eyed assessment in her gaze, I wondered if either of us believed it.
I reached for the remote and unmuted the kitchen TV. The morning news anchor's voice filled the room, her practiced concern not quite masking the excitement of a juicy story.
"Investigative journalist Sabine Barrett remains missing, now day eight," she announced as Sabine's professional headshot appeared on screen. "Colleagues at the North Coast Globe continue to express concern for her whereabouts."
Sabine froze beside me, coffee mug suspended halfway to her lips. I watched her face pale as her own image stared back at her from the screen.
The segment cut to a woman in a charcoal suit, standing on the steps of the Globe building. The bottom banner identified her as Barbara Welsh, Legal Counsel.
"Ms. Barrett has not been in contact with anyone at the North Coast Globe since the day her Bellante family exposé piece was published," Welsh stated, her tone measured and careful. "We're concerned for her safety given the nature of her investigative work. Anyone with information is urged to contact Detective Michael Reilly with the city police."
Sabine set her mug down with a sharp click against the counter. "Why is Barb talking to the press? Where's Mark?" Her eyes narrowed, journalist instincts kicking in despite her shock. "Mark knows I'm with security. He helped arrange this."
She turned to me, confusion giving way to alarm. "Why would they report me missing?"
I kept my face neutral, though my mind raced through possibilities, none of them good. "Your editor knows you're protected. He doesn't know where."
"That doesn't make sense." Sabine shook her head. "Even if he doesn't know the location, he knows I'm safe. He wouldn't let them file a missing persons report."
I chose my words carefully. "For your safety, we kept the location classified."
Something in my voice must have betrayed my uncertainty, because Sabine's eyes locked onto mine, searching.
"I need to call him," she said, already moving toward the door. "Let him know I'm okay. He's probably worried sick."
I stepped into her path. "No outside communications. You know that."
