I exhaled shakily, uncurling my cramped legs. My journalist's instinct to observe kicked in despite my fear. Alex's closet was immaculate. Rows of dresses I'd never seen her wear hung in perfect alignment. Tailored suits in charcoal and navy. Silk blouses. Designer labels I recognized from fashion magazines. Nothing like the practical tactical wear she'd sported since becoming my bodyguard.
My gaze fixed on a midnight blue evening gown. The price tag still dangled from the sleeve. Three thousand dollars. My entire month's salary at the paper.
My mind raced, connecting dots I should have seen before. Arturo Bellante. My investigation had uncovered his network of legitimate businesses—gas stations throughout the state, laundromats and parking garages stretching up toPhiladelphia. The perfect cover for washing the family's blood money. Literally laundering it.
I pressed my palms against my temples. If Arturo Bellante had found us, if he knew his sister was the one who betrayed their family, we were all in danger. And it was my fault for publishing that exposé.
Cam returned, her face grim. "Clear," she said, motioning me forward with a quick jerk of her hand.
I followed her down the stairs, my legs still trembling. At the bottom, I found Alex frozen in the open doorway, her silhouette rigid against the afternoon light. Kara and Ellie stood in the living room, their eyes darting between Alex and each other. The tension in the air felt thick enough to choke on.
Alex turned slowly. Her face had gone pale, all the blood drained away. "They know it was me," she said. Her voice sounded hollow, like it came from somewhere far away. "You know the plan."
For a heartbeat, nobody moved. Then the room exploded into motion.
Kara snapped into action first, her voice cutting through the chaos. "Two hours max. One hour would be better." She was already moving toward the weapons safe.
Ellie nodded once, her usual warmth replaced by cold efficiency. "I'll wipe the drives," she said, turning toward the bank of monitors in command room. Her fingers flew across her phone, probably triggering remote protocols.
Cam brushed past me without a word, heading for the garage. I heard keys jingling in her pocket.
Alex grabbed my shoulders, her fingers digging in hard enough that I winced. Her eyes locked with mine, and for a second, I saw something there I'd never seen before. Fear.
"Sabine, go pack. Now." She gave me a gentle push toward the stairs. "Essentials only. We won't be coming back."
I stood frozen, watching as they dismantled our safe house with practiced precision. They'd planned for this moment while I'd been blissfully typing away at my exposé, thinking I was the one in control of this story.
I hurried up the stairs as quickly as I could manage, heart hammering against my ribs. In my room, I stared at my scattered belongings. The life I'd built over the last twelve days, reduced to what I could carry.
I stared at my belongings, still crammed in the suitcase and scattered across the bench at the foot of my bed. Twelve days in this house, and I'd never unpacked. Just lived like a vagabond, plucking clean clothes from the pile each morning, tossing dirty ones into a growing heap beside the nightstand.
My hands trembled as I gathered what I could. The half-empty bottle of shampoo from the shower. Three notebooks filled with my cramped handwriting. The memory box from my apartment closet that I'd insisted on bringing but had not opened.
Footsteps pounded up and down the hallway. Voices called out instructions. The urgency in their tones made my stomach clench.
This wasn't a drill. This wasn't practice. This was real.
Two hours to vanish. Maybe less.
I might not survive this. The thought hit me like a physical blow as I stuffed everything into my shoulder bag. The zipper caught on fabric, and I yanked it so hard the metal track nearly split.
Memories of the past week flooded back. How I'd raged about the cameras in every room. How I'd blamed them for Mark's death. How I'd accused them of betrayal when they were just doing their jobs.
My anger seemed so stupid now. So petty.
They'd given me space when I needed it. They'd respected my grief. And now they might die protecting me because I couldn't leave well enough alone. Because I had to publish that story. Because I thought the public's right to know trumped everything else.
I zipped the bag closed and took one last look at the room that had been my sanctuary. The weight of my choices pressed down on my shoulders as I headed for the door.
I carried my bags downstairs and set them in the foyer, then moved toward the command room doorway.
Inside, Kara pulled hard drives and memory cards from their slots, tossing each into a metal box with practiced efficiency. Her movements were quick, almost mechanical.
Beside her, Ellie's eyes darted between the laptop screen showing perimeter camera feeds and her hands, which unplugged and coiled cables with the precision of a surgeon.
They moved around each other without speaking, without looking, anticipating the other's next step like dancers who had performed the same routine for years.
I stood watching them work in perfect synchronization, suddenly feeling like an intruder. Neither of them glanced up or acknowledged my presence.
