Page 27 of Shadowing You

Ethan caught her before she hit the pavement.

“Here.” He swung the backpack from his back to his front and crouched, looking at her over his shoulder. “Hop on.”

“I can⁠—”

“Now, Mei Lin.”

She was far too accustomed to taking orders. She climbed onto his back.

He straightened without comment and kept moving, faster now that she wasn’t slowing him down.

Six years ago, she would have been mortified. Now, she watched the alley behind them over her shoulder, trying to be grateful instead of ashamed.

They spilled from the mouth of the alley, right in front of a car idling at the curb. A man was leaning against the passenger door.

She gasped.

Ethan froze.

“Taibo,” the man said, though whether it was a name or some kind of super-secret password, she had no idea.

Either way, she felt Ethan’s relief.

Somehow, her American husband had arranged for transportation.

She slid down until her feet hit the sidewalk, then climbed into the backseat. Ethan followed her and closed the door.

Seconds after Taibo got behind the wheel, he pulled away from the curb.

She looked out the back window.

Nobody was following them. They were safe, for now.

The car smelled of stale cigarettes, but Mei Lin wasn’t complaining as the driver weaved farther and farther from the apartment complex.

When he’d pulled away from the curb, he’d asked Ethan where they were going.

“Are we safe?” Ethan had asked. “Or were we seen on camera?”

“It was a dead spot,” Taibo said. “I chose it for a reason.”

He’d chosen it? Not Ethan? Too many things were happening that Mei Lin didn’t understand. She needed to stop letting the world—even her husband—dictate her life.

Taibo tried again. “You have a destination⁠—?”

“I don’t know yet,” Ethan snapped. “Just get us away from here.”

“Aye aye, captain.” Taibo’s accent was strong, making the flippant expression almost humorous.

That had been twenty minutes ago.

Mei Lin had watched the city give way to highway, highway to a two-lane road threading through withered fields.

Ethan had been on the phone for most of their ride, voice low, shoulders hunched toward the door. He was talking low and fast. She’d caught the words Hong Kong. Flights. Someone named Michael.

She’d let the English wash over her without trying to make sense of it. Her body hummed with spent adrenaline, and she’d decided, somewhere between the second alley and Taibo’s car, that it was easier to let Ethan think for her.

Where had the real Mei Lin gone? Had Lu Feng and prison really killed her?