Page 83 of Shadowing You

“Avoid cameras,” Michael said. “Avoid main roads and big cities, where the surveillance net is thick.”

“So I need to avoid cities,” Ethan clarified, “and also, to be in a city?”

Gavin chuckled.

“Just not a tiny village,” Michael said. “But remember, small towns have surveillance, too, so don’t get complacent.”

“Great.” Was there enough sarcasm in his tone? “Easy as pie.”

“You’ve got this, son.” Gavin’s voice was kind. “You’re intelligent, logical, and capable. You can do this.”

He closed his eyes and let his father’s encouragement roll around in his mind, looking for a place to land. “I’ll reach out tomorrow. Tell Mei Lin’s parents she’s healthy and eager to see them.”

“We’re all praying,” Michael said.

“Your whole family,” Gavin added.

All of them? Even his half sisters? He didn’t have time to dwell on that question, even if he hoped it was true. “Okay. Thanks.” He ended the call and powered down his phone.

The climb down had been harrowing because the ground had been slick. The climb up was difficult because it was steep, but at least the sunshine had dried much of the path. The trees thinned as he gained elevation, and the light went from dim to dimmer by degrees.

He hoped Mei Lin had gotten enough rest, because ready or not, they were coming down this mountain in the morning.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Mei Lin paced the length of the cabin. Ten steps to the window. Ten to the door. The boards creaked under her, but she had nothing else to do, and sitting still only made the worry crowd in.

She’d turned off the overhead bulb, using only the lantern for dim light, just in case someone came who wasn’t her husband. She’d watched the last of the gold drain out of the sky. The glass held only her reflection now—pale, drawn, her mother’s mouth turned down at the corners.

He’d be back. Of course he would.

Mama used to tell her not to worry. Why grieve for a storm before the clouds gather?

Had Mama ever been abandoned? Perhaps she would worry too.

Mei Lin crossed to the window again.

Six years she had waited, and no one had located her. She’d decided that her grandmother had been right about her—more trouble than she was worth.

She had taught herself, over the years, to stop watching the door.

Then Ethan had come. And now he was somewhere down a dark mountain in a country that was hunting him. If he didn’t return, it would mean something had happened to him—deported or worse, jailed—and she would be alone in a hut in the woods with a pouch of evidence and no idea what to do next.

Father, please.

She pressed her forehead against the cold glass. Her breath fogged a circle on it, then shrank, then bloomed again.

Something moved at the edge of the clearing.

The pines along the trail bent under a breeze, throwing soft shadows across the open ground. That was all it was. Wind. She’d been staring into the dark for so long that she was inventing things.

Then a shape materialized, a man tucked among the trees. He turned his head one way, then the other, taking in the cabin.

The moon found his face.

Her breath caught. She grabbed the latch, pulled the door open, and ran.

She crossed the open ground and launched herself into his arms, her face pressed into the rough weave of his coat. He smelled like pine sap and dirt.