Sabine shifted in her seat, the leather creaking. She looked at me in the mirror. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
“Not yet,” I said.
Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t push. That restraint told me she understood more about her position than she’d admit out loud.
The miles rolled by. The highway curved north, and the late light slanted across the hood. Ellie adjusted the vent, settling in for the drive.
We were clear for now. I’d keep it that way.
Two hours passed without incident. The highway stretched ahead in a long ribbon of dark pavement, lit by the glow of our headlights and the red eyes of the traffic in front of us. Sabine had fallen asleep an hour ago, her head turned toward the window, her breathing slow and even. The hum of the tires and the steady sweep of the lane markers kept a rhythm I could measure against the time left to our destination.
Ellie shifted in her seat, her gaze locked on the side mirror. “You see that?”
I checked mine. A dark sedan had merged two cars behind us. Same shape and tint as the one we had shaken earlier.
“Yeah,” I said, keeping my voice low.
The sedan held its position for half a mile, not gaining, not dropping back. Too consistent to be a coincidence. I eased off the gas, let a delivery truck pass, then slipped in behind it. The sedan followed, holding the gap.
I weighed the options. No point in pushing speed; that would only confirm we’d noticed. Instead, I took the next exit, guiding us onto a wide curve that fed into a frontage road. The lights of a closed strip mall slid past on our right. I kept turning, taking a series of side streets that doubled us back toward the highway from a different angle.
Ellie kept her eyes on the mirrors, occasionally glancing out into the cross streets. The sedan shadowed us through the turns, even when a semi slid between us.
“Still there,” she said.
I kept my hands light on the wheel, but my focus stayed tight. One more set of turns, then I’d make a call on where to drop out of sight. Sabine shifted in the back seat but didn’t wake. I didn’t want her waking to the sight of me running hard from a tail. Better to keep it measured.
When the next intersection cleared, I turned left, speeding toward a stretch of road I knew passed near a grocery store lot. That would be dark enough to work without drawing attention.
The grocery store lot sat on the far side of a two-lane road, its single row of streetlights casting weak yellow pools across empty asphalt. One light near the back corner was out, leaving a wedge of deep shadow between a dumpster enclosure and the side wall of the building. I steered us toward it, letting the SUV roll to a stop with the nose angled toward the exit.
Ellie scanned the perimeter without moving much, her eyes flicking between the mirrors and the lot’s only entrance. Her hand rested near her thigh, not on her weapon but close enough for speed.
I killed the headlights but left the engine running. For a few seconds, the quiet was heavy, broken only by the low idle and the faint click under the hood.
In the rearview mirror, Sabine shifted, blinking against the gloom. “Why are we stopping?”
“We’re making a security check,” I said.
Her brows drew together as she glanced out her window at the empty lot. “Here?”
“Here’s fine.” I pushed my door open and stepped out into the cool air.
My boots made a muted scrape against the pavement as I circled toward her side. Ellie stayed put, her gaze tracking a passing set of headlights on the street.
Sabine straightened in her seat when I came into view. She still looked half-asleep, but there was an edge of wariness in the way her fingers gripped the strap of her bag.
I opened her door. “Step out. We’re doing a sweep.”
Her mouth opened like she might argue, but she shut it again, watching me instead. A beat later, she swung her legs toward the open door.
“Stand here,” I said, stepping back just enough to give her room. She stopped in front of me, chin slightly lifted, hands at her sides. My hands skimmed down the seams of her jacket. No irregular weight, no weapons, just the slow rise and fall of her breathing, steady until my thumb brushed the inside of her wrist. The faint jump wasn’t fear.
“Why?” she asked, voice low.
“To make sure you’re not carrying anything someone could use to find you.” I crouched to check her legs, one at a time. My hand skimmed the outside of her calf before sweeping under the cuff of her pants to check her ankle. She shifted her weight, just slightly, when my fingers brushed the side of her shoe.
“Arms up,” I said.
