Shadowing You (The Wright Heroes of Maine #10)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

Mei Lin inhaled the scents of diesel and old upholstery as she would the finest incense, watching the skyscrapers shrink in the rear window—and willing the bus to move faster.

She’d been out less than four hours, and she still half-believed she’d wake up any minute from the cruel dream.

The new warden—a thin woman whose tight bun highlighted her stark features—had summoned Mei Lin that morning and said, without looking up from her desk, that there was no documentation to support her detention.

No intake forms. No court order. No record of Mei Lin’s name in any official register.

The warden had spoken as she might have about a scheduling error, utterly unconcerned.

A small inconvenience, easily corrected.

Then she’d slid a manila envelope across the desk. When their eyes met for a blink, Mei Lin saw a flash of concern and compassion, gone so fast she wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it.

Mei Lin hadn’t dared to reach for the envelope. She’d learned her lesson about yearning for things, about asking questions. She’d learned to stifle her curiosity—and her hope.

“Go on,” the warden had said. “It’s yours.”

Mei Lin did what she was told.

She clutched the envelope in her lap now, checking it every few seconds to make sure everything was still there.

Her passport—stamped and valid—her national ID, and her cell phone, which had a crack in the screen, the result of her dropping it from her moped in 2020.

The envelope also included some cash—four hundred yuan in mixed bills, worn soft.

Had it been the warden’s money? Remembering her look of compassion, Mei Lin thought so.

It had paid for a ticket out of town. She might be able to squeeze a few meals out of what was left, but it wouldn’t last long. It wouldn’t get her out of China and to the life in the West she’d once planned.

The final things she’d found in the envelope were her engagement ring and wedding band, both barely worn.

The rings were too large now, sliding on her bony finger, and she worried they’d fall off if she didn’t pay attention. She should put them somewhere safe.

But safe didn’t exist for Mei Lin.

The sparkling diamond blurred in her vision. She’d believed everything Ethan had said to her. She’d been so sure of his love.

The bus lurched in traffic, and she snapped her gaze up, covering the rings with her other hand. But there was no sense hiding them now.

A camera was bracketed at the front corner of the bus, its small red light steady.

She’d counted four on the platform before she’d boarded.

Two on the bridge they’d just passed under.

In the years she’d been inside, her country had changed—and not for the better.

She’d heard that officials had used the pandemic as an excuse to step up monitoring.

There were lenses everywhere, logging face after face after face.

She knew exactly why she’d been trapped in that prison—and exactly who had arranged it. The question was, did Dr. Lu Feng know she’d been released? Was he already searching for her?

This time, if he caught up with her, he wouldn’t take the chance that she’d get free again. He’d kill her. Or worse—send her wherever he’d sent all the others. Why hadn’t he done that in the first place? He would have been rid of her and made a little money for his trouble.

Thank You, Lord.

Because there were worse things than prison. There were worse things than death.

When Mei Lin was first imprisoned, her emotions would swing between blind hope—“Of course he’ll come for me”—and deep despair—“I will die in this place.”

When she swung low, when she was so low she could barely force herself out of bed, when she cried until her tears soaked the thin mattress, āyí, the old woman who’d shared Mei Lin’s narrow bunk for years, would take her hand and whisper in her ear.

“The Lord sees you. The Lord knows you. The Lord loves you. And we will not die here.”

āyí had been so certain.

Three years later, āyí lay beside her on their shared bunk, small and still—and cold. Before Mei Lin touched her, she knew her friend was gone.

Mei Lin had held her cold hand one last time and prayed for the family who would receive word. Then she’d knocked on the cell door and told the guard, and that had been the end of it.

āyí had died there, despite her certainty that she wouldn’t.

That was when Mei Lin had quit grieving and quit hoping. The Lord was with her, and for whatever reason, He didn’t rescue her. After six long years behind bars, her only prayer was that God would take her home.

Here she was, though. Out of prison.

But not yet free.

She secured the envelope in the inside pocket of her jacket, which had been returned to her with the rest of the clothes she’d worn when she was arrested.

Her sweater hung off her bony shoulders, and she’d had to fold over the waistband of her jeans to keep them from falling down.

The sneakers were old but so much better than the cotton-soled slippers she’d worn in prison.

And she’d nearly cried when she’d seen the socks.

Her feet were warm for the first time in months.

She turned her phone over in her hand. The warden had charged it, a surprising kindness. Though Mei Lin hadn’t done more than light up the screen, it was already drained to sixty-three percent. How long would it last if she made a call?

She would never make it to the border and out of China without more money. And she was desperate, desperate, to get out of China.

She pulled up her husband’s number, filed under the name Doctor America.

She’d given him the moniker when she first met him on a mission trip in Central America.

She’d been helping dispense medications.

He’d been assisting the physicians. She hadn’t been the only woman there who’d been drawn to the handsome student.

Why he’d focused his attention on her, Mei Lin had never understood.

The bus moved faster as they left the bulk of the traffic behind, the city thinning into clusters of gray apartment blocks and then into open farmland, brown in the late fall. She waited until the last tall building dropped below the horizon behind her.

Then, after a prayer for courage, she dialed.

It rang four times.

“Hello?” His voice was lower than she remembered, resonating through her like a vibration.

“Ethan?” She swallowed a sob that clogged her throat. “It’s me. I’m out.”

Silence. Two seconds, maybe three.

“Who is this?” He sounded angry. “How did you get this number?”

The words were a slap.

How could he not know her?

She would end the call in a fit of fury if she didn’t need his help. “It’s me, Ethan,” she said, then added, “Mei Lin.” As if he might have forgotten his wife’s name.

“It can’t—” He stopped. “Mei Lin? Is it really you?” Disbelief and…something else carried over the line. Wonder, maybe. Hope?

“I need your help.” She kept her volume low, hoping nobody sitting nearby was listening or spoke good English. “I need to get to Hong Kong. A ticket on the high-speed—”

“I don’t understand. They told me—”

“My phone will not last. Can you help me? Send money?”

A long pause. “Are you safe?”

“I-I don’t know.” Honest, if not reassuring. “Right now, I think yes, but I must leave.”

“What’s going on, sweetheart? Where have—?”

“There’s no time. I will explain. But right now—”

“Of course. Whatever you need. I’ll get you a flight, just tell me—”

“I’ll take a train from Zhengzhou to Hong Kong.”

“Okay, I’ll get you a—”

The call dropped.

She pulled the phone from her ear and looked at the screen. It was dead.

He said he’d help. His voice had been…confused. But she’d heard hope, hadn’t she? And longing?

Or had she heard what she’d wanted to hear?

The man who’d pledged to love her until death hadn’t come for her. Maybe he hadn’t known where to look.

But six years was a long time to search. Surely, in six years, he could’ve tracked her down.

Out the window, the fields ran flat to the horizon, offering no hiding places. The sooner she left Asia, the better.

Right now, she needed a phone charger, money, and a train ticket that would get her out of China before Lu Feng caught up with her. She had a handful of yuan and a passport and a nearly useless phone and maybe, possibly a way of escape.

It was more than she’d had when she’d woken up that morning.

She was out of prison, but she wasn’t safe yet.