Page 51 of Mr. and Mrs. Novak

In the deserted underground parking lot, Sophia kills the engine but doesn’t get out. I step out of my car and walk over. Her fingers move swiftly through the GPS menu.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Erasing the trip history. If they access the system, I don’t want them tracing my movements."

A few seconds later, she shuts off the screen, opens her bag, and pulls out a cloth soaked in a chemical solution. While she methodically wipes down every surface she touched—steering wheel, handles, controls—I stand guard.

Once she’s satisfied, she grabs her bag, steps out of the car without a backward glance.

"Done. Let’s go."

We both get into my car and leave the parking lot carefully. I take back roads, avoiding major routes. Sophia sits silent beside me, her face tight, eyes flicking constantly to the mirrors.

Eventually, I find a discreet motel in an industrial area.

"We’ll stop here," I announce. "We need to regroup."

She nods, and I park two streets away. After wiping down the car, we walk to the motel.

The receptionist, half-asleep, hands us a key without asking any questions. Once inside the room on the fourth floor, Sophia checks the window, scans the street outside, then sets her bag on the floor and pulls out her phone. Her fingers fly across the screen, typing what looks like an encrypted message.

I watch her in silence, noting the tension in her shoulders and the nervous speed of her movements. When she puts her phone away, she takes out a laptop and sets it on the wobbly desk.

"Are you going to be much longer?" I ask.

"I’m erasing the last links between the cars and us," she replies without looking up. "We’ll have to abandon them for good. I don’t know if those guys had time to get our license plates, but we can’t take any chances."

She types rapidly, focused. Then, without looking at me, she holds out her hand.

"Your registration."

I study her for a moment, then pull the card from my pocket and hand it over. She immediately resumes working.

"Done," she finally says, closing the laptop. "We’ll have to scrap them tomorrow."

She packs her things, kicks off her shoes, and sits on the bed. Her face is tense, exhaustion etched into her features.

"What’s going on, Sophia?" I ask gently. "Why are these guys after you?"

"First, tell me why you were following me."

27. Safe house

SOPHIA

"First, tell me why you were following me," I demand, leaning back against the headboard.

Ruslan takes a few restless steps toward the window and stares out at the street before answering without looking at me.

"I noticed your late-night absences," he says. "I started asking myself questions. I was… worried. Tonight, I saw you leave with the biker. I tried to follow you, but I lost track of you and waited for you to come back. Then I followed you again—and that’s when I realized I wasn’t the only one."

It clicks. Ruslan is the one who sent the sedan into the lamppost and forced the SUV into the intersection where the truck hit it.

He saved my life without even knowing the full story.

"I don’t know what you’re involved in," he continues, "but it’s obvious someone has you in their sights."

I want to talk to him honestly, but I don’t know if I can truly trust him. After all, he’s in love with Natasha. What would he be willing to do to protect her?