Page 70 of The Senator: Raphael

“Sorry for making you wait so long. I didn’t think there was so much to do for a freaking wedding cake,” I mumble to Sven as we step out of the bakery.

“No problem. They gave me plenty of cookies to keep me entertained.” He winks at me, making me chuckle.

He’s not one to talk a lot, but I’ve discovered he has a good sense of humor. I don’t know how he doesn’t go nuts sticking so close to me, doing basically nothing but looking around and keeping others from coming too close. I would be bored out of my mind.

I walk next to him toward the SUV that’s became part of my daily routine. A car honks, startling me, and when I turn around to possibly flip them off, my heart plummets into my stomach. On the other side of the street sits the same beat-up pickup I noticed outside the wedding dress shop. Same rusty patches, same muddy plates, same pine tree air freshener hanging from the rearview mirror. The only thing missing is the guy with the baseball cap. I wouldn’t think twice about it if we weren’t on the opposite side of a city with almost four million residents. What are the chances of someone hitting the same two places less than two weeks apart in neighborhoods fifteen miles away?

I grab Sven’s arm and his eyes dart to my face. “I think someone is following me.” My voice trembles as the fear slips down into my gut and clenches it tight.

He looks around, taking in every face. “Are you sure?” His gaze never leaves the street and the parked cars surrounding us.

“See the pickup parked on the other side? The beat-up one?”

He nods.

“It was outside the shop where I tried on wedding dresses. I didn’t give it much thought at the time, but I noticed it,” I explain in a rush, stumbling on my words. “There was a guy with a baseball cap inside.”

He grabs my arm and nudges me quickly toward the SUV. He unlocks it, opens the door, and helps me inside.

“Stay here and don’t move. It’s probably nothing, but I’d rather check to be sure. I’ll lock the doors. Don’t freak out, okay?” He smiles at me, but I can see the tension in his every movement.

From the car I watch him cross the street, phone on his ear, to look inside the pickup while he talks. He finishes the conversation, and before turning around, he scrapes the mud from the license plate and takes a picture. It all takes less than two minutes, but my heart never stops hammering in my chest. Something is wrong. Something is very wrong.

Sven jumps into the car and turns around with a smile. Sven rarely smiles, especially if you don’t crack a joke.

“There’s nothing strange about the pickup. I don’t think it’s anything to worry about it, but I want to bring you home and check on the plates, if that’s okay with you?” He asks me with way too much nonchalance tonotworry me.

I try to smile and nod. “Yes, please, bring me home.” The feeling is so surreal that all I want is to go home and lock myself inside my office.

Today, Raphael should be working from home, and I can’t wait to see his reassuring smile and know I’m safe.

Sven starts the car and dives into the traffic with a bit more urgency than before. We travel at a steady pace for a few blocks, his eyes on the road in front of him for half the time, in the rearview mirror the other half. He’s not looking at me. He’s checking the cars behind us and the feeling we’re being watched is overwhelming.

My stomach clenches in fear and when I see him pick up speed, I almost throw up. “What’s going on?” I ask, leaning between the two front seats.

Sven doesn’t answer immediately, speeding through traffic and checking regularly behind us. I turn around but I don’t see anything but a lot of cars stuck in Los Angeles traffic. But when Sven suddenly cuts into the lane on the left, I see the pickup behind us.

I can feel the blood draining from my face and my heart beating erratically in my chest. I’m sure I can’t breathe.

“Get down on the floor and don’t move,” Sven orders in a firm voice.

I’m so stunned by his command I sit frozen in place, staring at him in the rearview mirror.

“Now!” he barks and I jump in my seat.

I fumble with the seatbelt, finding it difficult to remove. It takes me three tries before getting it right and dropping to the floor of the car. Hiding between the front and the back seats, I can’t see the street or other cars, but I can feel Sven picking up speed and cursing under his breath.

The next few minutes pass in a blur. I’m so frightened trying to figure out where we’re going and what’s happening that I don’t realize Sven has slowed down and come to a stop until someone opens the back door near my feet, and I squeal in terror when he touches my leg.

“It’s me. It’s Raphael.” His sweet voice penetrates the fog of fear and confusion.

I crawl over to him and wrap my arms around his neck. He grabs my waist and pulls me out of the car, and when I put my feet on the ground, I realize we’re home.

As soon as I can find my voice, I blurt out, “Someone’s following me! Someone’s been following me for weeks.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I know,” he whispers in my ear, tightening his grip around my body.

I push away from him. “You know?” My strained voice comes out like a squeal. I look at Raphael’s face and see the guilt filling his eyes to the brim. His words sink in.

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