Shadow Woman: A Novel (25 page)

What didn’t fit was the surveillance. Why watch her at all? If he intended to kill her, he’d had other opportunities before this morning.

Because he wasn’t the boss. Someone else, somewhere, had analyzed the information on her and made the decision. X was part of the wet team.

Wet team
. Her head throbbed, and she stumbled to a stop, her vision blurring … and then the pain faded.

Lizzy inhaled deeply, braced herself, and deliberately made herself think, “Wet team.”

No pain. She started walking again.

It was as if each time her conscious thoughts ventured into an area that had previously been blocked, her brain was getting shocked, as if she’d touched an electrified fence. But once that fence was down, she could go to that section again without getting shocked.

Okay, hokey analogy, but it worked for her. When she had the time, she’d wonder how she even knew what a wet team was, but right now she had more pressing concerns.

About a block down the street she saw the neon lights from a bar. She started to cross to the other side to avoid the bright lights that would make her too easy to spot, if anyone was looking there, but then it struck her that there was no better place to find a car with the keys inside. Drunks did serve their purpose, now and then.

She hurried down the sidewalk, taking occasional glances behind her, but her luck was holding. She even smiled a little, thinking of X back at the motel parking lot, still trying to start his motorcycle. No, by now he should have found the severed spark plug wires, unless he was taking the time to thoroughly search the old motel. She could only hope her luck was that good. She’d allow herself to hope, but she wouldn’t bet the farm on it. She’d continue with her own plan.

She stopped before she reached the bar and studied the parking lot, looking for men outside taking a smoking break, which would be a situation she wanted to avoid. She didn’t see anyone, so she eased forward. Starting at the back of the parking lot, working her way to the front, gave her more cover for a longer period of time; she’d be exposed at the street for only as long as it took her to check that last line of cars, and maybe not even then if they were all newer models.

She checked only older cars that weren’t as likely to have active alarm systems, looking in the windows to see if they were unlocked, or maybe even had the keys in the ignition or the
cup holders. People did stuff like that all the time. She didn’t have all night, and luck wasn’t with her. Even the drunks took care to lock their car doors in this part of town.

Disappointed, Lizzy sought the shadows of a Dumpster and leaned against the side of it, ignoring the smell, ignoring the fact that the cheap-ass drugstore tennis shoes were already rubbing a blister on the heel of her right foot, feeling the presence of X as acutely as if he were breathing down her neck. She’d slowed him down, but she had come nowhere near stopping him. She had no idea how, but they clearly had some means of locating her. Now when he caught her he’d just be mad.

And he would catch her, if she didn’t find wheels now.

The bar door opened and she sank back deeper into the shadows. She heard soft voices, getting louder as the people came toward her, but she stayed where she was. She was as well hidden here as she’d be anywhere else. A couple walked past her, arm in arm. Maybe—no. She dismissed the idea almost immediately. If she was going to jack a car, she didn’t need to take on two people. They’d come out of the bar, sure, but neither of them was staggering or weaving, or talking too loud. If they’d been drunk she might have been able to overpower them both, but they weren’t. She watched as they got into a dark red crossover vehicle, talking the entire time, and never even glanced in her direction. They pulled out of the parking lot, and she was once more alone.

That truth hit her like a ton of bricks. She was literally and completely alone. There was no one she could call for help, not without giving her location away and putting anyone who might be willing to give her a hand in serious danger. There in the humid night, crouching by a Dumpster, she felt scared and small and helpless.

Instantly she rebelled. She’d admit to the scared—she was scared spitless—but she was damned if she was helpless. One way or the other, she’d either get away or go down fighting.
And if she fought hard enough, even if she lost the battle, the disturbance might attract enough attention that they didn’t get away with whatever it was they were doing.

Boy, that was some solace.

The bar door opened again, and a man half-stumbled his way through the lines of cars. He was singing some country song to himself, not loudly, but enough so that she could tell he’d never make a living at it. At least he was a happy drunk, and he was alone.

He sang the same two lines over and over as he shuffled unsteadily across the gritty parking lot. He jingled his keys in accompaniment.

Lizzy swiftly ran through her choices. She could wait until he reached his car so she knew which one was his, knock him down, take the keys, and drive off, but how long would she have before a report was filed? Not long, and more than anything she needed time. Another approach was called for, and this happy guy seemed to fit the bill.

She stepped out of the shadow of the Dumpster and put a smile on her face as she walked toward him. “Hi.”

He took a single step back, surprised, and then he smiled, too. “Hi. Where did you come from?”

Her drunk was under thirty, thin, at least six feet tall, and dressed in jeans, tennis shoes, and a worn tee shirt that revealed just how skinny he really was. Even though he was a lot taller than she was, she could take him in a fair fight … not that she was known for fighting fair…

She quickly dismissed that last, odd thought. “I was just hanging out, and I noticed that you really shouldn’t be driving in your very happy condition.”

He shook the hand that held the keys in her direction. “I can drive just fine.”

“I’m sure you can, but since it’s not necessary, why don’t you let me drive you home?”

His face lit up. He had a really sweet smile. “Hey! Are you with one of those volunteer groups that drives people home when they’re tipsy?”

Tipsy? This guy was so drunk, he was about two seconds from landing on his ass.

“Yes I am,” she replied, seizing the opportunity he’d just given her.

“Mothers of … no, wait … Desnit … nesigda … drivers.”

“You’re exactly right,” she said firmly. “I’m with Mothers of Designated Drivers, and we really should go so I can get back here and help someone else, later tonight.”

He gave her that sweet smile again. “Okay.” Then he handed her the keys—with a remote, thank goodness—and waited.

“Good decision,” she said, and hit the unlock button on the remote. Lights flashed on a car close to the end of the line.

“Hey, that was smart,” he said as she took his arm and led him to his car. He leaned so heavily on her, stumbling, that she began weighing the odds they’d both end up sprawled on the pavement. If he went down, he’d take her with him.

But they made it. She propped him against the car, a white compact, foreign made but common enough to blend in on the interstate.

“What’s your name, honey?” she asked as she opened the back door for him. He all but fell inside and lay down on the seat, twisting to fit into the small space.

“Sean,” he said. He added his last name, but mangled it so much it actually sounded like “subwoofer.” The odds were almost a hundred percent against that, but she didn’t care about his last name so she didn’t ask for clarification.

“Nice car, Sean.” She tossed her bag onto the front passenger-seat floorboard and adjusted the seat and the mirrors. “You keep it so clean.”

“It’s my sister’s car.” He giggled; a weird sound coming from a semi-grown man. “I’m not supposed to drive it, but her car is
a lot nicer than mine, and she’s out of town so she’ll never know.” Then he made an exaggerated shushing sound.

“I won’t tell, I promise. It’ll be our little secret. Now, you take a nap while I drive you home.”

“Okay,” he said agreeably, and then he went silent.

Lizzy pulled out of the parking lot and turned in the opposite direction of the motel. What was X doing? Surely by now he had at least tried to start his motorcycle.

“Good luck with that,” she muttered.

“What?” Sean asked from the backseat.

“Nothing, sweetie, you just take a little nap. We’ll be there in no time.”

He was so far gone he hadn’t even thought to give her his address. Apparently a volunteer for Mothers of Designated Drivers was supposed to have psychic powers for divining addresses.

Within minutes, Sean was snoring. He’d probably sleep for hours, if she let him. She could just drive, with him sleeping off his drunk in the backseat. But if she did that, he’d be more sober when he woke up and therefore more difficult to deal with. Not only that, his location would be a direction pointer for the people searching for her.

X had found her easily enough before. She didn’t want to do anything to help them.

How were they doing it? She was tempted to toss everything she hadn’t bought at the drugstore that afternoon out the window. Anything she had that she’d owned before could have a tracker on it. The most likely culprit was the cell phone, even though it was in pieces. It was a constant, the one thing she always had with her. She didn’t see how they could have gotten to it; she hadn’t left it anywhere … unless someone had broken into her house while she was sleeping.

Oh God, that so freaked her out just thinking about it. She should just throw the damn thing out the window.

But not yet. There had to be a better way, a way that would confound them and cost them valuable time. And just because the cell was the most likely item didn’t mean she could just assume that was the means they were using.

Lizzy drove west on I-66, her mind spinning as the miles passed. Thinking about the cell phone made her think about the people she called. That was a very short list: Diana. It was a sad testament to the past three years of her life that she didn’t have anyone to call but one friend. And she didn’t dare call her, not with that damn phone.

Wait. Sean would have a phone, right? Everyone had a cell phone, these days.

She’d gone far enough. Lizzy took the next exit and pulled into the parking lot of a closed service station. Stopping at the side of the building, near the back, she got out and opened the rear door, and tugged and pulled until she got a groggy Sean out of the car and on his feet. For someone so skinny, he sure was heavy.

She put her arm around him as she urged him forward, using the opportunity to pick his wallet from his back pocket.

“This way, sweetie,” she crooned, leading him toward the Dumpster just behind the building.

“This isn’t my house,” he said, sounding confused.

“No, we’re just making a quick pit stop.”

“Oh. That’s okay.”

“You know, Sean,” she said as she lowered him to the ground as gently as possible, behind the Dumpster where he’d be out of sight from the street and the gas station, until morning at least, “you really should give up drinking. It doesn’t agree with you at all.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, as if he’d heard that before. He sighed and leaned back, then he was asleep again, his head lolling against the side of the Dumpster.

She swiftly, lightly patted his front pockets and located his
cell. She used two fingers to ease it out. Then she got back in his sister’s car and drove away.

She drove farther west for a few minutes before she keyed the phone, making it light up. It was an expensive smart phone; too bad she couldn’t keep it a while longer. No way could she call Diana at home in the middle of the night to say goodbye, or anything else, but she hated to just disappear.

She dialed Diana’s work number, and when prompted, hit the key that would allow her to leave a message.

“Hi, Diana,” Lizzy said, and for a moment the voice was … hers. It was the easy voice of the woman she’d been for the past three years, not the voice of the woman who would roll a drunk and disable a motorcycle. “Just wanted to let you know that I won’t be in today.” That was an understatement. “Or tomorrow.” She hesitated to say more, not wanting to let them know Diana meant anything to her, but then realized if they’d been watching her all this time, if her phone had been bugged, they already knew. There was no hiding it at this point. “Thank you for being such a good friend. I’ll miss you, but things are going on and … I quit. If I’m ever able to get in touch again, I will. Take care.” She ended the call before she started crying.

Damn it, they’d not only stolen part of her former life, now they’d cost her her home, her job, and her friend. If she could ever get her hands on the sons of bitches who were doing this to her—

She pulled into the right lane, rolled down the passenger window, and violently threw Sean’s phone out of the car. It might survive the landing, but probably not. If they triangulated the call they’d be able to tell she’d been in this area, and, like the passed-out Sean, the clues would lead them west.

She was like Gretel, but without a Hansel leaving breadcrumbs to lead them home.

The little shit had completely tricked him. Xavier was torn between fury and laughter. On the one hand, she’d really pissed him off by vandalizing his Harley, but on the other hand, pretending to go out the bathroom window had been a slick move. He was proud of her. Exasperated as all hell, but proud.

She’d been on foot and he figured he could easily catch her, but then what? She’d fight like a wildcat, in which case he could either knock her out and sling her over his shoulder—not a good thing on a public street—or he could
not
knock her out and throw a fighting, screaming Lizzy over his shoulder, also not a good thing. Cops would be all over him within five minutes. Okay, ten, considering the part of town they were in. Either way, he was now on foot and had no way of transporting her anywhere.

His best option was to just let her go; it wasn’t as if he couldn’t catch up to her later, as long as she didn’t figure out there had to be a tracker on her somewhere, and ditch everything she had with her, including her clothes. The Lizzy he knew wouldn’t hesitate to do exactly that. The fact that she was still partially
Lizette threw in an unknown factor, making it harder to predict what she would or wouldn’t do.