Shadow Woman: A Novel (30 page)

It was the good kind of service station, with the public toilets inside. She wheeled the bike off to the side, and took the precaution of tucking it behind the trash bin so it couldn’t be seen from the road. Then she took off her sunglasses and limped into the station.

The clerk, a middle-aged woman with frizzy hair and a warm voice, was talking to a younger woman who held a toddler on one hip and a little boy of about three by his hand. “Don’t go anywhere, stand right here,” the mother warned the boy, because she had to release his hand in order to pay for their fruit juices and her bottle of sweet tea. He squirmed and jumped up and down, but didn’t wander from her side.

There were two other customers, both men; one was looking at candy, the other was in the back dragging a six-pack of beer from the refrigerated case. Neither so much as glanced at her.

The cool air from the air conditioning was more welcome than a prayer. Lizzy went into the women’s bathroom—a single, so she locked the door behind her—and heaved a giant sigh of relief at the coolness, at walking instead of pedaling, at the fact that she was still alive and well away from the D.C. area. The small bathroom could use some updating and smelled heavily of bleach, but it was clean, so she included that in her relief.

After doing what she had to, she washed her hands and dried
them, then pulled the helmet off and held it between her knees as she massaged her head. The helmet was ventilated, but she’d still been putting out a lot of effort and her hair was sweaty. Her ponytail had suffered during the day, too, and was hanging messily to one side, with a lot of escaped strands.

She pulled the band off and shook her head, rolling her neck from side to side, loosening her shoulders. She wet one of the paper hand towels and washed her face, reveling in the coolness, before restoring her hair to a much neater ponytail and wedging the helmet back on her head.

When she left the bathroom, the young woman with the two kids had checked out and left, the beer-drinker was paying for the six-pack, and that same guy was still trying to make up his mind about what candy he wanted.

That struck her as a little strange, because men usually had an idea what they wanted and went straight to it. Women were the browsers. She eyed him suspiciously, but he seemed like an ordinary guy, in jeans and a tee shirt, a ball cap on his head. He certainly wasn’t X. She gathered up a bottle of cold water and the aspirin, which, holy hell, cost twice what it would in a drugstore, and looked for the protein bars. The selection was small—one brand, chocolate or peanut butter. She got one of each.

As she checked out, the candy man finally selected what looked like a couple of Hershey bars, then moseyed into the pretzel and potato chip section. Maybe he had difficulty making decisions. Maybe he had some time to kill.

Lizzy slipped her sunglasses on as she stepped out into the glare and circled toward the back. Standing behind the trash bin, she opened the bottle of aspirin and popped two into her mouth, then twisted open the water bottle and washed them down. Maybe the aspirin would help; it couldn’t hurt. She also ate the chocolate protein bar while she was standing there, so the aspirin wouldn’t upset her stomach.

Checking her watch, she saw that she’d killed twenty minutes. She needed to be on the road.

Muscles that had relaxed began protesting again within a quarter of a mile. Once more she began trying to think of the most diabolical thing she could do to the bike when she didn’t need it anymore.

She took the turn to the right, pedaling deeper into the rural countryside. There were hay fields filled with giant round bales of hay, pastures with cows in them, some horses. She’d known that this route would take her through the rural area, away from most of the towns and communities, but she hadn’t realized it would be quite this empty. If she’d been in a car, she wouldn’t even have noticed. Being on a bicycle, however, she was suddenly, acutely aware of how alone she was, and how helpless if some yahoo tried to mess with her.

No, she
wasn’t
helpless. That was Lizette-thinking. She was Lizzy, who had taken some intense martial-arts training, who knew how to fight and fight dirty, how to protect a client from a carjacking, a kidnapping attempt, or a simple mugging. Yeah, she’d been armed then and she wasn’t now, at least not with a handgun—a situation she intended to remedy pretty damn soon. But she did have a knife, and the willingness to use it.

She caught the deep, rumbly roar of a motorcycle, coming up behind her.

Briefly, for a split second, she considered just staying on the road. After all, she’d decided there was no way X could be tracking her now. She’d shaken him off her trail. This was just another motorcycle rider; the hills of Virginia were popular with cyclists.

No. She couldn’t take the chance.

Frantically she looked around; she wasn’t in a great place. There were hay fields on both sides of the road, fields that had recently been mowed and baled. Off to the right about a hundred yards was a big shed under which the owner of the hay
probably intended to store the bales, but that was a long hundred yards and the motorcycle was closing in fast.

Crap! All she could do was try to make it to the shed. No—one of the big round bales was closer, and she could hide behind it.

She didn’t have time to get off the bicycle and push. Instead she turned it into the hay field, bumping across the rough field so hard it jarred her teeth, bent forward, pedaling as hard as she could. She had to fight to keep the bicycle upright, the ground was so rough.

She reached the first bale and jumped off the bike, crouching down, her heart pounding from exertion and fear even though she knew it was nothing, knew the motorcycle was going to blow right past her—

The loud rumble throttled down. It was slowing.

Her back against the bale, she rolled her head around for a fast peek. She saw the Harley. She saw the big man riding it, effortlessly holding the big Harley up across the rough field that had almost unseated her, black tee shirt clinging to his muscled torso, face hidden by a black helmet with a complete face shield.

X
.

Lizzy’s mouth went dry and her vision dimmed. She had absolutely nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. She was on a bicycle. He was on a motorcycle, maybe fifty yards away and coming straight at her.

Quickly she unzipped her backpack and pulled out the kitchen knife. In the afternoon sun it looked dull and inadequate, but it was all she had. Unless there was something in the shed, maybe a pickax, a scythe, an awl—anything that would help give her an edge—the knife would have to do.

Though what good would any of that do against a bullet? It didn’t matter. She couldn’t just give up, not after all this. She had to keep trying.

She was running before she consciously made the decision
to
run, her body taking over, refusing to give up. She didn’t bother with the bicycle; on the rough field, she was probably as fast or faster on foot than she’d be on the bike, as long as she didn’t break an ankle. She ran, tired muscles forgotten, aches and pains disappeared. All she knew was desperate effort, a burning need to get to the shed before he did. And she prayed, prayed
there would be something there she could use to defend herself, prayed, hell, that the farmer who cut these hay fields would drive in on his tractor to start moving hay into the shed. Anything.

She was running west, the afternoon sun hot on her face, blurring her vision. She didn’t look back, didn’t look to see how much he’d gained on her, just flung herself headlong across the stubby grass stalks. Twenty yards to the shed … ten … then she was there, the deep shade of the structure enclosing her. She skidded to a halt, temporarily blinded, bright spots swimming in front of her eyes.

Fiercely she squeezed her eyes shut, trying to regain her vision. Damn it! She should have thought about that—she should have squinted to reduce the amount of sunlight in her eyes. Now she was helpless for a few precious moments, and the deep rumble of the motorcycle was getting closer, louder.

No time! She gripped the kitchen knife, but she knew in her bones it wasn’t enough. She had to find another weapon
now
.

She opened her eyes a sliver; her vision had adjusted enough that she could see to make her way deeper into the shed, working to the right, searching the periphery for anything she could use. Snakes … wouldn’t there be a hoe or something around to kill snakes?

Yeah, that would work. A hoe against a handgun.

A hoe would be better than nothing, and that was pretty much what she had right now. A knife was for close-quarters combat. She needed something that would allow her to keep some distance between her and her adversary.

The rumbling engine cut off.

And there it was, by God, as if her desperate thoughts had conjured it out of midair: a hoe. The blade was rusted, the handle wasn’t in the best of shape, but it was a weapon. She grabbed it up in one hand, knife clutched in the other, and turned to face Death as he approached.

He’d stopped the motorcycle twenty, maybe twenty-five yards
away, and was sitting astride the Harley with his booted feet planted on the ground, calmly watching her as she scrabbled through the shed and finally came up with the hoe.

His black face shield caught the sun, reflected it back at her.

She was so frightened she felt dizzy, and spots swam before her eyes. She could hear her breath, her lungs pumping too fast, and dimly she realized she was hyperventilating. She had to stop, she had to get control of herself, or she’d have no chance at all. Deliberately she sucked in a deep breath and held it, forcing herself to calm down.

The dizzy sensation faded and her vision cleared. She squared off and braced herself.

Leisurely he dismounted from the bike, kicked the stand down, and stood the Harley on the hard-packed field. Given how uneven the ground was, Lizzy had the fleeting thought that he must have found the one piece of flat earth in the entire field. His movement still calm and deliberate, he pulled his chin strap loose, used both gloved hands to pull the helmet up and off and place it on the seat. Then he started toward her.

If he had a weapon, it wasn’t evident. His hands were empty.

That didn’t mean he didn’t have a handgun tucked into his waistband in the small of his back.

No, that wasn’t how he carried his weapons. He used a shoulder rig
.

Her heart was already racing, and suddenly her blood was thundering in her ears. She heard a tiny sound vibrate in her throat, something wordless and uncontrollable. Her vision shrank down to a tunnel, centered on his face, the almost brutally carved structure of his cheekbones, the eyes as dark as night, focused like a hawk’s on his prey.

There was kind of a saunter to how he moved, hips loose and easy, wide shoulders moving back and forth, his balance perfect no matter which way he needed to jump.

She looked at his face.

Time spun away from her, everything solid falling away. Dizzy,
she put out the hand that gripped the knife and touched a support post, but she couldn’t grab it without dropping the knife and she wasn’t about to do that. Her chest heaving, she stared unblinking at him as past and present blended together in a swirl of color, of night and day, then and now.

His face
.

She had watched him before, coming toward her just like that, as sure of himself as if he controlled everything in his world.

The quick flash of feet and fists, the thudding sound of flesh hitting flesh, the grunts as blows landed. His training partner scored a hit to the testicles and he went down, cussing through tight-clenched teeth, while she and her own training partner howled with laughter because he almost never lost a bout
.

He didn’t lose this one, either. He bowed his spine and flipped upright before his training partner could take advantage, and two quick pop-pops, one with his right elbow and the other with his left knee, sent his partner down. The man lay sprawled on his back on the mat, breathing hard and groaning. He tapped one hand on the mat in surrender
.

X grabbed a towel and came to where she and her partner watched, his prowling stride as fluid and easy as before, his dark eyes narrowed on her face. Sweat dripped down his face, darkened his olive-drab tee shirt. “Why do women always laugh when a man gets kicked in the balls?” he growled as he swiped the towel over his face
.

“Because they’re so
precioussssss,
” Lizzy said in her best Gollum accent, still laughing because he was a little pissed. She so seldom got anything on him, she enjoyed it to the fullest whenever she did
.

“Damn right they are,” he returned
.

He was closer, his gaze still locked on her.

X … No, not X … but close. X …

Xavier.

His name was
Xavier
.

The name exploded through her brain, and suddenly it was there, memories cascading through the wall that had been
breached. The days. The nights. She gripped the hoe handle with all her strength, using it to support her weight as she fought to stay upright.

Xavier!

He crawled over her, his naked body rubbing all over her, his powerful legs pushing between hers and spreading them wide, so that he settled into the cradle of her hips and loins. She loved that moment when he paused to guide the thick tip of his penis to her, loved the flex of his hips that nudged him inside her that first little bit. He was thick and hard and there was always that instant when her body was startled by the size of him, then she’d feel herself soften and relax and take more of him. He’d wait for that moment, hold himself back until he felt her accept him, and then he’d push deep, and she could never hold back a gasp at the hot slide of his flesh into hers
.

Xavier. Oh my God, it was
Xavier
.

He stopped just inside the shadow of the shed, his head cocked a little to the side as he intently watched her. He didn’t dismiss the knife or the hoe, not in her hands, though she had no doubt at all that he could take her. She hadn’t trained in … however long it had been since they’d trained together. She was weak, out of practice, hadn’t had enough sleep, plus she was exhausted from riding that damn bicycle for hours in the summer heat, while he’d been cruising on his Hog.