Shadow Woman A Novel

Chapter Twenty-one



The morning sun was streaking the sky with pink when Lizzy reached Front Royal. She found a McDonald’s and parked Sean’s sister’s car in the rear, where several employees had parked, backing the compact car into a small space so the tag wasn’t visible from the parking lot. Someone would be looking for it, sooner or later. She took a moment to wipe down everything she’d touched, then got out and locked the car. She even wiped down the keys with her shirt, then, still using her shirttail to hold them, laid the keys across the back of her hand and tossed them into the Dumpster, hitched her bag over her shoulder, and started walking.

She was tired. The five hours of sleep she’d managed at the beginning of the long night had helped, of course, but stress and adrenaline had sapped almost all of her energy. She couldn’t keep up this pace for much longer. She needed to eat, and somehow she needed to grab a nap, even if only a short one. Fatigue would make her clumsy, both physically and mentally.

She thought about going into McDonald’s—good coffee—but she was leaving the car there, so it seemed a good idea to find somewhere else to eat. Where she ate might not matter, but at this point no one knew who’d stolen the car and she didn’t want to definitely connect herself to it. Would McDonald’s have a security cam? She knew for certain some of them did. She didn’t want to take the chance.

She started walking, and once again cursed the cheap shoes she was wearing. On the other hand, at least she had shoes.

She didn’t have any idea where she was going, but she headed toward what seemed like a busy section of town. Her choice worked out. A few blocks down the road she saw a plain, boxy building with a neon “Open” sign, and when she got closer she could read the lettering on the window: “Sam’s Cafe.” Below that was the welcome information that the cafe served breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Good for Sam, she thought as she went inside.

She stood for a few seconds, getting her bearings. No hostess, so it was seat-yourself. Bathrooms straight ahead as she’d come in the door. She made a beeline for the ladies’ room. She was starving for real food, but some needs were more urgent than others.

While in the bathroom she washed her face and hands, finger-combed her hair, then washed her hands again. She made a face at herself in the mirror. Thank goodness she’d been able to shower at the motel, but she was beginning to feel icky again, even though she hadn’t done anything more strenuous than drag Sean out of the backseat. She needed to buy some new underwear, too. She didn’t have any spare clothes with her, so she couldn’t even stop and do laundry unless she wanted to stand around buck naked while her clothes washed and dried. Having even one complete change of clothes would make a world of difference.

First things first, though. Next up: food.

The restaurant was evidently popular with the locals, because it was busy, with most of the booths and tables filled. Unease prickled along the back of her neck as she studied the scant selection of empty tables. She wanted something closer to the kitchen and the rear exit. As she hovered there looking for a place, a man slid out of a booth toward the back, and she hurried forward to take his place while the waitress was still busing the table.

She was not only starving now, she was going to need a lot of energy in the coming hours, so she ordered a huge breakfast: ham and eggs, biscuits, coffee. Grits were offered, but she turned them down because even though she’d heard about them she wasn’t really certain what a “grit” was, and the waitress asked if she wanted to substitute home fries. Potatoes? Oh, hell yeah.

While she ate, she thought. She didn’t know this area, but she was in a good-sized town that should be able to provide everything she needed for the next step.

She wasn’t sure how she knew, but she was fairly certain there was a bus station in Charlottesville, which would be somewhere around … seventy, eighty miles from here, by back roads. She needed to pick up a map and study it, make certain her memory, such as it was, wasn’t deceiving her.

Split the difference and say, seventy-five miles. She could walk it, but while that wasn’t impossible, neither was it practical. She didn’t have that kind of time to just mosey down the road. She could try to hitch a ride, but could she trust anyone who would pick her up? Hell, no. She couldn’t trust anyone, period. Look what trusting her had cost poor drunk Sean: his sister’s car, which he would get back, but for which he would have hell to pay when his sister found out what had happened; his wallet, which he might get back, depending on who found it in the Walmart freezer; his phone, which was toast; and his sixty bucks.

She had money, she had a lot more than Sean’s sixty bucks, but she had no idea how long what she had would have to last her, and every dollar would count before this was done. That was assuming this was ever really finished, that she would eventually be able to find a place to settle, establish a new identity, and have some semblance of a real life. Unless and until she fully regained her memory and knew exactly what was going on, she couldn’t afford to stop for longer than a brief rest. She was going to spend some of that money, though, because she had an idea about how she was going to get to Charlottesville.

The stores she needed probably wouldn’t open until nine or ten, and she didn’t want to go to another Walmart even though she could get everything she needed there in one stop. There were too many cameras, and she didn’t want to establish a pattern. Smaller stores would be better.

The waitress was friendly, but thank goodness was too busy to strike up a conversation. Lizzy ate, she planned, then she paid and left.

Today was going to be tough, but she’d have to push through it. She wouldn’t have an opportunity to sleep for a while. When she got to Charlottesville and was on a bus heading south, then she’d sleep. How well she’d be able to sleep on a bus was up in the air, but any sleep was better than none.

In the meantime, she had to keep moving, keep going forward.

About a mile down the road she found a nice little shopping center. A few of the stores opened at nine, so she was in luck. In a Dollar General store she bought beef jerky, peanut butter crackers, a kitchen knife—it was better than nothing—a box of Band-Aids, and three bottles of water. More water would have been better, but space and weight were an issue. Right now, she had to carry everything she owned, and water was heavy. There would be places to buy water on the road.

Moving on to a Big Lots, she also found a backpack; the selection was limited, but at this point she didn’t care. The main thing was that it was big enough to hold all her possessions. She got a dark green one, as well as a baseball cap and sunscreen, thick socks, a wristwatch, a few pairs of clean underwear, and a box of wet wipes. Next she went to a convenience store and used the bathroom to clean up some, change her underwear, put bandages over the blisters on her heels, and don a pair of the thick socks to better protect her feet.

Then she was ready for the final stop: a bicycle shop.

She tucked her hair up under the baseball cap and slid the sunglasses on. Disguise in place, she walked in the door of the shop and immediately looked around for security cameras. She spotted one immediately: a mounted half-round black camera with a blinking light. She tensed for a second, then noticed that the red light on the camera was blinking too fast.

The camera was a fake. She relaxed, shifted the backpack, and settled the straps around her shoulders. She’d already packed it with all her new possessions, as well as everything else she’d been carrying, and it was too damn heavy, but she’d deal. At this point a heavy backpack was the least of her problems.

The bike store didn’t exactly do a booming business on a Wednesday morning. The only other person in the store was an older man behind the counter; he looked up and greeted her as she walked past. “Anything in particular I can show you?”

“I’m just looking around,” she said. She thought he was probably the owner, given his age and the fact that he seemed to be going over a checkbook, but she couldn’t be sure.

She found the sale section of the store. She couldn’t afford the most expensive bicycle here, the good performance road bikes were well over a thousand bucks, but she didn’t want a piece of crap, either. If just the cheap bicycles were on sale, she’d have to fork out more money than she wanted to, but she needed something good with enough gears to handle the terrain. Was there such a thing as last year’s styles in bikes?

There were just a handful of bikes on sale; there was some variety, but only one model that looked as if it would fit the bill. It was black and kind of dull-looking, despite some blue detailing, which was okay with her; she didn’t want anything flashy. She flipped over the sale tag and winced a little. Even on sale, the bike was still a bit more than she’d wanted to spend. Moving down the line, she checked the other bikes; they were cheaper, but didn’t have the gears she’d need.

When the old guy realized that she was interested and not just browsing, he came out from behind the counter and joined her. “Can I interest you in one of these?”

Lizzy removed her sunglasses. “I like the black one, but it’s pretty expensive. Do you give a discount to customers who pay cash?”



In the early morning hours, the cell-phone signal had stopped at an apartment building less than a mile from the Leesburg Walmart; the wallet signal continued moving.

Xavier considered the matter as he cruised through the cool early-morning hours just before dawn, the big Harley rumbling beneath him. It wasn’t impossible that Lizzy had dumped both wallet and cell, which would have made catching up with her much more difficult. Not impossible, but definitely more difficult, and dangerous for her. If her training was coming back she might have thought to discard everything she’d had from before, but he was betting the farm she still didn’t have back her full operational cognizance. Instinct, yes, and native intelligence, but the rest of it … probably not yet. She’d obviously found the tracker on the cell phone, and after that most people would then think they were safe; they wouldn’t consider there being a second tracker. He was almost confident that she’d kept the wallet with her, for now.

But for how much longer?

There were a couple of different dangers here. For the time being, she was safe from Felice; they’d completely lost her when she dumped her car. The first danger was that she’d recover enough of her training that she was able to give him the slip. At her best, Lizzy was damn good, and predicting her actions was never easy. The second danger was that she’d recover more of her memory and remember him—but she didn’t know how to contact him, so she might well double back to the D.C. area in an effort to find him. If she did, the street cameras and all the other NSA capabilities would identify and locate her, and she might as well have a laser target painted on her back.

As long as she was moving away from D.C., though, he was content to follow.

In Front Royal her speed—rather, the speed of the wallet she carried—changed. Odds were Lizzy had dumped whatever car she’d stolen to get away from D.C. and was now on foot, a move that assured him she still had the wallet in her possession.

As long as she kept the wallet on her, he’d be close behind.

He could have caught up with her during the night, not long after his bike had been repaired. But then what? If he roared up behind or alongside her on the interstate, she’d just panic. Maybe she’d gotten her hands on a gun and would try to shoot him; it wasn’t as though he could shoot back. Maybe she’d simply panic and drive off the side of the road, wreck her car, hurt herself or be killed.

His approach needed to be smoother than that. For now, he just wanted to know where she was. He wanted eyes on her. No, that wasn’t quite right. He wanted his eyes on her.

She was easy to find, thanks to the tracker, but he had to make certain she didn’t spot him. According to the tracker and the detailed map overlay, she was in a Dollar General store in a strip mall. He parked his bike at the end of the mall, almost completely obscured by a van, and a few minutes later watched as she walked out of the store, juggling her purchases. That answered that question: she still had the wallet.

He couldn’t very well confront her here and now. There were too many witnesses, too many ways it could go wrong. Knowing she still had the wallet on her was all he needed, for now.

In the meantime, he was starving, and he needed caffeine in the worst way. He watched until she was safely inside another store, then started the Harley and headed back toward a restaurant he’d passed driving in. He’d let Lizzy continue to believe she’d shaken him, that she’d gotten away, and when she was in a more remote area he’d find a way to talk to her. She couldn’t just keep running; eventually she’d make a mistake and Felice would be there.

He didn’t rush through breakfast, but took his time and gave Lizzy a little space. After the waitress had cleared away his dirty plates, he sipped on a last cup of coffee while he watched the tracker on his cell phone as it moved away from Front Royal.

What the hell?

Something didn’t make sense. The tracker didn’t give him her exact speed, but close enough. She was moving along too fast to be on foot, but too slow to be in a car. Maybe if there was heavy traffic on that road, construction that had traffic at a crawl, but … not likely. The traffic on the road he watched moved steadily enough, and she wasn’t too far away. If the road she was on had construction, the locals would know and avoid it, but he didn’t see any increase in traffic on this road. Of course, he wasn’t familiar with the local patterns, so when the waitress came back by to ask if he wanted another refill, he said, “I’m good. Maybe you can tell me something. Is there any construction in the area? I’m heading south, and I need to make good time.”

“Not that I know of, and if there was, there’d be someone in here bitching about it all day,” she said.

“Okay, thanks.” When she’d left, he checked the image on his phone again. He watched for a while, puzzling it over as he finished his coffee. After a few minutes her speed varied. She moved along pretty slowly for a few minutes, then there was an increase in speed before her speed leveled out again.

Something occurred to him. There was one rather far-fetched possibility that actually made him smile. He switched the mode to topographical and laughed. That slow speed had come on one side of a hill, the burst of speed on another.

She was on a bicycle.

He was impressed by her thinking. No ID was required to buy a bicycle, no registration to worry about, she had enough cash on her to afford one, and she wouldn’t have to worry about driving a stolen car or hitchhiking and being picked up by a nutcase. And who would think to look for her on a bicycle? She’d surprised even him. That was part of the fluidity of her thinking, because absolutely no one would expect her to escape on a bicycle. With a helmet and sunglasses on, she’d also have a damn good disguise. No one would look twice at her.

The road she was on would eventually lead to Charlottesville. He checked a couple of things with his phone and discovered there was a bus terminal there. She could dump her bike and buy a ticket to anywhere. That terminal was far enough away from D.C. that it probably wasn’t being watched, close enough that she might remember the location from her training. She’d had multiple escape routes memorized, and one of them might have included the Charlottesville terminal.

He definitely didn’t have to worry about catching up with her, not as long as she stayed on the bicycle. He’d been worrying about when and where to confront her, her reaction to seeing him again, the difficulty of any witnesses being present. If he let her wear herself out, the coming confrontation would be much easier … for him, that was. It wasn’t a small consideration. When he’d been training her, she’d occasionally cleaned his clock. Not on a regular basis, but often enough to make her cocky. Not many people could take him down, but she was just sneaky enough to surprise him a couple of times, and she didn’t mind playing dirty. In his mind, he could still see the glee in her smile the first time she’d managed to put him on his back.

Another cup of coffee was called for, after all. Xavier lifted his empty coffee cup in a silent request for a refill. There was no reason he couldn’t sit here for a while and let Lizzy get a bit farther down the road. He could even think of it as payback for what she’d done to his motorcycle.

She had her bike, and he had his. The coming chase would be no contest.



Oh good lord, yes, she had let herself get into terrible shape. Lizzy simultaneously pedaled and cursed every cookie she’d eaten in the past year, every extra pound. There weren’t many of them, thank goodness, but oh, if only she’d started running a couple of months ago instead of just this week. If only she were in the same shape she’d been in back in the day.

She paused in her thoughts. What day was that, exactly? She didn’t know, but she did know she once would have been able to handle this trip without feeling as if she were being tortured.

The straps of the cheap backpack, being thin on the padding, cut into her shoulders. Her legs ached. Her butt was numb. Sometimes she’d stand up to pedal and give her butt some relief, but that was harder on her legs.

She’d been on the bike about an hour. There was currently little traffic on the two-lane road, so she chanced a glance at her wristwatch. Assuming it was keeping correct time … make that forty-five minutes. Evidently being tortured made time pass more slowly. By her calculations she had another four hours and fifteen minutes of cycling time, and that didn’t take into account the breaks she’d have to take along the way.

She ached everywhere, and she needed a bathroom already. Maybe she should have said no to that third cup of coffee at breakfast. If necessary, she could make a trip into the bushes on the side of the road, but that would be a last resort. Not only were there homes behind the trees that lined the road, there could be poison ivy, ticks, mosquitos.

She would laugh, if she weren’t afraid the laughter would turn to tears. Someone was trying to kill her, and in the past twenty-four hours she’d resorted to car theft—twice—stolen drunk Sean’s cash, lied to an impressionable young woman to get a motel room, and possibly led stone-cold killers to an innocent late-night shopper’s door. She no longer knew who she was, and she didn’t even have time to think about that, not until she was safe, but here she was, worried about modesty and the dangers of Virginia roadside wildlife.

She couldn’t let herself dwell on that. She had to concentrate on moving, on surviving. When she was safe, then she’d think about stuff.

One step at a time.

Every hard uphill battle came with an eventual blessed downslope, but really, how could Virginia be mostly uphill? Why didn’t the down portions ever seem as long as the up portions? That was just wrong. She treasured the moments when she could sit up and catch her breath, let the wind rush into her face, let her aching muscles relax. Traffic was light on the two-lane road, but on occasion she’d be forced to move to the far right edge, coasting along as a car sped past. Usually those cars would shift over and give her some breathing room, but now and then they didn’t, blasting by so close that the force of the air would make her wobble. Some people were jerks.

She wasn’t oblivious to the possibility that X might be driving one of those cars. All he’d have to do was run her down, plow his car into her and then drive off, leaving her as nothing more than a wet spot on a back-country road.

Her instincts had tried to tell her about him, there in Walgreens when she’d panicked and run. Then her hormones had played a nasty trick on her with those sex dreams, and she’d let that tangle up her thinking. It really pissed her off now, that she’d wasted perfectly good dreams on the a*shole who was trying to kill her.

Thinking about X distracted her for a while, but not long enough. Soon her aching legs had retaken priority in her thoughts, damn it.

When she rounded a gentle corner in the road and saw the gas station straight ahead, she could have cried, she was so happy. Bathroom, more water, something to eat, a few minutes of rest, however brief. She had to keep moving, and she was already so sore that she knew if she stopped for too long she’d never get started again.



Two meetings with Felice in the tank in less than a week was noteworthy. Al hoped that no one in the building was actually making note. He was surprised that she came as quickly as she did when he contacted her, but considering what she’d done…

This time he was waiting for her, standing with his arms crossed. As soon as the door closed behind her, he spoke.

“You stupid bitch.”

She stopped in her tracks; her shoulders went back and her face tightened. He had her on the defensive.

“I did what needed to be done,” she responded. “I did what you wouldn’t do.”

“No, you’ve royally f*cked things up. It’s bad enough that you made this decision on your own and then went outside, but to go to an outside team of incompetents calls into question your competence. It was a stupid move.”

It wasn’t smart to call Felice stupid twice in a couple of minutes, but at this point he didn’t care if he pissed her off. If she was going to send a team after him, she’d already done it. Even worse, if Xavier thought for a minute that Al had been in on the plan, he was coming, too. Al had always known what they’d done might come back to bite him in the ass, and here he was, waiting for a bullet or worse. Xavier was the “worse.”

Felice recovered her composure and walked toward the coffee machine. “I have people on it.”

“Your people,” he said, “not mine.” She continued to methodically make herself a cup of coffee. Al hadn’t heard from Xavier since the failed hit on Lizzy, not a word. And that meant Felice hadn’t just gone after Lizzy, she’d also made an attempt on Xavier. She’d obviously failed, or she already would have bragged about her success in taking out the infamous Xavier.

“I understand that this isn’t what you wanted, but now that it’s under way, you have to agree that we can’t call it off. The ball is in play. We have to see it through.”

“Agreed,” Al said curtly.

Felice sipped her coffee, fighting to keep her gratification at his acquiescence from showing on her face; that would be too much like gloating. “I ordered the elimination of both Subject C and Xavier. Given his interest in her, I saw no other choice.”

“You should have come to me.”

Her look was withering. “You never would’ve agreed. You’d have tried to talk me out of it, at the very least. I saw what needed to be done, and I took care of it.”

“No, you tried to take care of it and you failed.”

Again, that withering look. Felice didn’t like to fail, and even more hated having her few failures pointed out. “I’ve brought in a specialist to finish the job.”

“That’s all well and good, but how do you expect your so-called specialist to find Xavier?” If Xavier was in the wind, they’d never locate him—unless and until he wanted to be found. And if he did, that would be very bad news for them.

“That’s his problem.” Felice took her coffee cup, cradled it, took one sip.

Al stared at her for a long moment, burying his rage deep. They knew that Xavier had trip wires that would make the details of what they’d done public, in order to protect himself and Lizzy. It would be devastating for the country if that were to happen. Even if they managed to plant doubts about him and the story, to clean up the mess, to paint Xavier as nothing more than a conspiracy theorist, the details he released would remain. The conspiracy theory would live, perhaps forever. And if enough people believed it…

“No, it’s your problem. He will come after you.” Al tried to remain outwardly calm. “Tonight, two years from now, at any time in between.” He noted the way her shoulders tightened again. “I suggest that you put your specialist on your house. If you’re lucky, Xavier will show up sooner rather than later. He’ll find Subject C, secure her, and then he’ll come after you. If he decides to wait, if he takes more time to plan and doesn’t act while he’s still pissed, you won’t have a prayer. But if he reacts in anger and attacks now, it’s possible your specialist can intercept him at the house and end this.”

“And Subject C?”

“If I were you, I’d deal with Xavier first and then worry about what your f*ckup cost us where Subject C is concerned.”

“You could offer to help,” she said. “You have the personnel.”

Was she f*cking kidding? Al clenched his jaw, but he kept his cool, as much as was possible given the situation. “That wouldn’t be smart, at this point.”

Her quick agreement to meet this morning finally made sense, though: she wanted him to help her clean up the mess she’d made. She didn’t know him at all if she thought he’d risk any of his people to track down another one of his own because she’d screwed up.

“If he contacts you …”

“You’ll be the first to know,” Al said dryly.

Felice left her half-full cup of coffee sitting on the table and left the tank without looking back.

Al followed her, retrieved his weapon and cell phone, and headed for the room where Dereon Ashe was on duty, listening for activity at Subject C’s house, watching the monitors on her car, listening to activity in her office. If that duty had been dull before, it was now beyond boring. There was nothing to listen to. If enough of Lizzy had come back, there was no way she’d risk returning to any place or person she’d known as Lizette. The question was, how much had come back? Just enough to make her run, or enough to make her dangerous?

Felice would take his advice and put her specialist on her own home. Maybe she’d even think of him as a double-duty off-the-books employee, a bodyguard for herself as well as someone who could take Xavier down when he came after her. Xavier would be looking for that move; when he moved in on Felice he’d be looking for someone like her specialist. If he didn’t, then he wouldn’t be the man Al himself had trained, years ago.

Felice thought she had everything well in hand, but Al would put his money on Xavier any day.