Shadow Woman A Novel

Chapter Twenty-four



Awkward wasn’t the word for it.

Here she was half-naked—literally—with a man she’d just had sex with, but she wasn’t certain exactly what was going on. Shouldn’t she have gotten some of that settled before getting down and dirty with him?

She grabbed up her pants, holding them in front of her as if that would do any good. “Um … I have some wet wipes in my backpack.” She waved her hand in the direction of the hay bale where she’d left everything in her panicked run to the shed.

He didn’t seem to feel any of her discomfort. He slid a hard, muscled arm around her waist and pulled her to him for a minute; she automatically stiffened, but more in unease than rejection. Gradually she relaxed, her cheek resting on his shoulder and her hands pressed flat against his back, feeling the rippling muscles there, the heat that poured off him. Even if she didn’t remember much detail about their time together, everything about him was so familiar, so right, from his smell to his taste to how their bodies fit together. He kissed the top of her head. “I’ll get them. Don’t slide that knife into me while my back is turned, okay?”

She had thought of pulling the knife from where she’d stuck it in the post, because she was uncertain and didn’t know whether or not she needed a weapon. When in doubt, she thought, get the weapon and worry later about looking silly. Did that mean he knew her well, or was that simply what his life was like, that he had to look at everything from the viewpoint of potential for attack?

She was still scrambling for balance when he returned, but she’d left the knife where it was.

“I don’t know what’s real—” she began.

“We are,” he interrupted, giving her one of those darkly intense looks. “We’re real. Just go with that for now.”

“There’s a lot I don’t remember. I didn’t remember you until you were coming toward me. X. I thought of you as Mr. X.”

He considered that. “Close enough. You were going in the right direction.”

“Your name is Xavier?” she asked, just to be certain.

“Yeah, it is.”

She stopped asking questions while she turned her back to clean herself; silly, perhaps, to feel embarrassed after what they’d just done together, but there’d been no time to become accustomed to him again. One second she’d thought he was about to kill her, and the next second her brain was firing erotic images at her. There was no bridge, no link between the past and the present.

She looked at the wet wipe in her hand, and something else smacked her between the eyes: they’d just had sex without using a condom, and she wasn’t on birth control. Was this new? Had she been on birth control before? Simply not worrying about it had felt so normal, as if condoms had never been part of their love life, but she didn’t know for certain. Everything was probably okay this time—her menses were due to start in just a couple of days—but from here on out they’d need to take precautions until she could get back on the pill and it became effective.

That was assuming they were still together, and both of them were still alive, that there was a “here on out.”

Deep down, she didn’t doubt the “together” part. And now that Xavier was with her, for the first time since she’d taken ill she wasn’t frightened and lost. Okay, not as frightened, and still lost, but Xavier wasn’t. She didn’t know what was going on, but he would.

He’d found her. He knew she was in trouble, and he’d found her.

She pulled on her pants, thinking furiously. She could reach only one obvious conclusion, and she’d been smacked between the eyes so often in the past few minutes that she was beginning to feel like a punching bag. Turning, she snapped, “You jerk!”

He lifted his eyebrows. There was a sleepy, self-satisfied look in his dark eyes. “Yeah? How so?”

“How so?” she mimicked furiously. “Don’t tell me you couldn’t have caught up with me at any time. You let me half kill myself on that damn bicycle, instead of stopping me hours ago. That was you who passed me when I was hiding in the weeds, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t a good place.”

She felt like smacking him. There wasn’t an ounce of apology in his tone, but then, there wouldn’t be. He’d analyzed the situation, decided on his tactics, and that was that; did he ever second-guess himself? She didn’t know, but she’d bet not.

“I needed a place with no witnesses, in case you didn’t remember me.”

“I didn’t,” she said, her stomach clenching a little as some of the backwash of terror hit her.

“Yeah, wouldn’t that have worked out well, with me trying to wrestle you onto the motorcycle while you fought like a wildcat, screaming your head off,” he said dryly. He hooked his left hand around the back of her neck, drawing her in for a long kiss.

That reassured her as nothing else would have done, but she still wasn’t ready to let go of her ire. As soon as her mouth was free she said, “There were plenty of places—”

“I wanted you tired, to minimize any struggle. Are you tired?”

“Exhausted,” she shot back. “You know what? That’s a case of sound tactics and poor judgment. Because I’m not only tired, I’m sore in every muscle, and I’m pissed.”

His mouth quirked as he considered the ramifications. “Tired is good, pissed isn’t unusual. I’ll try to do something about the soreness.”

“Such as?”

“How does a hotel room with a whirlpool tub sound?”



The bicycle she’d bought just that morning—and spent a wad of dough on—had served her well, but she’d never before in her life been so glad to see the last of anything. She pushed it to the side of the road and left it there, figuring someone would pick it up within half an hour at the most. Then, backpack strapped in place and helmet on, she waited until Xavier had straddled the Harley before she stepped on the bar and swung her leg over the seat, settling into place behind him. This wasn’t one of the big touring bikes, with the raised passenger seat and back rest; this was a machine built for muscle and speed, which meant he had to scoot forward as far as he could and she still barely had enough room to sit down. Another half inch, and she’d be on the back fender. She wrapped her arms tightly around his waist and laid her head against his back, because she would have to hold on for dear life.

He started the engine, and a heavy throbbing sprang to life between her legs.

“Good Lord,” she muttered. “If a woman had one of these babies, she wouldn’t need a man.”

He laughed and squeezed her hands where they laced together on his stomach, then put the transmission in gear and eased onto the asphalt.

Because her position was so precarious, she deeply appreciated the way he handled the machine, as smoothly as if he were carrying fine china. The motorcycle seat was more comfortable than the bicycle had been, or she never would have made it. What would have taken her hours more—because she probably would have ended up walking the rest of the way—was reduced to about half an hour.

The hotel he chose was one of the big, historic five-star inns. He didn’t have reservations, of course, but what he did have was a platinum card, with a name on it that bore no relation to “Xavier” in any way, not as an initial, a first name, a last name—nothing. Somehow she wasn’t surprised that he had fake ID; they were obviously involved in something that made having false identities a very good idea.

In nothing flat the Harley was in a secure parking area and they were in a luxurious suite with a balcony, a fireplace, a king-size bed, and marvelous antique pieces. The bathroom was easily twice the size of her bathroom at home—or what used to be her home. The odds were she wouldn’t be going back there, and even though she knew the life she’d been living was a false one, she still felt a pang at the idea of not seeing her home again. She didn’t want to think about that, so she examined the tub. It wasn’t a whirlpool, but she figured a long soak in hot water, plus a couple of aspirin, would be almost as good.

“I’m getting in that tub,” she announced, bending down to turn on the water.

“Be my guest,” he said from behind her, patting her butt.

“Jerk,” she muttered.

He chuckled as he moved away. “I’m going to check my messages. Maybe you’ll be in a better mood after you’ve soaked for a while.”

There was a lot they needed to talk about, but neither of them seemed in any hurry to get into the heavy stuff, such as why people were trying to kill her, and what his involvement was—heck, what her involvement was. He seemed content to wait, and she was so tired, that suited her too.

Lizzy ran the water as hot as she could stand it, then stripped down and stepped in. Gingerly she lowered her aching body into the tub, groaning as the heat seeped into her abused muscles. Closing her eyes, she lay all the way back, sinking down until her hair floated around her and her knees were sticking out of the water. She hurt from her toes to her neck. It was possible that the only part of her body that didn’t hurt was her right earlobe, because she’d caught the helmet strap on her left ear and pulled at the stud earring she wore.

She wanted to just relax and soak, to let her mind float the way her hair was doing, but it wasn’t possible. No matter what, her thoughts keep worrying at her situation like a cat with a ball of yarn. She wasn’t safe; she might never be safe again. But at this moment she felt safer, better, than she had since she’d looked in the mirror and seen a stranger’s face staring back at her. Her heart beat at a steady rhythm; she wasn’t poised to leap from the tub and flee. Maybe tomorrow she’d be on the run again, but for tonight she could enjoy a simple hot bath, real food, and sleeping in a decent bed.

When she sat back up—because her knees really needed the heat more than her ears did—she opened her eyes and looked around the bathroom, all white marble and polished chrome. There was this big bathtub and a shower, double sinks, and a separate room for the toilet, as well as more thick, fluffy towels than two people could use in a single day. She’d say this for Xavier: when he found a place to hide out for a night, he had much better luck than she did.

Luck, hell! He was prepared for anything and everything. Having a fake ID and credit cards under a false name was much more effective than lying her way into an unrentable hotel room where she had to sit with the lights out, no sheets, and one crappy towel.

Xavier. X. The man of her dreams, literally. She was still highly pissed at him for letting her pedal that damn bike for so long before stopping her, furious with him for terrifying her, and yet—he was here.

Without him, she’d been bereft, and hadn’t known it. Only now that he was back in her life could she look at the interval between then and now and see how drab and joyless it had been. Xavier was the color in the colorless world they’d stuck her in. In spite of everything, she was relieved that she could now remember … some of what had happened. She remembered him most clearly.

She still didn’t know how things stood. Were they the good guys, or the bad guys? Xavier certainly could break either way. Maybe both; maybe neither. She thought about that, and realized it didn’t matter that he wasn’t a certified White Knight. Her life wasn’t a black-and-white movie from the fifties where good and bad were easily defined and identified. White hats for the heroes, black ones for the villains. The real world was much more complicated than that. Her world was complicated.

No, complicated didn’t begin to cover it. Her world was a cluster-f*ck.

The door opened and Xavier came in—without knocking, of course, but even though she was a little uneasy at being naked in front of him, she didn’t grab a towel, or otherwise show the modesty that felt out of place between them. He’d seen her like this before. She might not remember exactly when, but she knew it had happened.

“I ordered food. It’ll be here in forty-five minutes.”

She looked up at him. The man towered over her, fully dressed, armed—she didn’t know where he’d had the weapon hidden, unless it was in the small leather kit he’d carried in, but she was glad he had the big handgun. Even though logic said they were safe, he’d found her, so it followed that someone else could.

“What did you order for me?” She was grumpy enough that she wanted him to have ordered something she didn’t like, so she could snap at him.

“Crab cakes. And cheesecake for dessert.”

She loved crab cakes, and cheesecake was one of her favorites, too. He’d remembered. Did she know his favorite foods? Out of the murkiness swam an obvious answer: steak. He wasn’t a picky eater at all, but he loved steak, rare.

Because she was still grumpy, she said, “I get first pick. I might decide I want the steak. I earned it today, calories be damned.”

His lips twitched. “Yes, ma’am. So you remember about the steak?”

“Not specifically, but generally … yes.”

He lowered himself down to sit on the floor beside the tub, taking her by surprise. He no longer towered over her, in a position of obvious authority. They were on the same level, almost face-to-face. She was naked and he wasn’t, which she might have been naive enough to think put her at a serious disadvantage if it weren’t for the way his gaze grew heavy-lidded as he looked at her breasts, and the dark hair between her legs.

He’d be naked too, before much more time had passed; sex between them had always been immediate and demanding. She knew this even without specific memories. They might not get their dinner finished before he was on her. Playing coy wasn’t in the cards, not where he was concerned, not when she didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. It sounded corny, maybe, like one of those fifties movies she’d thought about a few minutes ago, but life was precious. Sometimes it was too short.

And she was so tired of being alone.

“Tell me what happened,” she said quietly.

He reached into the tub and trailed his fingers through the water. “What do you remember?”

“Not enough. It’s as if there’s a big dark hole in my head, and I can remember things around the edges of the hole—until I saw you this afternoon. You come from the two missing years, don’t you?”

Instead of answering, he said, “When did you realize two years were missing?”

“Last Friday.” She clenched her jaw. “I looked in the mirror and saw this face, and knew it wasn’t mine. Everything else came from that.”

“It made you sick.”

“Sick, and with the headache from hell.” Giving him a sharp look, she said, “So I was right: the house is bugged.”

“Everything was bugged. The house, your phones, the car.”

That was so repulsive, thinking of strangers listening to everything she said and did, that she closed her eyes and shuddered. He touched her cheek with his wet fingertips. “This should probably wait until you remember more on your own.”

At that she opened her eyes. “What if I don’t? And why don’t I remember? Was I brainwashed?”

“In a manner of speaking. Not in the classic sense.”

“Why? We were on a … a team together, weren’t we? I can remember training with someone, a woman, but you were there too—”

“Yes, there was a team, of sorts.” His dark gaze bored into hers. “Leave it for now, Lizzy.”

She gave him an impatient glance. “Get real. Like you’d leave it alone, if this had happened to you? People are trying to kill me, and I don’t know who they are or why.”

That wasn’t news to him. She saw it in his eyes, and suddenly she realized. “Wait—if they’re trying to kill me, and you’ve been trying to catch up with me so you can protect me—are they trying to kill you too?”

“Yeah, but I’m better than they are.”

He’d always been so damn cocksure of himself, and the worst part of it was, he had reason to be. She didn’t have any specific memories, other than the one she’d had in the shed, but she knew.

She circled the conversation back around, searching for something he would tell her. Talking him around was going to take time. “How could I be brainwashed to lose two full years of my life? Well, and parts before that, too, because even though I know I worked in Chicago, at a big security firm, my memory is kind of like Swiss cheese.”

“It was a chemical process,” he said, his tone a little remote. “You were the third person it was tried on.”

She’d been a guinea pig. That was almost as repulsive as knowing she’d been spied on like a lab animal—almost, but not quite. For spooky, dirty feelings, having every minute of her life listened to and examined was at the top of the list. “What happened to the other two?”

“One died from a heart attack. The other … the process wasn’t as extensive, covered just a couple of months. He did okay.”

“Is he still alive?”

He shrugged. “I didn’t say that.”

“Did this process kill him?”

“I didn’t say that, either.”

She reached out and pinched him, scowling. “I’m getting tired of hearing what you didn’t say. Look at it this way: if I don’t know exactly what’s going on, then I don’t know what to do, and I may make a mistake that will get both of us killed. I have to know what I’m—what we’re—facing. Tactically, keeping me in the dark isn’t a good move.”

She saw the flare in his gaze, knew that she’d hit on the one argument that was likely to get his attention. Xavier was a born tactician, constantly weighing the odds, studying cause and effect, action and reaction. For every move, he had a counter-move.

“I don’t want to do anything that might … harm you,” he finally said, shaking his head, and she knew she’d lost this particular argument, for now anyway. “This is uncharted territory. You’re getting your memory back on your own, and that’s probably what’s healthiest for your brain.”

“Can’t you ask someone?”

He snorted. “The people I could ask are the ones who are trying to kill us.”

“Well, that’s a bitch,” she said acerbically, earning a grin from him.

“No disagreement there.”

Something else occurred to her, and she poked him. “You found me. You had me bugged, too, didn’t you? I got rid of the cell phone, so what else did you have a tracker on?”

“I put three trackers on you, when I saw the situation deteriorating. One was on the backpack you left at your house.”

“Okay. That and the phone made two. What else?”

“Your wallet. I figured that was the most likely item you’d keep with you, if you could. I was afraid enough of your old training would kick in that you’d dump everything you had with you and start fresh.”

“My wallet.” That meant he’d been in her house, gone through her things. “When? When did you put them there?”

“Monday night, after your shopping spree.”

“You broke into my house? While I was asleep?” Outrage made her voice rise. He didn’t look the least bit guilty. If anything, he even looked amused.

“It wouldn’t make sense to break in while you were awake, now would it?”

“You went through my purse!”

“Guilty. Nice one, too.”

“And I had to dump it in a Walmart store, damn it!”

“I’ll get you another one.”

“You’re damn right you will.” She blew out a cool-down breath, slicked her hands over her wet hair. As huffy as she felt, the hard truth was that if he hadn’t put the trackers on her, he probably wouldn’t have been able to locate her again and she’d be all alone in this mess. Not knowing what was going on, not having all her memory back, she’d have made some sort of mistake and been caught. He’d saved her life. Grudgingly she said, “Thank you.”

He looked even more amused. “I know it kills you to say that. You’re welcome.”

“It doesn’t kill me. I just don’t like doing anything that makes you more cocky than you already are.”

“Remember that, huh?”

“Enough … Preciousssss.” With that out of her system, because he never liked being reminded of the few times he’d let people get under his guard, she crossed her arms on the edge of the tub and propped her chin on them. “Something really bothers me, though, more even than the creepy spying.”

“What’s that?”

“My face. Why did they change my face?” She heard the disturbed note in her voice and looked down, not wanting him to see the desolation she felt. It was silly, mourning for a face. This one wasn’t ugly; she was still attractive. Some people might like this face better than her old one. But this wasn’t her; she wanted to look in the mirror and see herself, feel that sense of being grounded.

He was silent a moment, as if weighing how much he should tell her. Finally he said, “To keep you safe.”

“Safe? Safe? The very people who are trying to kill us are the ones who gave me this face, so how is it keeping me safe?”

Again that silence, that pause. “Because the people who are trying to kill us aren’t the biggest problem out there.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling tears burn. Oh, shit, that certainly wasn’t anything she wanted to hear. What in God’s name had she been involved in?

He was evidently finished answering questions, because he fluidly got to his feet. “The food will be here any minute. You should probably get dried off. You can always have another soak if this one didn’t do the trick.” He got to the door, then stopped. “By the way—”

She looked up, stubbornly blinking back the tears. No way was she going to cry.

“I like your face,” he said softly. “It doesn’t matter. I liked your face before, and I like it now. You’re still you.”