Shadow Woman A Novel

Chapter Twenty-eight



If she’d been heading back into D.C. on her own, Lizzy would have been terrified, but because Xavier was with her everything was different. She was different from the woman she’d been last week—hell, from the one she’d been the day before. She knew things about herself now, things that horrified her, but she was already beginning to feel as if there was a distance widening between what she knew and who she was. It had been a mere six and a half days, almost to the minute, since she’d awakened and seen a stranger in the mirror, and in those six and a half days she’d become someone who, instead of continuing to run away, was now racing back into danger.

Most specifically, Xavier was racing toward danger—danger, and, if he was right, a possible end to running, for both of them.

He’d told her about checking his messages while they were stopped for gas, but he hadn’t told her anything else. Whatever message he’d received had disturbed him. No, not disturbed—that was the wrong word. Preoccupied. He’d gotten a familiar and grim look in his eyes, and the set of his mouth had become even more determined. He was going to war, and he was planning his moves. She knew he wanted to end this for both of them; she understood that running was not an option, unless they were prepared to run forever.

The blessed helmets they wore were the perfect disguise. Lizzy felt completely free as they roared down the interstate and into D.C. Even with all the cops, all the cameras, all the people looking for her, she and Xavier were virtually invisible. She liked that feeling. She wished it could last forever.

Twilight was fading into true night when he wheeled the Harley into the parking lot of a garage. The concrete was cracked, with weeds growing through the cracks. They weren’t in the nicest part of town, but then … it was a garage, the kind where mechanics worked on mechanical stuff.

Older trucks and cars filled the small parking lot. Xavier balanced the Harley on its kickstand near the door to a small office. They both stretched, arching their backs to relieve muscles cramped from the long ride, but left their helmets on as they went inside. No one was in the waiting room to greet them, but she’d noticed several cameras in the parking lot and another mounted in the corner.

Xavier took his helmet off and placed it on the front counter. Urgently, Lizzy pointed at the camera. “It’s okay,” he said. “Closed circuit—for our use only.”

Our use? That said a lot. She eased her own helmet off, shook her hair free, and set her helmet beside his.

“This is where you’re going to stay,” he said.

“What?” It wasn’t quite a screech, but … close. Damn it, she’d known he was going to pull something like this. That didn’t mean she’d give up without another argument, though.

“There’s something I need to do, and I can do it only if I know you’re safe.”

She’d been right about that “going to war” look. “No matter what it is, you’ll need backup.”

“Not this time.” He took her arm and led her through a side door, into a windowless garage that smelled of oil and gas.

Three men were there. One had greasy hands and stained overalls with the name “Rick” embroidered on the pocket; another was middle-aged, with a Marine-like haircut, who stood behind a waist-high table at the back of the room and was in the midst of taking a rifle apart and cleaning it. The third man was the poor guy she’d carjacked two days ago. She nodded in his direction. “Uh, sorry.”

The other two laughed, though not long and not very hard. The victim just put a hand to his throat and kind of growled, “At least I got my car back.”

On one wall a television had been mounted. It showed four camera views of the exterior and the office; their arrival had not been unexpected.

Lizzy looked up at Xavier. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.” She not only didn’t know these men, but one of them had good reason to hold a grudge against her. Her lack-of-trust issue at the moment was perfectly reasonable, from her standpoint.

“It’s the only idea.” He led her past the three men—who continued to work as if they hadn’t been interrupted—to another office in the back of the garage. Glass windows overlooked the work area, so it wasn’t private, but there was a coffee machine, a couple of swivel chairs, a desk and computer.

“When are you leaving?” she asked, leaning against the desk and crossing her arms over her midsection.

“Not for a couple of hours.”

She looked through the office window; she could see all three men from here. “And you trust these guys?”

“Completely. I wouldn’t even consider leaving you here if I didn’t. They’ve been helping me look out for you for the past three years. They’re good at what they do.”

Lizzy lifted her chin slightly, straightened her spine, and faced her biggest fear. “What if you don’t come back?” She couldn’t lose Xavier, find him, and then lose him again. It would be incredibly unfair, incredibly painful. After all this, she wasn’t certain she’d even want to go on.

Of course, odds were without him she didn’t stand much of a chance anyway.

“We’ll get something to eat, you can get acquainted with them, and by the time I leave you’ll be more comfortable—”

“Wait a minute. Stop trying to distract me, okay? You said you didn’t need backup, but you were just talking about me, right? You’re taking one of them with you, at least. Aren’t you?” Surely he wasn’t going to face the people who were trying to kill her—them—alone.

“No. I need to do this on my own.”

Exasperated, infuriated, Lizzy threw her hands in the air as she paced around the small office. “What good does it do to have people who can help if you won’t use them? Why go up against those people alone when it’s not necessary?”

Xavier nodded toward the work area. “They know a lot, but they don’t know everything and they can’t. If anything goes wrong tonight, they don’t need to be anywhere in the area when the shit goes down. They can’t even know where I’m going tonight, who I’m targeting.” He gave her a brief, hard smile. “You know how everything has to be compartmentalized. Need to know. I have to do this alone.”

Given the magnitude of their secret, the small circle that knew the truth of the President’s death and the cover-up that had followed, that made some sense. But still—

“You have to come back.”

“I will.” He cupped her chin, tilting her face up. “I have you to come back to, and that makes a helluva lot of difference.”

“I’d feel better if I were helping.”

“I know.” Graciously, he left the tough shit unsaid.

“Instead I’m going to sit here, wondering and worrying, with a bunch of men I don’t know and—sorry—don’t trust, and …”

“I thought about that,” Xavier said, then he leaned down and kissed her, a quick kiss, a brush of his lips on hers. “She should have been here by now.”

“She?” Lizzy drew back and gave him a suspicious glare. “She, who?”

Then a new sound caught her attention: a yap. A very familiar yap. No, it couldn’t be—She turned and gaped at the woman who was walking across the stained concrete floor, a dog held securely under her arm as she paused to talk to the other men. She stared up at Xavier. “Maggie?”



Xavier had been gone little more than half an hour, and already Lizzy was shaking. This went beyond worry. She was more terrified than she’d been for as long as she could remember, and that was saying something. It had been bad when it was her life on the line, but at least when she was on the run she could do something. All she could do tonight was sit and wait, knowing that at any time Xavier could be dying, that she might never see him, talk to him, hold him again. One thing she remembered about herself: she hated waiting.

Maggie, stroking a sleeping Roosevelt’s fur, smiled at her. “I understand,” she said softly. “Waiting is a lot harder than being in on the action.”

“That’s what you’ve been doing for the past three years, isn’t it? Watching and waiting for something to go wrong.” Maybe her voice was too sharp, but Lizzy was still pissed that her neighbor had been spying on her all this time—even though Maggie had been working for Xavier, even though her intentions had been good. She wasn’t pissed at Maggie; she was pissed at herself, because she’d been so blind for the past three years that she hadn’t figured out that something about her nosy neighbor wasn’t quite right. No, worse—she had been a little suspicious, and had let it slide. Careless stuff like that could get people killed.

“I suppose I have been,” Maggie said, not at all perturbed, “but that’s not what I meant. When you’re in our business, waiting for someone you love to return from a job is absolute torture.” She smiled. “Being in the thick of things, the minutes fly past. Yeah, it’s dangerous. Yeah, we’re all adrenaline junkies to some degree. Any one of us would rather face bullets than … this. But sometimes this is required, and above all else, we do what is required.”

Maggie knew what she was talking about; Lizzy accepted that. Maybe she knew too well. Who had Maggie waited for? Was she really a widow, or was that just part of her cover? Had she waited for someone who didn’t return? Lizzy didn’t want to know, not tonight.

“He’s different with you,” Maggie said. Maybe she saw the new fear in Lizzy and was kind enough to change the subject. “More … human.” She smiled, and continued to stroke Roosevelt’s fur. “Still Xavier, still the most capable man I know,” she clarified, “but still, it does give me hope for the rest of us.” Reaching out with her free hand, Maggie grasped one of Lizzy’s and gave it a comforting squeeze.

After a while she said, “I’m different too, with him.”

Maggie nodded, gave a slightly sad smile that told Lizzy the other woman’s thoughts had wandered into a dark place. “That you are.”



Felice looked up from her computer screen when her phone rang. She cast an apprehensive glance at the window closest to her, even though she knew the office was the safest place she could be, as she answered. Just knowing Xavier was out there made her nervous about windows.

“Felice. We need to meet.”

Al. She’d been letting time tick down, trying to judge what would be the best time to call—not too late, because she didn’t want to make it sound like an emergency and cause him to have his guard up, but not so early that there would likely still be some people about. Having him initiate the meeting was good; he’d be less suspicious.

“All right,” she said calmly. “Where? Not the tank again; I’ve been there too often these past few days.”

“Remember that abandoned warehouse in Maryland where we did some of the training? Will that do?”

“Yes, of course.” The old warehouse would do better than nicely. It was perfect for what she had in mind. “When?” She’d let him set all the parameters; he’d feel safer. But he’d always underestimated her anyway; he’d never expect her to do her own wet work. She had, in fact, always kept her hands clean in that respect, but that didn’t mean she was inept with a weapon, or that she was incapable of doing what was necessary. She practiced regularly. And she’d always known, deep inside, that she was capable of killing.

“Can you make it in an hour?”

“I think so. I might be a little late.” She actually would have no problem making the hour time frame, but letting him think she’d be late might catch him the tiniest bit unprepared. Every advantage counted.

Maybe he’d decided to take a more active role in eliminating Xavier. If so, good for him; he might even have already done so, in which case he’d have saved her a lot of time and trouble. None of that would change her endgame at all.

On the other hand, it was more likely that Xavier had already struck back, in some fashion. It was worrisome that Al was being this cautious, that she could even consider he might be so spooked by Xavier that he felt this clandestine meeting was necessary. Then again, who knew Xavier better than Al?

Staying late at the office meant it was almost dark when she pulled out of the parking lot. The summer days were long, but it would be fully dark by the time she reached her destination.

She hadn’t been to the old warehouse in years, not since they’d ceased training four years ago; she didn’t think any of them had. It was best to walk away and not return. None of them had needed to continue training, anyway, except for Xavier. Where he worked out and practiced these days, no one knew.

The warehouse would still be in use by someone, though. It was an asset that wouldn’t be sold, though it might be repurposed. It hadn’t changed much, she thought as she approached at well below the speed limit. A wire fence topped with barbed wire surrounded the property, but the gate stood open. A number of streetlights kept the parking lot well lit. Maybe too well, but she would have to work with what she had. The building was longer than it was wide, made of rusting steel, and with windows so caked with dirt it was impossible to see what was on the other side. Al’s car was already there, parked near the door. She parked beside him and got out.

Now that she was here, a whisper of unease ran along her nerves. How long had he been here? Minutes? Hours? She laid her hand on the hood of his car and felt the heat that told her he hadn’t been here long; she could hear the clicks and ticks of a cooling motor. Good; if he’d been here so long that the engine had already cooled down, she’d think he was setting some kind of trap. Instead, he’d just gotten here.

She slipped her car keys into the right pocket of her crisp gray trousers and tucked her weapon into her waistband, at her spine. It wasn’t her favorite place to carry a handgun, but if she walked in carrying or wearing it in the open, Al would know something was up. She’d never habitually carried a weapon, though she could make the argument that at this point she wasn’t going anywhere unarmed.

A light was on, shining through the partially opened heavy metal door. A little bit of light from the parking lot might shine through, too, but not much thanks to the heavy coating of grime on the glass. She pushed the door open and paused, noting that the light came from one room on the right, at the far end of the hall, exactly where Al had said he would be.

Unease chilled her spine again. She changed her mind, drew her weapon. She wanted it in her hand. She could conceal it behind her leg. At the least, she wanted to hear what Al had to say. He might have some valuable information for her. Did he know where Xavier and Lizzy were? Did he have a workable plan for getting to them? But no matter what he said, he wasn’t leaving that room alive.

She moved down the hallway, past closed doors and open ones, her eyes searching the shadows in what had once been offices and employee break rooms and goodness knows what else. Nothing moved, other than herself. Her steps were easy, silent. When she was close to the room where a light burned, she called, in as normal a voice as possible, “Al?”

“Come on in,” he said, his voice as normal as hers. He even sounded a little distracted, not at all as strained as he’d sounded on the phone.

She shifted her weapon so it was concealed behind her thigh, walked forward.

The room where he waited was small and square, with a rusted door, an old desk, and two plastic chairs. She stepped inside and immediately spotted the camera, mounted on the metal desk, the light on that confirmed it was recording. Her gun hand remained low and hidden. Damn it, he’d taken the precaution of putting a camera on her.

He followed her gaze to the camera, his face betraying no emotion. “Just video, no audio,” he explained. “The feed is being transmitted to an off-site computer. I thought it might keep us honest.”

“Honest? That’s a …”

His hand flowed up, quick and smooth. He was wearing a glove, and in that gloved hand was a weapon. Startled, Felice looked at him and tried to raise her own hand, but he was too fast. He fired, once, twice.

She was dead before she hit the floor.



Al kicked Felice’s weapon away from her hand, even though it was obvious she was dead. One bullet to the chest, one in the head. She’d damn well better be dead. It would be humiliating to have so completely lost his touch that he’d missed such easy shots. He looked into the camera, then walked to the table to turn off the recorder.

He should be surprised that she’d arrived for their meeting with a weapon in her hand, but he wasn’t. The fact that he’d fired before she’d even had a chance to raise her gun would ensure that if this video were ever uncovered, he wouldn’t be able to claim self-defense. Not exactly the cold-blooded murder he’d planned, but the video would be more than incriminating enough. After all, he hadn’t drawn his weapon because she had one in her hand; he’d drawn on her and fired without provocation. The gloves indicated premeditation.

There was no way to know if Xavier had gotten his message or not, if he was headed toward Felice’s home and her specialist tonight, or tomorrow, or six months from now. Knowing Xavier, he’d bet on sooner rather than later, but there were too many variables to make a truly educated guess. No matter, really. Felice had to be out of the picture, and cleaning up the mess they’d made was his job.

Xavier should expect that Felice would have put someone on the house to wait for him, but when emotions were high, anything was possible. Giving him the warning was the least he could do.

Al patted down Felice’s pockets and found nothing but her car keys. He took the keys and dropped them into his own pocket. She’d probably left her purse in the car, though what he needed might be in the glove box or sitting on the console. In any case, it wasn’t here. He collected the camera and wiped down the room for any evidence that he and Felice had been here. The team coming in would do the same, and he trusted them to do the job well. But at the same time, he couldn’t always rely on others to do what he had to do himself.

Like Felice, he thought as he stepped over her body.

He’d taken no pleasure in killing her; it was just a chore, like filing taxes or taking out the trash. It simply had to be done. She’d gotten them into a huge mess with her impatience, her unwillingness to listen, so he’d done what he could to mitigate the damage.

In the vast, open parking lot—open and well lit so that there was no place for anyone to hide—he opened the trunk of his car and placed the camera to the right, next to the laptop that sat there, green light indicating that it was on, Wi-Fi keeping the connection with the camera active. Al opened the laptop, and leaning over and slightly into the trunk he transferred the video that clearly showed him shooting Felice to a thumb drive, dropped the thumb drive into his pocket, and then deleted everything from the computer.

The laptop would be in pieces before midnight. He couldn’t take the chance that the video might be retrieved somehow, someday. There could be only the one copy, if this was going to keep him alive.

That done, he slammed the trunk shut and walked to Felice’s car. She’d been cautious enough to lock it, even though judging by the gun she’d been carrying, in her hand and ready to fire, she hadn’t planned on being here for very long. Al unlocked the doors with her remote, opened the driver-side door, and leaned in. There was no phone on the console, but Felice’s purse was sitting on the passenger-side floorboard. With a gloved hand, he snagged it by the strap and pulled it out of the car.

A state-of-the-art cell phone fit snugly in an inside pocket made for the device. That was her personal phone, and it wasn’t what he was looking for. Carefully, he pushed aside a wallet and a small clear bag that contained lipstick and mascara, and near the bottom of the lined bag he saw the shape he was seeking.

Her burner cell was in a zippered inside pocket, buried deep. He removed the phone, then pressed the “contacts” button.

There was only one contact listed.

He thumbed the button to call the sole number programmed into the cell. When a man answered, Al said bluntly, “She’s dead. Whatever you’ve been paid is all you’re going to get, so call off your dogs.”

“Understood.” The man’s voice revealed no emotion. This was just business, after all. He might regret losing a good customer, but other than that there was no reason for him to care that Felice was dead. “How should I proceed with the daughter?”

That was an unexpected question. Was Ashley being held hostage? No, of course not. Felice would have pulled her daughter off the street the moment she realized Xavier was a threat. “She’s under your protection?”

“Against her wishes, yes.”

“Let her go,” Al instructed.

“What should I tell the girl about her mother?” Again the voice was cool, detached. Al suspected that voice would have remained the same if he’d instructed Felice’s contact to dispose of the girl.

“Nothing. Just release her.” Soon enough Ashley would learn—everyone would learn—that Felice had been the victim of a violent carjacking. It would be easier to make her disappear, maybe even more satisfying to just wipe her off the face of the earth, but if she just vanished, that would leave too many unanswered questions. Her death would be thoroughly investigated; the team who’d been tasked with disposing of her body would have to do a stellar job. He didn’t doubt that they would, and Ashley would have closure.

Al returned the purse, sans burner cell, to the floorboard and tossed the keys into the driver’s seat. The cleaners would be here within half an hour to finish the job he’d started.

He didn’t intend to be here when they arrived.



Felice’s contact immediately called “Evan Clark,” hoping the man would answer. Not being able to reach him would be one thing; if the man did the job and there was no one to pay him, that was something else entirely, and definitely not good.

Clark didn’t answer. Depending on the situation he might have his phone silenced, or hell, he might be out taking a piss. A message would have to suffice, and it wasn’t one he wanted to leave in a voice mail. He sent a text message from a phone that would be in someone else’s Dumpster within the hour.

Abort, Felice’s contact typed. The client is dead.