by Linda Howard
There were still plans to make, decisions that had to be made, but for the first time on this long day Lizzy could truly imagine herself making it down the road.
One step at a time.
While his guy grumbled about being called out in the middle of the night for transport and repair, Xavier leaned against the wall of the windowless garage and once again studied the map on his cell. The mechanic—Rick—was one of his people, a whiz with engines of all kinds as well as a more-than-decent sniper.
Changing spark plug wires wasn’t a difficult or time-consuming job. He could have done it himself if he’d had the parts, but it was a plus to have someone on his payroll who had a quiet place to do the work as well as the spare parts and the expertise.
Xavier had checked Lizzy’s progress often since calling Rick. He’d followed her progress away from the hotel, then west on I-66. Two blinking dots, representing her cell phone and her wallet, had stayed together—until now.
For the first time since he’d planted them, the two dots separated. Xavier pushed away from the wall, frowning as he watched and considered the possibilities. He ran his thumb over the screen and zoomed in for detail. Walmart. The cell was still in the store, but the wallet was walking out.
Quickly he ran through the options. Had she planted the wallet on someone leaving the store while she stayed to shop, or had she planted the cell on someone still in the store and then made her escape? His money was on the wallet being with her. That tracker would be more difficult to locate, and a cell phone, small as it was, would be easier to drop in a pocket or purse while passing by.
Though all she’d have to do was set the wallet on a shelf and walk away, and someone would pick it up.
Worst case, she’d found both trackers, or else was simply getting rid of everything she’d had on her when she’d run and was starting fresh. If she did that, then he’d lost her. Violently he rejected that thought. No matter what, he’d find her. He had a starting point, that Walmart in Leesburg. She’d be picked up on the parking lot cameras, and he’d find a way to get access to the recording. He’d at least have an idea of what she was driving.
All he could do was watch the trackers. If one—or both—moved to a site nearby and stayed there, it was most likely not in Lizzy’s possession. If one object stopped at a house or apartment nearby while the other kept going, he’d have her.
“How long?” he asked sharply.
“Almost there,” Rick growled. He was still grumpy about his interrupted sleep.
Xavier dialed, put the phone to his ear. “Anything?” he said when Maggie answered.
“They’re watching her house,” Maggie said. Despite the hour, she sounded as alert as if it were high noon. “Slow drive-bys, the occasional car parked on the street for an hour or so before moving on. This afternoon a package was delivered. Well, almost. The so-called deliveryman rang the bell, looked in the window, then started nosing around. I went outside and offered to sign for the package for Lizette, but that spooked him and he left—with the package, which judging by the way he held it was nothing more than an empty box, just an excuse to get close, in case anyone was watching. No one has gone inside yet, but that’ll happen soon.”
“She’s not going back there,” Xavier said.
“Of course not. She isn’t a fool.” Maggie sounded insulted on Lizzy’s behalf. “Further instructions?” she asked.
“If they make a move on the house, call the police. As a concerned neighbor,” he added.
“I can handle them myself, if you’d just let me …”
“No.” He didn’t need dead bodies piling up on Lizzy’s doorstep. “I’m just trying to keep them busy.” And annoyed. They had to be wondering how an office worker could so efficiently elude them and have them running around like monkeys.
Maggie sighed, obviously disappointed. “My next assignment had better be a little more exciting than this one. The excitement factor has gone up the past few days, but watching an empty house is pretty damn boring.”
Xavier watched Rick finish up the repair job. “But you like the dog,” he said.
“Yeah, Roosevelt is a plus.” Then she went back to all-business. “I’ll let you know if matters escalate here, but my guess is when they see no results from their stakeout they’ll move on.” She paused. “Is she all right?”
“As far as I can tell.” Xavier ended the call and leaned against the garage wall again, watching the blinking dots that grew farther and farther apart. If he was lucky, in no more than an hour or two he’d be able to identify which tracker had stayed with Lizzy. If she’d gotten rid of them both … he was royally screwed.
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 offere
d, 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.”