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“Another question about odds: how likely is she to recover all her memory? Given the process, a partial recall is the more likely outcome.”
“Given the process, it’s a wonder she’s a functioning human being at all,” Al said sharply.
“She agreed to it.”
“Only because the other option was a bullet in the head.”
Felice had the beginnings of a headache, and she rubbed her forehead. Nothing about this situation was going to be easy. Al obviously wasn’t going to step up to the plate, even though they were practically getting slapped in the face by the danger signs. She’d have to handle it.
Very well, then, she’d do it her way.
But for Al’s benefit, she said, “Fine. We’ll just keep an eye on her for a while longer. You’d better pray you’re right, or we’re all going down.”
Chapter Fifteen
Discovering that she wasn’t in such bad physical condition after all was a nice surprise, Lizette had thought as she got ready that morning. Her thighs were a little sore, but not bad. When she got home from work this afternoon and had a better dinner than just a protein bar, she’d go again—and a little farther this time, maybe faster. She probably shouldn’t, she should probably let her muscles rest a day, but she was already eager to hit the pavement.
She was just getting in her car in the driveway when Maggie, clad in sweatpants and a tee shirt, came out on her front porch.
“Lizette, wait a minute!”
A little annoyed, a little harried—after all, a morning chat wasn’t in her schedule—Lizette paused and looked at her neighbor over the top of her car. “I have to get to work—”
“I know, this’ll be quick.” Maggie hurried to the edge of the porch and beckoned Lizette over. For once she didn’t have the little yap
per with her, though as soon as Lizette noticed that fact she heard the dog begin barking inside the house, protesting being left alone.
Resigned, Lizette went over to the porch, stepping gingerly through the dew-wet grass. She so didn’t want to go to work with wet feet. “Is something wrong?”
“Could be.” Maggie wasn’t wearing any makeup, Lizette noticed, and she looked a bit younger without it. That was strange. “Listen—don’t look, whatever you do don’t turn your head, but there’s been a strange car parked on the street since yesterday. One car left about seven this morning, and another took its place. It’s like they’re watching someone. I don’t like it, makes me feel weird. I wonder if they’re casing the houses in the neighborhood, looking for one to rob.”
Strange that when someone told you not to look somewhere, it was hard not to. Lizette concentrated on not looking. Chills ran over her entire body. So it wasn’t her imagination; someone was watching her. She didn’t know whether to feel gratified or terrified.
Don’t look, don’t look. She tried to think what to say. “Should we call the police, have them come check it out?”
“I don’t know.” Maggie looked nowhere except at Lizette. “It just strikes me as worrisome.”
If it was a burglary gang casing the neighborhood, Lizette knew exactly what she should do—and suddenly she knew how to handle the other possible situation, too.
“I’ll take care of it,” she said firmly. “Thanks for keeping an eye on things.”
Maggie looked a little startled. “What’re you going to do?”
“Get his tag number.”
And she did. She didn’t have to back out of her driveway this morning because she’d backed in the afternoon before, in keeping with her new parking mode. As she started the car she carefully examined all the cars parked on the street and spotted the intruder almost immediately, even though the car itself was unremarkable, a beige domestic sedan. She knew what cars belonged on this street, and that wasn’t one of them. And there was a man in it, a man who was kind of slumped to the side as if trying to hide from view. If she hadn’t been alerted, and hadn’t been looking for him, she might well have driven right by without noticing anything unusual.
He was parked so that if she took her normal route to work she would turn in the opposite direction from where he was parked; he’d be able to pull into the street right behind her. That meant she couldn’t easily get his tag number.
There was also the concern that he might pull a pistol and shoot at her, but she didn’t think so. Whoever was watching her had done nothing except watch; she didn’t know why, she didn’t know who it was, but so far no one had tried to harm her. And if Maggie had spotted some would-be burglars, they weren’t likely to be armed, because the jail sentences were so much worse if they were caught with weapons.
Cautiously, she stopped at the end of her driveway, looked both ways for traffic—nothing in sight—and pulled into the street. She immediately stomped on the brake, slammed the transmission into reverse, and, tires squealing as they fought for traction, shot backward toward the suspicious car. She zoomed past in reverse and saw the guy’s startled face looking out the window.
As soon as she was past him, she slammed on the brakes again, quickly scribbled down his tag number, and pulled even with him and stopped, hitting the button that lowered the passenger-side window. Cautiously, he also lowered his window. “Hey,” she yelled angrily, showing him the notepad where she’d written down his tag number. “If you’re casing houses in this neighborhood to rob, buddy, you’d better think twice, because I’ve got your license plate number.”
He couldn’t have looked more stunned if she’d rammed his car instead of just getting his tag. “I—what? No. I’m not—honest, lady, this isn’t—”
“Then you need to get your ass off this street,” she barked. “And don’t tell me you’ve been waiting for someone, not all this time. You think people haven’t noticed you? Git!”
