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He didn’t make her wait long. It was darker here, behind the hotel, but she knew where he’d appear and her gaze was there when he came ghosting around the back of the building thinking he’d find her there, either halfway out the bathroom window or sitting dazed on the ground after falling on her head. Sucker.
She eased down, tiptoed toward the door, and left the room as quietly as possible. She ran along the concrete sidewalk that ran the length of the motel. For a split second, she thought about stealing his bike. No, that wouldn’t work. This guy, these people, obviously had some sophisticated way of tracking her down. He’d surely have a way to track his own vehicle, maybe through some satellite GPS system that could disable the bike when he called it in.
She didn’t have much time before X realized she hadn’t gone out the window and headed back this way, so she had to move. Her direction was chosen by patches of darkness, by paths where she could remain out of sight.
Lizzy found a shadow along the hotel wall, where she stopped, held her breath, and listened. X might search for her out back for a while, he might investigate the immediate area beyond the broken bathroom window and attempt to track her from there, but he wouldn’t spend a lot of time doing that. In no more than a minute or so, probably sooner, he’d figure out what she’d done and come steaming back this way. And she was on foot, at least for now.
Just to make things fair, she thought he should be on foot, too.
Taking a chance that he was alone, that there wasn’t someone close by, watching, Lizzy took off at a run toward X’s motorcycle. Her first thought had been to run away, to head in the opposite direction, but this was too good a chance to pass up. She didn’t have a plan, but she was quickly learning to trust her instincts, to listen to that inner voice that had kept her alive until now. When she reached the motorcycle, happy for the moment that he’d parked it in the darkest spot in the parking lot, she took a couple of seconds to look it over. She had to tamp down her appreciation for the fine machine in order to do what had to be done.
She dropped to her haunches, took the scissors, and cut the spark plug wires. How did she know those were the spark plug wires? Who knew? She didn’t understand where the knowledge came from, but it really didn’t matter. As soon as it was done, she felt a short-lived rush of relief. Then she stood up and walked away. It was tempting to run, but if anyone was watching, a brisk walk would raise less alarm.
She didn’t dare go back toward her room, so she kept walking away, onto the narrow strip of pavement between this motel and the next and then toward the main road. She kept an ear cocked for sounds behind her but didn’t hear anything. She let herself enjoy the luxury of a small smile. He was going to be so pissed when he couldn’t start his bike.
Unfortunately, she couldn’t take the time to truly enjoy her act of vandalism. Bits and pieces of knowledge were coming back to her, and while she’d seen cars quickly and easily hot-wired on TV, TV generally sucked at accuracy. She did remember hot-wiring a car, could see her hands doing the work, but her memory was telling her it wasn’t quite that easy. She either had to get under the hood or else she needed a portable drill to remove the ignition. Either method would require tools; her bag felt damn heavy, but unfortunately there weren’t any tools in it, unless you counted the handy-dandy scissors. They wouldn’t get her a car, though, unless she used them to threaten a driver and take his keys.
She reached the main drag and turned left, breathing a sigh of relief that she’d made it this far without being tackled from behind. She hadn’t heard any footsteps, but she was beginning to not assume anything was beyond X’s capabilities. She risked looking behind her, and almost went limp with relief when she saw no one following her. Deep down, she’d really expected to see him coming toward her, his steps completely silent, a menacing figure of dark
ness.
Who the hell was he? She was suddenly, irrationally furious that she’d had those great erotic dreams about a man who was trying to kill her. It was as if her subconscious had pulled a really sick joke on her.
Forget about that. Who he was, and why he was after her, was far more important. This meant their initial meeting in Walgreens hadn’t been accidental, and, if she had to take a wild leap here, not their initial meeting at all. He was someone from those missing two years. On some level she’d recognized him, and that was why she’d abruptly panicked and run. It was the running that had tipped him off that some of her memories were coming back and that she was now, somehow, a threat to him.
What didn’t fit was the surveillance. Why watch her at all? If he intended to kill her, he’d had other opportunities before this morning.
Because he wasn’t the boss. Someone else, somewhere, had analyzed the information on her and made the decision. X was part of the wet team.
Wet team. Her head throbbed, and she stumbled to a stop, her vision blurring … and then the pain faded.
Lizzy inhaled deeply, braced herself, and deliberately made herself think, “Wet team.”
No pain. She started walking again.
It was as if each time her conscious thoughts ventured into an area that had previously been blocked, her brain was getting shocked, as if she’d touched an electrified fence. But once that fence was down, she could go to that section again without getting shocked.
Okay, hokey analogy, but it worked for her. When she had the time, she’d wonder how she even knew what a wet team was, but right now she had more pressing concerns.
About a block down the street she saw the neon lights from a bar. She started to cross to the other side to avoid the bright lights that would make her too easy to spot, if anyone was looking there, but then it struck her that there was no better place to find a car with the keys inside. Drunks did serve their purpose, now and then.
She hurried down the sidewalk, taking occasional glances behind her, but her luck was holding. She even smiled a little, thinking of X back at the motel parking lot, still trying to start his motorcycle. No, by now he should have found the severed spark plug wires, unless he was taking the time to thoroughly search the old motel. She could only hope her luck was that good. She’d allow herself to hope, but she wouldn’t bet the farm on it. She’d continue with her own plan.
She stopped before she reached the bar and studied the parking lot, looking for men outside taking a smoking break, which would be a situation she wanted to avoid. She didn’t see anyone, so she eased forward. Starting at the back of the parking lot, working her way to the front, gave her more cover for a longer period of time; she’d be exposed at the street for only as long as it took her to check that last line of cars, and maybe not even then if they were all newer models.
She checked only older cars that weren’t as likely to have active alarm systems, looking in the windows to see if they were unlocked, or maybe even had the keys in the ignition or the cup holders. People did stuff like that all the time. She didn’t have all night, and luck wasn’t with her. Even the drunks took care to lock their car doors in this part of town.
Disappointed, Lizzy sought the shadows of a Dumpster and leaned against the side of it, ignoring the smell, ignoring the fact that the cheap-ass drugstore tennis shoes were already rubbing a blister on the heel of her right foot, feeling the presence of X as acutely as if he were breathing down her neck. She’d slowed him down, but she had come nowhere near stopping him. She had no idea how, but they clearly had some means of locating her. Now when he caught her he’d just be mad.
And he would catch her, if she didn’t find wheels now.
The bar door opened and she sank back deeper into the shadows. She heard soft voices, getting louder as the people came toward her, but she stayed where she was. She was as well hidden here as she’d be anywhere else. A couple walked past her, arm in arm. Maybe—no. She dismissed the idea almost immediately. If she was going to jack a car, she didn’t need to take on two people. They’d come out of the bar, sure, but neither of them was staggering or weaving, or talking too loud. If they’d been drunk she might have been able to overpower them both, but they weren’t. She watched as they got into a dark red crossover vehicle, talking the entire time, and never even glanced in her direction. They pulled out of the parking lot, and she was once more alone.
That truth hit her like a ton of bricks. She was literally and completely alone. There was no one she could call for help, not without giving her location away and putting anyone who might be willing to give her a hand in serious danger. There in the humid night, crouching by a Dumpster, she felt scared and small and helpless.
Instantly she rebelled. She’d admit to the scared—she was scared spitless—but she was damned if she was helpless. One way or the other, she’d either get away or go down fighting. And if she fought hard enough, even if she lost the battle, the disturbance might attract enough attention that they didn’t get away with whatever it was they were doing.
Boy, that was some solace.
