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The one light in the house, though, was a big, blinding glare in his night-vision goggles. He turned his head incremental
ly, taking five minutes to move an inch, because sure as hell the specialist would have night vision too, and movement could get him spotted as easily as it could the guy he was looking for.
Patience was the key. The shooter had been in place longer than he had, which meant he would get thirsty sooner, have to piss sooner. That was assuming anyone was here at all, that Al wasn’t playing mind games with him and had lured him here to set up a trap of his own. Xavier had always gone into any situation knowing it could be his last. Being aware had kept him alive so far—
There.
The man was practically dead ahead, not ten yards in front of Xavier. The only thing that had given him away was a not-quite-slow-enough movement of his head as he surveyed the property. He’d set up at least a third farther back from the property than Xavier had expected. Shit, at least he had to admire the man’s tactics. This wasn’t an amateur.
No, this was a dead professional. He just hadn’t stopped breathing yet.
Xavier painted the back of the man’s head with a pinpoint laser, aimed his silenced weapon, and fired.
Now he’d stopped breathing.
Swiftly, Xavier covered the ten yards, kicked the man’s weapon away, then knelt and checked. Definitely dead. Medium size, medium build, medium … just medium, the kind of guy who could go anywhere without being noticed.
He patted down the shooter’s pockets, looking for identification. Nothing, not that he’d really expected any; still, it was always best to look and make certain. He did find a cell phone, turned off. He didn’t turn it on. Some cell phones made a hell of a racket when they were activated, playing tunes and beeping and chiming. He wiped it down and slipped it back into the man’s pocket.
Even then, he didn’t immediately go toward the house. A silenced shot was a long way from silent. While it wouldn’t have been heard inside Felice’s house, or in any of her neighbors’ houses, Xavier had no guarantee that the specialist was alone. He waited another hour, watching, before he slipped down to the house.
Her security system was fairly standard. He bypassed it without a problem. The deadbolts on the doors were a bigger problem, but like most people, she had a back door with a window. He thought it was one of the stupidest things people could do. Why not just invite a burglar in? Using a diamond cutter, he sliced a round hole in the glass big enough for him to get his hand through, then opened the deadbolt as well as the simple lock on the doorknob.
He noiselessly entered.
He was out in less than ten minutes. The house was empty. Felice wasn’t here.
She’d set her guard dog to watch an empty house, knowing Xavier would eventually come here looking for her.
Damn it, where the fuck was she?
Something was going on. Xavier didn’t need his spidey sense to tell him that. Al had warned him about the shooter, and hadn’t set up an ambush of his own even though he had to have known Xavier would be there sooner rather than later.
If Felice had gone to ground somewhere, would Al know? Had they had a falling out, a parting of the ways? If they had, Al had better be watching his own back—but then, so should Felice.
He was well away from the neighborhood when he made a decision. He wasn’t on the Harley—it was too loud—so he wasn’t worried about being heard inside the car he’d taken from the garage where he’d left Lizzy. Taking out his phone, he dialed a familiar number.
“Our friend definitely had company,” he said when Al answered. “But she wasn’t at home.”
“And her company?”
“He’s asleep behind the house.”
“I’ll have him taken care of.”
“Do you have any information on our friend’s whereabouts?”
“We need to meet.”
Xavier had expected that. “Where?” He might be making a damn big mistake, but something was definitely going on, and he needed to know what it was. Al was his best bet for that.
It was the next day. Xavier and Lizzy had both arrived at the designated meeting place two hours early, and circled it several times in opposite directions. She hadn’t actively recovered any more memories, but she was moving the way she had before, balanced and alert, instead of with the flat, unaware gait she’d used for the past three years.
Whether or not she ever fully regained her memory, she was herself again, full of piss and vinegar, and he loved her. No matter what, he wouldn’t let them be separated again.
As proof of his love, he was even letting her ride the Harley without him. She knew how, and as soon as she’d thrown a leg over the Hog the muscle memory had taken over. Watching her, her movements at first tentative and then rapidly gaining in confidence, had been a real kick.
She’d looked at him, her smile as bright as summer. “Hey! I can do this!”
