a couple of quick stretches. Gone was the staid office worker he’d been watching; he wouldn’t have recognized her if he hadn’t seen her walk out of that house.
Her hair was pulled back into a thick ponytail. Her face looked sharper this way, more … dangerous. She was dressed all in black, with the exception of her shoes, which were a dark gray. No baggy shorts and muscle shirts for this runner, not even in the notorious D.C. heat and humidity. Her shirt was short-sleeved and loose—loose enough to hide a weapon beneath, if necessary—and the pants were long and fitted.
This duty was new, but he had been briefed. Once the subject was in, she should have been in for the night. He’d seen pictures of her, walking in the neighborhood, iPod on, earbuds in, zoned out and dressed in shorts and a tank top that didn’t leave room for her to hide so much as a piece of gum. So, leaving the house was unusual but not unheard of. Still … this was an entirely different look for her.
She jogged toward the street, and he got ready to throw his jacket over the computer and start the engine if she headed his way. Instead she turned and ran in the opposite direction, and he relaxed again as he kept an eye on her: back straight, form good, she ran slowly past her neighbor’s house and then increased her speed. She didn’t keep her eyes straight ahead, but instead studied her surroundings, keeping good situational awareness. No iPod. People were stupid to run alone with their ears plugged so they couldn’t hear anyone coming up behind them. A lot of people got mugged that way.
The subject hadn’t looked straight at him as she’d hit the street, but he was sure she knew he was here.
Quickly he dialed a number on his cell phone. When the call was answered, he said, “I think something’s going on.”
There was a short silence, then an exasperated, “Like what, for fuck’s sake?”
“I may be wrong, but it looks as if she’s going into some physical training. Not a casual jog; the look’s all wrong, like she’s about to get into some serious running. No iPod, noticing everything around her. I’m pretty sure she spotted me.”
There was another curse, then: “Clear out. You don’t need to be there when she comes back home. I’ll get someone else on her.”
Chapter Thirteen
Three a.m. was prime time for any self-respecting burglar. Houses were dark; all the residents were—or should be—sleeping.
Felice definitely had active surveillance on Lizzy. Even if he hadn’t already been alerted, Xavier would have spotted the car right off. The car itself was as bland as a car could get, but he knew what vehicles belonged in the neighborhood, and this one didn’t. The guy inside was taking care to keep a low profile; he wasn’t smoking, but he was drinking coffee to stay awake, and Xavier didn’t need night-vision goggles to spot the movement of his hand as he lifted the thermos cup to his mouth.
Before actually arriving at her house, Xavier had made a thorough reconnoiter of the surrounding area. Everything was clear. This was exactly what Forge had said it would be: low-level, just one guy.
Knowing how the game was played, he wasn’t surprised they’d put eyes on her. But he hadn’t picked up any prior intel on the move, which meant Felice McGowan was behind the surveillance, not Forge. And it meant she had used people outside the usual network.
That wasn’t good news for any of them. She had taken control from Forge on this; Forge might have balked at the idea and this was nothing more than Felice having her way, but Xavier didn’t like the use of outside people. That signaled a breakdown of trust.
Trust was all they had holding this thing together. It was an armed, guarded, lots-of-safety-nets-in-place kind of trust, but it worked because they all knew each other and the situation was limited to their small group. Outside people … he didn’t know their training, didn’t know how they’d react in a fluid situation, didn’t know how much they knew or what their orders were.
He’d rather deal with a skilled professional any day than an amateur. There was no telling what the fuck an amateur would do. They were as likely to open fire at a sudden noise as they were to totally screw the job by going to sleep. Hell, he didn’t even know if this guy