After a while she said, “I’m different too, with him.”
Maggie nodded, gave a slightly sad smile that told Lizzy the other woman’s thoughts had wandered into a dark place. “That you are.”
Felice looked up from her computer screen when her phone rang. She cast an apprehensive glance at the window closest to her, even though she knew the office was the safest place she could be, as she answered. Just knowing Xavier was out there made her nervous about windows.
“Felice. We need to meet.”
Al. She’d been letting time tick down, trying to judge what would be the best time to call—not too late, because she didn’t want to make it sound like an emergency and cause him to have his guard up, but not so early that there would likely still be some people about. Having him initiate the meeting was good; he’d be less suspicious.
“All right,” she said calmly. “Where? Not the tank again; I’ve been there too often these past few days.”
“Remember that abandoned warehouse in Maryland where we did some of the training? Will that do?”
“Yes, of course.” The old warehouse would do better than nicely. It was perfect for what she had in mind. “When?” She’d let him set all the parameters; he’d feel safer. But he’d always underestimated her anyway; he’d never expect her to do her own wet work. She had, in fact, always kept her hands clean in that respect, but that didn’t mean she was inept with a weapon, or that she was incapable of doing what was necessary. She practiced regularly. And she’d always known, deep inside, that she was capable of killing.
“Can you make it in an hour?”
“I think so. I might be a little late.” She actually would have no problem making the hour time frame, but letting him think she’d be late might catch him the tiniest bit unprepared. Every advantage counted.
Maybe he’d decided to take a more active role in eliminating Xavier. If so, good for him; he might even have already done so, in which case he’d have saved her a lot of time and trouble. None of that would change her endgame at all.
On the other hand, it was more likely that Xavier had already struck back, in some fashion. It was worrisome that Al was being this cautious, that she could even consider he might be so spooked by Xavier that he felt this clandestine meeting was necessary. Then again, who knew Xavier better than Al?
Staying late at the office meant it was almost dark when she pulled out of the parking lot. The summer days were long, but it would be fully dark by the time she reached her destination.
She hadn’t been to the old warehouse in years, not since they’d ceased training four years ago; she didn’t think any of them had. It was best to walk away and not return. None of them had needed to continue training, anyway, except for Xavier. Where he worked out and practiced these days, no one knew.
The warehouse would still be in use by someone, though. It was an asset that wouldn’t be sold, though it might be repurposed. It hadn’t changed much, she thought as she approached at well below the speed limit. A wire fence topped with barbed wire surrounded the property, but the gate stood open. A number of streetlights kept the parking lot well lit. Maybe too well, but she would have to work with what she had. The building was longer than it was wide, made of rusting steel, and with windows so caked with dirt it was impossible to see what was on the other side. Al’s car was already there, parked near the door. She parked beside him and got out.
Now that she was here, a whisper of unease ran along her nerves. How long had he been here? Minutes? Hours? She laid her hand on the hood of his car and felt the heat that told her he hadn’t been here long; she could hear the clicks and ticks of a cooling motor. Good; if he’d been here so long that the engine had already cooled down, she’d think he was setting some kind of trap. Instead, he’d just gotten here.
She slipped her car keys into the right pocket of her crisp gray trousers and tucked her weapon into her waistband, at her spine. It wasn’t her favorite place to carry a handgun, but if she walked in carrying or wearing it in the open, Al would know something was up. She’d never habitually carried a weapon, though she could make the argument that at this point she wasn’t going anywhere unar
med.
A light was on, shining through the partially opened heavy metal door. A little bit of light from the parking lot might shine through, too, but not much thanks to the heavy coating of grime on the glass. She pushed the door open and paused, noting that the light came from one room on the right, at the far end of the hall, exactly where Al had said he would be.
Unease chilled her spine again. She changed her mind, drew her weapon. She wanted it in her hand. She could conceal it behind her leg. At the least, she wanted to hear what Al had to say. He might have some valuable information for her. Did he know where Xavier and Lizzy were? Did he have a workable plan for getting to them? But no matter what he said, he wasn’t leaving that room alive.
She moved down the hallway, past closed doors and open ones, her eyes searching the shadows in what had once been offices and employee break rooms and goodness knows what else. Nothing moved, other than herself. Her steps were easy, silent. When she was close to the room where a light burned, she called, in as normal a voice as possible, “Al?”
“Come on in,” he said, his voice as normal as hers. He even sounded a little distracted, not at all as strained as he’d sounded on the phone.
She shifted her weapon so it was concealed behind her thigh, walked forward.
The room where he waited was small and square, with a rusted door, an old desk, and two plastic chairs. She stepped inside and immediately spotted the camera, mounted on the metal desk, the light on that confirmed it was recording. Her gun hand remained low and hidden. Damn it, he’d taken the precaution of putting a camera on her.
He followed her gaze to the camera, his face betraying no emotion. “Just video, no audio,” he explained. “The feed is being transmitted to an off-site computer. I thought it might keep us honest.”
“Honest? That’s a …”
His hand flowed up, quick and smooth. He was wearing a glove, and in that gloved hand was a weapon. Startled, Felice looked at him and tried to raise her own hand, but he was too fast. He fired, once, twice.
She was dead before she hit the floor.
Al kicked Felice’s weapon away from her hand, even though it was obvious she was dead. One bullet to the chest, one in the head. She’d damn well better be dead. It would be humiliating to have so completely lost his touch that he’d missed such easy shots. He looked into the camera, then walked to the table to turn off the recorder.
He should be surprised that she’d arrived for their meeting with a weapon in her hand, but he wasn’t. The fact that he’d fired before she’d even had a chance to raise her gun would ensure that if this video were ever uncovered, he wouldn’t be able to claim self-defense. Not exactly the cold-blooded murder he’d planned, but the video would be more than incriminating enough. After all, he hadn’t drawn his weapon because she had one in her hand; he’d drawn on her and fired without provocation. The gloves indicated premeditation.