No One Lives Twice (A Lexi Carmichael Mystery) (29 page)

When his mouth pulled away, I experienced a profound sense of disappointment. His lips brushed my brow and lingered against my cheek.

“That,
cara,
is my answer to you,” he whispered.

Without another word, he released me and left the kitchen. He moved so quietly, I barely heard the door to my apartment click shut.

Dazed, I slid to the floor and sat with my back against the wall. I stayed there for at least five minutes still feeling the burn of my lips and the quiver in my stomach. The visit from Slash had utterly unnerved me, but it had also firmed up my course of action. His presence indicated that my plan was working and that was important. No matter what had just happened between us, I had to push it aside and focus on what needed to be done.

When I was certain my legs would hold me, I headed back to my bedroom and logged on to my laptop. I scrolled through my email, taking time to look through the information on Bright Horizons that Rock had sent me. Nothing new that I hadn’t already known, but I forwarded it to one of the twins’ dozens of email accounts for safekeeping. Then I went to a secret email of my own and typed a message to Rock: Reproductive Human Cloning. He was bright enough to figure it out from there.

I changed into a clean pair of jeans, a white T-shirt and a black-and-orange Orioles baseball cap. Next I counted out the hard cash I had on the premises, including the small emergency stash hidden in a fake deodorant can underneath my bathroom sink. The stunning total came to $227.39.

I stuffed a couple of clean panties, bras and T-shirts into my oversized black tote bag, adding my address book, keys and passport. Lastly, and most importantly, I added my laptop, two rechargeable batteries and the battery charger. I grabbed my car keys and drove back to the twins’ house.

Elvis opened the door. “That was quick.”

“I would have been faster but I had a visit from Slash,” I said, coming inside and heading for the command room.

Elvis sounded surprised. “They
are
worried. The leash is tightening.”

“Not for long,” I said with a bravado I didn’t feel. “Phase A of the operation is about to go into play. Did you drive the truck to the mall?”

“Just got back. We weren’t followed as far as we could tell. The blue sedan hightailed it as soon as you left.”

“I noticed. He’s parked outside again. So far, so good, I guess.”

Xavier walked into the room and handed me a thick manila envelope and an electronic adapter.

“The adapter is so you can charge your computer while in Europe,” he explained. “And there is an extra grand in the envelope just in case you need it.”

I looked at the envelope in shock. “I can’t possibly accept this.”

“Consider it a loan,” Elvis said, pressing it into my hands.

My throat thickened. “Thank you.”

“Um, I hate to sound like the prophet of doom,” Xavier said. “But what happens if the plan doesn’t work?”

I didn’t really want to think about it, but a good operational plan had to consider any and all consequences.

“I guess the worst-case scenario would be if I actually succeed in getting everyone together and no one is interested in talking or participating in my auction. That would be pretty awkward. People might start shooting and I could end up dead. But I’ve got a hunch that’s not going to happen, especially with Basia there. If I can maintain the element of surprise, I think things are going to happen, and happen fast, as soon as the players start seeing each other.”

“It sounds dangerous to me,” said Xavier. “Are you sure talking is all they will want to do?”

“No, I’m not sure. But I’m hopeful. If I’m right, there’s going to be a lot of pretty powerful people coming together. I can’t see what they’d gain by shooting at each other.”

“What about shooting at you?” Elvis asked.

“Yeah, I suppose that’s a distinct possibility. I just hope there will be enough people present that believe it’s in their best interest to keep me alive.”

“So, what’s the best-case scenario?” Xavier asked.

“Judyta remains safe and gets to keep the baby if that’s what she wants, and everyone lives happily ever after. Including me.”

Elvis looked at me. “Are you sure you want to do this, Lexi? At the very least you’ll probably lose your job, no matter what happens.”

I reached over and took his hand, squeezing it. “Basia needs me. Besides, if I don’t end up dead or in jail, I can always start a new career as a cashier somewhere. You know, stellar math skills and all.”

It was supposed to be a joke, but neither Xavier nor Elvis cracked a smile. So much for lightening the mood.

“All right,” Elvis said. “We all know what we have to do and we’re clear on the rules. Just
don’t
deviate from the plan, not even an iota. We have to do this exactly the way we hammered it out. There is no room for mistakes. Got it?”

“Got it,” I said cheerfully. “I will not deviate from the plan in any shape, form or manner, and absolutely,
positively,
no improvising. I can remember that.”

Elvis nodded. “Good. Are you ready?”

I took a deep breath, as my heart started racing. I sincerely hoped I wasn’t being delusional in thinking I could really pull this off.

“As ready as I’m ever going to get,” I said, wondering if anyone noticed my hands shaking. “Is this phone secure?”

Elvis nodded and I tried not to look scared. “Okay, then let’s do it,” I said, picking up the phone and dialing it.

Jan was game for the plan after I assured her that Jamie would never be in any danger. She knew how much I adored him, and being a nice person, she agreed to help. As promised, it took her just under twenty minutes to arrive at the twins’ house with Jamie in tow. She had dressed as I requested in faded blue jeans, a short-sleeved red T-shirt and a floppy straw hat. Slung over her shoulder was her favorite extra-large, multi-color tote bag. She held hands with Jamie until they reached the front steps, then the seven-year-old bounded up the stairs and rang the doorbell at least fifteen times in rapid succession until Xavier let them in.

Jamie had met the twins several times before and the three of them were comfortable together in a weird, genius sort of way. While Xavier took Jamie off to show him something cool on the computer, Jan and I stepped into one of the twins’ empty bedrooms. They apparently used it as a storage room because one side of the room was stacked floor-to-ceiling with labeled white banker boxes full of computer equipment, while the other side of the room was home to an enormous heap of tangled cords and wires. There was no rug on the hardwood floor, no pictures hung on the wall, not a bed in sight. This room would definitely not win a prize for interior decoration.

“Lose the shirt,” I said, pulling off my own T-shirt and holding it out to her. “And make it quick.”

“Well, at the very least I expected a movie and dinner,” Jan quipped as she slipped out of her red shirt and handed it to me.

I pulled the shirt over my head and shoved my arms in. “I owe you big time.”

“I know. But I suppose you aren’t going to enlighten me any further on what you’re doing.”

“Nope,” I said, pulling my hair back into a ponytail exactly like Jan wore. “I would, but I swear, the less you know about any of this, the better. Trust me on this.”

“I do trust you. That’s why I’m here. I’m just worried about you.”

“I’m worried about me, too,” I said truthfully. “But things will work out. I hope.”

I transferred the contents of my black bag to her tote and then jammed the straw hat on my head. She put the baseball cap on her head and posed. I studied her critically.

“Not bad from a distance, but you’re shorter than me. I just hope the FBI isn’t paying close attention.”

“I’ll try to keep my head down,” Jan said, holding out her car key. “You, too.”

I took the key and we returned to the command room where Xavier and Jamie were playing an online game. We had to wait until the game was finished and then Jan explained to Jamie that he was going to go to the shopping mall with Elvis and me. To my surprise he nodded and immediately headed for the door. Elvis followed him.

“That was easy,” I whispered to Jan. I knew autistic kids typically didn’t like changes in their routine.

“We went over it three times before I left the apartment,” she whispered back. “Besides, he knows you and Elvis, so it’s not going to be a problem.” Then she took my hand and squeezed it. “Good luck, Lexi.”

I gratefully squeezed back and then hurried after Jamie and Elvis, throwing a last glance over my shoulder at Xavier. He gave me the thumbs-up sign and I smiled back at him with a bravado I didn’t feel.

As promised, I kept my head down as I made my way to Jan’s car. Jamie climbed right into the back seat and I was touched to see Elvis help him carefully fasten his seatbelt. I hopped in the driver’s seat and started the car. Elvis got in and I pulled out of the driveway. I dared a glance down the street and saw the dark sedan parked four driveways down. I didn’t look for long because Elvis said the driver was watching us.

“Are you ready to rock and roll?” he asked.

“As much as I’ll ever be,” I answered truthfully.

“Then let’s go.”

I took a deep breath and we drove down the street. I made a few unnecessary turns and detours, but as far as I could see no one was tailing us.

“Do you think the FBI bought it?” I asked.

He shrugged. “We’ll see.”

It wasn’t a terribly inspiring comment, but at least it was honest. When we got to the mall, I parked the car in the prearranged spot in the garage and all three of us went inside. We walked to the video arcade and Elvis popped some quarters into a pinball machine for Jamie.

When Jamie was busy, Elvis turned to me. “It won’t take them long to figure out you’ve taken our truck. But it will give you the illusion of an earnest, attempted evasion and that’s what we’re after. Here’s the key.”

I took it from him. “You and Xavier are the best,” I said. “How can I ever possibly repay you guys?”

“Get Xavier a date with Basia.”

“He doesn’t need me for that. He should just ask her himself.”

“He won’t.”

“All right, then consider it done. How about you?”

He looked at me for a long moment and then turned away. “I’ll tell you what—I’ll think about it. Now get going and be careful. And remember our all-important mantra.
Don’t
deviate from the plan.”

“Got it,” I said. “No deviation whatsoever.”

“Not one iota, Lexi. I mean it.”

“Not one. And thanks.”

With one last look at Elvis, I turned and left. As promised, the truck was parked at the pre-determined location in the mall parking lot. I quickly pulled out of the garage and headed north on the freeway. As far as I could tell, no one followed me. Then again, I wasn’t James Bond, so how would I know? Deciding to be happy in my ignorance, I turned the radio to full blast and sang along with a classic rock station as the sky darkened.

About three hours later, somewhere in rural Pennsylvania, I was in dire need of gas and a bathroom. I took the very next exit that had a gas sign, but unfortunately had to drive about two miles to find the station. It was one of my pet peeves, having to drive miles from the interstate to get gas, so I was kind of cranky when I finally found it.

Once there, my heart sank. The tiny run-down station was dimly lit and had one barely-standing pump. Crap, that meant no EZ-Mart with microwave burritos, bad coffee or a decent bathroom. There were no other cars being serviced and for a moment I wondered if it were even open. Thankfully light shone in the window of the adjacent building and I could see a crooked neon Open sign flashing orange. I pulled up in front of the pump and prayed that at the very least there was a bathroom for public use.

I was relieved to see an overweight, middle-aged guy sitting behind the counter, watching television. I pulled open the door and a little bell on the knob rang. He stood and assessed me, pushing his red ball cap back on his head and pulling a toothpick from his mouth. His other hand rested below the counter and I was one hundred and ten percent sure he had a shotgun there.

Apparently he decided I wasn’t a robber, because he removed his hand from under the counter and smiled at me. He had a wide gap between his two stained front teeth.

“Good evenin’, little lady,” he said. “How much gas you want?”

At five foot eleven I hardly considered myself little, but decided not to debate the point with him.

“Twenty dollars’ worth,” I said, laying a twenty on the counter. “You got a bathroom here?”

“Out in back,” he said. “Here’s the key.”

He handed me a key dangling from a chain that had a plastic replica of Pamela Anderson dressed in her low-cut, red
Baywatch
bathing suit. I held it away from me and stared in fascinated horror.

“It’s for the girls’ bathroom,” he said, snorting. “Get it?”

Yeah, I got it all right. This guy was seriously twisted. “Uh, thanks,” I said, quickly heading back out into the night.

It took me a good two minutes to work the key into the rusty keyhole and I felt decidedly uncomfortable squeezing Pamela’s plastic boobs while doing it. When I was just about to give up and use the bushes, the key turned and the door opened.

Once I finished my business and washed my hands in the rusty sink, I headed back to the truck to fill up the tank. I put my hand on the nozzle when a dark form abruptly stepped out in front of me.

“Hello, little girl,” Beefy said.

It was a good thing I had just gone to the bathroom. I screamed and dropped the nozzle. It fell on top of Beefy’s shoe, splashing some gasoline onto the leather. He glanced down and frowned.

“I’m going to smell like gas now,” he said.

That was the least of my problems. “What are
you
doing here?” I asked, my voice unnaturally high and terrified.

He crossed his thick arms against his chest. “It’s a nice, balmy night, isn’t it? I thought perhaps we could take a drive together, deep into the woods for a little chat. What do you say?”

“Gee, as romantic as that sounds, I think I’ll pass.”

He pulled out a gun and pointed it at me. “I urge you to reconsider.”

I swallowed hard and looked at the gun. “Well, if you put it that way.”

“She’s not going anywhere,” came a voice from around the side of the station.

To my utter shock, Finn Shaughnessy stepped out of the shadows. He, too, had a gun and pointed it at Beefy. Apparently everyone in the entire universe except me owned a firearm. Maybe it was time I changed that. In fact, morphing into a female Rambo was suddenly looking mighty attractive at the moment.

I started to hyperventilate. Oh, my God, the plan was falling apart before it had hardly even started. Finn was supposed to be in an operational blackout and Beefy, well, he hadn’t even been considered worthy of discussion. Big mistake. I made a mental note to never,
ever,
discount a minor variable the next time I planned clandestine action.

Jeez, I had to dump them both, and quick, or Elvis would skin me alive for breaking Rule #1—No Deviating From The Plan For Whatever Reason. Unfortunately, if I were to dump them successfully, I’d have to break Rule #2—No Improvising. Elvis would just have to understand that we all do what we must in moments of unexpected operational chaos.

I lifted my hands. “Okay, everyone just relax,” I said firmly, pretending that I actually had some semblance of control here. “How did you guys find me?”

Neither answered. Apparently it was a rhetorical question. How obvious did it have to be that I had no skills whatsoever at evasion, even by amateur standards? I might as well have driven around town with a Here I Am neon sign flashing on my forehead for everyone to see. Well, everyone except the FBI. Now the plan to ditch them until I got to Sweden wasn’t looking so good.

Beefy and Finn continued to ignore me, keeping their guns pointed at each other in a weird kind of standoff. I felt like a B-movie actress, standing by helplessly while the men shot it out over me. Of course, to a girl like me, this had a bit of appeal in a primitive, warped kind of way. On the up side, as long as they weren’t shooting at me, maybe they’d disable each other and I’d be able to escape unscathed. But I didn’t condone violence, even if it worked in my favor.

“Drop the gun, Harry,” Finn suddenly ordered, causing me to jump. His Irish brogue was thick and he was probably nervous as hell. Actually, I was nervous as hell, too, but instead of developing an accent, I had to pee again.

“Your name is Harry?” I said, looking at Beefy.

“I should have killed you when I had the chance,” Beefy growled.

“He tried to kill you?” I asked Finn in disbelief. “You mean you
know
each other?”

No one answered me.

“Do you even know how to use that gun, Irish?” Beefy said. “Your hand is shaking.”

“Oh,
contraire.
Your vision is blurred with fear.”

“Um, excuse me,” I interjected. “It’s not like I want to interrupt this very mesmerizing conversation, but can’t we all just get along?”

Unfortunately, instead of promoting peace my Rodney King speech brought out the violent tendencies in both men. Before I could draw another breath, Beefy grabbed me around the neck and yanked me to his chest. Finn shot a bullet right over our heads. I almost peed on the spot, shocked that Finn had actually used the gun.

“You missed!” I half shouted, half gasped the obvious because by now Beefy was pretty much choking me. Then he shoved the gun hard against my neck where it found a cozy little niche right against my jugular vein.

“Back off, Irish,” he snapped and then squeezed me tighter. “Drop the gun and I won’t hurt her.”

“Oh, jeez,” I managed to utter despite the chokehold. I hoped Finn wouldn’t do it. I’d seen enough of those cop shows on television to know that as soon as Finn dropped the gun there was a 99.9 percent chance that Beefy would kill us both anyway. If Finn kept the gun, at least we’d have a fifty-fifty chance.

“Don’t do it, Finn,” I cried, my voice garbled on account of the fact that my windpipe was being slowly crushed by Beefy’s forearm.

For a moment we all simply stared at each other in the dim light. I shifted on my feet and crossed my legs hard because I really had to pee now. Then, as if in slow motion, Finn began to lower the gun. In response Beefy lessened his hold around my neck.

“What are you doing?” I screeched at Finn once I could breathe again. “Haven’t you ever seen a police drama? Don’t you know the good guys are never
ever
supposed to give up their guns no matter what?”

“I know what I’m doing, Lexi,” Finn said, carefully tossing the gun to the ground in front of him. “Now let her go.”

“In good time, Irish,” Beefy said, moving the gun from my temple and aiming it at Finn.

“Oh, my God,” I moaned. Finn was obviously no connoisseur of American television, and therefore had no idea of the colossal mistake he’d just made. What could I do? Maybe I’d pass out, wake up and discover this had all been a horrible dream. Then again, if I passed out, Beefy would probably kill Finn and then take me for a torture-and-maim session in the woods.

I was knee-deep in kimchee. Not that I wasn’t in deep kimchee to begin with, but things had just moved from deep to downright subterranean. Jeez, what would James Bond do?

Well, he certainly wouldn’t stand around dithering about it, I told myself sternly. Saying a small prayer under my breath, I summoned all my strength and slammed an elbow into Beefy’s gut, loosening his hold around my neck. Then, because I
wasn’t
James Bond with a secret dart gun in my watch, I used the only weapon I had at my immediate disposal—my mouth. I opened it and took a great big chomp out of Beefy’s forearm. Blood filled my mouth and I started to choke.