No One Lives Twice (A Lexi Carmichael Mystery) (8 page)

“Have you two lost your freaking minds?” I said, aghast. “If he is real, he could turn us in. He’d be compelled to turn us in. We could go to prison. Forever.”

Elvis looked amused. “Don’t be so macro-dramatic, Lexi. Slash is one of us.”

Us
was apparently the exclusive hacker club. To them, it was that simple. To me, it wasn’t.

“I’m not kidding, you guys,” I said. “It’s not worth it. It’s not
that
important.”

Elvis’s blue eyes focused on me thoughtfully. “Your life is at risk here, Lexi, and Basia’s, too. People are aiming guns at you and breaking into your apartment. Slash could easily help us with this.”

I was touched by their concern, but scared to death that I was going to get them into serious trouble. “I thought you just said this was too risky,” I pointed out to Elvis.

“I changed my mind,” he said, shrugging.

“Then change it back. I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” I warned.

“You’ve got to trust us, Lexi,” Xavier said. “You need a quick, thorough look at that company and this is the fastest way to do it.”

“I
do
trust you,” I said emphatically. “But what if Slash is not trustworthy? What if he really is a consortium of federal computer experts ready to arrest our butts for hacking?”

Xavier laughed. “You think we’d go into this without protecting ourselves first? Come on, Lexi. Have a little faith. We’ll just send Slash a message…drop an invitation, so to say.”

“An invitation?” I repeated suspiciously. I had no idea what he was talking about. “In what way do you plan to do that?”

“The
right
way,” Elvis said, his eyes softening. I guess he kind of had a soft spot for me. Especially when I was completely clueless, like now.

“Do you even know how to reach him?” I said. “You just can’t send a message blindly.” I think I started to sound hysterical. “And what if this so-called invitation falls into the wrong hands?”

Elvis sighed. He did that when he got tired of explaining things to me. Which, unfortunately, happened more often than I cared to admit.

“I’ll leave a message that only Slash can read in a place only he would find it,” he explained. “If Slash is a consortium of experts, as you believe, they will neither find nor understand the message. But if he is one of us, he will. And I guarantee you, he’ll come.”

He spoke with such confidence, I almost believed him. But by now my stomach hurt and was well on its way to developing an ulcer.

Elvis gently touched my cheek. “You’re so cute when you’re worried. But you shouldn’t question our methods.”

He turned back to the computer and typed for a few minutes. After a moment, he stood and stretched his lean form, arms over his head. “Done. We’ll see if he comes.”

I looked from Xavier to Elvis and realized I’d been summarily dismissed. “So that’s it?” I asked uncertainly. “Now what?”

“We wait,” Xavier said. “Either he shows or he doesn’t. And in the meantime, we keep looking for a way into the company.”

Elvis walked me to the door. “You’ve got your car today?” he asked.

“I do,” I said, pulling my sunglasses out of my bag and putting them on. “Thanks again for everything, Elvis. I mean it.”

“For you, Lexi, anytime. You’re pretty optimum for a chick.”

That was probably the nicest thing he’d ever said to me, even if it was in a backhanded sexist kind of way, and it made me feel better. Especially since guilt was eating away at me for having involved them in the first place.

I left the house and hopped into my car. It was past noon and I decided my stomach hurt not because of nerves, but because I was starving. I drove to Taco Bell, went through the drive-thru and ordered three tacos and a Diet Pepsi. I ate one taco in the car at a stoplight, spilled some hot sauce on my T-shirt and sighed because now I
really
had to do laundry.

I pulled into the parking lot at my apartment complex and picked up the bag with the remaining two tacos and my Diet Pepsi. I juggled the bag and cup while opening the complex door and then trudged up three flights of stairs. I unlocked my door and peeked in cautiously. I didn’t hear anything suspicious and no one reached out to grab me, so I stepped inside and breathed a sigh of relief. I closed and locked the door and then walked into the kitchen.

Sitting at the table, drinking one of my Diet Cokes, was Beefy.

“Hey, Lexi,” he said, smiling at me. “About time you got here.”

I dropped the bag with my tacos on the floor and heard a sickening splat. Beefy waved a hand at the empty chair, motioning for me to sit. I didn’t see the gun, but I was one hundred percent certain he had it underneath his tacky polyester blazer.

“Sorry to startle you,” he said. “You weren’t around, so I let myself in. You really need to get a maid, you know. You live like a pig.”

My initial fright faded, turning into anger. I was tired of my apartment turning into Grand Central Station.

“What do you want?” I snapped, picking my tacos off the floor and plopping into the chair. I opened up the bag and frowned at the mess that had once been my lunch.

He feigned a hurt look. “Have you forgotten our little talk yesterday? And why didn’t you go to work today?”

“What are you, my mother?”

He held out his hand. “The documents.”

“You’re too late,” I said. “Someone already stole them.”

“What?” he exclaimed, leaping out of the chair. For a terrifying moment I thought he’d lunge across the table at me.

“Someone stole them,” I repeated, trying to calm him. “I thought it might have been you, but now my money is on Mr. Middle Eastern Guy.”

“Mr. Middle Eastern Guy?” He stared at me in surprise. “What the hell are you talking about?”

I tried to act casual even though my heart was pounding. I stuck my fingers in the taco mess and licked off some sour cream. “I kind of hoped you were working together, but now I see that isn’t likely.”

His eyes narrowed. “I work alone. Who the hell is Mr. Middle Eastern Guy?”

“How would I know? He was here in my apartment waiting for me when I came home from my parents’. He wanted the documents from Basia just like you. He held a gun to my chest and had evidently tossed the place searching for them.”

“What did he look like?”

“Dark hair, dark skin, dark clothing. Accent. Big gun.”

“And from this you extrapolated Middle Eastern descent?”

“Hey, I’ve been to college. I took world geography.”

Beefy didn’t look convinced. “So you just gave him the papers?”

“I didn’t give him anything. I didn’t have the papers. My neighbor gave them to me after he left. They were apparently delivered while I was at my parents’. He must have doubled back and stolen them after I went to sleep.”

Beefy slammed his fist on the table, causing me to jump. “You went to sleep without calling me to tell me you had the papers?”

“It was the middle of the night,” I said, a little of the fright coming back. “I thought you’d be asleep. I didn’t want to disturb you. I had planned on calling you first thing in the morning. But once I discovered they were stolen, I was too afraid. I didn’t want to make you angry.”

He growled, his gold tooth looking like some kind of weapon that could shoot out of his head. He had started to turn red, too, which wasn’t a good sign.

“I told you to call me before you did anything,” he yelled.

“I know, I know,” I said, holding up my hands. “I’m sorry. I fell asleep. Sue me. It had been a long day.”

He swore under his breath. “And this man just stole them from you while you slept? You didn’t hear anything?”

“Not a peep.”

“You left them out in the open? Didn’t you at least have the foresight to hide them?”

I shifted uncomfortably. “I tried.”

He narrowed his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I, ah, put them under my pillow for safekeeping.”

He stared at me, clearly flabbergasted. “You mean to say he stole them out from under your head while you slept?”

“That would be the winning scenario.”

He shook his head. “And you call yourself among those who protect America’s security and freedom? How in the world did you get a job at the NSA?”

I lifted my shoulders. “Can I help it if I take tests well? And might I mention that appearances can be deceiving? Ronald Reagan made movies with chimpanzees and he still led us out of the Cold War.”

Beefy stood and started pacing in my tiny kitchen. It meant he took two steps forward and two steps back. It started to make me dizzy. Finally he stopped and looked at me.

“Did this Mr. Middle Eastern Guy say why he wanted the papers?” he asked.

“He wasn’t exactly chatty. But, like you, he knew Basia had sent them to me.” Apparently everyone else in the entire universe had known except me.

He stared at me for a long moment, assessing, weighing his options. “Did you take a peek at the papers?”

“No way,” I lied. “After my encounter with you and then Mr. Middle Eastern Guy, I didn’t even want to know what was in there.”

“Are you telling the truth, little girl?” he asked, bending down close to me. I smelled garlic on his breath and tried not to gag. “I can tell if you’re lying.”

“I’m not lying,” I said, hoping I sounded convincing because I had this weird feeling that my life depended on it.

Before he could say anything else, the doorbell rang. Startled, I looked at him, unsure what I should do.

“Answer it,” he said. “And no funny stuff.” He patted his blazer and I got the message loud and clear.

I opened the door. A young, skinny guy about nineteen stood there. He had a bad case of acne and reeked of High Karate aftershave. I knew it was High Karate because my brothers had once drenched me in it as punishment when I told my dad they’d been sneaking out. The scent of it haunts me to this day.

“Hello, Miss Carmichael,” he said, looking at a piece of paper attached to a clipboard. “My name is Jesse Kirkpatrick and I’m with SuperProtect Alarm Systems. You requested a system to be installed?”

“That would be me,” I said, trying not to wrinkle my nose. “Jesse, would you mind waiting here just a sec?”

He looked puzzled, but shrugged. “Sure.”

I shut the door and walked back to the kitchen. Beefy was standing with his back against the refrigerator, his hand resting beneath his blazer. “Who is it?” he asked.

“Home improvement,” I said. “Look, would you mind if he came in and did his thing? It will only take a few minutes and I really need to get this done this afternoon.”

His eyes narrowed. “What are you having done?”

I didn’t see how I could lie about it. “A home security system.”

He looked at me incredulously and then laughed. “You’re a real card, Lexi. All right, let him in.”

I returned to the door and let Jesse in. “Thanks for coming on such short notice,” I said.

“No problem. We aim to please every customer at SuperProtect.” He lifted a paper. “You want the standard alarm system?”

I looked over at Beefy who had walked into the hallway and leaned casually against the wall, watching us. “Not anymore. If possible, I want the best system you have.”

“That would be our wireless system. But it doesn’t come cheap.”

“I’m sure I’ll get my money’s worth,” I assured him.

“All right, ma’am. The wireless system it is.”

I felt depressed when he called me “ma’am”. I was going to turn twenty-five next week with nothing to show for it except that kids now called me “ma’am”.

“Where shall I put the main pad?” Jesse asked.

I motioned to the wall near the front door and he nodded, returning to his truck and coming back with a large toolbox and an alarm pad.

Beefy jerked his head to the side, motioning that I should return to the kitchen. He had a gun, so I did what he wanted. He sat down at the table, so I opened the fridge and got out a Diet Coke.

“Hand me one, too,” Beefy said.

“I’ve got regular Coke, you know,” I said.

He patted his stomach. “No, thanks. I’m watching my weight.”

Sighing, I tossed him a can. He caught it and popped the top. “We need to finish our conversation,” he said.

“Okay,” I agreed. Anything to get him out of my apartment. Then I could turn on my spanking new alarm system and keep him, and everyone else, the hell out.

“So, you know how I can reach this Middle Eastern guy, Lexi?” he asked.

The question took me off-guard because my hand shook, spilling Diet Coke on the table. “What do you mean?” I asked, wiping up with a napkin.

“Did he leave you a way to contact him if you received the documents?”

“You mean, a business card?”

“Stop playing dumb.”

Why did people keep saying that to me? Was it that obvious? “Yeah. He gave me his phone number.”

“I see. And are you sure you didn’t call him first to come get the documents? You can trust me with the truth.”

Yeah, and pigs flew, too. “I am telling you the truth,” I insisted. “I didn’t call either of you. Someone came and stole the papers last night while I slept. Check my phone records if you don’t believe me. No phone calls to either your number or his.”

Beefy smiled slowly. “I already checked. One call to Basia’s apartment and one call to her mother in Chicago. Neither overly productive, I presume. You don’t own a cell phone, so you’re clear on that front. Unless you got one of those pre-paid jobbies.”

“Hey, you snooped around in my phone records?” I said, outraged even though I had just given him the suggestion to do so. First the mail and now my phone records. Wasn’t anything sacred in America anymore?

“I snoop a lot of places,” he said. “Now be a good girl and go and get his number for me.”

Standing, I stalked back to my bedroom, past Jesse who was wiring the window in the bathroom, and grabbed the piece of paper with Mr. Middle Eastern Guy’s number on it. I jotted it down for Beefy and strode back into the kitchen.

He took the scrap of paper, studied it and then carefully put it in his shirt pocket. “Well, I guess this concludes our business,” he said.

“Forever?” I asked hopefully.

He smiled and his gold tooth gleamed. “That remains to be seen.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”

Beefy stood just as Jesse came into the kitchen.

“You’re all set, ma’am,” Jesse said to me.

“So quickly? Are you certain you covered every possible entrance? What about the sliding glass door on the balcony?”

Jesse smiled proudly. “I install fifteen of these systems a day, ma’am. You are completely covered. Like I told you, we aim to serve at SuperProtect.”

“I’m impressed,” I said, taking a sip of my Diet Coke.

“You want me to show you how it works?” Jesse asked.

I looked at Beefy and then shook my head. “Not yet. My, ah, friend is just leaving.” I turned to Beefy. “Right?”

To my dismay, he stepped to my side, putting an arm around my shoulder and squeezing. “Oh, honey, I can wait. I wouldn’t miss this demonstration for the world. Go ahead, young man, show us how it works. We have no secrets from each other.”

I spewed a mouthful of Diet Coke on Jesse and then choked. Beefy slapped me hard on the back until I could breathe again. Jesse removed a tissue from his jeans pocket and calmly wiped his face as if women spewed on him every day.

He handed me the alarm manual. “I’ll show you how the pad works. You can read about the fine details of the system later.”

Jesse very professionally and adeptly explained how the system worked and then told me my security code. I practiced punching it in, watched it turn red and then learned how to disable it. Probably thinking he was a riot, Beefy tried it a couple of times, too, until he got the hang of it. Then I wrote Jesse with the High Karate aftershave a check for money I didn’t yet have in my checking account and he left.

Beefy exited shortly afterward, as well. Thank goodness he hadn’t shot me. Yet. I wasn’t so optimistic about the future.

As soon as my apartment was empty, I turned the deadbolt, set the chain and turned on the alarm. Then I flipped through the manual trying to figure out how to change the password. I had just found the instructions when my phone rang.

“Hello?” I said.

“I’m trying to reach Lexi Carmichael,” a deep male voice said. My mind instantly recognized a soft brogue, Irish perhaps.

“This is Lexi,” I said.

“I’m sorry to bother you. My name is Finn Shaughnessy and I’ve been frantically trying to reach Basia Kowalski. I’ve been unsuccessful so far. I wasn’t sure where to turn next when I remembered she spoke of you often.”

“All good stuff, I hope.”

“Actually she spoke of you in quite high regard. I apologize for sounding so desperate, but frankly, I am. Do you happen to know where I can reach her?”

Finn. I remembered the name from Basia’s answering machine. Just another person looking for Basia. Take a number and get in line, buddy, I thought.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Shaughnessy,” I said politely. “I don’t know where Basia is.”

“Well, I’m very sorry to hear that,” he said. “Would you mind passing on a message to her if she does happen to contact you? She was doing some translation work for my company and I really need to speak with her as soon as possible. It’s most urgent.”

My interest perked at that. “What company do you work with?”

“CGM, Inc. I’m a lawyer. The company is based in Richmond, but I work out of a satellite office here in Washington.”

“Ah, Mr. Shaughnessy, would you be willing to meet me for a drink sometime this evening? I know it seems odd, but I’d like to talk to you in person about Basia and the kind of work she was doing for your company.”

He paused on the other line. “So you
do
know where Basia is?”

“Not exactly,” I admitted. “But I’ve got a little problem and it turns out that we might have something in common here.”

Another pause and then he answered, “All right. Can you come into D.C. this evening?”

“I think so. What time?”

He was silent for a moment and I heard him shuffling some papers. “I’m busy with a client until seven. How about we meet at seven-thirty at Murphy’s Pub? It’s not far from Union Station. You know where it is?”

“I know. But how will I find you?”

“I’ll be the only real Irishman there,” he said with a chuckle. “Don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll find each other.”

“Okay dokey,” I said and then wondered if I could possibly sound any more juvenile. I seriously needed to get out more. “And thanks for agreeing to meet me.”

“If it helps me find Basia, it’ll be worth it,” he said and hung up.