No One Lives Twice (A Lexi Carmichael Mystery)

by Julie Moffett

  Finn shrugged. “In smaller companies, law firms are typically contracted. But some larger companies prefer to have their own lawyers on the payroll. There are a few middle-aged lawyers at CGM who have been around ten or more years, but the rest of us are relatively young and basically see Horizons as a stepping stone to other more lucrative and exciting jobs. Personally, I took a job at Horizons because I like the close proximity to Washington and because I’m interested in biotechnology. Not to mention it’s a relatively stress-free environment since contract law is fairly boring compared to criminal law.”

  “Until now,” I pointed out.

  “Well, until now.”

  “So, what kind of work do you typically do at CGM?”

  “Routine work. Drawing up contracts, reviewing regulations and making certain that clients can’t sue us for a number of real or perceived infractions.”

  “What about international clients?”

  “The same, only these clients need to have their contracts, questions and various information translated for them.”

  “And that’s how Basia became involved in all this.”

  “Yes.”

  I exhaled a deep breath. “So, if no names were involved, how would Basia have made the connection that the contract she was working on was for her cousin?”

  “I don’t know. Are we sure she did?”

  “Honestly, I’m not sure of anything. You said you’re pretty certain Judyta is pregnant. I thought the contract would have been drawn up before the actual procedure took place.”

  “This wasn’t a typical contract. This was a contract for what happens after the insemination and adhesion takes place—a contract stipulating the actions of the mother after impregnation. This is way out of our jurisdiction. Frankly, I’ve never seen a contract like it. Had I known about it, it certainly would have been against my legal advice for CGM to involve itself in any way.”

  I fell silent, thinking over his answers while Finn sipped his wine and then rubbed the back of his neck.

  “Did you have any unexpected visitors today?” he asked.

  I thought of Slash, but I knew Finn was referring to Beefy or Mr. Middle Eastern Guy.

  “Not yet. Did you find out whether Beefy had been sicced on me by your firm?”

  “Well, it’s not like I can just stroll up and ask whether the company hired an armed thug to harass you.”

  “Yeah, that’s a tough one.”

  We talked for a short while longer and finished our dinner. I had to leave fairly soon after that to swing by home and change into sweats and a T-shirt so I could make it to karate on time. Finn walked me to the car, keeping his fingers safely in his pockets. This time he only brushed a soft kiss on my cheek. I don’t know why I had been hoping for more, but I had.

  “Good night, Lexi,” he said softly. “Be safe and keep in touch.”

  “You, too,” I said, hoping I didn’t look too disappointed.

  I drove home thinking about all he had said and what I should do next. When I got upstairs the red light on my alarm was still blinking. I tossed my bag on a chair and checked the phone. There were two messages.

  I rewound the tape and listened to the first message. It was my mom saying she’d made reservations for four people next week on my birthday at a swanky French restaurant called Le Rhone. Good thing they were paying.

  The second message was from Basia. I dropped in a chair as soon as I heard her voice.

  “Lexi, it’s Basia. I just wanted to let you know I’m fine. I’m trying to help a friend who has gotten into trouble. We’re trying to sort it all out now. I hope you’re keeping those documents safe for me. They could be important. Sorry to be such a pain.” There was a pause and for a moment I thought she had hung up. Then I heard her continue.

  “By the way, if a guy named Finn Shaughnessy contacts you don’t tell him anything. He’s not trustworthy. I’ll try to call again soon. Love ya.”

  Dazed, I listened to the message again. Finn, not trustworthy? Thanks a lot for telling me now.

  I leaned back in the chair and thought about it. Actually, it really wasn’t shocking news. After all, Finn himself admitted that Basia probably didn’t trust him because he was a part of CGM. In the end, I guess I hadn’t completely trusted Finn either because I didn’t tell him I still had the documents on a computer file. Nor had I asked him if the word Acheron meant anything to him. So maybe I was instinctively working this more carefully than I thought.

  However, I was a bit peeved that Basia didn’t offer a single clue as to where she was, whether or not she was with Judyta, and how I could reach her. Regardless it was a relief to hear, at the very least, that she was safe. And if I was right about her being with her cousin, then by extension Judyta was safe, as well.

  Sighing, I changed into sweats and a T-shirt and scraped my hair back into a ponytail. Grabbing my bag, I went to my car. I seemed to be spending a lot of time there lately.

  I drove straight to Anderson’s Karate Academy in Laurel. Tonight it was all lit up and there were a bunch of cars parked in the lot. When I walked into the studio, I saw about twenty kids aged anywhere from five to fifteen. The only adults were parents. This didn’t look like a good ratio to me.

  But before I could back out, Lars spotted me. A big grin crossed his face as he strode across the room to greet me. He pumped my hand, towering over me like a great Swedish bear.

  “Good to see you, Lexi,” he said. “I knew you’d come.”

  I shrugged like it was no big deal. “Are other adults coming?” I asked hopefully. No way was I going to do this alone with a bunch of kids and their parents watching.

  He nodded. “She’s right behind you.” He waved a hand. “Shelley, come over here, would you?”

  I turned and saw a tall woman with brown hair and big hips coming our direction. She had freckles, bushy eyebrows and a friendly, bucktooth smile. “Hi,” she said, offering me her hand. “I’m Shelley Hamilton. Are you a new student?”

  She had a firm handshake and looked pretty intimidating in the karate outfit. “I don’t know yet. I’m not sure I’m cut out for this,” I confessed.

  “I only come because my son Jeff is in the class,” she confided. “I thought I could get some exercise and it would be a great chance for us to do something together.” She pointed to a young boy with brown hair and freckles, about ten years old.

  How cool is that, I thought. Mother and son doing karate together. I couldn’t imagine my mother ever doing anything like that.

  “It’s actually pretty fun,” Shelley said. “And gives your muscles a real workout.”

  My muscles could use a good workout, so I decided to give it a try. “All right,” I said to Lars. “I guess I’m up for this.”

  He smiled. “I knew you would be,” he said as Shelley walked away to a wall where she began stretching her legs.

  “By the way,” I asked Lars as casually as possible. “Have you heard from Basia?”

  He shook his head. “No. But this is her class, so she might yet show up.”

  Fat chance of that, I thought, but weirder things had happened. Especially to me.

  Lars walked away and I watched him, willing the connection between him and Basia to leap out at me. I could feel I was missing something here, a link outside of karate that the two of them would have. I wasn’t buying Lars’s suggestion that she signed up for spiritual or physical reasons. Perhaps she had done it for self-defense, but it seemed more likely to me that she’d buy a gun instead. Exercise was definitely a matter of last resort for Basia. Moreover, as handsome as Lars might be, I didn’t believe she had enrolled in karate to initiate a possible romantic encounter or relationship. Miss Popularity could easily have attracted his attention without enrolling in his class. Anyway I’m positive she would have mentioned him to me. We always told each other things like that. There was clearly more here than met the eye and I was determined to find out what it was.

  But first I had to survive my class.r />
  Lars had all of us sit on the floor for stretches. I discovered pretty quickly that I was about as flexible as a brittle stick. The kids were like little pretzels and even Shelley was fairly adept at moving her body into the positions required. Just sitting on the floor and spreading my legs in a straddle was primordial torture for me.

  What came after was nothing short of a nightmare. Lars called them muscle strengtheners. I called them circus contortions and was pretty sure the human body had not been made to do the twists and stretches he demonstrated. Just when I thought I might die stuck with my leg wrapped around my neck, he told us to sit cross-legged and take ten deep breaths. Thank God, I could at least do that.

  But I couldn’t manage the thirty push-ups. I couldn’t even manage one. I had to do them with my knees touching the ground because my puny arms weren’t strong enough to push my unwieldy body off the floor. It was pretty darn humiliating.

  Finally we were ready for the lesson. Lars walked us through a no-belt routine and then we practiced something called the roundhouse kick. Lars held a bag and we all kicked it. The first time I tried it, I almost broke my toe. But Lars told me I needed to kick with the flat part of my foot. I did it and felt really empowered.

  “You’re a natural,” he informed me.

  “I bet you tell all the girls that,” I quipped.

  He grinned and in spite of myself, I felt proud. At least I was still standing.

  When the lesson was over, I left the studio, glad I had brought a small towel. I dabbed at my face and the back of my neck, unsurprised to find I had sweated profusely. It had been one heck of a workout. I drove with the top down, enjoying the warm summer breeze. There was something about physical exercise that made a person feel good. I vowed to do it more often.

  Because I felt empowered, I swung through the McDonald’s drive-thru and ordered a caramel latte. I drank it on the way home, singing along with the radio to an old tune by Genesis. I swung into my apartment complex parking lot and locked the Miata up tight.

  Arriving at my apartment, I stripped, went into the bathroom and turned on my CD player.

  Enrique Iglesias was on, so I sang along with him while I soaped up my hair and wailed about being a hero at the top of my lungs. I towel-dried my hair, wrapped the terrycloth around me and exited the bathroom combing my wet hair and holding the towel around my body.

  Slash sat on the corner of my bed.

  I screamed and nearly dropped the towel. Luckily I dropped the comb instead.

  “Is this an Italian thing?” I hissed, trying to calm my galloping heart. “No knocking?”

  “I happen to be Italian-American,” he corrected, his dark eyes glittering. “One of the perks of the new job.”

  My heart was still thundering. “Yeah, well when in America, do like Americans do. Knock on the damn door.” I was mad because he’d nearly scared the pee out of me and because I was standing half-naked in my bedroom in front of a guy I’d met just last night.

  “I did knock, cara. You didn’t answer and then I heard this horrible screeching noise. I feared for your safety, so I came inside and tracked you to the bathroom where you apparently were not being threatened within inches of your life by a psychotic madman, but were singing. Since I was already in, I sat down and made myself comfortable. By the way, why do you have such a thing for Enrique Iglesias? He is such a…boy.”

  I flushed red, wondering just how long he had sat out there listening to me belt out Enrique’s tunes. Sheesh, why couldn’t I have put on something agelessly cool like The Rolling Stones? Then at least I could have been singing about getting satisfaction instead of wanting a hero.

  “I will not discuss my taste in men with you,” I retorted. “I don’t even know you. Besides, I didn’t know what time you were coming. I just got back from karate and had to shower.”

  I snatched some clothes from the floor and darted back into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. “Let me get dressed and I’ll be right out,” I called through the door.

  “Take your time, cara,” he said graciously.

  I hadn’t happened to grab a pair of underwear or a bra, so I shoved my naked butt into a pair of jeans and very carefully zipped them up. Then I tugged on a T-shirt, hoping my nipples weren’t standing at attention. I walked barefoot back into the bedroom, my hands determinedly on my hips. Damn it, this was my place and I was taking charge.

  Slash still sat there, waiting patiently on my bed dressed in a navy blue weightlifter’s T-shirt, jeans and a pair of sandals. No holster today and I wondered if that meant the FBI had tagged along. His thick hair hung loose to his shoulders.

  “So, you really know karate,” he commented approvingly.

  I noticed an expensive black leather briefcase sitting next to his feet on the floor. “Yeah, so watch it, buster,” I bluffed, raising my steely gaze to meet his. “Consider these arms and legs killing machines.”

  He grinned. “Show me.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Show me your moves.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  He shook his head and I liked the way the light glinted off the strands of his black hair. “I’m not kidding.”

  “I don’t think so. What if I hurt you?” I wondered about the penalty for injuring a national treasure.

  “I’m quite capable of protecting myself,” he said and I thought there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “Come on, cara, I want you to show me what you can do.” This time he used a very commanding tone of voice. Like people didn’t say no to him very often.

  As I stood there undecided, he slipped off his sandals and flicked his hands toward me in a come-hither gesture. I couldn’t take my eyes off his feet. I never knew that feet could be so sexy, but this guy had amazing ones and I don’t even have a foot fetish. Or at least I think I don’t.

  “I’m not sure about this,” I said, finally raising my gaze to meet his.

  “Scared?”

  “Of going to jail if I accidentally hurt you.”

  He took some kind of defensive position and waited. I remembered how easy it had been to step and kick that bag that Lars had held. If I pretended that Slash was that bag, maybe this karate thing wouldn’t be so hard. I concentrated, took a deep breath, stepped forward to give him my best roundhouse kick.

  In less than a nanosecond, he’d grabbed my foot and kicked the other one out from underneath me. Before I knew it, I was lying flat on my bedroom floor atop a pile of my clothes, looking up at the ceiling. Slash lay partially on top of me, effectively holding me down with just a fraction of his weight, his muscular forearm resting lightly against my windpipe. One push and he probably could have crushed it. He wasn’t even breathing hard.

  He looked at me for an interminably long time, his dark eyes searching mine. Then his lips twitched. “You’re not a black belt.”

  “Like, duh,” I said from my undignified position. “I only said that because I thought you were a homicidal maniac out to rape, maim and torture me.”

  He laughed and I pushed his arm aside and sat up, miffed. “You can stop laughing. I had my first karate lesson tonight. I feel like an idiot.”

  He stood and stretched out a hand. I took it and he pulled me to my feet. “You had courage, cara,” he said, still holding my hand. “Impressive. A wise man would be careful of your moves.”

  “Then why weren’t you?” I sniffed, still hurt he’d made such a fool of me.

  “Good question…and it may yet get me into trouble,” he murmured and then released my hand.

  As he moved, I noticed a small gold cross swing out from beneath his shirt. For some reason, the sight of it surprised me. Perhaps because it seemed out of place on a man who practically oozed sex, mystery and danger. Apparently there was more to Slash than met the eye.

  He sat back down on the corner of my bed. “So how was your day? Run into any suspicious characters?”

  “Except for you, no,” I said, still grumpy he had shown me up. “I
heard you met with the Zimmermans.”

  Slash patted the mattress beside him, so I sat down, too. “Si, it was a most interesting meeting. I have to thank you for bringing us together.”

  “You’re welcome, I guess.”

  “The twins told me of your suspicions about CGM and Bright Horizons. When you get into trouble, you get into it big, cara.”

  “It wasn’t like I was out looking for it. It just kind of found me.”

  “Then it seems trouble is quite adept at finding you. Let’s talk about Acheron.”

  So the twins had told him about that, too.

  “There’s not much to talk about. For some reason, Basia penciled it in code at the bottom of page three of the document.”

  “I took a crack at it myself,” Slash said. “I agree that this is the best translation. But what do you think it means?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “No operation at work sound similar?”

  “None that I’m working on.” I ran my fingers through my damp hair.

  “I looked around a bit today and found nothing. I will deepen my search.”

  I didn’t know exactly what he meant by a deeper search, and probably didn’t want to know. “I’m not even sure what I’m looking for even if we do get into CGM or Bright Horizons,” I said.

  “We are working on that. It will not be long. If they have something on Acheron in their files, we’ll know it soon enough.” He paused for a moment. “But I did come up with some very interesting information connected to Bright Horizons from a few other databases.”

  I realized it would be in my best interest not to ask which databases he’d been poking around in and Slash didn’t offer to tell. “What kind of information?” I asked.

  “Does the name Hasan El-Karan mean anything to you?”

  I thought for a moment. “No. Should it?”

  “What about Ahmad Fahil?”

  “International affairs were never my strong suit,” I admitted. “Is there any reason why I would know these people?”

  Slash studied me for a while, then shrugged. “They were bodyguards in the service of His Royal Highness Mahir Al-Asan of Saudi Arabia.”