No One Lives Twice (A Lexi Carmichael Mystery)

by Julie Moffett

  “Maybe I should just call the police and tell them Mr. Bouker broke into my apartment and assaulted me,” I suggested.

  Slash leaned back in his chair. “Accusing diplomats of a felony is a tricky matter, cara. Besides, it would be your word against his. And I have a feeling that he’d have a room full of people swear he was with them at the time you say he was here.”

  I sighed. “I suppose you’re right. So, what do we do next?”

  Slash thought for a moment and then logged on to the internet. He had a system going I didn’t understand, and had likely rigged his computer in ways I couldn’t even begin to imagine.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Making notes to myself of things to check out later,” he said mysteriously. He pulled up the Linux operating system, typed some unfamiliar commands and then snapped the computer shut. Then he stood, holding the black case in his hand.

  “Buona notte, cara. Good night. Until tomorrow.”

  I nodded mutely and he politely waited while I disarmed the alarm before he left. I reset the alarm, locked the door, the deadbolt and chain and then went back to my bedroom where I stripped off my clothes, pulled a baggy T-shirt over my head and, to my great relief, fell promptly asleep.

  ***

  When my alarm went off the next morning at six-thirty, I hit the snooze button twice and then finally swung my legs over the side of the bed. When I stood up and took one step, everything collapsed. Every muscle in my body, including those I had no idea even existed, screamed in pain from my karate workout. Dragging myself to my feet, I stood, swaying precariously and then staggered stiffly into the bathroom like Frankenstein. I splashed freezing cold water on my face and my entire head throbbed in response. I realized on top of everything else, I had a hangover.

  Sheesh, two glasses of expensive Italian wine and I was hungover. Of course, there had also been that glass of wine at dinner with Finn. Heck, maybe I was turning into an alcoholic or worse, a cheap date.

  Somehow I managed to brush my teeth even though they hurt, too, and combed my hair. Just lifting my arm to brush was hard work.

  I shuffled back into the bedroom, snipped the tags off the last of my new clothes purchases and managed to pull them on. The apartment was still a horrid mess—clothes, books, papers, shoes and knickknacks everywhere. I absolutely, positively had to do laundry today. Especially because I had a date with Paul tonight and nothing to wear.

  My stomach roiled. A date with Paul Wilks. Laundry aside, how was I supposed to go dancing with Paul when I could barely walk?

  I would have to worry about that later. First things first. Just get to work. Somehow I managed to get down the stairs, into my car and drive into the Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot. Trying to maneuver my way out of the car took me a full five minutes. I moved like a robot to the counter, where I bought a bottle of Diet Coke, a sesame bagel with cream cheese and two chocolate donuts with sprinkles. The donuts were comfort food because in the shape I was in now, a little comfort was a definite necessity.

  I kept the top on the Miata up because the wind blowing through my hair would just be too painful. Even with sunglasses the sun seemed too darn bright. Worse than that, it was a sweltering hot Washington, D.C., day of nearly eighty-five degrees and one hundred percent humidity at only seven-fifteen in the morning.

  I drove to work, shuffled my way through the security checkpoints and collapsed into my swivel chair. Opening a bottle of Excedrin, I took two capsules, washing them down with a gulp of my Diet Coke.

  I logged on and then whizzed around the internet, looking for a phone number. When I found what I wanted, I picked up the phone.

  “Natty Neatniks,” the cheerful voice on the other end said. “We clean, dust, vacuum and take care of the necessities so you can spend more time doing what’s important to you. How can I help you?”

  “Um…I’d like to hire your company to clean my apartment,” I said. “How much do you cost?”

  “How big is your apartment?”

  “It’s a one-bedroom apartment,” I answered. “A bathroom, a living room and a small kitchen.”

  “Where are you located?”

  “Jessup, Maryland.”

  “One hundred bucks,” she said in that cheerful voice.

  “A hundred bucks?” I exclaimed. “For a one-bedroom apartment in Jessup?”

  “That doesn’t include windows. Windows are extra.”

  My headache got worse. “I suppose cleaning the bathroom is extra, too.”

  “No, that’s included.”

  “What about laundry?”

  “That costs extra. You provide the detergent. Ironing carries an additional fee.”

  Sheesh, this was becoming more expensive by the minute. “Okay, so let me get this straight. You dust, vacuum, and clean the bathroom but no windows. Laundry and ironing are extra.”

  “Exactly.”

  I pressed my fingers to my throbbing temples. “Okay. I’d like you to clean the apartment and do the laundry.”

  “When do you want this done?”

  “Today, if possible.”

  “Today?”

  I sighed. “Let me guess. That will cost extra.”

  “Yes, because we’ll have to squeeze you in,” she said and I could hear her shuffling around papers. “That means bringing someone extra on staff. It will cost an extra thirty-five dollars.”

  I heard the sound of money being sucked out a window. But I really, really needed some clean, non-thong underwear. “Okay,” I agreed.

  “Your name, please?” she asked.

  She took my name, address, work and home phone numbers. We agreed to meet at the apartment at twelve-thirty, so I could let the maids in. I hung up feeling poorer by the minute.

  I waited until nine o’clock before making my next call.

  “Richmond Gazette. Carmichael.”

  “Hi, Rock,” I said. “How you doing, bro?”

  “Lexi,” he said, and I could hear a smile in his voice. “What a surprise to hear from you. Let me guess, you need a loan.”

  “Hey, I don’t always call just because I need money,” I said and then sighed. “Well, okay, maybe I need money, but I also have something else to ask you about.”

  He chuckled. “What is it this time?”

  Rock works for the Richmond Gazette as an investigative reporter. He is a brilliant writer and has an uncanny knack for revealing rotten politicians, health-care scams and a wide variety of other unsavory activities. He’s already won numerous awards and a lot of people say he’s on the fast track to working for a big-time paper like The Washington Post or New York Times. He’s also a decent and fair guy, which in my opinion are his best characteristics, looks aside.

  “I wonder if you could tell me anything interesting about CGM, Inc. down there in Richmond,” I said.

  “The medical research company?” he asked. I could hear a note of curiosity in his voice and knew I’d piqued his interest.

  “Yeah, that’s the one.”

  I heard his chair creak as he swiveled. “Well it’s a big company, well respected and generates lots of money for the community down here. They contribute fairly generously to charities and a wide variety of political campaigns and causes. Why? You think something bad is going down with them?”

  “I don’t know,” I said honestly. “I heard they were recently in some financial trouble before they got a healthy infusion of cash. Do you think you could check it out for me?”

  “The infusion of cash?”

  “That and anything else unusual you might find out about them.”

  “Sure,” he said lightly, but I could hear the cautious excitement in his voice. Rock can smell a good story a mile away.

  “Do you mind if I ask why you are so interested in all this?” he asked.

  “It’s a long story,” I said carefully. “I don’t have time to go into it now. But Rock, be discreet, will you?”

  “Discreet is my middle name,” he said cheerfully.
“So, how much cash do you need?” He didn’t even suggest asking Mom and Dad because we both knew the cost of borrowing from them would be way too high and would involve horrible things like promises to visit and blind dates.

  “Five hundred dollars,” I said. “I’ll pay you back by Christmas.”

  “Okay,” he said without hesitation. That’s another thing I like about Rock. He’s got that oldest child thing going, meaning he’s responsible, dependable and doesn’t ask a lot of questions. “I’ll drop it in the mail to you today.”

  “Thanks, Rock. Let me know if you uncover anything of interest with CGM.”

  “Will do,” he said and hung up.

  Sighing, I took out some papers from my in-box and began sorting them. After a minute, the back of my neck prickled. I turned around and saw my boss standing there silently.

  “Jeez, Jonathan,” I said. “You scared me. What’s up with the tiptoeing?”

  He looked solemn. “Can I see you in my office?”

  Uh, oh, I thought. Paul had gone and spilled the beans. Damn, I’d known he couldn’t be trusted to keep a secret. Standing, I followed him to his office, all the while trying to figure out how I would explain everything and still manage to keep my job.

  Jonathan’s office was barely bigger than a box, but it had a window and at the NSA, that alone made him important. He sat down behind his desk and I perched in one of the two chairs angled in front of it. Folding his hands primly on top of the desk, he looked at me for a long silent minute.

  “Is everything all right?” he finally asked.

  “All right?” I said, my voice coming out a tad higher than usual. “Me? I’m right as rain.”

  “And your absence yesterday?” he asked, providing me with the opportunity to finish.

  “Oh, that,” I said, thinking quickly. “I just had a twenty-four-hour flu bug or something. I had lots of stomach problems, as well as problems with the other end. You know what that’s like.”

  He looked kind of grossed out and I cringed inwardly, forcing myself to shut up. I was babbling like a guilty idiot and the fake smile I plastered to my face probably didn’t help much either. The problem was I knew he knew I was lying and that made me all the more nervous.

  “Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell me?”

  “Tell you? About what?”

  He was silent for a minute. “I want you to know, Lexi, that you are a valued member of my team. Team being the operative word here. I’m available if you need me for anything. You can trust me.”

  I studied Jonathan, but his elegantly pale face was completely impassive. Now I knew what a true poker face looked like. I couldn’t figure out if he knew something, suspected something, or whether he was simply concerned about my welfare. Slash had warned me not to say anything to Jonathan, but so had Beefy and Mr. Middle Eastern Guy. Who was a gal to trust?

  “Thanks, Jonathan. I appreciate your concern. But everything’s okay. Really.”

  I saw a flash of disappointment in his eyes. “I see. Well, just remember that in my department, we work together. No heroics. Got it?”

  Not really, but I didn’t say so. “Sure, thanks,” I said and stood stiffly, my muscles screaming in pain.

  “So get back to work,” he said, dismissing me.

  I returned to the cubicle, half limping, my anxiety level climbing. His little pep talk had made me really paranoid. He knew something, or at the very least suspected something. But what? And if he suspected something then why didn’t he just come right out and say so?

  Unless…I picked up the phone and called Elvis.

  Xavier answered the phone. “Hey, Lexi,” he said. “How are things going?”

  “From bad to worse,” I said, lowering my voice. “Any progress cracking into the system?”

  “Not yet. It’s a tough one.”

  “Bummer. Is Elvis around?”

  “How come you always want to talk to him? What am I? Chopped liver?”

  “More like a T-bone steak, which by the way, I happen to adore. Look, I just need to ask him a question. I swear I’m not playing favorites.”

  “If you say so,” Xavier said. He was a pretty agreeable guy. “Have you heard from Basia yet?”

  He really did dig her, I marveled. I couldn’t remember Xavier ever asking about any woman before. Maybe I needed to do something to facilitate that relationship. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I thought Xavier might be good for the free-wheeling Basia and vice versa. Weird how I’d never thought about that before.

  “Yeah, she called,” I admitted. “But I wasn’t home. Unfortunately she didn’t say where she was or what she was doing. She just left this weird cryptic message on my machine.”

  Xavier was silent for a moment. “When did Basia call and leave this weird message?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “You sure it was her?”

  “I think so.”

  “Then that’s good enough for me,” he said. “May the Force be with you. Here’s Elvis.”

  Sheesh, sometimes talking with the twins is like an out-of-body experience.

  “Hey, Lexi,” Elvis said, coming on the line. “If you’re calling to chart our progress on the mission, sorry, no luck.”

  “I know, Xavier already told me. Actually, I’ve got a question for you.”

  “Sure. Why are you whispering?”

  “Because I don’t want anyone else to hear,” I said, cupping my hand around the receiver. “I’ve got a hypothetical question to ask you.”

  “Fire away.”

  “Do you know if the NSA ever tests its employees?”

  “Tests? As in multiple choice?”

  “No, I mean like testing by having someone do something to see how an employee reacts.”

  He paused. “You mean like you’re thinking this whole mess with Basia is some kind of psychological test?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m thinking,” I said. “I mean, I think Jonathan suspects something is going on. He just called me in his office, pumped me for information that I didn’t give him and gave me a pep talk about being a team player. But Slash said not to tell Jonathan anything. Am I doing the right thing?”

  He fell quiet for a moment. “I don’t know, Lexi,” he finally said.

  I rambled on. “Maybe some higher-ups at the NSA are just seeing how trustworthy I am because I’m up for a promotion or something. If so, I think I’m flunking big time. Given your experience, is any of this even in the realm of possibility? I mean you worked for several years at the NSA and you know how peculiar it can be here. Should I trust anyone?”

  Several seconds passed then he said, “There are some strange dudes at the NSA, no question. We know for a fact that NSA methods are often highly irregular. It keeps the bad guys on their toes. Therefore, I suppose the answer to your hypothetical question is…maybe.”

  There you have it. Wisdom dispensed from a computer genius. I sighed. “My life is a mess.”

  “Chaos is the true state of the universe anyway.”

  “My universe was fairly orderly before all this.”

  “It was only an illusion.”

  “Oh, God.” He was probably right. After all, I was asking for life advice from a guy named Elvis.

  “Would you mind if I asked for another favor?”

  “I live but to serve you.”

  “If only. Can you see what you can dig up about an embassy guy from Yemen named Rashid Bouker?” I spelled it for him. “Just in case this isn’t some kind of employment test.”

  “Sure. I got some other stuff to do first, but I’ll get back to you.”

  “You rock it, Elvis.”

  “Yeah, and don’t I know it.”

  I hung up and stared at the pile of work in front of me. I knew I’d better do something to earn my paycheck. I turned to my computer and got to work. About an hour and a half later, Paul stopped by.

  “Hey, Lexi,” he said. “Are you ready for the big date tonight?”

>   “About that date…”

  “You’re not going to try and back out on me, are you?” he said accusingly. “You gave me your word.”

  I lifted my hands and the effort of doing so hurt. “Of course, I’m good for my word. I’m not backing out. It’s just I’m not sure about the dancing part of the evening. I’ve got some serious muscle pains from karate.”

  “You taking karate? No way.”

  “What’s so hard to believe?” I said, annoyed.

  “Well, you’re not the type to do karate.”

  “And what type is that?”

  “I don’t know. Coordinated, athletic, fit.”

  “Jeez, Paul, you sure know how to compliment a girl.”

  He shrugged. “Just telling it like it is. So, how long have you been doing karate?”

  “Since yesterday.”

  “Then you’re only stiff because your muscles haven’t had much exercise.” He had a membership at a gym so I guess that made him a lot more knowledgeable than me. “Dancing will be the perfect therapy. It will warm and stretch your muscles even more. Trust me on this. I promise I’ll go easy on you.”

  I didn’t want to warm or stretch my muscles. I wanted to date a guy who suggested a soak in the hot tub and a Swedish back rub. But no, I had to get stuck with a John Travolta wannabe.

  “But Paul—”

  “No buts. Just trust me.”

  I rolled my eyes. It hurt. Then I sighed. Sometimes there are things in life that are unavoidable, like yearly pelvic exams, root canals and dates from hell. Why is it that I seem to have more of those things than other people?

  Paul took pity on me. “Hey, I’ll let you decide where we eat,” he offered.

  “Gee, thanks. How generous of you. I’ll think on it.”

  He finally left me alone and I got back to work. Shortly after noon, I drove to my apartment. It was nice driving on the Parkway in the middle of the day. No traffic, so you could actually crank the car up to sixty-five.

  When I pulled into the parking lot, the van for Natty Neatniks was already there. I parked the car and limped over. Three young Hispanic women climbed out of the car and smiled at me.