No Strings Attached

by Julie Moffett

  She probably heard the relief in my voice, because she chuckled. “By the way, my son, Junior, will be helping with the party. He’s a good boy. Got himself into a little trouble a few months back, but he’s keeping his nose clean. He’s excited to help me with the planning and setting up. You okay with that?”

  “Sure.” In my opinion, the more minds working on this party, the better.

  “Great. I’ll send you that checklist soon so you can read through it and decide what you girls want to eat, what games you want to play and what kinds of things you want in the goody bags.”

  It sounded like a heck of a lot to do when I was busy trying to save the US government from the hackers from hell.

  “Oh sure, Faylene. I’m on it.” I was so clicking the first box I saw on that sheet and leaving it at that.

  I hung up and pressed the phone to my chest, partially relieved, but mostly traumatized. For me, planning a bachelorette party was equivalent to writing an automated code formatter in an obscure language while blindfolded. Except a bachelorette party was worse because it involved volatile variables such as giggling women, weird games, different kinds of alcohol and centerpieces. I needed an assistant, which, in my case, meant someone who could just take the damn thing over.

  Who did I know that could do that?

  Desperation caused me to flip through the contacts on my phone. My finger paused over one entry. Then, remembering I was desperate, I pressed the button. After two rings, she answered.

  “Hi, this is Bonnie.”

  “Hey, Bonnie. It’s me, Lexi. Hope I’m not calling too early.”

  Bonnie was Elvis’s girlfriend. At this point, she seemed like the logical choice for the position of assistant, seeing as how her boyfriend was planning the bachelor party. They could bond over party planning. Perfect!

  “Lexi?” Bonnie sounded surprised. “No, it’s not early. I’ve already been at work for a half hour. How are you?”

  I moved into the laundry room in case either of the guys came into the kitchen and I lost my nerve. I needed to sound poised without the slightest trace of desperation in my voice. Although, if I was honest with myself, there was a strong chance I might beg.

  “I’m...fine.” I didn’t add the qualifier—as long as you didn’t count that I’d been shot at, in a car accident, up to my neck in a matter of national security and at the scene of a murder all in the past forty-eight hours. I made a mental note to sound as cheerful as possible and not scare her off with vibes of extreme anxiety.

  “So, to what do I owe the honor of this call?”

  I considered what would be the right answer. I couldn’t come right out and say, Can you please take over Basia’s bachelorette party? I’m totally desperate, have accomplished exactly diddly-squat so far and the party is this Saturday. That might send her screaming in the other direction. Not that I’d blame her.

  I could be honest and straight-out ask her to help me, but I was afraid that might give her the wrong idea. I didn’t need her help, I needed her to take the whole thing over. How should I phrase it so I got an answer I could live with?

  “Lexi?”

  Shoot. I was taking too long to decide what to say. I shouldn’t have called her out of desperation. That was stupid. I didn’t have any conversation notes. I had no strategy, no index cards for handy reference or persuasion points, and no outline of the conversation.

  But I had to start somewhere or she would hang up. The phone felt slippery in my hand. This party planning was making me a total wreck.

  “Right. Uh, well, as you know, Xavier and Basia’s wedding is coming up.” Thank God I’d said something.

  “Of course, I know.” Bonnie sounded genuinely happy. “It’s so exciting. I’m really happy for them. They’re a wonderful couple. Perfect for each other.”

  “Yes, they are.” Deep breath. “Elvis is planning the bachelor party.”

  She chuckled. “It’s so out of his comfort zone, but he’s really working hard to do it right. I admire him for that. Don’t tell him I told you, but he asked me for help. I told him he had a duty to his brother to plan it by himself. It will mean so much more to both of them that way. Plus, he will have that important sense of confidence in his accomplishment.”

  I closed my eyes. Why in God’s name had I introduced Elvis to a headmistress? She was all about building self-confidence and independence. While her sentiment was noble and would probably help Elvis gain the needed self-assurance, it also meant I was on my own. If she wouldn’t help her own boyfriend, she certainly wouldn’t help me.

  I was as screwed as Windows 8.

  “So, Lexi, why did you call?” she asked.

  Great. Now I had to wind this up without sounding like a complete imbecile. “Ah, nothing, really. I was...ah...just making sure you are coming to Basia’s bachelorette party on Saturday.”

  “Of course, I’m coming. I RSVP’d two weeks ago. Didn’t you get it?”

  I had. Shoot.

  “You’re right. I did get it. Well, nice talking to you.”

  I started to hang up when she suddenly said, “Hey, Lexi, wait a minute. Can I ask you something?”

  Oh, no! If she asked me for any details of the party, I was in serious trouble. If I tried to make something up, she’d know. She was a freaking headmistress. Of course, she’d know. Then she’d tell Xavier, and Xavier would tell Basia. Then Basia would know nothing was planned and I totally sucked as a maid of honor. Major stressing out—above and beyond the major stressing out already going on—would commence.

  Not. Good.

  I swallowed my panic. “Sure, Bonnie. Ask away.”

  “You and Elvis are good friends, right?”

  Okay, I hadn’t expected that. “Um, yeah. Best friends, actually.”

  “Well, this is sort of an awkward question but I’m going to go ahead and ask anyway. I wondered if he had ever, you know, talked about me.”

  I paused. The question seemed forthright, but was there a subtext I was missing? Why did she seem nervous?

  “Has he talked about you? Of course, he’s talked about you, Bonnie. You’re his girlfriend.”

  “I know that, but I mean in a way other than just a casual mention. Is he, well, serious?”

  “Serious about what?”

  “About me. About us.”

  I pondered the question and then the reason why she’d ask. Why would she think I knew the answer? “What do you mean by serious?”

  Now she paused. “I mean, is he out for a good time or do you think he’s looking for more in a relationship?”

  I realized the question shouldn’t—couldn’t—be answered by me. “I really don’t know, Bonnie. Why are you asking me? If you want to know, why not just ask Elvis directly?”

  She was quiet for a moment, then blurted out, “I’m in love with him.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Oh, jeez. Talk about dropping a conversation bomb. What the heck was I supposed to say to that?

  I waited, hoping she’d laugh or clarify the comment, but she didn’t. As the pause stretched on, it was painfully clear it was my turn to say something. “Ah, congratulations?”

  She didn’t respond. Apparently that was not the right thing to say. Why had I said congratulations? She hadn’t earned an MBA or run a marathon. She’d just professed her love for a guy who happened to be my best friend.

  I was pretty sure she wanted me to engage in some kind of girl talk about him, which would veer into totally uncomfortable territory for me for a variety of reasons. I didn’t want to diminish her heartfelt declaration, but at the same I had no idea how to properly respond. For future reference, I needed to be better prepared for these kinds of situations. I made a mental note to create a spreadsheet of commonly asked relationship questions and have answers memorized for une
xpected conversations like this one.

  I liked Bonnie, I really did, but I was on boggy ground. “What I meant to say, Bonnie, is good luck with that.”

  No, I hadn’t just said that. Oh, for crying out loud. That sounded worse than congratulations. What the heck was wrong with me?

  “I just wanted you to know, Lexi.”

  The tremble in her voice made me feel guilty. Jeez. I tried to come up with a better response. “Well, you couldn’t have fallen in love with a nicer guy. He’s great, really.”

  “I know. Someday I hope to be as good a friend with him as you are.”

  “He’s a good friend to have.”

  “Yes, I’m sure he is. God, Lexi, you’re making this really hard.”

  Understatement. Of. The. Year.

  I decided the best approach was the honest one. “I suck at girl talk. I can barely deal with my own relationship, let alone provide useful or supportive information on someone else’s. It’s a character flaw I’m working on. Sorry about that.”

  She laughed softly. “See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You have a sincere heart, Lexi. I know why Elvis likes you so much. I do, too. Not only do I owe you my life, but I owe you for introducing me to him in the first place. I’ve never properly thanked you for that. Regardless of how things work out between Elvis and me, you’ve done me a favor I can never repay. Thank you so much.”

  I paused a moment to replay our entire conversation in my head. Why was she suddenly talking about me? What had happened to her declaration of love for Elvis?

  After a few seconds of contemplation, I still came up empty. I had no freaking idea what she was going on about. “Um, you’re welcome?”

  To my amazement, she laughed. “Oh, Lexi, you’re the best.”

  Now I was totally confused. This was exactly why I had only a few girlfriends. There was no logical way to anticipate what they would say next.

  “Thanks for calling. I’ll see you at the party on Saturday.”

  Bonnie hung up. I stared at my phone for a full minute wondering what had just happened. While the odds were statistically high I’d never figure it out, what was perfectly clear was I still didn’t have anyone to help me plan the bachelorette party.

  Sighing, I slid the phone back into my pocket and walked out of the laundry room. I crossed the kitchen and was just about to push open the swinging door into the living room when I heard my name. I stopped. Elvis was speaking.

  “No, don’t sit there, Slash. That’s Lexi’s chair. She always fusses if one of us adjusts the height. Sit somewhere else, okay?”

  There was a pause and I worried that Slash might take offense. Then I heard a chair squeak and realized he’d sat in Xavier’s chair instead.

  “You know Lexi really well.”

  “Yeah,” Elvis replied. “We’re a lot alike, which makes it easy for me to understand her. Our friendship doesn’t require much maintenance, thank God.”

  A board creaked above me. Someone was walking around upstairs. It must be Xavier. He’d probably left to go to the bathroom. That meant this was a private conversation between Slash and Elvis...except it wasn’t because I was listening. I knew it wasn’t right, but I couldn’t bring myself to take a step forward into that room. Yet.

  “You’re a good friend for her to have,” Slash said after a pause. “I’m happy for her...that she has you for a friend. You’re important to her.”

  “She’s a great friend. The best. You’re a...lucky guy.” Elvis cleared his throat. “Speaking of friends, a couple of days ago I came across this really innovative open source code that I thought you might be interested in. I’ve been meaning to tag you on it, but things got hectic at work and now...well, now isn’t the greatest time to show you. But sometime soon, if you’d like to stop by, I’ll provide the beer and the code, and maybe you can take a look at it. I’m curious as to your thoughts. I’m not sure what to make of it.”

  I held my breath. Holy cow. Are Elvis and Slash making plans...as friends?

  “Sure. I’d like that,” Slash said. “Sounds interesting.”

  I must have leaned too hard on the door, because it abruptly swung open. I staggered into the room like a drunken sailor, falling onto my hands and knees right in front of Slash.

  Both men stared at me.

  My knee was killing me and my face felt hot. “Ah...hi, guys.”

  “What...are you doing?” Elvis asked.

  I searched for a plausible reason I’d been leaning against the door—one that didn’t involve eavesdropping—when Slash’s phone rang. It rang four times before he finally took it out of his pocket and answered it, his eyes still on me.

  He frowned and listened for a moment longer before he spoke. “You’ve found the mole?”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  I came to my feet as Slash frowned, pressing the phone tighter against his ear. “You’ve got to calm down, Charlie. I can barely understand you.”

  Slash listened a bit more and then rattled off an address. “Okay. We’ll meet you there. Thirty minutes. We’ll be in a booth in the back.”

  He hung up and slid his phone into his pocket.

  “What was that all about?” I asked.

  “It’s Charlie Hsu. He wants to meet with us.”

  “They found the mole?” I asked.

  “No. He thinks he’s being framed as the mole. We’re going to go meet him.”

  We said a quick goodbye to Elvis and Xavier, who jogged down the stairs as we were leaving. I grabbed my light jacket, as Slash and I headed out into the bright sunlight. The FBI agents looked up when they saw us and started their sedans. Slash went over to talk to them while I climbed into his SUV.

  “Which one is going to follow us?” I asked when Slash climbed into the driver’s seat.

  “Both.”

  Jeez. Talk about overkill on the taxpayer’s bill. Not like I could do anything about it, so I refrained from commenting. “Where are we going?”

  “Café du Pain. It’s in Laurel.”

  “I know where it is. I’ve been there a couple of times.”

  Slash drove to the café in silence. I thought about the conversation I’d just overheard and wondered if Slash would bring it up.

  He didn’t.

  Slash pulled into the café parking lot. The agents parked as well and while one agent stayed in the car, another one followed us in. The agent took a seat at a table near the bar with a view of the front door and the booth. Despite the fact that I was getting followed around a lot lately, I still wasn’t getting used to being watched all the time.

  We ordered coffee. I sipped mine, but Slash took one drink, winced and left it untouched. Ten minutes later Charlie walked in, looking openly distressed. Slash lifted a hand in greeting and Charlie saw us, heading straight for the booth. He slid into the seat across from us, anxious and upset.

  “Thanks for meeting me. Hey, Lexi.”

  “Hey, Charlie.”

  “Look, I’m not going to waste any time.” He glanced at his watch and then around the café. “I’m being framed. Someone set up a bogus account in my name and backdated it so it looks like it was set up three months ago. It’s not mine, I swear.”

  “Where’s the account?” Slash asked.

  “An offshore bank in the Cayman Islands. I wouldn’t even have known about it except I asked a friend who is in international banking to keep an eye out for me.”

  “What made you do that?” Slash picked up a spoon, examined it.

  “Dude, you saw the way everyone looked at me in that meeting. They think it’s me because of my Chinese heritage. No one is going to believe I’m innocent. But I’m telling you—I’m not the mole. Whoever is doing this to me i
s trying to deflect attention from themselves.”

  “So, why did you come to me? Why not go to the top?”

  “Because I don’t know who to trust. I didn’t know what else to do. You’ve got to help me, Slash.”

  “My advice is to turn yourself in.”

  “What? I just told you I’m not the mole.”

  “It doesn’t matter. If you are evasive in any way, you become suspect. Go to Shawn. Tell him what you found. Be up-front and honest. If you’re innocent, you have nothing to worry about.”

  “Nothing to worry about? What the hell is wrong with you? My friend said whoever hacked in to create the account did a flawless job. How am I supposed to prove my innocence with that? This was a totally professional job. I’m in serious trouble here. Besides, who knows what else is out there with my name on it? I have to start searching on my own, find out what I can, try to figure out who is doing this. I certainly won’t have access to that kind of equipment if I’m in jail.”

  “You’re not going to go to jail, Charlie. You’ll be put on administrative leave.”

  “And detained.”

  “True. But knowing what’s going on right now, that’s not a bad place to be.”

  A wild look crept into Charlie’s eyes. “You don’t get this, man. There are millions in those accounts. I guarantee you, I’ll be locked up by midnight with all the evidence handed to them on a silver platter.”

  Slash pushed his coffee cup aside and rested his arms on the table. “Charlie, listen to me. Calm down. Turn yourself in. Take yourself out of the equation. You’ve got to do it to protect yourself.” Slash was cool and in control, his demeanor almost the exact opposite of Charlie’s.

  Charlie slid out of the booth and shot to his feet. He’d started sweating. “No way, man. No way. You wouldn’t turn yourself in and hope for the benefit of the doubt. Tell me the truth. Would you?”

  When Slash was silent, he continued. “That’s what I thought. Look, I’ll check in with you after I’ve had a chance to gather more facts and see what else might be out there.” He slapped his hand on the table. “I’m out of here.”