No Strings Attached

by Julie Moffett

  “Wow,” I said impressed. “That was fast. Will you teach me that someday?”

  “If you promise to use the skill only in the name of national security.” He pulled away from the curb.

  The comment brought a weak smile to my lips. I put my laptop and purse on the floor between my legs and fastened the seat belt. Leaning back in the seat, I tried to pretend I wasn’t unnerved to have been stalked by armed intruders, stolen a car, and left the scene of a crime where people were killed and seriously injured.

  Jeez.

  My knees were shaking.

  Slash noticed and put a hand on my knee, calming it. “Cara, look at me.”

  I turned my head and he took his eyes off the road for a moment. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “I mean it.”

  “I know. I believe you.” I did. I trusted Slash with my life. But I had to admit it was a little disconcerting to see him in action. His focus in that room, and right now, was singularly dangerous and...violent. It was almost as if another version of Slash had taken over at the safe house and he was staying for the time being.

  Slash drove down several small side streets and made a couple of U-turns until he was satisfied we weren’t being followed. He kept a laser-focus on the rearview mirror and any headlights that appeared behind us.

  “Where are we going?” I asked after the zillionth U-turn.

  “Somewhere safe. But first I need supplies.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  It was three thirty-three in the morning when we pulled into the parking lot of Jefferson’s Self-Storage Facility in northwest DC. There was a bored guard at the gate watching something on a small television and drinking coffee. Slash showed his identification and the guy cross-referenced it with something on his tablet before he opened the gate and let us inside. Thankfully he didn’t seem to care in the slightest that two people needed to get their stuff in the middle of the night. Slash pulled into a parking spot in front of the main building and we walked up to the front door. He used a key to open the door and we slipped inside.

  The room looked kind of like a dimly lit post office with mailboxes of varying sizes lining the walls. Slash walked directly to one of the larger mailboxes and inserted a key. The door opened and Slash pulled out a large briefcase with a small keypad. He pressed a finger to the pad and activated it and then tapped in a code.

  “What happens if someone other than you tried to open the briefcase?” I asked.

  He smiled. “Kaboom.”

  The briefcase popped open and I jumped. His smile turned into a chuckle. I leaned closer, peering over his shoulder into the briefcase. I saw a laptop, some cords, a couple of passports, several large manila envelopes, a small box, a cell phone and a couple of guns. Satisfied, he snapped it shut.

  “Wow.” I whistled. “That’s some stash.”

  “I like to be prepared. Let’s go.”

  I didn’t ask where we were going. I trusted Slash knew what he was doing.

  We drove out of the storage area and a few streets over before he turned into an underground parking garage for the District Hotel. A bored valet came out of a small booth and took the key for the truck, handing us a card with a number. We took our belongings and exited the truck.

  As we walked out onto the street toward the hotel entrance, Slash said, “You’ve got everything? We aren’t coming back for the truck.”

  I nodded. The past few hours of activity had become a surreal blur. The adrenaline had worn off and I was facing a serious crash.

  Slash booked us a room and paid in cash. This wasn’t a ritzy place or a dump, just an average hotel. Blending in—that was the idea. Thankfully, Slash didn’t even have to show any identification. The hotel attendant handed us a key card, not caring that we didn’t have any luggage. We took the elevator to the second floor, the fourth room on the right.

  When we approached our room, Slash stood still for a moment, surveying the hallway.

  “What are you doing?” I whispered.

  “Reviewing the exits.”

  “Exits?” I stared at him openmouthed. “Wait. You can’t possibly think we’ve been followed. There’s no freaking way. We just stole a car and paid in cash for this room. You made sure we weren’t followed. You disabled your chip. No one, I repeat, no one could find us. We didn’t leave a trail. There is no way.”

  He pulled me to him, kissing the top of my head. “I love your optimism. Unfortunately, there’s always a way. Trust me. I do think we’re safe for the moment but we’re going to take every precaution.”

  He slid the key card into the door slot and the door blinked green. We went inside. It was a pretty standard hotel room—two double beds with well-worn bedspreads, a couple of lame paintings on the wall, a single television, alarm clock and small desk. Nothing fancy. I put my purse and laptop on the dresser where the television sat while Slash checked out the double window. With a sigh, I plopped backward on the bed, holding my hand over my eyes.

  “Now what?” I asked.

  “Don’t get comfortable,” he warned. “We’re not staying.”

  I bolted upright. “What? We just got here.”

  He sat on the corner of the bed, his laptop out. Without saying a word, he booted it up. Despite my exhaustion, I slid closer to him, resting my chin on his shoulder.

  “What are you doing?”

  “We need a couple of hours of decent sleep. Both of us. I’m going to hack into the computer system at this hotel and reprogram our key for a different room.”

  It took him four minutes to hack into the system. He booked the room under a false name, typed in the number on our keycard, marked the room as paid and then nudged me with his shoulder.

  “Done. Two doors down, let’s go.”

  He repacked his laptop. Keeping a hand on the gun hidden beneath his jacket, he peeked out into the hallway. Not surprisingly, it was empty. We walked down to the last room next to the stairwell. Slash slid the key into the door slot and the green light blinked. We entered and Slash flipped on the light. Same layout as the other room.

  “Home sweet home,” he said, fastening the dead bolt behind us.

  “If you’re certain we’re staying this time, I’ll go wash up first.” I yawned. “I don’t have any pajamas.”

  “We’re going to have to sleep in our clothes anyway,” Slash said. “As a precaution.”

  I shrugged. “Fine.” We took off our jackets and laid them over the back of the desk chair. I dug a ponytail holder out of my purse and pulled my hair back. In the bathroom I washed my face and used the little tube of toothpaste the hotel had provided. When I staggered out, I saw Slash was busy typing away on his new laptop.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Sending a message to Shawn that we’re okay and explaining what happened.” After a moment, he stood, setting the laptop aside and handing me the gun. “Keep this while I’m in the bathroom, just in case.”

  I didn’t want to know just in case of what, so I didn’t ask. I sat on the bed holding the gun until he came out without a shirt on, his face freshly washed, his hair dripping.

  “Everything okay out here?” he asked, looking around.

  “All is quiet on the Western front.” I held up the gun.

  He grinned and pulled his shirt back over his head. He took the gun and put it on the bedside table next to him. Sat with his head against the headboard, then patted the bed.

  “Come here, cara, but leave your shoes on.”

  “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

  “I only have one girl.”

  “Lucky me.”

  “No, lucky me.” His grin faded. “Come.”

  Crawling on my hands and knees across the mattress, I se
ttled into the crook of his arm as he lowered the lamp to its softest setting. He smelled like the hotel soap and toothpaste. His body relaxed as I leaned into him. He kissed the top of my head, resting his chin on the top. For a minute we sat in companionable silence, letting our minds and bodies unwind.

  “Should I express surprise that you have a hidden briefcase with guns, a laptop and what are probably fake passports stashed away in a storage facility in DC?”

  “You probably know me well enough by now that it shouldn’t be that much of a surprise.”

  “I guess you’re right.” I tilted my face so I could look at him. “So, why do you do it?”

  “In case I need to make a quick getaway.”

  “No, not that. Why do you take a job where you have to be prepared for a situation like that? Put your life in danger over and over again. Take the kind of risks that no one else will take. You could have a much safer and lucrative job utilizing your considerable skill at the keyboard in the private sector. Your simulation work is prime—I know that. You’re a unique man, Slash. You could do anything. Yet you stay with the government and take on a lot more responsibility than just coding. Why?”

  He leaned his head back against the headboard and closed his eyes. I leaned against him, resting a hand against his chest. He covered it with his hand, squeezing it lightly. “I suppose it’s because I believe everyone is born with God-given talents that we should use for the benefit of others.”

  I lifted my head so I could get a better look at his face. His eyes remained closed, but he kept a firm hold on my hand as if he didn’t want to break the connection.

  “Is that why you left Italy and came to the US?”

  “Si.”

  “So, one day you decided that working for the NSA would best permit you to use your God-given talents for others? Explain that leap of logic to me. You were working for the Vatican, in some kind of top secret security organization that officially doesn’t exist, and then you decide that the NSA is the place to go?”

  He kept his eyes closed. “That’s correct.”

  “Seriously? It couldn’t have been that easy a decision, Slash. Why not stay in Italy? What was so important that you came here?”

  Sighing, he released my hand and rubbed the back of his neck. “I never said it was an easy decision. It wasn’t. But it was the right thing to do.”

  “Why?”

  “Because there was a need and I have the talent needed. And because someone important asked me to do it.”

  I sat up straighter. “You were asked? By whom?”

  “By a friend.” He patted my hand. “A special friend. Someone who knew that important things awaited me here, including you.”

  “Me?”

  “Si. I’ve never told you, but I considered the priesthood very strongly.”

  I’d never in a million years seen that one coming. “You, Slash? The priesthood?”

  He smiled. “I soon discovered it wasn’t the right path for me. This is, no matter how difficult it may seem.”

  I took a minute to process this. Slash watched a myriad of expressions cross my face without saying anything. I tried to reconcile the many facets of this man who was abandoned as an infant, had a unique genius at the keyboard, was able to handle violence and killing with ease, to a man who had almost entered the priesthood. A complex dichotomy, this boyfriend of mine.

  He reached out, touched my cheek. “I’ve made you uncomfortable.”

  “Not true.” I shook my head. “Just thoughtful.”

  “That’s not what I meant.” He studied me, thinking. He seemed conflicted, like he wanted to say something, but was weighing its potential impact on me.

  “I meant that I’ve made you uncomfortable by my actions these past few days. Sometimes I see an expression on your face or a certain kind of concern in your eyes when you look at me. I don’t like that. You are seeing that part of me—the person I must become to do what I have to do. It frightens you.”

  It wasn’t a question and yet he waited for an answer. I fiddled with a loose thread on the bedspread. I wound it around my finger tighter and tighter while I chose my words. “I’m not going to lie to you, Slash. When you get in that zone, yes, it scares me. I can’t reach you.”

  “I know.” He hesitated, threaded his fingers with mine. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t have a conscience. It doesn’t mean I won’t come back from the ledge. It helps to have something, someone, to come back to.”

  “I know you have a conscience, Slash, and that this struggle is not easy for you. I worry only that you give so much of yourself for the greater good, you’ve started to lose yourself.”

  A guarded look came into his eyes, a defensiveness. I didn’t like that I was the one who put it there.

  “You were the one who wanted me to share more about myself.” His jaw tightened. “So, I shared.”

  “I’m not criticizing. Just observing.” It was only a scratch on the iceberg that was the tightly raveled mystery of my boyfriend, but it had been a significant step forward. While I still needed to think about what it all meant in terms of our relationship, I appreciated the step forward. “Thank you for sharing. I appreciate it.”

  He pulled me back to the crook of his arm and rested his chin against my head. “There are a lot of things about me you’re better off not knowing.”

  “Why?”

  “Just because. Now, let’s unwind. We’re both exhausted and need to think about what to do next.”

  The subject was clearly closed, but he’d given me a lot to think about. I leaned into the warmth of him.

  He stroked my hair. “Go to sleep, cara. Don’t worry. I’m going to keep you safe.”

  “I know,” I murmured as I closed my eyes. “Never doubted it.”

  Chapter Thirty

  I awoke from a dreamless sleep with a hand pressed over my mouth. Panicking, I started to flail and fight until I realized it was Slash bent over me. He was fully dressed with his jacket on, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He lifted his hand from my mouth and pressed a finger against his lips. He was holding a gun.

  I nodded and he moved toward the door, motioning for me to grab my things. I slipped my jacket on and put both my purse and laptop straps across my shoulders. Taking Slash’s briefcase, I hugged it to my chest with both hands. I had no idea what time it was or how long we’d slept.

  Slash looked out the peephole before turning to me and mouthing the words. One guy. Our old room.

  My skin chilled. How had they found us? We had taken every freaking precaution.

  Slash pressed his mouth to my ear and murmured. “As soon as he goes into the room, we slip out and into the stairwell to the right. Go quickly, but quietly. He will need time to enter and clear the room. We’ll use that time to get away. Once we are outside, go left and then right down the small alley. I’ll take it from there. Okay?”

  I nodded and he kissed my cheek.

  He returned to watching the peephole. I held my breath, my heart racing. Suddenly, he pulled open the door, motioning for me to go. I slipped past him and into the stairwell. Keeping my footsteps as quiet as I could, I moved down the stairs. Slash was right behind me, walking backward with the gun out. I couldn’t even hear him moving, but my breathing was so loud, I was pretty sure I’d given away our location to all life-forms on Mars.

  It was just one flight until we were able to exit the hotel. It occurred to me that might be why Slash had requested a lower floor. He was always thinking of an exit strategy. When we burst out onto the street, it was still dark. The light from the streetlights made me blink. The streets were eerily empty but we were sitting ducks bathed in the light.

  “Go,” Slash urged.

  I dashed left down the street with Slash right behind me. I took the first right I could, which led i
nto an alley, and then stopped. Slash bumped into me.

  “Keep going,” he barked. “To the end of the alley and take a right.”

  I ran, holding Slash’s briefcase close to my chest. As we came out onto another street, Slash tucked his gun in the holster and tucked my arm in his. We walked about a half block when he suddenly pulled me toward an open parking garage. There was no one in the guard booth, so we wandered down one row and through the rows of cars until he stopped and pulled me down between a black four-door Toyota and a dark green Buick.

  I crouched, breathing hard from our getaway and balancing Slash’s briefcase on my knees.

  “There is no freaking way they could have found us. How, Slash? Could they have reactivated your chip?”

  “No. It would have taken them a lot longer than a few hours to figure it out, even using the fastest software. That’s not it.”

  “Then what about your message last night? Maybe they traced it.” It was a big stretch because Slash was far too good to be that sloppy.

  “No. I was careful and that’s my computer, not a government issue.” He leaned a forearm against the car, thinking. “They didn’t trace the message. They weren’t able to unlock my chip—I’m confident about that. It has to be something else.”

  “Your phone?” I asked.

  “No, I left all my phones behind as soon as we entered the safe house. I’ve got a burner, like you.”

  He suddenly turned his brown eyes on me. “It’s got to be you.”

  “Me? I haven’t even used my burner phone or laptop since we left the safe house.” He stared at me as if the answer would magically appear. After a moment, he closed his eyes. “I should have thought of it.”

  “Thought of what?”

  “Your earrings.”

  “My earrings? You mean the tracker in them? Who knows about them except for you and me?”

  He was silent and I slapped my palm on my forehead. “Oh, no! My interns. Wally, Piper and Brandon. I bet they told the authorities about them.”