No One Lives Twice (A Lexi Carmichael Mystery)

by Julie Moffett

  Elvis was silent for a moment. “Nope,” he said. “But someone ordered us a dozen pizzas with the works, including anchovies, and charged it to our tab at Avanti’s.”

  Shit. “Oh, well, I gotta go,” I chirped. “Call me as soon as you make contact with Slash.”

  I hung up the phone, unable to believe how stupid I’d been to let Slash into the twins’ network, even if it had been in a peripheral way. That was all a guy like Slash needed to get a foot in the door to do some serious damage.

  I dragged myself to the bathroom, stripped off my T-shirt and took a long, cold shower so that I could sleep. Suddenly I had gone from famine to feast in the man department. In one day I had met a gorgeous Swedish martial arts instructor, eaten dinner with a handsome Irish lawyer and had an Italian man—not to mention a national treasure—in my bedroom. Not that I meant anything to them, but for me it was an international bonanza.

  It was after three-thirty when I finally climbed into bed and turned out the light. Sleep came almost instantly after I sincerely prayed that all this crazy change in my life would turn me into a more interesting, and hopefully irresistible, woman.

  Chapter 6

  When my alarm rang at six-thirty, I stumbled out of bed, brushed my teeth with my eyes shut and got dressed in the new skirt and blouse I’d bought at the mall yesterday. With all the excitement I’d forgotten to shave my legs last night, but there was no way in hell I was wearing hose in humid ninety-plus degree Washington heat. I just hoped no one would notice my hairy legs as I shoved my bare feet into a pair of black pumps.

  I swung by Dunkin’ Donuts, bemoaned their lack of a drive-thru for the millionth time and bought a large coffee, a bottle of Diet Coke and a blueberry muffin. Taking alternating sips of the hot and cold drinks, I drove to work. After waving my holographic pass at least a dozen times, providing my thumb print and enduring a retinal scan, I finally reported to my cubicle. I hadn’t been at my desk five minutes when Joanna Klose, my prissy office-mate, smugly informed me the price tag was still dangling from my blouse. Sigh.

  My eyes were gritty from lack of sleep, and I hoped the caffeine surge would kick in soon. I looked at the pile of papers in my in-box, checked the slew of messages on my email and wondered how I’d ever get caught up considering all the work not related to my job that needed to be done today.

  I removed the two scraps of paper from my purse containing both Beefy’s and Mr. Middle Eastern Guy’s phone numbers and stared at them. I couldn’t run a trace on the phone numbers without producing a court order, but Elvis and Xavier could. After debating whether it would be pushing my luck to ask for another favor after almost compromising their entire computer set-up, I decided I was desperate. I punched in their phone number, but the answering machine picked up. After profusely apologizing again for last night and inquiring as to whether or not Slash had contacted them yet, I left the numbers and hung up.

  I took another sip of my coffee, nearly choking on it when someone cleared his throat from behind me. Paul Wilks stood in the opening of my cubicle, grinning. I hoped like hell he hadn’t heard what I’d just said on the phone to the twins’ answering machine.

  “Hey, Paul,” I said, trying to sound casual. “What’s up?”

  “Checking up on you,” he replied. “Anything new to report on those mysterious documents and Bright Horizons?”

  “Not yet,” I lied.

  “You gonna tell Jonathan about them?”

  “Why? This is personal.”

  “You know, it’s standard operating procedure. Something strange is going on.”

  I really needed to get him off my back. “You’re right. I will tell Jonathan at some point. Actually, I have told someone in a position much higher than me, so I’m not exactly sitting on this alone.” That much was true.

  “Greater authority? At the NSA? No shit?” Paul said, his eyes widening. Paul loved office politics, especially when it involved higher-ups. Just hearing I’d consorted with someone upstairs probably raised me in his esteem. “Who’d you talk to?”

  “Sorry. I can’t say.”

  “Why not?”

  I kept my expression serious. “It’s classified, Paul. And for now, you need to keep your involvement quiet, too.”

  Paul looked disappointed but didn’t press. “Okay. I respect that. Are we still on for tomorrow night?”

  “Sure,” I said. If I didn’t die or collapse from exhaustion first. And right now both of those were actually looking a lot better than going to dinner and disco dancing with him.

  “So how was the doctor visit yesterday?”

  “What doctor visit?” I said before thinking.

  Paul frowned. “The one that kept you from work yesterday.”

  I gave myself a mental slap on the head. “Oh, that one. It was fine. Thanks for asking.”

  Paul narrowed his eyes. “You don’t have herpes do you?”

  “Paul!”

  “I’m just asking. You can’t blame a guy for wanting to know. Anyway, keep me posted on the Bright Horizons thing. You know I can help if you need me.”

  “I will. But for now just keep your lips sealed.”

  “I will until tomorrow night and then all deals with my lips are off,” he said with a sly wink and left.

  I rolled my eyes. Had I really agreed to go out with this guy? Rubbing my temples, I returned my attention to the computer screen and started to type when my phone rang.

  “Hello?” I said.

  “Lexi, it’s me, Elvis. I got your message. You got a minute?”

  “For you, always.”

  “I got the info on those phone numbers you requested.”

  “Already?”

  “I work fast.”

  He wasn’t bragging, just stating a fact. “Great. What did you turn up?”

  “The news isn’t good. The phone numbers were dead ends. One number was registered to a John Jones, address bogus, and the other to a Marvin Cates, also with a fictional address. It looks like both numbers had recently been cloned off legit accounts. I’d guess that the original owners don’t even know yet because they haven’t got their monthly statements.”

  “Ouch,” I said. “Well, thanks for trying.”

  “Sure, and by the way, Slash dropped in this morning.”

  My heart skipped a beat. “So, what do you think of him?”

  “He knew his stuff. A true wizard.”

  Calling someone a wizard meant they were an ace hacker and that is the twins’ highest compliment. I was impressed.

  “Xavier and I filled him in on the basics, but he’ll need to hear more details from you,” Elvis said. “He said he’s coming by your place tonight.”

  I sighed. “Yeah.”

  “Well, we’re still working on getting into CGM. Slash had some good suggestions we’ll put into play. Maybe we’ll get an unexpected break.”

  “That would be nice,” I said. “Thanks again.”

  I had just hung up when my boss Jonathan arrived at my cubicle. Jeez, I was Miss Popular this morning.

  Jonathan looked unusually tired and his mouth was pinched at the corners. He pushed a stray strand of pale blond hair back from his receding hairline and flicked off an imaginary piece of dust from his always-impeccable vest. Jonathan, at fifty-seven, was tall, thin and a member of what we younger generation considered “the old guard” in the computer field. Still, he was an okay guy even though I disliked the way he often micromanaged his staff. Since he was my first boss, I had no one else to compare him to and I tried not to complain about it because I figured there were other people who had it a lot worse.

  “Good morning, Lexi,” he said and I remembered that Slash had called him incompetent. I wondered how Slash knew that and just how much information he really had on all of us.

  “Good morning, Jonathan,” I said. “What’s up?”

  “Just coming to check on you. How are you feeling?”

  “Better,” I said. “Thanks for asking.”

  “
Is everything all right?”

  “Sure.”

  There was a moment of awkward silence. I felt like he was waiting for me to tell him something and it made me uncomfortable. I couldn’t see how he would have any idea what had been happening in my life, but this was the NSA after all. Just the same, I remembered Slash’s warning and kept my mouth shut. For now, at least.

  “Any new leads on Phear?”

  “Not yet,” I said.

  He gave me a long look and then shrugged. “Okay, then get to it,” he said and walked away.

  “That was way weird,” I murmured.

  I’d better do at least some of my work in case Jonathan decided to come back and check. I started surfing around in a chat room called Death Code when the phone rang again. I picked it up.

  “Hello, Lexi, darling,” my mother said. “I’m going to be in your neighborhood this afternoon and thought you might like to join me for lunch.”

  There was no way my mother could just “be in the neighborhood.” The NSA is located on eighty-six acres of land near the army base of Fort Meade. The establishment is a fortress of its own, and residences, restaurants and major thoroughfares did not surround it on purpose. Since September eleventh, all but one major entrance had been blocked off and a high-wire electric fence and hi-tech security cameras surrounded us with even more sophisticated and super-secret spy equipment.

  You were either at the NSA or you weren’t.

  “You can’t just be in the neighborhood, Mother,” I protested. “Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?”

  “I’m your mother. I can be where I want. Now, are you coming to lunch with me or not?”

  “I’m really busy, Mom. What’s up?”

  “We didn’t discuss your birthday party yet.”

  “Oh, darn,” I said, feigning disappointment. “Well, I’ll call about it later.”

  My mother’s voice lowered. “You owe me, young lady. You ran out on the Marshalls.”

  “I didn’t run out,” I lied. “Not exactly.”

  “I can’t believe you’re going to make me beg. Is this what the world has come to? Is it too much for a mother to ask for a little quality time with her daughter?”

  I rolled my eyes, as the guilt kicked in full force. “Okay, Mom, I’ll meet you for lunch. But it has to be somewhere close. I’ve only got an hour.”

  “Then let’s make it Le Fromage,” my mother said, naming a quaint little French café in the nearby town of Severn. It was a bit beneath my mom’s usual fare, but she was determined to see me.

  After I hung up, I spent the next several hours earning my paycheck and doing work in the service of my country. A little before noon I left the office and drove to the restaurant. Mom had already arrived and ordered a club soda from the bar. We sat at a table by the window and I ordered the French onion soup and Mom a garden salad with dressing on the side.

  “Tell me the truth, what did you think of Thomas Marshall?” my mother asked, nipping delicately at a piece of lettuce.

  “Forget it, Mom. He’s not my type. He’s not interested and neither am I.”

  My mom smiled her Cheshire Cat grin. I had the distinct and uncomfortable feeling she had something up her sleeve. “On the contrary, darling. He asked for your phone number.”

  I felt a flutter of uneasiness in my stomach. “He did?”

  “He did. He said he found you fascinating.”

  “For heaven’s sake, Mom. He was just being polite. You didn’t give it to him, did you?”

  “Of course I did. And I might have happened to mention that you had a birthday party coming up.”

  I choked on my soup. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

  “I did. Come on, Lexi. He’s a nice boy with a good future. Couldn’t you just once consider a man like that?”

  “He couldn’t even believe I worked for the Defense Department, Mom. Imagine what he’d think if he knew I worked for the NSA.”

  “I’m sure he could get used to it given time.”

  “He wants to be a senator,” I said, not believing I was even having this pointless argument. “That’s completely incompatible with my life goals.”

  “And your point would be?”

  “Mother,” I growled.

  She dabbed the corner of her mouth with a napkin. “I’m not saying marry him. Not yet anyway. I’m simply suggesting that you invite him to your birthday party.”

  “There’s not going to be any birthday party!” I said so loudly that the patrons at the other tables looked over at us.

  Mom glared at me. “Lower your voice, young lady. I’m simply trying to bring your attention to a very dire matter. You are turning twenty-five and you’re not even dating anyone seriously. You’re scaring me.”

  “You’re scaring me.”

  “Natalie Waggoner’s daughter is engaged and she is the same age as you,” she continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “She’s marrying a doctor.”

  I scowled at her. “Mom, for your information, I can manage my own love life, thank you very much. If I want to screw it up, that’s my business. If I want to live in the Sahara Desert of dating, then that’s my choice.”

  My mom looked taken aback and I sighed. I had spoken sharply and now regretted it. “Look, Mom, if it will make you feel any better, I actually have a date this weekend.”

  Now my mom looked surprised. “You do?”

  “I do.”

  She looked suspicious and I guess she didn’t believe me. In a way, I didn’t blame her. “What’s his name?” she asked.

  “Paul Wilks,” I said. “I work with him.”

  “Oh,” she said, disapproval evident in her voice. “Didn’t you already date him once?”

  Geez, did my mother keep a written record of every guy I’d ever been out with? “I decided to give him a second chance,” I lied.

  Mom still did not look happy. “I thought he was divorced,” she said as if it were some kind of disease. “Besides, I don’t think it’s a good idea to date people you work with.”

  “At least I’m dating.”

  “That’s true. It’s just that I worry about you, darling. You have a certain…how do I say it…way with men.”

  Yeah, I knew I had a way with men, all right. An ineffective way.

  “Look, Mom, I thought perhaps you, me and dad could go out to dinner for my birthday,” I said.

  She considered it for a minute and I could see the wheels turning in her head. “No party?”

  “No party.”

  “Then at least bring a date to dinner with you.”

  I exhaled a deep breath. I knew I’d have to compromise if I wanted to get out of the party.

  “Okay, but I get to decide who to bring. And under no circumstances are you to set me up on a blind date or promise my hand in marriage to anyone or the deal is off.”

  My mother took a sip of her club soda. “All right. I can agree to those conditions.”

  She seemed slightly mollified. I guess she was just happy I’d be quasi-dating again, which I suppose was the real reason for the lunch date. I made a vow right there that if I ever had a daughter, I’d let her date anyone she wanted. Just as long as he wasn’t a psycho or a politician wannabe. I had to have some standards.

  “…thank God, I’m not the only mother with such problems,” my mother was saying. “Miriam Sandberg was just telling me that her son hasn’t had a real date in almost two years. I told her…”

  “Whoa,” I said, interrupting her in midsentence as something clicked in my head. “Did you just say Sandberg? Her husband wouldn’t happen to be a doctor at a fertility clinic in Richmond, would he?”

  My mother looked at me like I was an alien. To some degree, I sympathized. I suppose sometimes it is hard to follow my train of thought.

  “He’s not just a doctor there,” she said slowly, enunciating every word. Maybe she thought if she spoke too quickly it might shatter what was left of my sanity. Now that I thought about it, she might be right. “He founded th
e clinic.”

  “How do you know the Sandbergs?” As soon as I asked, I knew it was a dumb question. My mother knew everyone who was anyone with money in Virginia.

  “They come to Washington frequently and are members of the Hilton Hotel’s Capital City Country Club and Spa.”

  Mom’s favorite hangout. “So what do you rich guys chat about in the sauna?” I asked.

  She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be so bourgeois, Lexi. If you must know, I heard the clinic recently went through some financial difficulties.”

  I perked up. “What kind of financial difficulties?”

  “Does it matter?” Money was money to Mom.

  “It could,” I replied.

  She narrowed her eyes. “I hope there is a good explanation why you are so interested in a fertility clinic.”

  I took a quick gulp of water and coughed. “I assure you, it’s not what you’re thinking.”

  “I certainly hope not.”

  “I swear this is a strictly professional interest,” I said, trying to keep her on track. “Do you know why the company had money problems?”

  “I haven’t got the foggiest idea,” she sniffed. “But your father said they bounced back from near financial ruin last year.”

  “How?”

  “For God’s sake, Lexi, I don’t know. More clients wanting to have babies, I guess. And it’s no wonder seeing as how women are waiting longer and longer to have children these days.” She looked at me pointedly and I shifted uneasily in my chair. “By the way, have you met the Sandbergs’ son?”

  “Forget it, Mother,” I said, wagging my finger at her.

  She smiled innocently and we finished our lunch. Luckily for my strapped checking account, she picked up the tab.

  It was nearly five o’clock when my work phone rang again. It was Finn. He said my name in that soft Irish brogue of his and a tingle went from my nose to my toes.

  “Lexi, can I see you?” he asked.

  Naked or clothed was the first thought that leapt into my head. “Sure,” I said, trying to keep cool. “Tonight?”

  “Yes.” He sounded worried.

  It would be a tight fit. I had karate at eight o’clock and then Slash was coming after that. It apparently took mortal danger and men with guns to cram my social calendar full.