No Living Soul

by Julie Moffett

  “I’ll hire someone to oversee the move of both our places to the new house and we’ll make sure to get ourselves and Elvis back before the wedding.”

  While I wasn’t thrilled with the possibility that someone would have to pack my underwear, it was a generous gesture. “You’d do that, Slash? For Elvis? For me? Just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  “What about your work? Will they allow you go?”

  “I’m not a prisoner. I work at the NSA of my own free will. If they make that increasingly difficult or uncomfortable for me to do, I’ll leave the agency. I don’t think that’s what they want, so I presume they’ll figure a way to be accommodating. That being said, this will require some special maneuvering. Egypt is not the safest place to be these days. But if I agree to stay in Cairo, I’ll have a better shot. Since I understand their security concerns, perhaps better than most, I believe we’ll be able to work it out.”

  “But you just became the Director of IAD.”

  “The key word being director, right? I’ll delegate. Not to mention, it’s a holiday weekend where historically, the largest number of employees at the NSA are on leave for the weekend and subsequent week. Hopefully, things will be slow. If not, they know, as well as you, I can do most, if not all, of my work virtually.”

  “But Egypt? All the forms you’ll have to fill out and permissions to secure. Can you do that so quickly?”

  “I’ll try.”

  “What about visas? Do we need one?”

  “Americans can get visas at the airport in Cairo. We can do this. It’s important, cara. We have to help Elvis find his father. But perhaps more importantly, we have to help Elvis.”

  I stared at him for a moment. “Wow. Just wow. You’re amazing.” I unbuckled my seat belt and climbed across the cup holders, sliding my arms around him and squeezing between him and the steering wheel. “Thank you so much. This means a lot to me.”

  “It means a lot to me, too. I’ll talk to Elvis tomorrow to make sure our travel arrangements sync with his.” He wrapped his arms around my waist, anchoring me to him. I wondered fleetingly if the FBI was wondering what the heck we were still doing in the car.

  “Do you need my credit card number for tickets?”

  “No. I’ll take care of it.”

  “But we’ll work it out later.”

  “Si, we’ll work it out later.” He kissed me lightly, but his lips lingered against my mouth. I looked over his shoulder at the FBI car again.

  “What about the FBI detail? Will they have to come?”

  “Possibly not.”

  I looked at him in surprise. “Really?”

  “Really. After the recent debacle with the FBI bungling my protection, along with others’, they’ve been ordered to turn over their responsibilities for watching NSA employees to the Secret Service. Streamlining, so to say. They’re starting the changeover this week.”

  “Well, wouldn’t that mean the Secret Service detail would go instead?”

  “Hard to say. I don’t think they’d be ready yet to send a detail. Working this out won’t be easy by any stretch of the imagination. I’ll have to figure it out. But we’ll make it work. I promise.”

  I cupped his cheeks with my hands. His stubble scratched my fingers. “Yes, we will. We always do.” I gave him a kiss and his arms tightened around me.

  “Come on. Let’s get out of here.” He reached beneath my leg to unbuckle his seat belt. He opened his door, slid out from beneath me and stepped out of the car, stretching out a hand to help me out. “However, before we go flying off on Wednesday, don’t forget we have an important engagement to attend tomorrow evening.”

  I grabbed my purse and took his hand, climbing out of the SUV. “We do?” I racked my brain, but I couldn’t think of it. “Oh, jeez, what did I forget?”

  “Furniture shopping.”

  My stomach flipped. I hated shopping even more than I hated flying. I had really hoped we could hire an interior designer or something. But when I brought it up, Slash thought it was important we pick out several things we both liked, to make it feel more like our home. After considering it, I realized he was right. This was our home now. We had to work together to make it feel like it belonged to us as a couple.

  Still I gave it another shot, just in case I could get out of the responsibility. “Are you sure my furniture, plus yours, isn’t enough for the house?”

  “I’m sure. It’s a big house.”

  Crapola.

  Since it had to be done, I sucked it up and smiled. “Well, then, I’m in. How hard can it be to buy another couch and a couple of tables?”

  “We need bedroom, dining room and kitchen furniture, too.”

  “Right. Beds, dressers, tables. A walk in the park.” I smiled, but my anxiety heightened. “What time does this shopping excursion take place?”

  He put an arm around me as we walked toward my apartment. “Six thirty. Let’s meet here after work and we’ll go together in my car.”

  “Okay.”

  He chuckled. “Breathe, cara. Consider it an adventure.” He pressed a kiss against my hair. “Furniture is inanimate. Remember, you’ve got the upper hand.”

  Easy for him to say. Didn’t he know approximately six hundred and fifty people a year in the United States are crushed by furniture and die? That made the one-year odds of me dying at the hands of furniture 423,548 to 1, with lifetime odds of 5,508 to 1. While statistically unlikely, given my awkwardness, it wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibility.

  “Sure. I’ve got the upper hand.” I repeated it a couple of times, as if I could make myself believe it.

  I didn’t.

  Chapter Eight

  I awoke to sunlight peeking into the bedroom though a crack in the curtains pulled apart by a small tower of boxes I’d stacked underneath the window. The other side of my bed was empty. Slash was already up.

  Yawning, I strolled into the living room, stretching my hands above my head. Slash stood in the middle of the room, eyes closed, balancing on one foot with his hands pressed against his chest in a praying position. He’d pushed my coffee table up against the couch next to several boxes I’d packed, giving him an open space. He was naked from the waist up and wore only a pair of loose gray sweatpants.

  I stopped, watching him. The sun streamed in through the window outlining his broad shoulders, taut biceps and abs. His breathing was deep, audible and rhythmed, his balance impeccable. Just standing there made me fall into sync with his breaths. I knew he was practicing qigong, the Chinese art of physical exercises and breathing control via tai chi. Lucky for me, I’d become intimately familiar with the principles of the practice...in the bedroom.

  Breathe in. Breathe out.

  Become one with each other. Master the energy and emotions. Move from being a prisoner of desire to the conductor of your own physical orchestra. Just thinking about it made me inhale sharply.

  Slash cracked an eye open. In one fluid motion he changed his pose where he had one arm in front of him and the other to the side, still balancing on one foot. He smiled. “Coffee’s on.”

  “Wow. Bless you.”

  He held the pose with ease even though it looked really hard. Too bad I had to go to work. If I had the time, I wouldn’t mind watching him all day. “How’s it going? Are your body’s energetic anatomy and qi pathways blossoming?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  I figured he was working on outer dissolving—a tai chi technique that heightened mental and physical capability, improved stamina and dissolved any mental or emotional blockages that could interfere with free thought and pure sensation. I’d be the first to say I’d personally benefited from Slash’s qigong knowledge. In spite of my awkwardness, but thanks to his careful guidance, I’d been able to access m
ore than three times my personal qigong. As a result, I enthusiastically supported the art of tai chi.

  Still, it mystified me how he was able to know when to switch poses. I studied him with interest. “Are you sure you don’t you need music or something to keep the beat?”

  “I’m sure.”

  He switched poses again. I watched him balance with one leg out behind him. He didn’t even wobble once. “It looks hard.”

  “It’s all about focus, cara.”

  “Despite your assuredness, I’m pretty sure focus isn’t a viable substitute for a lack of athleticism or flexibility. Just saying. Please, carry on.”

  His smile widened as he closed his eyes and continued.

  I drank an entire mug of coffee before taking my shower. Slash joined me in the kitchen for a quick breakfast of toast and orange juice before we headed out to our respective jobs. He kissed me in the parking lot as Mrs. Wolansky walked by with her dog and waved at us.

  Happiness surged through me, taking me off guard. It was weird, but I’d almost forgotten what it was like living alone. I never imagined I’d be able to integrate my life so easily with his...at least, so far. It made the move seem that much more logical. My step lightened as I headed toward my car and got in.

  Unfortunately, by the time I arrived in the office that happiness had evaporated. My blouse was stuck to my back with sweat, my butt had fallen asleep and my jaw ached from gritting it. There had been a backup on the Baltimore-Washington Parkway that made me more than thirty minutes late. After grabbing a fresh cup of coffee and settling at my desk, the first thing I did was pick up the phone and call Elvis.

  “Hey, bud. Slash and I are coming with you to Egypt.”

  Silence.

  “Elvis? Are you there?”

  He finally spoke. “Look, you guys don’t have to do this. Gwen is already coming, despite my strenuous efforts to talk her out of it.”

  “So, you don’t want her to come?”

  “No, I do. It’s just I don’t want to put her in danger. Not to mention it’s kind of a mark on my man card that she feels like she has to go because I shouldn’t be alone. Same with you and Slash.”

  I took a sip of my coffee. Should’ve added more creamer. “Your man card remains intact. We’re your friends, Elvis. We aren’t doing this because we feel obligated. We want to come because we care about you.”

  “You hate flying.”

  I really did. Even more so since the last flight I was on crashed in the jungle. But the odds of being in another plane crash on the very next flight I took were astronomical, which made me feel a lot better.

  “What’s going on with you and your father’s discovery is inestimably more important than my fear of flying,” I said.

  He sighed because he knew I was right. “Gwen said the same thing.”

  “Yeah, about Gwen. What’s the deal with her? How come you’ve never mentioned her to me before?”

  “Well, because we’re colleagues, that’s all. It was all very professional...at first. But over this past month, she’s helped me a lot. I think we may have crossed the colleagues-to-friends line.”

  “There’s a colleagues-to-friends line?”

  “I think so.”

  “How did you cross the line?”

  “That’s the thing. I have no idea. It’s a bit baffling. Sometimes she texts me random things not even connected to the plague or my father. I respond because she’s funny, smart and kind of pretty. She also uses a lot of emojis, though, which I think signals friendship. I’m not certain on that one.”

  “That’s it? She uses emojis and that’s how you can tell it’s a friendship?”

  “If you have a clearer parameter, please share. Seriously, I’m not sure how it happened, but I think we’re friends now. She’s been really nice helping me out with my father. I appreciate that. I appreciate her.”

  “I noticed.” I tried to keep the hurt out of my voice, but it seeped in anyway. “You told her about your dad. Stuff you never told me. And I’m supposed to be your best friend.”

  “You are my best friend. I’m sorry, Lexi. I guess it was easier talking to her because she wasn’t emotionally invested in me or my life. My situation with my father is rather painful and embarrassing. I won’t lie to you. It was weird at first—spilling my guts to a stranger. But somehow, it was liberating, too. Gwen’s a good listener.”

  “So, what does that mean? You like her?”

  “Of course, I like her. I just said she crossed the line into friendship. Emojis, remember?”

  “I mean like her—like her. As in a potential love interest.”

  “Oh.” He was silent. “That I don’t know. She just became a friend. Not to mention, officially I’m dating Bonnie.”

  “Does Bonnie know about Gwen?”

  “Oh, God, no. You think I could manage that? Not that I’m hiding anything from Bonnie, because there is nothing to hide. Gwen just crossed the line into friends, after all. I can have friends that are girls, right?”

  “Right. You’ve got me.”

  “Exactly.” He sounded relieved. “Look, I can’t expend any more energy thinking about women right now. I just can’t. I’m too worried about my father, the plague, the trip to Egypt and the big fight I had with Xavier this morning when I told him I’m going to Egypt. Trust me, women are the last thing on my mind.”

  “You had a fight with Xavier?”

  “Yeah. A pretty bad one. He doesn’t want me to go for a number of logical and compelling reasons, including his upcoming nuptials and the fact that our father hasn’t contacted us once in thirteen years. Yet, for some unfathomable reason, I’m still going to Egypt to hunt down a man who doesn’t give a crap about me.”

  “The reason is he’s your father.”

  “Biologically.” He sighed. “Damn, this sucks. I might actually have reconsidered going if not for the plague.”

  “No, you wouldn’t have. You’ve got this, Elvis.”

  “I know. You’re right. Thanks, Lexi. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you everything earlier.”

  “It’s okay, Elvis. I understand. And, in spite of the fangirling, I’m starting to like Gwen. A little.”

  “She looks up to you.”

  “Ugh. No one should do that. Ever.”

  He laughed and I asked him for his travel details so we could fly together. He forwarded them to me in an email before we hung up. I glanced at them and forwarded them on to Slash.

  Once all was settled with Elvis, it was time to take my Egyptian excursion to my boss, Finn Shaughnessy, sexy Irishman and onetime romantic interest. On the way to his office, I swung by the kitchen and added a bit more coffee to my mug. His secretary, Glinda, glared at me when I asked to see him. She’d been pursuing Finn for years without success. She’d never forgiven me for sort of dating him and then breaking up with no apparent hard feelings. Even worse, Finn still wasn’t interested in her, which made her madder at me for some unfathomable reason.

  Finn was sitting at his desk with some papers spread out and he waved me to a chair when I came in.

  “Good morning, Lexi. What’s up?”

  “Well, remember how I worked two days of overtime on the DSC case last week?” I sat in the chair, taking a sip of the coffee and balancing the mug on my knee.

  “I do. It was spectacular work, as always.”

  “Well, I’d like to take a couple of days off and make it a long Memorial Day weekend.”

  “Of course. You earned it. Last-minute preparations for Basia’s and Xavier’s wedding?”

  “Um, not exactly.”

  “Getting ready for your move?”

  “No. I’m good on that front.”

  He was silent for a moment. “So, what’s going on?” He sat back in his chair and regarded me w
ith thoughtful green eyes. “Is the world ending again? Is the NSA, FBI or CIA asking you to jump from a plane?”

  “Oh, God, no. Thank goodness. It’s nothing like that. I just need to take a trip abroad.”

  “Abroad? Do I dare ask where?”

  “Egypt.”

  His eyes widened. “Egypt? Why in God’s name?”

  I didn’t want to tell him about Elvis’s father. Not because I didn’t trust him, but because it wasn’t my story to tell.

  “Well, I’ve always wanted to see the pyramids.” That much was true.

  He didn’t buy it for a second. I could see that much in his expression. I thought he’d call me on it, but instead he surprised me by asking, “Is Slash is going?”

  “Yes. Elvis, too.”

  He tapped his finger on his chin. “Okay, all of a sudden you, Slash and Elvis want to dash off to Egypt a couple of days before your move and just over a week before Xavier’s and Basia’s nuptials? Need I remind you—you’re the maid of honor and Elvis is the best man in said wedding?”

  “Reminder not necessary. Trust me. Basia reminds me at least six times a day.”

  “So, what aren’t you telling me?”

  I sighed. “Look, Finn. I promise you I’m not going on a secret government mission. It’s not my place to tell you why I’m going, but trust me when I say it’s for a good cause. A very good cause.”

  “Is it dangerous?”

  “Flying is always dangerous.”

  “True, that.” He smiled, then sighed. “And good job avoiding the answer. Fine. Go to Egypt. As your boss, I have no reason to deny you time off you’ve earned. We’ve got nothing on the docket and the office will be mostly empty with everyone disappearing for the holiday weekend anyway.”

  “Thanks, Finn.”

  “But...” He reached out and took my hand, holding it tight in his. “As your friend, I’m worried about you. Lexi, whatever you’re doing, be careful, okay?”

  “Trust me. It’s always at the top of my agenda.”

  “It bloody well better be.”