No Strings Attached: A Lexi Carmichael Mystery, Book Eight (7 page)

Chapter Thirteen

Xavier jumped up from his seat. His swivel chair spun around wildly. “Quodan? The extremist terrorist group from Iran responsible for blowing up the train station in Italy and three major hotels in Prague? You’ve
got
to be kidding me.”

“I wish I was.”

“Wait. You’re saying the Chinese are interacting with extremists?” Elvis said, his expression incredulous. “That’s low. Really low.”

“It’s purely business.” Slash’s voice held a hard, cold edge. “I told you this had progressed to an ugly stage. The Chinese and Quodan share a mutual goal—they just go about accomplishing it in different ways. It shouldn’t be that much of a surprise that the two groups have decided they can profit from each other, at least for now.”

Quodan as a player was a surprise to me—and definitely not a pleasant one. Ugly, indeed. My stomach churned. “How can you be so sure they are working together, Slash?”

“The NSA has intercepted multiple correspondence threads linking the Chinese to Quodan. They are willing to sell intelligence information to Quodan even if the price isn’t right. It’s all in the name of the end game.”

“Man, you’ve got to give me a minute to wrap my head around this.” Elvis pressed both hands to his temples. “Unfathomable. Unreal.”

“Unfortunately it’s our reality right now.”

My head was spinning, too. I needed to think, sort things out. The implications of such a partnership were staggering. “Okay, even if the Red Guest is behind this hack, supported by Quodan, you know better than most that reverse engineering and morphing a code for self-destruction...it’s rogue. So much could go wrong. If something
does
go wrong, that’s on us. We’re talking about thousands, no,
millions
, of innocent people who could get hurt.”

Slash’s expression didn’t change. At all. “I know. That’s why I’ve got to get this code just right. That’s the purpose for this request for consult. Each of you has unique strengths and talents. I can build the code myself, but I would appreciate a peer review. But I’m not asking any of you to go any further than that. This code, the rest, it’s on me. Alone.”

I couldn’t believe what he was saying, what he was taking upon himself—the responsibility, the darkness. I felt sick. “Look, Slash, we don’t even know for sure these latest hacks came from the Red Guest.”

“No. Not yet.” He stood, unhooked his sunglasses from the front of his shirt and put them back on. “But we will. Who’s in?”

Elvis exchanged a long glance with Xavier and then me. Finally Elvis nodded, keeping his eyes on me. “I’m in.”

Xavier seemed to wrestle with the thought for a moment, then swore. “Damn it, guys, my bachelor party is Saturday.
This
Saturday. That’s six lousy days. This better not interfere with that.”

It seemed both ridiculous and thankfully normal that he would be concerned with that.

A smile touched Slash’s lips. “Trust me, Xavier. Even I wouldn’t let world events interfere with your bachelor party. I can write the code before that. I’ve been working on it for some time already.”

My mouth gaped open. Slash had been working on a black code...for some time? And he’d never mentioned it to me?

“Okay,” Xavier said, leaning back in the chair and linking his fingers behind his head. “We all know full well the best people to do this are right here in the room. So, yeah, I’m in, too.”

Suddenly every eye in the room was on me. I knew Slash, Elvis and Xavier were doing this partially for my sake, but somehow it felt like it was up to me to validate this crazy idea.

I swallowed hard. “Look, I’ll be honest, guys. I’m on the fence about the dark code. Can we first determine for sure whether or not it was the Red Guest? I’ll decide at that point whether I support moving forward. Can you live with that for now?”

Slash nodded. “I can.” He turned to the door. “Let’s go.”

* * *

We headed downtown to FBI headquarters, where forensic artist and FBI agent, Kip Montgomery waited for me. Kip was an affable guy with a shock of brown hair, glasses and ruddy cheeks. He wore a white shirt, red suspenders and a red bow tie.

Kip greeted us cheerfully as we entered his office, making small talk and offering us coffee or water. We both declined. After speaking for a moment to Kip, Slash left to meet with someone else.

Kip insisted I sit at the small round table, where he carefully explained the process I was about to undergo.

“I want you to think back to these individuals and describe them the best you can. We’ll start with the woman and then take a stab at the guy. Don’t try to stress out about remembering every little detail, let’s just start with an overall concept and refine from there. Be sure to mention any distinguishing characteristics you might recall. No worries.”

“I’m not worried. I have a photographic memory. I’ll give you every detail down to the last mole if you want.”

He looked a bit taken aback. “Oh. Well, that’s great. That sure will make my work easier. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

He stood and brought a laptop back to the table and started typing. Unable to help myself, I tried to peer around the screen.

“What program are you working on?”

He looked at me in surprise. “You know forensic art?”

“Not really. But I know computers.”

He angled the laptop my way. “It’s a program called FACES. It will allow me to draw and adjust the photo right on the screen.”

“Can it do 3-D?”

“Sure.”

“Great. I’ve got a good spatial memory, too. We are going to rock these composites.”

“I wish all my interviewees were as optimistic.”

“Well, I didn’t get a good look at the young guy because of his sunglasses, but we can make logical assumptions based on skin and hair color as well as facial structure. We can totally nail every detail of the woman, though.”

“You’re making me a happy man, Lexi. Let’s get started.”

Before he even drew a line, Kip asked me several general questions about the woman and her facial structure, jotting notes to himself. When he felt he had a good grasp on her, he got started on the computer. I wanted to peek at what he was doing, but he kept the picture to himself until he had a basic composite drawn.

Eventually he turned the computer screen my way.

I studied it. “Wow, Kip. That’s good. Really good. You have a unique talent.”

We worked together to further refine the drawing according to my memory. Since I was able to provide enough detail, he was able to create a 3-D version of her face.

I stared at the composite. “Her forehead is slightly too high here.” I tapped the monitor.

Kip fixed it and we sat back to contemplate. We were so engrossed neither of us heard Slash come in.

“That’s her?” he asked, putting his hands on my shoulder and studying the screen with us.

“Yes. That’s her. I can’t think of any more ways to refine the composite. It’s near perfect.”

Kip leaned back and stretched his arms over his head. “Damn, you’ve got an incredible memory, Lexi.”

“I’m glad I could help. A photographic memory does provide the necessary level of detail.”

“We’re fortunate you were sitting at the table when you were,” he said.

“We certainly are,” Slash said. “Can you send that image to Agent Martinez right away? We’d like to run it through the facial recognition database while you two work on the young man.”

“Consider it done.” Kip tapped a few keys on his keyboard and stood. “I’m going to get a cup of coffee and then we’ll get started on the kid. You up for another round, Lexi?”

“Absolutely. But this time can I just take a little peek at your program before we get started?”

Chapter Fourteen

“Remind me why there are FBI agents accompanying us to my wedding dress fitting?”

Basia slid me a glance as she pulled into the parking lot of the expensive and exclusive Thompson’s Bridal Boutique. It had been a long morning between the FBI and a visit with Slash to X-Corp, where we finally were able to provide my boss with a sterilized version of what was going on. Not surprisingly, Finn hadn’t been happy about it, mostly because I was in danger again. But at this point, there was little he could do about it. There was a fine line between what he could and could not argue about with the FBI and NSA, his excellent lawyer background notwithstanding.

As for Basia, there was no way in hell I was going to tell her about the events of the past twenty-four hours. She was living on the edge as it was. Ever since announcing her engagement to Xavier a few weeks ago, she’d morphed into Bridezilla, obsessed with getting every detail right for the forthcoming nuptials. I didn’t want to add to that anxiety in
any
way, especially since I was part of the reason her fiancé was currently involved in a top secret, dangerous cyber operation.

“Because Slash is in the middle of an important operation and they are keeping an eye on me as a courtesy to him so he can concentrate and not worry about what trouble I’ll get into next. Little black cloud and me, remember.” I pointed to my forehead. “I’m a walking accident.”

I’d told her I’d walked into a door. She’d actually seen me do it before, so it wasn’t that big a stretch. Right now, however, she didn’t seem to be buying it. Still, she didn’t press. I think she just didn’t want to know. I didn’t blame her one bit.

She nervously pushed her short dark bob off her shoulder, her lovely engagement ring glinting in the sun. Xavier had bought her a big, round-cut diamond surrounded by small red rubies in a platinum setting. It was delicate and pretty without being pretentious. He’d chosen really well. In fact, she loved it so much she got all teary whenever she looked at it, which was a lot lately. I was beginning to think being a bride required riding on some invisible, emotional roller coaster and forcing the maid of honor, and all in her orbit, to go along for the ride.

“They aren’t going to, you know, come into the dressing room, right?” she said.

“No, of course not.” I tried to sound as sure of myself as possible, although I knew no such thing. “Hey, look, the parking lot is almost empty, well, except for the FBI guys pulling in behind us. I bet that means we’ll have the whole store to ourselves. Yay!”

I jumped out of the car and tried to look as enthusiastic as I could, considering I was about to spend an hour in this store with nothing more to do than look at expensive, fancy dresses. Why I had to tag along was a mystery, except it was apparently an important responsibility of a maid of honor, in addition to throwing the bachelorette party. I also had to try on my bridesmaid gown, which I was dreading. Not because the dress wasn’t pretty—it was. It was a soft red dress that fell just below my knees with short sleeves and a high, cinched waist. The reason I was dreading it was because mine had to be taken in around the boobs. That meant someone would be prodding and arranging me there, which I hated. But I sucked it up and smiled like there was no place I’d rather be.

“Come on, let’s go in,” I said.

As I held open the door for her, I saw the FBI agents getting out of the car. OMG! Were they really going to come in?

The bell on the door jangled and a perky young blonde with too much makeup on rushed out to greet us. “Hi, I’m Amanda, your bridal consultant for the day. Which one of you is Basia?”

Basia stepped forward. “I’m Basia Kowalski. This is Lexi Carmichael, my maid of honor.”

Amanda turned to me and then stopped. “Oh, Lexi, what happened to your face?”

“I walked into a door.” I grimaced. “I’m a major klutz. It will all be cleared up by the wedding, I’m sure.”

I was a rotten liar and Amanda looked suspicious, but she didn’t say anything. “Well, I’m so thrilled to meet you both. We’re going to have so much fun today. Basia, I’ll make sure you are an absolutely stunning bride. Now remind me, when is the wedding?”

“In thirty-two days...not like I’m counting.” Basia threw up her hands. “Who am I kidding? I’m a nervous wreck. But I can’t wait to see the dress.”

Basia had special ordered a custom-made wedding dress online through a subcontractor of the boutique’s. Now that it had finally arrived, she’d be able to try it on and have any necessary alterations made in plenty of time for the wedding.

“Your dress arrived last night,” Amanda said. “I haven’t even had time to unwrap it yet.”

I glanced around. The store was completely empty.

Amanda glanced over my shoulder as the FBI agents in suits and dark glasses entered the store, the bell on the door jangling. One agent remained by the door with his arms crossed while the other starting walking through the racks of dresses, apparently looking for lurking perpetrators.

Jeez.

“Are they with you?” Amanda asked.

“Ah, them?” I jerked my thumb toward the one by the door.

The FBI agent by the door stared at me without expression. Not that you could actually see an expression behind the large sunglasses.

“Yes, them,” Amanda said. Her tone indicated she thought I was slow.

“Well, yes, they are with us, but they aren’t
with
us, if you know what I mean. They’re just watching. Ignore them. I’m the only official one in the party today.”

Amanda seemed puzzled, but this was Washington, DC, where people follow people around all the time, so she didn’t protest. “Okay. Well, ladies, please follow me to dressing room number one. Let me gather your dresses and I’ll meet you in there.”

We followed her to the dressing room. It was a decent-sized room with a small stage in front of three full-length mirrors, presumably so you could see yourself and the dress from every angle. There was a long white couch, two comfortable armchairs and a coffee table covered by a white paper tablecloth upon which sat a silver bucket with two bottles of pink champagne on ice. One bottle was already open and six crystal flutes were artfully arranged around the bucket. Guess Amanda had been expecting a larger party. I almost felt sorry that Basia had brought only me, especially since I wasn’t at all certain how much I could contribute to this excursion.

“Oh, it’s all lovely,” Basia said, clapping her hands together happily. “Look at those lovely tea lights and scattered red rose petals. Every detail is perfect.”

It didn’t strike me as overly perfect, but I had exactly zero expectations for a bridal dressing room, so what did I know? I guess the tea lights, which were actually just small oil lamps, the champagne and the rose petals did kind of look pretty.

Amanda came bustling into the room with two dresses wrapped in plastic over her arms. She hung them both on a hook near the door. I wanted to try on my bridesmaid dress as much as I wanted a pap smear. But it would have to be done, so I had to endure.

Amanda pulled my dress out from beneath the plastic cover. It was pretty on the hanger, but I was sure that, without any discernible curves, I’d look like a red popsicle in it. Regardless, I smiled and pretended it was the most gorgeous dress I’d ever seen.

Basia inspected the dress and held it up against me. “Perfect. You’re going to look lovely, Lexi.”

“If you say so.” I could barely look at myself in the mirror. God, I needed a drink.

As if she’d read my mind, Amanda walked over to the table. “Before we get started and see your dress, Basia, let’s celebrate with champagne.” She pulled out the chilled bottle and poured two flutes. She handed one to Basia and the other one to me.

I happily lifted the glass to my lips when Amanda started shrieking at me.

“No, no, no! Stop! You have to toast first.”

I reluctantly lowered my glass. “Sorry.”

Amanda collected herself, smoothed down her blond bob. “You, Lexi, as the maid of honor, must provide the toast. Please, toast to the dress.”

“Excuse me?” I looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “You want me to toast...the dress?”

“Of course.” Amanda and picked up an empty champagne flute. She clinked it against mine. “You know...to the
dress
.”

I didn’t know why she was looking at me like I was a total idiot. Did people really toast dresses? I guess it was possible, but it had never crossed my mind. Then again, I’d never been to a wedding dress fitting before, so what the heck did I know? Maybe people across the world lifted their glasses to wedding dresses all the freaking time.

Fine. I could toast a stupid dress if it was protocol. Playing my part of the dutiful maid of honor, I held up my champagne and clinked my glass against Basia’s.

“Um, here’s to the dress. May it fit and be acceptable to you.”

There. That hadn’t been too hard.

Amanda rolled her eyes at me over Basia’s shoulder. I guess my tone had been wrong. Or the emotional introduction had been missing. Or it was painfully clear I thought this whole toast-to-the-dress thing was colossally ludicrous. Narrowing my eyes at Amanda, I lifted the flute to my lips just before Basia burst into tears.

I lowered my glass. “Basia, don’t cry. I can do a new toast. A better one. I promise. Just give me a minute to think one up.”

Tears slid down her cheeks and she wiped at them with the back of her hand. “Oh, no, Lexi. It wasn’t the toast. It’s just I can’t believe I’m getting married in just over a month. I mean, I’ve dreamed of this day since I was a little girl. Now it’s happening. It means so much that you are here with me, sharing in this special moment. You’re my best friend in the world.”

She set down her glass and threw her arms around me, sobbing. I awkwardly patted her back and tried desperately to come up with an appropriate response. It was hard when I still wasn’t sure exactly why she was crying. Were they tears of sorrow, tears of relief or tears of joy? How the heck was I supposed to know? The urge to bolt was overwhelming.

When I didn’t say anything—because I couldn’t think of a freaking thing to say—Basia started to sob harder. Panic gripped me, but a single intelligent comment that was both safe and reassuring refused to present itself. I was lacking significant parameters and was deathly afraid a wrong comment would make things worse. Amanda disappeared and came back with a box of tissues.

“Oh, honey, you are going to be a beautiful bride,” she said, handing Basia a tissue. She shot me an exasperated look. Maid of honor epic failure. Again.

“Seeing yourself in the dress for the first time really brings it all home, doesn’t it?” Amanda added, patting her on the back. “Don’t worry. You’re going to look beautiful.”

Basia pulled away from me and dabbed her eyes with the tissue. “Oh, thanks, Amanda. I’m sorry I’m being so emotional.”

A cranky little monster arose within me. It wasn’t fair that Amanda had so effortlessly been able to find the right thing to say. The playing field wasn’t close to even because she probably had a lot of practice at this, while it was my first time soothing a bride-to-be.

“Nonsense, you’re being a normal bride.” Amanda took Basia’s champagne flute and set it on the table. “Your wedding is the most important day of your life. Who wouldn’t be emotional about that?”

Amanda glanced over at me and I saw the answer in her eyes. I gulped the rest of my champagne and filled it up again. We hadn’t even tried on the dress yet and one bottle of champagne was almost gone. I wasn’t much for alcohol, but I was already fighting an overwhelming urge to flee. If we had to be here much longer, I was going to need something a lot stronger than champagne.

“Let’s try on your dress,” Amanda said to Basia. “Strip down now.”

Thank God we weren’t trying on my dress first. I needed to have more alcohol before I could do that.

Basia started taking off her clothes while I polished off my second glass of champagne and filled a third. I then began pacing until Amanda pointed at one of the armchairs and instructed me in a stern voice to sit down.

I sat, hoping I would have no greater responsibility than to offer an appropriate nod and encouraging smile every once in a while before it was my turn to try on the dress. Amanda slipped her hand under the white plastic cover of Basia’s dress, taking hold of the hanger. Before she pulled the dress all the way out from beneath the cover, she told Basia to cover her eyes.

“Let’s make this a surprise. I’ll tell you when to open them.”

Standing there in just her underwear and covering her boobs with her hands, Basia smiled and closed her eyes. Amanda carefully pulled the dress out from the wrap and held it up.

“Voilà!”

My champagne flute nearly slipped from my fingers. “Holy crap. What is
that
?”

“What is what?” Basia asked, opening her eyes.

Amanda stood still as a statue. The expression on her face was one of frozen horror.

Basia saw the dress and gasped. “Oh, my God. That’s supposed to be a rose on the waistband. The seamstress said she could embellish the dress with a tiny, delicate rose.” Her voice broke. “But that looks like a...a...”

She couldn’t say it.

I couldn’t say it either.

Instead of a rose, that
thing
on her dress looked more like a large, exact scientific replica of a pink, female private part. Blossoming open.

On her freaking wedding dress.