Armed and Fabulous (Lexi Graves Mysteries) Read online

  "How long will it take us to get there?"

  I did a quick calculation. "Thirty seconds to the door. Five minutes to get downstairs." Adam darted to the door, opened it slightly and looked through the crack. After a moment, he signaled to me and I lurched forward, clutching my papers, purse and stained heels, taking the hand he extended towards me.

  "Let's go," he said. "Let's get out of here."

  Holding Adam's hand would have been a lot nicer if we weren't running from two murderers who were, at this moment, somewhere in the building with our boss' corpse. I tugged him along as I ran to the rear stairwell, slamming to a stop when I saw the pass card swipe slot. Shit, I'd forgotten about those. If anyone checked the logs, they would see me swiping out minutes after Martin Dean bit it, a sure sign that I had been on the floor.

  Adam reached around me and ran his pass through the machine as he pushed me through the door, shutting it quickly after us.

  "You'll show up in the system," I said, as we took the stairs down. "If anyone checks, they'll know you were here. You'll be a suspect."

  "It's an unregistered all access pass," said Adam as he ran after me.

  "How did you get one of those?"

  "Uh, can't tell you."

  I shot him a glance as we ran. "Did you 'borrow' it?" I asked, adding bunny ears with my forefingers.

  "No!"

  We descended six floors in, by my guess, less than five minutes. I signaled to Adam to use his magical swipe card again, which he did, and we entered the mailroom. I had been in here a couple of times when I had to sign for a package, so I knew the layout fairly well. Each time it had been busy with deliveries arriving and mail being sorted and loaded into carts. The day's work lay discarded on the long table and in the pigeon holes that flanked one side. The mailroom was completely dead.

  Oh, I wish I hadn't just thought that.

  The plus point of the mailroom was that it could be entered from the outside, and exited, without passing security at the front of the building. It had its own door especially for the mail to be delivered and collected. There were also no cameras except right at the basement level, where there was a fire exit that led to the street.

  Just then, the fire alarm went off and I clamped my hands over my ears to drown out the ringing.

  "They must have set it off to distract security," said Adam. "Which way now?"

  I pointed to the exit at the far side of the room and Adam followed me. He used his pass again to swipe us out. He shut the door softly, even though there wasn't anyone to see us. I leaned against the building, heaving some air into my lungs while Adam looked around. He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it standing in tufts. After sucking in a decent lungful of evening air, I opened my bag and pulled out the spare flats I carried for high heel emergencies, slipping my feet into them.

  "We can't stay here," he said. "Are you north or south?"

  "What?"

  "Where do you live? North or south?"

  "Oh, right, west actually. West Montgomery."

  "Let's go." This time Adam tugged me behind him as we cut through back streets, leading us away from the Green Hand building. After five minutes, Adam slowed his pace so we could walk casually. We were still hand-in-hand and it was strangely comforting. My heart rate slowed from its frantic beating to casual fear.

  "I planned on getting the bus home. My car wasn't working this morning," I said, suddenly wondering where we were going. Was he really planning on taking me home? Shouldn’t we call the police and wait for them to arrive? Or maybe, Adam didn’t want anyone to know he had witnessed the murder. He was a witness. My heart rate sped up and I began to babble. “I turned the key and all it did was this little put-put-put noise. I think it’s dead.” I gulped at the words.

  "We'll get a cab. Too many cameras, too many people on public transport."

  "Right. Yes. Definitely." We walked silently in the dusk. Presumably, anyone looking at us would think we were on an evening stroll, or a date. Adam and me. On. A. Date. When we were a mile from the office, Adam hailed a cab and opened the door for me. I collapsed into the seat, shell-shocked, and looked down at my dress. Oh yuck. I'd forgotten about the bloody handprint. I shifted my purse to cover it and stuffed the papers haphazardly inside.

  "Where to?" asked the driver, glancing at us in his mirror. Adam held my clean hand in his lap. I kept my bloody hand concealed.

  Adam looked at me expectantly so I reeled off my address and we headed there.

  By the time we turned onto my street, I was shivering uncontrollably. Adam let go of my hand and wrapped his arm around me, pulling me into him. He was warm and I snuggled happily. Twice in one night. A little bit of me wanted to do a “yay” but the rest of me felt cold and flat and horrified. This wasn’t the end of a date. Somewhere in Montgomery were Martin Dean's corpse and his murderers, and I had as much as witnessed it. You don't come from a cop family like mine and not know how bad that sounded.

  "You live alone?" Adam asked when the taxi dropped us off outside my place. As far as living arrangements went, I'd majorly scored. It was a three-story brownstone with white trim, owned by my best friend’s parents, who had converted it into apartments, which they rented to us. Lily had the first floor apartment, which was the biggest and had the small rear garden. I had the second floor and someone else rented the floor above me. Lily's turquoise Mini was parked out front next to my dead-as-a-dodo black VW. A lamp was on in Lily’s living room. I felt relief. At least she was close by. If I screamed, she’d double the noise and bring someone running.

  I nodded. "My best friend, Lily Shuler, lives downstairs," I said as I shakily put my key into the lock. After I fumbled it, Adam took the key, unlocked the door and pushed me inside. He hardly said a word on the way over here and didn't seem likely to get chatty any time soon. He followed me upstairs and unlocked the door to my apartment too. In the little entryway, I dumped my purse and shoes, and flipped the light on with a quivering hand. I went straight into the bathroom to wash up, trying not to look at the pink water as it swirled away.

  When I came out, and walked down the hallway into the living area, Adam was sitting on my couch.

  "Are you all right?" he asked, his concerned eyes running over me as he ran a hand through his hair.

  "Not sure." I flopped onto the couch, next to him.

  "Have you ever seen a dead body before?"

  "Only Izzie, Natalie and Fi," I replied.

  Adam gaped at me. "You found three women's bodies?"

  "My goldfish."

  "Oh."

  "Adam, Martin Dean is dead."

  "I was there."

  "Did those men kill him?"

  "Yes."

  "They would have killed us." It wasn't a question. It was a fact.

  "Probably," agreed Adam. We were quiet for a moment. It was a lot to absorb.

  "We should call the police. Tell them what we saw."

  "Lexi, you can't call the police. Do you understand me?"

  "Why not? A man just got murdered. We're witnesses." Oh God, maybe they'd make us go into the witness protection program. We'd have to live in some horrid town where no one knew us and I'd never see my family again. Bright side: maybe Adam and I would have to pretend to be married. I was willing to do some very creative pretending.

  "Do not phone the police, I'll take care of this." Adam's pocket rang and he pulled a slim cell phone out. He walked over to the window, looking out over the quiet street as he answered it.

  "Martin Dean's dead," was the first thing he said. "I saw him get shot... Two of them... No, they didn't see me. They wanted a file... There was another witness. We got out without them seeing us. I'm with her right now." They talked a while longer, Adam giving short, terse answers before hanging up and turning to me.

  I had a bad feeling about all of this. "What's going on, Adam?" I asked.

  He looked at me for a long moment, like he was trying to decide what to say or whether I could cope. I watched him with scare
d eyes. He started talking. "I don't work for Green Hand Insurance. I'm a detective with Montgomery PD and I'm undercover in an intelligence op. We've been watching Martin Dean for a while."

  "Did Dean know?"

  Adam nodded. “Not at first. I spoke to him just before he got shot.” He stood in front of me, hands thrust into pockets, looking down with a serious expression. "It's important that you don't tell anyone."

  "Why are you telling me?"

  "Because I know you're not the ditz you make yourself out to be. I read your file. You're smart and you didn't completely freak out when you saw a dead body. You concealed your presence and knew how to get out of there... and I'm going to make a bet that no one knew you were in the building tonight either."

  I thought about the wedge holding the door open so I didn't have to swipe onto the floor, the lack of cameras in the elevator and basement library. The only record of me was leaving the office at four p.m., hours before Dean was killed.

  I hadn't been smart. I had been lucky.

  "Uh, thanks?" I said, then. "Wait, I've got a file? And you work for the police department?" What else didn't I know about Adam? Maybe he wasn't the cute slash trainspotting loser slash management drone I thought he was.

  "Everyone in Dean's office has a file. Yours was the most interesting."

  I perked up a bit at that.

  "Can't understand why you're a temp. You have a perfectly good degree." I tried not to look really pleased that he knew I was a smarty-pants, but when he carried on, I had to wipe the smile off my face a bit. "You temp in a bunch of different offices. You're a really good researcher and I know you've spent a total of ten hours on the last three reports I've given you combined, even though it's taken you at least a week to turn each one in." Busted again. Though, come to think of it, he had been letting me get away with it. Despite my fear, I warmed to him.

  "Why are you telling me all this? Is this one of those monologues the evil dude gives before he kills the girl? And then paints her in gold as some kind of crazy message?" I started to look around without moving my head. I could probably make it to my bedroom, lock the door, jump out the window and flee down the fire escape. Each of my three brothers was a cop. If I called any one of them, the whole of Montgomery PD would turn out in full force and flatten Adam.

  Adam had the good manners to look appalled. "No! I'm telling you I think you did a good job tonight and this isn't James Bond."

  "I didn't do anything," I protested.

  "Exactly."

  "What else was in my file?"

  "Just the regular stuff."

  The fleeting thought that he might have put the lingerie pics in my file pinged into my head and I went a bit pink. "You're really a detective?"

  Adam nodded. He was quite good at that. Nice strong chin.

  "How long?"

  "Eight years."

  "Wow." Then, "You're not very good at keeping secrets." Why was he telling me this if he was supposed to be a super secret undercover operative? I thought spies, sorry undercover cops, couldn't tell anyone about their jobs, except their cats and dead aspidistras. My oldest brother, Garrett, had done some undercover stuff and he never said a word.

  "I am, but you're quietly freaking out and you'll just dig around until you get the truth anyway, so I'm saving you the trouble and me a lot of bother." Actually, he had a point. I would have dug around, and probably blabbed everything to the police in an Oscar-worthy scene. "Plus, I don't want you to blab and tell the police then get yourself killed before you can make it to the witness stand." Oooh! He was good at this. No wonder he got to be hotshot spy... and I DIDN'T. Sore point.

  He got up and started down my little hallway. "Where are you going?" I asked.

  "To get you some juice. You're obviously having some weird internal monologue and I don’t want you to dehydrate."

  I sank back on the comfy pillows and avoided looking down at my ruined dress while trying to process it all. A few hours ago, I had a dull job and a cute boss. Now I had a cute secret spy detective boss, was witness to a murder (though not the actual act, thanks to the photocopying chore) and... and what next? I just didn't know. My imagination always stopped at the fun bits.

  Adam returned with a glass of orange juice and thrust it into my hands. "Drink," he ordered.

  "What are you going to do now?" I asked, taking a sip.

  "I'm going to stay with you until I'm sure you're okay; then I'm going to file my report."

  "Are you sure you aren't going to call the police?"

  "Absolutely, and neither are you. My team will deal with this. Keep drinking. I don't want you to go into shock."

  I slurped another mouthful and tried to think things through. Was I supposed to go into work tomorrow? Should I go back to the agency and ask for a new assignment? Pull a sick day and stay in bed, wallowing in fear? Decisions, decisions.

  "You need to be at work tomorrow," said Adam, answering my unasked question. "Do everything like normal. Turn up at your usual time—late—" I scoffed at that, but really, he was right. I always ran ten minutes late. "—Work normally. Don't do anything that isn't your normal routine. Don't give anyone a reason to suspect you know anything about what happened. I'll take your statement and you can't discuss it with anyone. Understand?"

  "Yes, but why do I need to act like nothing happened?" I asked. "Why are you watching Dean anyway? What was he up to?" I waited while Adam had his own internal monologue. Out of the frying pan, into the fire, I thought as I continued, "C'mon, Adam. You know I'm going to dig anyway. This isn't just about Dean. What else is going on?"

  "Fraud," he said at last, watching me closely. "There are millions of dollars in fraud going on at Green Hand and we're gathering evidence for the prosecution. We suspect fake policies are being cashed in."

  "And that's what got Dean killed?"

  "Maybe."

  "Not my report?"

  Before I could breathe a sigh of relief, Adam said, "No, your report has something to do with it."

  I mustered indignation. "I am not involved in fraud. I'm a temp!"

  "I know. We ruled you out already."

  "Well... thanks. I guess."

  "No problem. We know the fraud is an inside job. Someone is leaking information out of Dean's department and that person is probably connected to Dean's murder."

  "Really?" I must have sounded quite incredulous. I mean, the images of Bob, Anne, or any of the other inmates as fraudsters, corporate spies or murderers weren't exactly the most feasible.

  "Yes, really. That's why I was assigned there. To get close to the staff and find out what's going on. Lucky for me, a job came up. The whole transfer was a set-up to get me in."

  "So you're staying?" I sipped my juice and felt my eyelids tugging. I yawned and looked at my watch. It wasn't late. There was no way I could possibly be tired. I yawned again and set the glass on the table, blinking hard.

  "Absolutely. Listen Lexi, where's the..."

  My head swam and I started edging to my feet, pushing my hands against the couch for a boost, barely able to concentrate on what he was saying. "Adam, I don't feel too well," I said. I stood up and swayed. Two Adams reached for me. Then the world went black.

  Chapter Three

  The last thing I remember thinking before I passed out was the bastard drugged me.

  Waking, I stiffened, then cranked one eye open, first ridiculously grateful to be alive, then frightened, because I was alive and Adam had drugged me.

  I opened the other eye and looked around, familiarity greeting me. I was in my bedroom, cocooned under my quilt and somewhere nearby, something awful made a hideous shrieking noise. I stuck out an arm, shivering as the cool air hit me and slapped my hand around the nightstand, finally finding my alarm. Fumbling, I switched it off about two seconds before I was ready to hurl it against the wall.

  The quilt felt strangely cozy against my skin and just as I was thinking about snuggling under for an extra nap, and that this had all been a real
ly sucky dream, I stopped and peeked under the covers.

  Like I feared, my dress was gone and instead, I was wearing my shortie pajamas, The ones with the duck print.

  My cheeks heated. It wasn’t a dream. It was a nightmare and it was real. Not only did Adam have the audacity to knock me out and tuck me into bed, but he'd also apparently undressed me and put me in my PJs! And, I realized with horrifying clarity, my bra was missing. I froze. Did he get a good look? Cop a feel? Or done some kind of amazing feat of eyes-closed undressing and dressing? My cheeks pinked. Yep. I think we all know the answer to that one. After all, he was a man.

  A cursory glance around my room showed me that my dress wasn't just gone, it was missing. Maybe he took it for evidence? I groaned and struggled up on my elbows, feeling like my head was remarkably clear for someone who had been knocked out. It took me another minute or two to realize I wasn't alone in my apartment. Footsteps padded between my living room and kitchen. Someone was humming a song.

  Sliding out of bed, I grabbed my short, silk robe from the armchair, wrapped it around me, and scanned the room for a weapon. I grabbed my lamp, popped the plug out of the socket and softly tiptoed to the partially open bedroom door.

  Ducking my head out, I shrieked blue murder when I spotted Adam walking towards me.

  "You're awake," he said simply, when I got a grip. He smiled and looked pleased.

  "You drugged me!" I raised the lamp and bent my knees, ready to spring forward and whack him hard if I needed to.

  "I had to.” He stood still. I noticed he was drinking from my coffee mug. Of all the nerve! “You were freaking out and asking me too many questions and I had to go out. I needed to make sure you wouldn't do anything stupid." See? I said he was distrustful, didn't I? Never believed a word I told him.

  "How did you get back in?" I asked.

  "Took your key."

  "Did you sleep here?" In. My. Bed? My heart thumped.

  "On the sofa," Adam corrected.

  "Did you take my clothes off?"

  He hesitated. "Yes."

  "Eyes open or closed?"

  "Closed."