Armed and Fabulous (Lexi Graves Mysteries) Read online

  I narrowed my eyes. "Really?"

  "Well, yours were closed!"

  "I am so embarrassed!"

  Adam’s lips curled upwards in a smile. "Don't be. Your underwear matched."

  "I know that. I'm just embarrassed you took my clothes off after drugging me. Does the PD offer seminars on that?"

  "Of course not. Normally, I'd shoot you first." He rolled his eyes. "Kidding. Coffee? Very nice underwear, by the way. Pink. Cute."

  I looked at him like he was a total idiot. "No, thanks."

  "It's not drugged," he promised, though he didn’t look exactly sorry.

  "I'll make my own." As I pushed past him to do just that, he sidestepped and somehow pressed us against each other until I couldn't move. His proximity made my knees weak as I inhaled the scent of limes wafting from his skin. Perhaps if I swooned just a little bit… Hang on! What was I thinking? He drugged me and now I was thinking he looked mighty fine? "What time is it?" I snapped, feeling my face beginning to flush. I sniffed again. He smelled suspiciously like my shower gel.

  "Seven. You need to get ready for work."

  "So do you."

  "I'm ready." He was too, smug jerk. He'd already changed his shirt and tie and even shaved. Most likely in my bathroom. I sniffed again. He smelled like my toothpaste too.

  "If you'd drugged me a little less, maybe I’d have been ready by now too."

  "I'm sorry." Adam replied as he ran a hand down my arm, his eyes sparkling.

  "Fine." But I was going to stay mad at him on principle. "Do we have to go?" Wouldn’t it be teeming with the police and crime scene investigators? I wanted to ask.

  "Yes, we need to look normal, but..." He leaned forward and brushed some stray hairs behind my ear, allowing his fingers to linger on my cheek.

  "But what?" I asked, looking up at him, straight into his blue eyes, which were piercing in the early morning light. I wondered what would happen if I stood on my tiptoes, and lifted my chin up ever so slightly... Then, I remembered… I was supposed to be mad at him. And he was still my boss… I think.

  "Would you mind leaving the lamp at home?"

  I'd forgotten about the dangerous weapon I was wielding, so I handed it to him. I gave him a little push backwards so I could pass him and go into the kitchen to make a rousing cup of coffee—my morning drug of choice.

  As I clattered around in the kitchen, pulling out a mug and sugar, and searching through the cabinets for anything edible, I found it hard to stay mad at Adam, if that was even his real name. He hadn't left me alone at the office. He hadn't left me to the mercy of the murderers and he did make sure I was safe all night. That had to count for something when I weighed it against the drugging. But after I thought about that, I decided that the open carton of juice needed pouring down the sink and the open bag of coffee may as well go into the bin too. I'd buy a fresh, untampered bag later.

  I showered, with the door locked, and dressed quickly in black pants, a blue blouse and low heels. When I came out of my bedroom, Adam was lounging against the wall, waiting for me.

  “Where’s my dress?” I asked. “And my heels?”

  “I got rid of them.”

  “Is that legal?”

  “Strictly speaking, no.” Adam paused as I inhaled crossly. “Do you want things with Dean’s blood on them, tying you to the scene?”

  “No.”

  Actually, despite the fact we witnessed a murder, had to escape unnoticed from a building with two psychos in it, and knowing he drugged and undressed me, it was really quite nice to go to work with someone. However, it was mildly embarrassing to run into Lily as she left the building at exactly the same time, uncharacteristically early for her. She ran her eyes over Adam, and then gave me a not very subtle wink, but I got over that pretty fast. He even bought me a muffin and a real coffee on our ride in, seeing as I refused to drink or eat anything unsealed that he might have had contact with in my kitchen, which, unfortunately, meant pretty much everything.

  We entered the lobby together, rode the elevator, swiped onto the floor together, then calmly ignored each other as we veered off to our respective desks. My palms felt clammy and I was sure my heart beat loud enough for everyone to hear as I sat in my chair and leaned down to press the power button on my computer, freezing when I realized someone was hovering over me. Bob.

  "Hello," I squeaked, straightening up to flash a smile at my co-worker. Bob was a big man, upwards and outwards, with a crop of dark hair closely cut to minimize the bald patch encroaching on his crown. He looked daunting, but as far as attitude, he was easy going, with a laissez-faire philosophy to life, work and everything in between. His official title was “Accounts Manager,” but I still had no idea what that even meant.

  "Martin Dean was looking for a report from you yesterday," he told me.

  "Oh, er, right. I forgot to put it on his desk." Actually it became a big, crumpled mess in my purse while I sat in the closet clutching it. That reminded me… I hadn’t seen my purse this morning either. I hoped the PD had a good-sized budget because I loved that purse. On the other hand, Martin Dean was dead, so he probably didn't give a shit about my report anymore. Not that Bob seemed to know that.

  I looked around the office quickly. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. No one seemed upset, or stood in groups, whispering or weeping. No, today looked like a normal day. Somehow, I hadn't even considered that Dean's body wouldn't be found, that no one would know. Hadn’t anyone seen the blood?

  "He's not in today, so no rush," said Bob.

  "Right." I fought to keep the perplexed look off my face.

  Bob sauntered out and after a moment, I saw him drop into his chair, pick up the Montgomery Gazette and a pen, to start on what I could only assume was today's crossword puzzle.

  Really, it was quite remarkable how normal everything was. I was not a freaked-out, screaming, crying mess. Instead, I was neat and tidy, my blue blouse sprigged with little flowers embroidered on the points of the collar and my hair in a loose ponytail. Adam was tapping away at his keyboard, looking bored. Bob was still sloping off and Anne was pounding abuse on her keyboard instead of touch-typing like a normal person. All around me it was an average workday. Appearances, however, could be very deceptive.

  Murder had put me right off my online shopping for the moment, so instead, I looked at the brief Adam had sent me yesterday and pulled out yesterday's notes. I doodled some ideas on my notepad to avoid focusing on my heart hammering in my chest. It took only about ten minutes before I was bored to tears, and another ten seconds before I began thinking about what happened to Martin Dean and his body.

  On my “to murder” list, Dean was one of those men who would have occupied the bottom. (Speaking of which, why did no one seem to know he was dead? Where were the press, for that matter? The murder of a prominent businessman in Montgomery should have qualified at least one report.) He might have been the VP of Green Hand, but he wasn't high profile in the community; he didn't attend benefits or dinners, or donate personal funds to needy children’s charities. He seemed to enjoy the reclusive life. As far as I knew, he was divorced, had never been involved in any kind of sex scandal and didn't twiddle his expenses. He was usually polite to the underlings (even if he didn’t care to learn my name and still called me Lacy), had never even had an inkling to run for mayor, and never caused a stir in his private or business lives. Dean was about as invisible as a man could be in his position.

  Last night, Adam mentioned my report, saying that a bunch of them sat on Dean's desk. What had I written? Which report? And what did it have to do with Martin Dean's death? I opened up my “documents” folder and clicked on “reports” to bring up a cluster of thumbnails that represented my saved files. I re-ordered them by date and focused on the ones I'd written in the last month. Those, I surmised, were the most likely to be on his desk

  My reports were comprised of burglary trends, new research into preventing electronic equipment theft, some background for a puff pie
ce on a features-style ad for the Montgomery Gazette, and a report on statewide insurance take-up versus theft of non-insured homes. None of them struck me as even remotely interesting at the time, but someone must have considered something in one of them worth killing Martin Dean over. I clicked open each report and skimmed through.

  Two things immediately cropped up. One, I didn't have a clue what was worth popping Martin Dean over. Two, my name was watermarked on the lower left corner of every single page! I blanched and slipped down dejectedly in my seat. Then realizing I was being weird, sat up properly again. Acting normal might have been working for Adam, but internally, I felt like a jiggling bowl of Jell-O. I had no clue how I would get through the day. Martin Dean knew something that apparently I knew too. Even though I didn't know what it was. Life was so unfair! I wondered if Adam knew which report it could be? I glanced up at him. He was sipping coffee, looking bored and not the slightest bit worried.

  I dropped my eyes back to the screen just as something weird started happening. Each file suddenly closed down and disappeared from the folder. Then the whole freaking folder deleted. I felt sick inside. Someone was inside my computer, deleting all my work. I craned my head over the monitor and made some frantic, and probably quite strange, eyebrow waggles at Adam. He just frowned at me and shook his head, before returning to stare at his monitor.

  I tried to remember what I knew from the IT helpdesk man, who had been pretty chatty when he came to install software a month ago. All the department computers were secured and loaded with firewalls as well as other ridiculously geeky stuff that stopped people from hacking in. I knew that the IT department could remotely access our computers, so it was possible someone in the building, maybe even on the floor, was deleting my files.

  I flicked my hair so I could look over my shoulder. All the suits were hunkered down over their desks with no helpful poster that said 'Yes, I haz UR files!' I casually glanced around once more, then turned back to my now blank screen. Whatever was in the files, someone didn't want anyone to be able to access them ever again.

  A light bulb popped in my head. Moving the mouse, I clicked on the little waste can icon. My recycle box had been emptied too. The files were gone.

  I pretended to work until mid-afternoon, not even daring to venture out to get a sandwich for lunch, but giving Bob enough money to pick me up a tuna melt. I ate sullenly at my desk, chewing the bland meal until it tasted less like cardboard.

  When Adam appeared behind me and spoke, I nearly leapt out of my skin. "We've got a meeting," he said.

  "We do?"

  "Yes," Adam said firmly. "A phone conference. You offered to take notes."

  "I... did?"

  He raised an eyebrow at me. Oh! Got it! A ruse! Good thing I catch on quick.

  "Right. I'll just get my... notepad."

  "Bring your purse. We might be a while."

  I logged off the computer, grabbed my bag and notepad and followed Adam out. He motioned with a finger to his lips for me to be quiet. Silently, I followed him into the elevator and then out to the front of the building.

  "All my files were deleted this morning," I said, through clenched teeth as we rounded the corner of the building. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. "They just disappeared right as I was looking at them!"

  "I know. I saw."

  "You did? Wait... how?"

  "I had remote access software installed on the whole team's computers."

  "So... you can see everything I do on screen?" I was smart enough to always delete my browser history after surfing the net, but I tried to remember exactly what I might have browsed during the past few weeks that Adam had been with us. Lots of online shopping, restaurants or bars that Lily and I were thinking of going to, the occasional tickets, blogs, strangely compulsive gossip websites... there were loads of things I would rather my boss didn't see...and all during working hours.

  Adam grinned. "Everything."

  I changed the subject before I blushed beet red. "Which report were they after? All of mine were gone. I mean, all of them!"

  "Chances are, they weren't sure, so they just deleted them all in order to prevent anyone else from reading them."

  "Do you think it's the people who... you know…" I bobbed my head and pretended to shoot myself with my fingers.

  Adam glanced towards me. "Probably."

  "Where are we going?"

  "We're going to meet my boss. He wants to know what you know."

  "I hope you told him I don't know anything. Where exactly are we going though?" I asked as we turned another corner. Adam stopped and I almost bumped into him.

  "Get in," he said, nodding to the black car that slid to a stop beside us. It had tinted windows and I couldn't see a thing inside. I was fairly sure my mother had warned me about moments like these. Adam stepped forward and opened the rear door, signaling to me to climb in. Naturally, I stepped back.

  "What if I don't want to?"

  "I want to keep you alive," said Adam, staring deeply enough into my eyes that I was tempted to swoon. "So, please, get in."

  We definitely had keeping me alive in common, so after a quick peek to check yesterday’s goons weren’t inside, I got in. Adam slid in next to me and gave a blunt “Hello” to the driver. The car drove through the streets, neatly slicing through traffic. No one talked. It was all very ominous. Finally, we drew to a halt in front of a redbrick building downtown and Adam stepped out. He held my hand as I lowered my feet to the sidewalk. The car sped off as soon as the door slammed shut. I followed Adam inside the building.

  "You'll be fine," he said. "Absolutely fine."

  "Okay," I said with a weak smile.

  So far, spying was disappointingly unglamorous. Adam led me through a long corridor, swiping through a doorway, then along another corridor, before turning into a large room with maybe a dozen people. It was pretty quiet as they watched screen upon screen being presented. A few of them glanced our way as we passed them. We stopped at a closed door and Adam knocked before ushering me inside.

  The room was tiny, barely bigger than a closet, and a far cry from Dean's plush office. Squashed into it were a table and a few serviceable chairs. A gray-haired man in his forties stood. "Maddox, thanks for coming in. You must be Alexandra Graves," he said to me.

  "Hi." I shook his outstretched hand, turning to mouth, "Maddox?" at Adam.

  "My real name," he explained. “Adam Maddox. Most people call me Maddox.”

  "Special Agent Matthew Miller, FBI. Call me Matt. This is Solomon, our financial and cyber crimes man." He nodded to the corner behind me and I half-turned, inclining my head at the man lounging against the wall. Somewhere between his mid-to-late-thirties, he had cappuccino brown skin that was either a light-skinned black man, a nicely tanned white man, or possibly mixed race. It was impossible to tell in the unnatural light and the shadow falling over him. He sported a few days of stubble and dark hair shaved close to his head. He had intense brown eyes that roved over me.

  Yu-u-um.

  I took a deep breath, my heart pounding a couple of beats faster, and turned away, then back again. "Hi."

  Solomon nodded, but didn't speak. I didn’t know if Solomon was his first name or surname, and no one said anything to indicate either.

  My nose twitched and I turned away, but a big part of me wanted to turn back for another look. Just a little one. From head to toe.

  "You've had quite an eventful past few hours," said Matt as he settled back into his chair and undid a couple of buttons of his jacket. Adam sat opposite him and I took the remaining chair, folding my ankles together under the seat.

  "It wasn't the average day at work, no," I replied. If he'd asked me last night, I might have sobbed an answer. This morning, I thought I sounded pretty sober and unfazed.

  "Maddox said you were very calm, given the circumstances. Got you both out of there, I heard."

  "Um, yes, I guess." I wasn't sure if he were praising me, but heck, I'd take it wherever I could ge
t it. Adam hadn't exactly been dishing out any gratitude.

  "We're keeping Martin Dean's death quiet for now. It's strictly on a need-to-know basis. Can we trust you to keep this to yourself for the present?" Matt's eyes bored into me. I bet he tortured people with that glare. Or was that the CIA?

  "Yes." I swallowed and took a deep breath. "What's going on?"

  "Has Maddox explained anything to you?"

  "Not in detail."

  "Montgomery PD and the FBI are working a joint task force investigating insurance fraud. Green Hand is smack dab in the middle of it, which is why we placed Maddox there undercover. Our leads indicated Martin Dean might have had knowledge of the situation or at least have been able to lead us to those in the organization who did. Maybe even his co-conspirators, but he's dead. If we pull out now, a year’s worth of work putting this op into place goes up in smoke. Do you understand?"

  "Yes." Wait. Matt seemed pretty convinced Dean was involved.

  "Good girl. Now, let's get down to business. The people who offed Martin Dean took a report you were working on. Do you have it?"

  Adam Maddox, as I now knew him, answered for me, which was just as well because the “good girl” comment made me twitch. "All her files were remotely deleted from her office computer this morning, sir, before we got a chance to copy them. But Lexi has copies on a flash drive."

  Miller nodded. "We'd like a copy. We need to know what you were working on that was so important someone had to kill Martin Dean for it."

  "Uh, Matt, are you, um, sure that it was my report that got him killed?" Now that I'd gotten the chance to read my most recent files, I was still convinced that there was nothing in them worth killing Dean over.

  "It seems highly probable. Do you have the memory stick on you now?"

  "No, it's..." I was going to say, it's at home, but something inside me told me to keep that quiet. I didn’t know these people and they hadn’t shown me any badges. Adam didn't say where it was, so neither would I. "It's elsewhere."

  "Maddox, Solomon will go with you and Miss Graves to get the memory stick."

  Adam flicked a glance in Solomon's direction, which I wouldn’t describe as a happy one. "No need for Solomon to come, sir. I'll retrieve it." I followed his gaze. Solomon returned my stare, his face blank. I made a sincere effort not to flinch, keeping my eyes steady and even until Matt spoke again and I turned back to him.