No One Lives Twice (A Lexi Carmichael Mystery) Read Online Free PDF

his voice low and threatening. “This has nothing to do with them. I have friends in high places that work there, too. If I hear that you’ve reported my visit here to anyone in your office or to the police, I’ll find you and kill you no matter where you are. You will not be able to hide from me. Do you understand?”
    His matter-of-fact tone chilled me to the bone. I totally, absolutely believed him.
    “I understand,” I said. “My lips are sealed.”
    He tucked the gun away beneath his jacket and I breathed a little easier. “This is no joke. The minute those papers arrive, you call me no matter what time of the day or night.”
    With that, he walked to the door and let himself out. I hyperventilated for a few minutes sitting there in the dark before I was able to determine what I should do next. Finally, I gathered enough courage to stand and turn on the lamp next to the couch. Light flooded the room and I blinked, realizing that my electricity was fine and that the intruder had either smashed or removed the bulb in the entranceway.
    I blinked again and my vision cleared.
    I wished I had stayed in the dark.
    My apartment had been completely trashed. Books had been dumped from my bookshelf, pictures removed from the walls, magazines and papers scattered across the carpet. A quick cursory glance seemed to indicate that nothing had been stolen—just rifled through.
    Dazed, I wandered into the kitchen and bedroom, finding a similar disaster there. Thank God my most precious possession, my sleek new laptop, had not been stolen. It was turned on, however, and someone had apparently tried to peek into my hard drive. He must not have been much of a geek because it looked like my password had stopped him cold.
    It’s not that I have any matters of national security to hide on my computer or anything. At the NSA we’re not allowed to bring our work home. I do have all my financial information there, although anyone clever enough to hack in would get a good laugh at my checking account balance. Just the same, I logged on, whizzed about my hard drive and checked my email. Other than the usual spam, there was nothing exciting, including no email from Basia telling me what the hell was going on.
    Anger rising, I stalked into the bathroom. Even it had been ransacked. Tampons, make-up and rolls of toilet paper had been scattered about.
    “Well, crap,” I said, sitting dejectedly on the toilet lid. This had been one hell of a day. I’d been set up on a date with a politician in the making, accosted twice by men bearing guns, and my apartment had been trashed. It totally bit the big one.
    After a minute of wallowing in alternating anger and self-pity, I stood and went to the phone in the kitchen. I dialed Basia’s number, but her answering machine picked up right away.
    “It’s Lexi. Call me immediately,” I ordered and then hung up. Then I dialed her cell number, but got her voice mail there, too. I left the same desperate message and hung up.
    Returning to my bedroom, I searched for about ten minutes before I found my address book underneath a pile of underwear on my bedroom floor. I thumbed through it until I found Basia’s parents’ number in Chicago. My bedroom phone had been thoughtfully stuffed in one of my black flats. So after I extracted it, I sat on the bed amid a bunch of clothes and dialed the number.
    A woman answered the phone. “Hallo?”
    I immediately recognized Basia’s mother’s voice. The Kowalskis were from Poland and had emigrated to America about twenty-five years earlier. They were the sweetest, most down-to-earth people I’d ever met. But for some unfathomable reason, even though the Kowalskis had learned English in America, they spoke all fancy, just like the Brits.
    “Hello, Mrs. Kowalski?” I said. “It’s Lexi Carmichael. I’m sorry to bother you.”
    “Lexi, dear, how nice to hear from you. You’re not bothering me. How can I help you?”
    “It’s nothing really. I was just