Free No Strings Attached: A Lexi Carmichael Mystery, Book Eight by Julie Moffett

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,