Dial A for Addison Page 8

  She turned wide eyes to me and breathed out, “Ohmigod, Addie, we need to figure out who the hell killed Kirk and clear my name because I cannot go back to jail. Can not.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “That good, huh?”

  She dropped her face in her hands and groaned. “I can’t live without him, Addie. He kissed me and I… I really want more of that.”

  I wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “We’re going to figure this out, honey. I promise.”

  She raised her head with a sigh. “I wish I could believe you.”

  I giggled. “If we don’t get you totally cleared before you go to trial, I’ll get you a fake passport, we’ll grab Daddy’s plane, and head to some country that doesn’t have an extradition treaty with the U.S.”

  “I’ll go if Asher goes.”

  “Of course he’d go. F-Y-information, he can’t live without you either. It’s just nice to see your head is finally out of your butt enough to do something about it.”

  “...it’s nice your head is out of your butt,” she mocked.

  I grinned. “Come on, let’s have some wine.”

  “I have to get out of this dress. It’s cutting off my circulation.”

  “I’ll pour, you change.”

  “Deal,” Dylan said, and pushed herself off the floor.

  “Wait! Not so fast,” I said, blocking her escape. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about something. What were you hiding from Jake today?”

  “Hiding?” she asked, looking genuinely confused.

  “Yes, when he asked you about the spreadsheet.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh. Oh!” She put a finger to her lips. “Nothing. I had something in my eye.” Her eyelids started fluttering, like she was trying to pull that crap on me now.

  “Are you… winking at me?” I asked, completely confused. “Who winks?” Clearly not Dylan, because she sucked at it.

  She sighed and rolled her eyes, grabbing my arm and tugging me toward her bedroom.

  She docked her phone, connecting it to the custom surround sound I’d installed in each of the two master bedrooms. She hit play and cranked up the volume. Pink’s song “Like a Pill” blared. Pink was probably the one artist Dylan and I agreed on, but I had no clue why she was playing it so loud.

  “What the hell...?”

  Dylan grabbed her dragon snow globe (typical nerd girl accessory) and pried off the bottom, holding up a flash drive between her fingers. “What’s that?”

  “It’s on the roof,” she whispered. Or at least that’s what it looked like, since I couldn’t hear her.

  “What?” I asked.

  She rolled her eyes and grabbed my shoulders, pulling me closer. “It’s the proof,” she whispered louder.

  “Of?”

  “Melting wagons.”

  “Ohmigod,” I exclaimed, and turned down the music. “Why are you whispering with the music on eleven?”

  “Because of the detail.”

  “The detail Jake put on us?” I asked, wishing she’d start making sense.

  She gave me another eye roll. “Yeah. They’re probably listening in on our conversation.”

  “Dylan, that’s ridiculous.”

  “No, it’s not. Do you have any idea how many mobsters the fuzz have brought down through wires? We’re probably bugged,” she said.

  “Mobsters? The fuzz? Dylan, you have got to stop reading mafia novels.”

  “Hey! Some of those are non-fiction.”

  I let out a quiet snort. “Nobody’s bugging us.”

  “I wouldn’t put it past your sexy detective.”

  I gasped. “Do you really think he’d put listening devices in my house?” I whispered.

  She shrugged. “He’s got a job to do.”

  “Well, two can play at this game.” I marched into my office, grabbed my laptop, and google’d listening device detectors.

  “What are you doing?” Dylan asked.

  “I’m going to buy something that will tell us once and for all if we have pests.”

  “You can’t disable their bugs. That’ll just make me look guilty,” Dylan said, plucking my hands from the keys.

  Frustrated, I asked, “Then how are we supposed to communicate?”

  Dylan grabbed a notepad and a pen from my desk and wrote, “Like this.”

  Have I mentioned how brilliant my bestie is? I was about to tell her as much when she popped her flash drive into my laptop and took over the mouse. She opened a folder and double-clicked on a file. Then she swore. Loudly.

  Dylan

  IT WASN’T THERE. I mean it was, but every time I clicked on the file to open it I got a “This file is corrupt and cannot be opened” error.

  “The universe hates me,” I said with a groan.

  Her forehead scrunched up.

  I showed her my screen.

  “Can you repair it or something?” she asked.

  I watched a couple of YouTube videos on fixing corrupt files and tried out their suggestions, but nothing worked. Of course it didn’t. Because I needed one more complication in my life. In order to clear my name, I needed the file, and there was only one place we could get it. I grabbed the pen again and wrote, “How do you feel about a little B&E?”

  Addison pointed to “B&E” with raised eyebrows.

  “Breaking and entering,” I wrote.

  Her eyes about popped out of her head, a reaction which brought me a moment of clarity. Addison was a good, respectable woman from a rich and powerful family, and I probably shouldn’t ask her to do such a thing. Besides, there was serious danger involved. If the thugs from my apartment found out she was involved, they could possibly go after her.

  “Forget it,” I said, rising to my feet. “Forget I said anything. It was a bad idea. A very bad idea. Stupid. Never to be spoken of again.”

  “But you’re still gonna do it,” she said, staring me down.

  Man I hated the way she could see right through me. “No. Absolutely not. I’d have to be an idiot.” Or madly in love with a man I couldn’t make out with while I was in prison.

  “Dylan.” Her eyes were like little shards of glass, cutting the truth out of me. This time she dragged me into my room and turned up the volume on the speakers. “I want in.”

  “There is no ‘in,’” I replied, but even as I said it, my brain was already working on a plan. “It would probably never work. My security clearance has been revoked, and my hacker friend probably wouldn’t help me out. Even if he was willing, he might not be able to get past their security system.” That was a lie. Quinton had gotten past much more complicated systems. Ours was old, antiquated. The board hadn’t approved of a new system since people actually used AOL.

  “Then why are you thinking about it?” Addison asked.

  I couldn’t lie to her. “I’m trying not to, I swear!”

  “You’re totally plotting. I can practically see the smoke coming out of your ears, and I want in. You’re not doing this without me, Dylan Linn.”

  “You’re evoking the middle name?” I asked, shocked.

  She shrugged. “Gotta do what I gotta do, and you’re taking me with you.”

  “It could be dangerous. Jail time dangerous… thugs coming at us with guns dangerous.” I needed something more ominous. “Your dad could get really ticked off at you.”

  The mischievous glint in her eyes told me that none of my arguments were working. “It’ll be fun. I’ll bring my gun.”

  I massaged my temples, a sudden headache coming on. “I don’t think those sentences belong together in this context.”

  “Don’t be a killjoy, Dylan. We’ll dress up all stealthy, have your friend zap us in, download the new spreadsheet, and save the day.”

  “Zap us in? You do realize he doesn’t have Star Trek type abilities, right?”

  “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” She waved me off. “It’ll be fun.”

  I doubted it. In fact, it’d be amazing if we didn’t both end up in jail or worse. And I didn’t even want to t
hink about what “or worse” could entail.

  “Think we should tell Asher?” I asked. “You know, just in case he has to bail us out of jail?” Or maybe talk some sense into us and keep us from going at all.

  “Nah, you worry too much.”

  My phone rang in my hand, cutting off the music. Addison and I both screamed and jumped about three feet in the air.

  “Oh God,” she said, patting her chest.

  “We are so thug,” I whispered, checking out the display. “Uh oh! It’s Quinton.”

  Addison put her hand over my phone, glancing toward the window. “No discussion over the phone,” she whispered. “See if we can swing by to pick up your laptop.”

  “Right, of course,” I said, my feathers a little ruffled by her insinuation I’d be dumb enough to try and discuss the details for our B&E over the phone.

  “Hey,” I said, careful not to say his name. “Remember how I was telling you I lost my job when I dropped off my laptop? Well, I gotta start the old searcheroo. You mind if I swing by and pick up my laptop?”

  Searcheroo? Where the hell did that come from? Even my tone sounded guilty. I threw my head back and stared at the ceiling, waiting for him to respond.

  “We are so gonna end up in the slammer,” I mouthed to Addison.

  Her brow furrowed. “Do I wanna get hammered?” She shrugged. “Sure, I could go for a drink or six.”

  I did a facepalm, because my life was too ridiculous for words. But in the end, I realized I could sure go for a drink, too.

  * * *

  Despite the stereotype that gamers were jobless slackers still living in the basement of their parents’ house, most of the gamers I played with were successful in both business and life. My guild (the group of players I hung out with) contained several married couples, college students, business execs, and all sorts of other normal people who were too broke or busy to participate in real life adventures.

  Quentin was a perfect example. He was an only kid, and shortly after he graduated college, his mom had a stroke, which left her in need of twenty-four-hour care. Rather than hiring some stranger, Quentin moved back in with her and took a job writing code for some sort of customer relations management software. So now he was home with his mom constantly, and the only adventures and social interaction he had came from online gaming.

  At least until Addison and I knocked on his door Wednesday morning.

  “Sorry about the mess,” Quentin said, inviting us in.

  At five-foot-ten, I was about eye-to-eye with him. He was somewhere in his early thirties, thin, average looking, with mousey brown hair, rectangular glasses, and a shy smile. He looked like the kind of guy you’d want doing your taxes or helping you out with your insurance claim.

  “I need to hire a maid, but Mom gets agitated anytime I bring up the idea. She’s uncomfortable with a stranger going through our stuff,” he explained, stacking blankets on the couch so we’d have a place to sit. “But I really need help with this mess.”

  He wasn’t kidding. A gigantic pile of laundry blocked most of the hallway. Dishes were stacked on the coffee table. The floor needed a good vacuum. If the rest of the house looked as bad as the living room area, a maid could make a small fortune here.

  “I’m looking for a job,” I offered.

  Addison choked, patting herself on the chest.

  Quentin offered her a glass of water—which she declined—before saying, “Oh yeah. You started telling me something about that, but Mom...”

  “Needed you. Yeah, it’s a long, complicated story, and I’m in pretty desperate need of money to pay back my bail fees.”

  Addison composed herself and narrowed her eyes at me.

  “It would be temporary,” I rushed on. I hadn’t gotten my bachelor’s degree to clean houses, after all. “But I could totally get this place all spic and span for you in no time.”

  “Wait, bail fees?” Quentin asked.

  It seemed as good a segue as any, so I gave him my most innocent smile and laid out the details of my arrest. Then Addison pulled out her phone and played him the recording of the guys from my apartment. He took everything surprisingly well… until we got to our plans for getting the new spreadsheet.

  “So… you want me to help you break into the place you were fired from in order to get something that will keep you out of jail?” he asked.

  “Yes.” I nodded. “And the irony is not lost on me.”

  “This is crazy,” he said, looking from me to Addison.

  But… he didn’t say no.

  “I know! It’s the system. They say innocent until proven guilty, but I’m innocent and having to prove my innocence. How messed up is that?”

  Some sort of alarm went off. Quentin cleared it from his smart watch with a sigh. “Mom. I have to go… clean her up. I’ll be right back.”

  Then he disappeared beyond the laundry pile, leaving Addison and I to wonder what “cleaning her up” entailed.

  “Like change her diaper?” Addison asked, sounding horrified.

  “I’d imagine so.” And I really didn’t want to think about it. However, the interruption did make me realize how selfish I was being by even asking Quentin to help us. My stomach sank. I’d have to find some other way to get the spreadsheet. By the time he returned with my laptop, I had my speech all prepared.

  He set the laptop in my hands, but did not let go, forcing me to look up at him. There appeared to be a few more lines around his eyes than there had been when he disappeared. I’d always admired Quentin for basically giving up his life to take care of his mom, but until that moment, I’d never really thought about his sacrifice and the toll it took on him.

  “I’ll do it,” he said.

  I objected. “No. I’ve been thinking about it, and I never should have asked you. You’re all your mom has, Q. If you get locked up trying to help me—”

  “If I get locked up, it would be like a vacation,” he said. “I’m in.”

  He got out his laptop and looked up the Bridge City Property Management’s security system. Addison ordered us pizza and we spent the next two hours hammering out our plan.

  Addison

  I MET DYLAN in the living room where she did a full sweep of my body and burst out laughing. “What the hell are you wearing?”

  “Um, all black. We’re breaking into an office in the middle of the night. I don’t want to be seen.”

  “Is that a bustier? I’ve never seen someone wear one before.”

  “Hell yeah, it is.” I settled my hand on my hip and smiled. “And I’m rockin’ it.”

  “Bustier, leggings, and heels? Seriously?” She shook her head. “Ohmigod, crazy lady, you can’t wear a bustier or heels to a B&E.”

  “I’m sorry, is there a B&E fashion guide I’m unaware of?”

  She dropped her face to her hands and groaned. “Addison!”

  “Look, it’s comfortable, it all goes well together, and it’s the only all black outfit I could throw together on such short notice. It works for what we need.”

  She pointed to my shoes. “You’ll probably break an ankle if we have to run from the cops.”

  “I do not run from cops, Dylan. In fact, there is one cop in particular that I’d like to run into dressed like this. I bet he’d—”

  “Stop! Please spare me the details. I get it. I’m already having nightmares.”

  “Good. We can go then.” I tugged a black beanie out of my purse and pulled it over my head. Again, she laughed. “What now?” I demanded.

  “You look like you should be on the cover of Victoria Secret’s thug edition.”

  “Thanks?” I said. There were definitely worse things I could look like.

  “If we put your hair up in pigtails, you’d look an anime character.”

  I fluffed up my ta-tas. “Like a sexy anime character.”

  “Forget it. You’re fired. I’ll go alone.”

  “Oh, ho! I see what you’re doing.”

  “Did you just call me a ‘
ho’?”

  “Yes, Dylan, I called you a ho,” I droned sarcastically. “Stop trying to shame me into bowing out of this. I’m your wingman. I’m going!”

  “I’m not trying to get a date, Addie, I’m trying to clear my name.”

  “If you don’t quit arguing with me, I’m calling Asher to kibosh the whole thing,” I threatened.

  “Snitches get stitches, Thug Barbie,” she said, threatening me right back. Then she shook her head and sighed. “This is my fight, Addie. I don’t want to drag you into it with me.”

  I threw my hands up in frustration. “I’m already in this, dumbass! And you didn’t drag me into shit, so I swear to Buddha, if you don’t stop trying to figure out a way to keep me out, and focus that energy on getting the evidence we need to clear you, I will cut you!”

  “You will?” she gasped. “I’m shaking in my boots.”

  I ignored her. “Thousands of little cuts, then I’ll dip you in a bathtub full of lemon juice and hang you somewhere windy to dry.” By the time I was finished with my rant, I was breathing hard, but one look at my best friend and we dissolved into a fit of giggles, both of us sliding to the floor before we toppled over.

  “So, you really want to do this, huh?” Dylan asked once we caught our breath.

  I drew my knees to my chest and set my elbows on them. “I don’t know that we have a choice.”

  “This is true.” She sat cross-legged and sighed. “I can’t believe you’re wearing a bustier. I didn’t even think they made those things anymore.”

  Pushing myself off the floor, I grabbed my hoodie and held my hand out to help her up. “Let’s go. I say we take the MAX... I don’t want anyone to write down my license plate or anything.”

  “So we’re going to grab the MAX in our cat burglar garb?”

  “Well, we’ll leave the beanies off.”

  Dylan chuckled. “Good plan. Then when we put them back on, it’ll be like Superman putting on his glasses. No one will recognize us, for sure. You know, because nothing else about our outfits will draw attention.”

  “Smartass,” I said, grabbing my Louis Vuitton tote. I shoved my beanie and keys inside, but Dylan stopped me.