Sweet Seduction Stripped (18 page)

"What else, Amber?" Nick encouraged softly.

"Pictures," I growled, more volume and strength than I think any of the men had expected. Jason's head shot up from where he had been writing down the information I'd given on the tablet. Nick sat back accepting the full weight of my gaze and not flinching. And Ric started rubbing that thumb over the back of my good hand, helping me calm. Giving me a focus. Anything other than the images rolling through my head.

"Groups of people, not all of whom I recognised, but I'd be able to pick them out if I saw them again. Socialising, drinking, smoking, snorting. One was that news presenter on TV. The lady."

Nick nodded, knowing who I was referring to.

"Another was a lawyer I'd seen on TV once, who defended that guy who they thought killed his family, but he got off."

Another nod.

"Some pictures of uniformed cops meeting with people. In the same folder was a guy in plain clothes, which because it was there, next to the cops, makes me think he was too. But I don't know him."

I paused to suck in breath and Jason asked, "Anything implicating Harding?"

"In amongst all of that?" I was stalling again. I'd reached the end of my distraction and was facing that picture in my head. "No," I whispered and felt the disappointment on the air as though I could touch it.

"But there was a separate folder. All on its own. The last one I opened. Afterwards I got out of there and covered my tracks." I laughed; it wasn't merry. "At least I thought I had."

Another pause. Another soft stroke of Ric's thumb over my hand. I could do this. I could do it before Nick pushed or Jason jumped in and asked. I could.

Ric shifted closer, wrapped an arm around my shoulders and leaned in to kiss my cheek. The sore one. The one Jaxon had hit with the back of his hand.

Yes. I could do this.

"Two pictures," I said. "Both showing a guy on his knees, hands tied behind his back, face tilted up to the barrel of a gun."

The silence was thick. From all the men. But from the man beside me, still with his arm over my shoulder, it was downright oppressive.

I hadn't thought of that. I hadn't thought of the fact that Ric had shot a man on his knees as well. How would he take this? What would he do?

"His hands were tied behind his back and he'd been blind-folded," I emphasised, and the words had the desired effect. Ric let out the breath of air he'd been holding; the guy he'd shot had been unbound and was looking at his death as it approached. I hoped Ric knew what I had also seen in
that
shot. The acceptance and acknowledgement of justice in the act that had been apparent on Ric's torturer's face.

"The gun," I said and fucking stalled again. My bandaged hand came up to my sore cheek. It shook. "Jaxon was holding it," I pushed out through frozen lips. "In one image he was just pointing it at the guy on the ground and grinning. In the next the gun muzzle blazed orange and blood spurted from the back of the kneeling man's head."

Silence.

Then, "Fuck," Nick blurted, disappointment at not having a copy of that incriminating evidence obvious in his tone.

"Yeah, fuck," Jason added in resounding agreement.

Ric just said nothing. And the silence was weighted with his unsaid words.

"That's a hell of a lot of shit to have in one place," Jason said, as we all sat around the table and digested what I'd just relayed.

Everyone other than Ric talking. I kept glancing at him, but his face was shut down, his features closed off. He wasn't holding my hand anymore.

My attention was brought back to Nick as he spoke.

"Why put it all in one file even if it is security protected?"

"A trap? Bait?" Jason asked.

"I think he knew I would hack it," I offered, getting two sets of eyes flicking to my face with interest.

The eyes beside me were staring at the surface of the table and I thought perhaps Ric hadn't even heard my words.

I ached and I wasn't sure why.

"What makes you say that?" Nick asked.

"It was too easy," I replied with a half shrug.

Both men frowned. "Easy?" Jason queried.

"Well, easy-ish," I qualified. "It did take me almost an hour to get in, and I did miss the trigger once I'd broken down the door. But otherwise it wasn't anything I hadn't had to combat in the past."

"You done this sort of thing for Harding before?" Nick asked, voice neutral. The question was anything but.

I held his gaze and wondered just how close to the cops he actually was. A senior detective was in the building. Nick Anscombe had to work with them and closely if the police were turning to ASI to investigate an alleged criminal.

"Nothing illegal," I finally said. "But he did have me work on things that in retrospect were only part of the bigger picture."

"And the bigger picture?" Jason demanded.

"In hindsight, I think the bigger picture might have broken a few laws."

"And it didn't occur to you at the time that you were aiding and abetting?" Nick prompted.

I chewed on my bottom lip, but shook my head to say no. I was certain they didn't believe me.

"So, he set a trap for you," Nick went on, moving away from the shady area of culpability. "What did he expect you to do once you hacked the file and saw all his dirty laundry?"

"An initiation," Jason offered.

What?

"Could be," Nick agreed. "Testing her. But so much incriminating information? For a woman he probably knew had picture perfect recall?"

"It's false," Jason said with conviction. And my world suddenly took on a completely different view.

Oh, God. It was false? Oh, God. He hadn't shot that man, bound, blind-folded, on his knees while grinning?
Oh, God
.

"Amber, breathe," a voice said beside me. Ric's voice. He
was
listening. He hadn't shut completely down. "Breathe, sweetheart. That's it. In through your nose, out through your mouth. That's it."

The dark spots before my eyes started to fade and the harsh brightness of the room coalesced before me. The shock of it almost matching the shock of me misjudging Jaxon.

Of me making such a horrible mistake.

I panted through another burgeoning panic attack, but managed to remain coherent and aware.

Oh, God. He hadn't shot that man? Did this change things? How could it not?

No.

I was shaking my head, the men in the room all watching me expectantly.

No. Jaxon had, at the very least, tricked me. Played a foul joke. And let's not forget his behaviour over the past two days. The fact he'd threatened - and I am sure his words were just that - my dad. The fact that he'd hit me.

There was no getting around that. Jaxon was not the person I had thought him to be. Still, though, confusion swirled inside my head. I batted it away. Just because he deceived me, made me believe him capable of killing a man in cold blood, did not change who he had suddenly become, how he had manipulated my career. My life.

But, oh God. The fear I'd felt had been because of
that
photo in particular. Because I
knew
he was capable of killing an unarmed man and enjoyed it. He'd made me so scared and now I wasn't sure if I shouldn't have been or if this new realisation was clouding what I
should
be feeling.

I was so confused.

"Anything else you can tell us, Amber, before we bring in Detective Pierce?" Nick asked, breaking through my frantic inner monologue.

I swallowed, tried to concentrate on his question, but all I could say was, "He wasn't the man I thought he was." More in an effort to convince me than anything else.

"No, he wasn't," Nick agreed kindly. "But you're free now. You're not going back. He can't reach you here."

I nodded, numbed to the bone, but I couldn't find even a shadow of comfort and relief in his words. I felt sick to my stomach, and a headache had started behind my left eye, and I couldn't help dwelling on the fact that I'd been fooled.

All I could do was breathe through the nausea, close my eyes from the piercingly bright light in the room, and pray this would all go away and Jaxon would start acting like the man I knew. Or at least, like a man who knows he's lost his woman and simply walks away to save face.

I didn't know Jaxon Harding like I thought I did. I didn't even know his real name, it seemed.

Jason and Nick stood up, having said something to Ric but I was too busy unravelling to comprehend the words. They left us alone, silence filling the space, pressing in on my temples, crushing against my chest.

I forced myself to open my eyes and look at Ric. He'd not said a single word since he'd brought me down from my panic attack. Just what was he thinking of me now?

"I didn't know," I whispered into the still air. It felt oppressive. Heavy, in a way air should not.

"What?" he asked, as if only just realising I was there and had asked a question.

"I swear I didn't know what I was doing for him until it was too late. I only put two and two together when I found that file. And now the file is a fake."

"Maybe," he murmured, still not looking at me.

I frowned at his non-answer. "I'm not a bad person," I said, but wondered if the words were to myself.

Then Ric surprised me by saying, "No, you're not. Far from it."

"Then why won't you look at me?" I demanded, finally realising why I was feeling so lost and alone, even though he was still sitting right there.

Slowly, so very slowly, his eyes came up to my face. Still green. Still beautiful, but now in a haunted, agonised way.

"What's wrong?" I whispered, reaching for him.

He immediately sprang up from his chair, ran a hand through his hair and started to pace. A long indrawn breath of air, and then he expelled it in a rush. As though angry.

With me?

Maybe he hadn't realised how involved I'd become in C&C. Maybe he thought I'd been above doing any nefarious code work or dirty hacking for a man he obviously despised. Maybe he was angry to find out I was fooled by that file, unable to see the truth. Naive.

I felt disappointed with myself. I felt like I'd let my Ric, RiC3.1415, down.

"Are you hungry?" he suddenly asked from the far side of the room.

I shook my head.

"When did you last eat?"

I couldn't remember, so I shrugged.

"Amber!" he growled. "You have to eat."

"I'm not hungry," I insisted. How could I eat with such turbulent and conflicting emotions rolling around inside?

"I'm going to get you a plate of food," Ric announced, moving to the door. "Stay put," he ordered, and then he was gone.

For a second I just sat there. My breathing on hold, a frown on my face.

And then I realised in a rush that he'd had to get away from me. That he'd been so desperate to put space between us he'd fabricated a reason to take him out of the room. I sank back in my chair as a burst of air escaped on a wretched hitched sob.

My hand pressed into my lips to still their trembling. My mind racing, frantically trying to find an adequate alternate explanation, but coming up blank. My heart fracturing, reality a knife slicing through my chest and burying itself hilt deep.

Ric didn't want me. He'd changed his mind.

Oh, God. This made it all so much harder. So much more...
unbearable
. I hadn't realised I relied on him so much to get me through. But it was selfish of me to think he could be my crutch when all of this was because of choices
I'd
made and the blinkers
I'd
worn.

It wasn't fair to put any of this on Ric. He was just a friend I'd met on-line and I'd pushed him into more. My mind played over those first few moments of meeting him face to face, trying to decide if I'd acted in a way he felt compelled to follow. Backed him into a corner he wouldn't have chosen for himself.

Unfortunately, my mind was pretty clear. Picture perfect clear. I'd been desperate. I'd been beside myself. I'd had a panic attack and when he'd appeared thrown myself in his arms. I'd appealed to his protective side, made him
want
to take care of me.

I quickly went over every other encounter and by the end of the reruns I was more confused than enlightened. Had he said he needed me because of how
he
felt when he kept saving me? Had I filled a void inside him, a void that had been carved out under a butcher's knife all those years ago in a POW prison?

I rubbed two hands over my face to clear the conflicting images and decided even with such stellar mental recall capabilities I was still pretty much a pathetic, young girl. Unable to tell if a man had genuine feelings or not. Reading too much into every exchange. Twisting things until they could inflict the most harm.

I'm not stupid. Naive, I will accept. But I am not dumb.

Jaxon Harding was using me, then fell a little too hard.

And Eric Shaw... Eric Shaw? Ah, fuck. I was going with Eric Shaw was in love with me, but my mind had turned to useless mush.

I leaned forward and rested my head on my crossed arms, on top of the table, and closed my eyes. I hurt. All over. And not all of it was because of the psychopath in my life.

A throat clearing woke me. I jolted upright, the room spun and my vision blurred. I might have groaned.

"Uh?" I managed.

"Are you going to vomit?" a man asked in a deep voice I didn't recognise.

"Possibly," I murmured, sinking back into my chair as my vision started to clear.

A tall, broad shouldered guy with brown hair and a neatly trimmed goatee beard walked around the table and placed a rubbish bin to my side. God, how embarrassing.

"Try to aim straight," he said. I was sure I saw a twitch of his lips, but he soon resumed a crossed armed position on the other side of the table and just stared.

I ignored the bin and stared back. Intimidation tactics no longer worked. Not when you've held the gaze of a man you thought killed for fun and then threatened your dad when you found out.

"Ms Lane," the guy said. "I am Detective Sergeant Ryan Pierce of the Auckland CIB."

Criminal Investigations Bureau. Did that make me a criminal, officially?

I studied him, refusing to talk unless absolutely necessary. He wore jeans, a polo shirt and a suit jacket. I could see the bulge of his service weapon at his waist. There's something menacing about a plain clothed cop, and it wasn't until that second that I realised what it was. The unknown. The hidden meaning. The fact they were something but looked like something else.

Just like Jaxon.

I sucked in a deep breath and wished I had that glass of water about now. Where
was
Ric?

"What can you tell me about Jaxon Harding?" he asked, still standing, still arms crossed. Still in plain clothes.

"What haven't you heard from Nick Anscombe?" I shot back, crossing
my
arms over my chest.

He smiled. It changed his entire demeanour. Turned him from a falsely represented unknown commodity to a wicked bad-boy with a sexy side. I don't think it improved my situation at all.

"Why don't you start at the beginning, Ms Lane, and I'll let you know if Nick missed anything out."

Yeah, just as I thought. Nick had given this guy a run down already of what I had passed on. I so did not want to repeat it all over again. Even less because this guy was a cop and I still didn't know how much trouble I'd get into for the things Jaxon had made me do. I decided I'd follow the rule book.

That is the rule book of crime drama TV.

"I want a lawyer," I blurted.

He sighed, rubbed at his goatee, and finally moved forward to take a seat opposite me.

I leaned back in my chair attempting to keep the same distance between us. I was acutely aware that I failed. He seemed to loom over the table, even though he was doing nothing more than sitting there. I felt my pulse speed up in my throat and a cool stickiness to coat my skin.