His Conspiracy Girl (Emerald City #4) (3 page)

He buried his fist in the cushion next to him, and her heart hammered into her throat at the abrupt movement. He was on his feet in an instant, his low growl rumbling through the room. “The guilt doesn’t rest on me for this. CyGes is responsible for the accident. They refused to acknowledge the design flaw that caused the accident; they’ve tried to pay me, and countless others, off rather than let the information leak out; and now they’re using you to make them look sparkly for the general public. Again.”

A sick disappointment crawled through her gut. Or at least she was going to pretend it was disappointment. So he was one of those—a conspiracy nut. Damn it.

And that was the only reason she felt ill. It had nothing to do with any guilt at the outburst she’d just elicited. She kept her posture casual and her tone even. “Do you have any proof?”

His jaw snapped shut, and he inhaled though his nose. “We’re done.”

It took all her self-control to stay calm. “We still have several hours scheduled.”

He pointed to the door. “This conversation is over. Get the fuck out.”

She shouldn’t have pushed so hard, and continuing to nudge him now would get her nowhere. If she walked out now, maybe he’d think he was in control, bringing his defenses down and making it easier to approach him from another angle. The reason she was leaving wasn’t that she’d hate herself even more if she didn’t.

Except she would.

She stood and nodded at her crew. “Pack it up boys.” The waver in her own voice made her wince. “Should we come back tomorrow?”

He looked at her, breathing through clenched teeth, his eyes narrow slits. “Not a good idea.”

Her men packed quickly, and within a few minutes, they were out the door.

What the hell was wrong with her? Beating up an already crushed man, for a little on-camera drama? Was her career really worth it?

“What now?” Shane asked as they rode the elevator downstairs.

She was already dialing for their Mag-Car to pick them up. It took every last ounce of her restraint to keep her voice steady. “Take the rest of today and all of tomorrow to roam the town. Talk to people. Standard stuff. Get as much footage as you can.” Her guys were good. They wouldn’t have a problem doing that. “I’ll figure out the rest.”

Part of her was furious she’d pushed the wrong way. A voice in her head chided her for walking away. For ruining the story on day-one. A smaller voice tried valiantly to be heard over it—a guilty voice, that hated the pain she’d seen reflected in his eyes. That wanted to comfort the broken man they’d left in his penthouse suite.

She pushed the nagging guilt aside. That wasn’t how this worked. She’d make things right, because this was her chance to shine. Not because she cared that the man she’d just walked away from tugged at every emotion she had, and even some she hadn’t known she was capable of.

Camden stood in the middle of his living room long after Ana and her crew left, hands in tight fists, jaw clenched. Fury forced heat through his veins, burning under those parts of his skin that were real, and leaving the silicone components feeling cold by contrast. As the minutes ticked away, he slowly became aware of his own heavy breathing, mixed with the whir of fans for the climate control.

He needed to get himself under control. He hadn’t reacted like this in years. His insistence about CyGes’s covering up the accident… He’d gotten over that. A flood of memories slammed into his thoughts, and he cringed. His sister. His niece. Their lives for his. He held his artificial hand out in front of him, and flexed the fingers. What
would
they be doing today? Would the little one be starting to learn about boys, and causing him stress? Would his sister be married to someone new? Maybe working with stray animals, like she’d always wanted?

The rush of questions and memories brought more pain. He sank back onto the couch, and dropped his head into his hands. An ache formed in his gut and spread through him. Why had he been the one to survive? It wasn’t like he had a death wish—with the exception of this time of year he was happy living—but if it had been his choice, he would have surrendered everything for the two of them to have a chance.

Something scraped the inside of his arm, and he furrowed his brow.
What the…?
He climbed out of his flailing thoughts and looked down, gasping at the sight of a small black piece of plastic clipped to his shirt. The microphone. They’d left it behind.

A bitter satisfaction mingled with his thoughts. If the wireless device was like most of them on the market today, it was on the same network as the computer they used to record sound. The security measure was meant to keep anyone from stealing the recording as it happened. But it would do the opposite for him. If this simple little device could get past their firewall, so could he. He just had to dissect it. Maybe it was time to dig up proof of his assumptions from so many years ago. Show the world the accident was due to a CyGes design flaw they covered up.

The irony nudged him, and he let out a short laugh. He wouldn’t be able to work on something so precise, if it weren’t for the implants. His gift, his curse, and now his means to proving the company who’d given them to him was responsible for the original accident.

He followed the familiar path to his office. He’d need the small screwdrivers. He’d need to figure this out before the night was up. He’d need to stop thinking about his sister…

The images slammed hard into him. Ana had been wrong. He wasn’t living with guilt, because it hadn’t been his fault.

There was just so much regret that they had never…

He pushed aside the rolling thoughts, before they could speed out of control.

He tripped over an invisible lump in the carpet, but his artificial legs caught him before he could stumble.

His office was where he spent most of his time. A rack full of computer hardware sat against the far wall, a table in front of it with two tablets and his glasses. When he walked into the room, the motion sensors were triggered, and a red image of a keyboard appeared on the table. If he were to drop into the rolling chair and put on his glasses, they would read his eye movements, and the computer would respond to both his fingers on the holo-display of a keyboard, and where he was looking, to know what to access.

But that would come later. After he’d disassembled the tiny device in his hand. It would be the perfect distraction. From his past. From Ana.

A second table sat against the far wall of the room. It was taller, with a stool next to it, a lamp resting over it, and a toolbox off to the right. Camden made himself comfortable in the tall seat, flicked on the light, and grabbed his mini-screwdriver set from the box.

Time to see how this bastard worked, and then get it online so he could get into the CyGes network.

The hours vanished in the background while he worked. He never kept a clock in the room—he didn’t want to limit his work time—but the sun cresting in the sky outside, and then vanishing in the distance, gave him a good idea of how long he’d been locked away.

But then he found his way in. He dissected the tiny wires in the wireless device, until he knew how to hook it up to one of his tablets. Moments later, the device was in place, and he was inside the CyGes digital walls.

He tapped away on the virtual keyboard, calling to all his routines and spiders, and sending them out to do their work on CyGes. As they dug, rows and rows of information filled his screen, so much of it old news, and none of it helpful.

His eyelids tugged shut at the information overload and the long day, and he forced them open again. He was so close. He’d have his proof soon. He’d be able to show the world what CyGes had done.

The screech of metal grinding on and through glass sliced his eardrums, obliterating all other sound around him. His world was black and white, and covered in glitter. When he tried to blink away the bizarre lack of color, it just diluted more.

A new sound cut through the pain. A voice. Olive? He shook his head, and some of the color returned to his world. She was screaming. He tugged on his legs. Why wouldn’t they move? Oh, right, they were pinned beneath the tossed seats of the Mag-Car.

He clawed at the ground with his good arm, trying anything he could to pull himself free. He needed to get to Olive and Gillian. He could see them just a few feet away. Gillian wasn’t moving. That couldn’t be a good sign. And Olive’s screams had stopped.

He blinked again. That wasn’t Olive. His sister was a brunette like him. This woman had auburn hair. Long, flowing, in her face. She looked up at him, green eyes stark against the gray-scale world.

The beep of emergency vehicles cut through anything she was trying to say.

Camden sat up with a start. Where was he? It took him a moment to focus on his surroundings. His office. Right. He struggled to push the lingering strands of dream away. He hated reliving that memory. But something had been different about it this time.

And what the fuck was that beeping noise? He stared at his tablet, and then jerked his hand away. The beeping stopped abruptly. Falling asleep on the damn thing had overloaded the buffer.

At least his searches had finished running. His frown deepened, as he scanned the information. There was nothing new. He’d made it past all the firewalls and security, and still nothing.

It didn’t make any sense. No one could cover their tracks that efficiently. Especially not an entire corporation. It should be impossible to make it look like there was nothing to hide. What was he missing?

*

Morgana struggled to balance two coffee cups along with the paper bag dangling between her fingers, while she rang the bell. She stepped back from Camden’s door, toes tapping inside her shoes, and waited. Would he even let her in? If not, she’d find another way to get her story. After all, that was the only reason she was there. It wasn’t because she felt any guilt about the look on his face when he’d kicked her out the day before.

In fact, she’d spent all of her sleepless night digging through CyGes archives, just so she could make her documentary as compelling as possible. It didn’t matter to the professional in her that, if it hadn’t been for the accident, for the turn of fate that gave him the top-of-the-line implants, he’d just be another guy. She shouldn’t even be considering that he wasn’t some kind of political powerhouse, that he’d never willingly put himself into the spotlight. That he was just a man, hurting over the loss of his family.

He was a story.

She just had to wipe the images from the videos she’d seen last night from her mind. The clips of early psych exams of him, wounded and tortured, and shouting the same conspiracy theories at doctors that he had at her yesterday. Once she could clear that all from her thoughts, maybe she could convince herself her interest in him was purely professional. Maybe.

When the door jerked open, she stepped back, pulse leaping. Camden focused his glare on her, dark shadows lurking under his narrowed eyes.

She held up the coffee and donuts. “Breakfast? I hope I didn’t wake you.”

He raked his gaze over her. Heat rushed through her, and she couldn’t completely ignore the desire that surged inside at the examination.

A bitter smile smeared his face. “I slept about as much last night as I suspect you did. Didn’t I tell you not to bother coming back?”

He was still there—hadn’t slammed the door in her face or told her to go to hell—so she took that as a good sign. She took a step closer. “I wanted to apologize.” The words felt more honest than she’d expected. It didn’t matter; this was just lip service. Still, she felt a layer of something heavy lift away as she spoke. “I was insensitive. I’m sorry.”

“That’s nice.” He leaned against the doorframe, suspicious gaze still on her. “Meaningless apologies aren’t going to get you your story.”

Infuriating bastard.
She hated the part of her all-but-drooling over his stubbornness “I’m not here for the story.” She fought her wince at the lie, and held out one of the cups, paper bag dangling from her extended arm. “I just wanted to bring you a peace offering. Either invite me in so we can talk, or take it and tell me to go to hell.”

He straightened up, and for a moment she thought he might choose the second option. Her heart skipped, when he stepped aside and opened the door wider. He took both cups from her as she scooted past him, and nodded toward the long counter separating the kitchen from the living room.

“Have a seat.” He set the cups down on the breakfast bar.

She made herself comfortable on one of the tall bar stools lining the living room side. He stood on the other side of the kitchen from her, arms crossed, leaning back against the sink. A heavy silence descended between them. She grabbed her coffee, and took a long drink. Why wasn’t he saying anything? And why was she at a loss for words? She made conversation for a living.

He raised his eyebrows, and his mouth twisted. He breathed out through his nose. “Well?”

“Well what?” She winced at her weak response. Wow, she was fumbling today.

His sigh echoed with the hum of the chiller unit. “You wanted to talk, right? So talk.”

The emotions and after-images of the vivid dream still haunted Camden’s thoughts, surrounding his brain in a heavy fog. He’d been point-two seconds away from telling Ana to go to hell when he’d seen her outside, but the shadows under her eyes had mingled with the strands of his lingering dream, and he hadn’t been able to turn her away.

It didn’t mean he was willing to forgive her. Even if her apology sounded sincere, and it took a large portion of his restraint to keep from brushing aside the strands of hair that had slipped from her ponytail to partially hide her eyes. Backed against the kitchen sink, arms crossed, letting her lead the conversation, made it easier to keep his distance.

She took a sip of her coffee, glided her tongue over full lips when she was done, and met his gaze. There was nothing hard in her expression. All he saw was exhaustion and sincerity.

“How long have you had the bike?” she asked.

Memories of the night they met flashed through his thoughts without permission. Her warm frame pressed against his back, the way her body molded to his, the caress of soft curves through his clothing… “I thought this wasn’t about the story.”

Green eyes stared him down. Finally she let out a sigh. “It’s not. I’m genuinely curious. I meant everything I said the other night.”

He flinched at the reminder of the rest of their exchange, and the reason they hadn’t gone home together. Which was a good thing in the long-run, right?

She rubbed her forehead with her thumb. “About the bike. I meant everything I said about the bike. Did you restore it yourself?”

This was neutral territory; he could do this. He’d lost it yesterday, but he could have a nice, casual conversation with this woman. Regardless of her reasons. “It’s not restored. It’s all original. Except for the fuel system and grease, of course. But the body, the paint—it’s only got a few thousand miles on it.”

Some of the lines melted away from her forehead, and she leaned her arms on the counter top. “Sorry to sound like a reporter, but that sounds like a story. How’d you find a bike like that in original condition?” Awe lined her voice. A hint of pink had crept into her cheeks, and the way she leaned in pressed her breasts together, giving him a great view of how well her shirt fit.

Is she actually interested?
He raked his fingers through his hair, though he wasn’t sure if he was trying to smooth it or just get it off his forehead. “It was my dad’s. He bought it right before we were born, but he never had a chance to ride it.”

Her brows knit together, and she ducked her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to drag up old memories.”

Sure, now she was sorry. The bitterness that should have accompanied the thought wasn’t there. “Thanks, but I dealt with that ages ago. I never knew him, so it’s not like I got to miss him.”

“What happened?”

“Documentarian hat is still off, right?”

A light laugh slipped out. He still loved that sound. “Yes, this is just between us. I really want to know, if you don’t mind talking about it.”

He didn’t. “My sister and I are—were—rocketers.” During the third world war, the number of babies born had sky-rocketed. Mostly as a result of women’s getting pregnant to avoid being drafted. His parents had agreed at least one of them should be guaranteed safety, so having him and his sister had been a conscious decision. Karma was a bitch, though, and his father had been drafted about two months before they were born.

Of course, mechanisms had been put in place to prevent things like that now. Thanks to technology and chemicals, people were artificially and temporarily sterilized, unless they had a license for children, and everyday drugs and mandatory testing made sure STD’s were a thing of the past in civilized parts of the world.

“My dad bought the bike because he knew it would be the last year they’d make the fossil-fuel models. He was drafted before it was delivered. It sat in storage until a few years ago. When I discovered it, I had to find a way to hold onto it.”

She set her chin on her hand, curious gaze never leaving him. “I get that. I was born closer to the end of the war, but there are still things I remember from being a kid that I don’t want to let go of.”

The nostalgia in her voice was pleasant and soothing. Damn it, he was enjoying the conversation. Then again, the woman in front of him seemed more genuine and relaxed than either version of Ana he’d met previously. Maybe he was finally getting to see who she really was. He hoped so. He could like this person. “What kind of memories?”

Her smile grew, and her gaze drifted, as if she was falling into a memory. “The first time I rode in a magnificent.” She looked at him again. “The Emerald City Mag-Line opened when I was six. I remember we took a Mag-Car to the grocery store. I was so disappointed the windows wouldn’t roll down.”

Cam pushed away from the counter and uncrossed his arms. He remembered that too. They’d given people a few years, and some significant tax credits to get rid of their fossil fuel burning cars. He moved to the stool next to Ana. There was no reason to keep the conversation removed; despite his lingering suspicions he was enjoying the company too much for that. “I remember my first time too. I wanted to look under the hood and figure out what made it tick. I drove my mom crazy, asking about it.”

She laughed and shifted in her seat so she was facing him. “I believe it.”

He beat back the urge to tuck a loose curl of auburn hair behind her ear. The conversation was comfortable, but that was all it was. “Emerald City, huh? What part?”

“Well, a suburb. Brickton.”

More memories, all of them pleasant, rushed back. He winced at the images of his sister’s face. He wouldn’t dwell given how much it ached deep in his chest. “Remember the old mall?”

Ana tossed her head back with a sharp laugh, before looking at him again. “You mean the local shantytown?”

“That’s the one.”

The conversation continued to flow, and Camden found himself drawn into it more with each passing moment. When she wasn’t trying to pretend she was someone else, Ana was fun, witty, and even more gorgeous than the woman he’d met in the bar two nights ago. The day drifted on, as they lost themselves in every topic either of them could think of. Somewhere along the way, after the sun rose high and before it hung low in the sky, they’d moved to the couch, ordered take out, and still he found himself enjoying things more than he had in ages.

The auto lights in the home kicked on, as the world grew darker outside.

She leaned closer, arm brushing his. “I know it probably sounds nuts, but someday, I think I’d like to move back to Brickton.”

She was near enough for her breath to brush his skin now, and he almost felt as if there were a bubble closing them off from the rest of the world. “It doesn’t sound nuts at all. In fact, I’m in the process of buying a place there. Few places in this world that aren’t cluttered with skyscrapers, but there’s a place for sale near my old neighborhood—all single story houses on the street.”

“That sounds incredible. I’d forgotten that’s where you were from.”

“You mean you didn’t memorize every single little insignificant detail about my life? You’re supposed to be my biographer.” He kept his tone light.

Her closeness made it easy to study her, and he couldn’t deny he liked the view. She had abandoned the expensive casual from the bar, as well as the painfully professional of the day before. Instead, the jeans hugging her hips were faded in all the right spots, and her shirt hung loose, but not so much so it hid her figure. In a way, it was too bad their physical relationship would never happen. He wouldn’t mind running his lips along her smooth skin and figuring out what it took to make her moan.

He shook away the fantasy; the reward wasn’t worth the headache.

“Sorry. I’ll make sure to commit it to memory better next time.” She slapped him lightly on the arm.

A shock ran through him at the contact, and he acted before he could consider it was a bad idea. He trapped her fingers between his, holding her hand captive. “You’ve got the most gorgeous eyes.”

She ducked her head, but didn’t pull away. Her soft, “Thanks,” was almost lost in the space between them. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “So, um…”

Something told him the conversation had just shifted. Did he want it to go down this path? His racing pulse said definitely. Whatever was about to happen, he wanted to see it through. “Yes?”

“I know about the one arm and the legs, but how much of you has been replaced?”

That again. He gritted his teeth. His organic fingers drummed against his leg. “Externally, everything between my thighs and shoulders is mine.”

Her gaze dropped below his waist and then flew back to his face. “Sorry. I’m not trying to be rude. After what you said at the bar the other night…I shouldn’t have mentioned it.”

The glance was enough to raise his blood pressure another notch, and his cock stirred in response to the lust in her eyes. The connection he felt now was the same compulsion he’d had last night, before the conversation had fallen apart. He was still attracted to her, regardless of what had transpired. They’d both already said they were willing to take their lives off the table in a favor of fling, which sounded like an amazing idea just now.

He leaned closer and raised a hand. It hovered just a few inches from her face, before he dropped it to his side again. “I might have overreacted. After all, I spent a lot of that time thinking about how good you looked in that wet, silk shirt.”

Her brow furrowed. Was she going to slap him?

She relaxed again, and traced a finger over the back of his knuckles. “So we’re even?”

That soft touch short-circuited every bit of organic matter. He wanted her now. The thought startled him, but he liked it. “Depends.” He dipped his head, inhaling as he glided his nose up the side of her face. “Are you still using me for my implants?”

She hesitated, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “Depends. Are you just using me because I’ve got nice tits?”

Touché.
He chuckled. “That’s not the only reason.”

She pursed her lips. He couldn’t resist that look. He leaned in and caught her earlobe between his teeth, tugging before releasing it. His voice was low. “There are advantages to the organic bits, too, you know.”

Her voice was soft, but the words were distinct. “There is one thing a synth can’t do.” She was turned sideways on the couch, one knee propped up between them, the other foot resting on the floor.

He pressed closer, pushing her legs apart. The heat of her thighs caressed his skin through his jeans, and his cock pulsed in response. His voice was low and commanding. “Do tell.”