His Conspiracy Girl (Emerald City #4) (5 page)

It won’t bring them back.
Three nights in a row with practically no sleep, and he was doing fine. Maybe he should sell his research to CyGes. The corporation name added another pulse to the ache in Camden’s head. He sat in his office, glasses in place, staring past the information they displayed.

He’d tried to sleep after Ana left. Crawled into his room, stretched out on the empty bed, and tried to lose himself in grief, like he had in the early days after the accident. But every time he grabbed onto a bitter memory and tried to wallow, Ana’s voice cut through the images of his past. Pushing him. Asking him what he was doing. Taunting him with the single statement that he still couldn’t erase from his thoughts.
Even if you dug, and searched, and finally uncovered some sort of massive cover up, it wouldn’t bring them back.

He’d given up on sleep hours ago. Decided the best way to get rid of Ana’s voice was to dive back into his search for evidence. He needed to find proof. She was wrong. It would solve something. It would make so many things better.

Right?

He ripped off the glasses in frustration, and flung them across the room. They clattered harmlessly against the far wall, and tumbled to the floor with a soft ‘plink.’ He buried his face in his hands, tears burning the inside of his eyelids. Ana couldn’t be right. She couldn’t. Because admitting that meant he had been wasting his time. He had dishonored his sister’s memory. “
Fuck!
” His scream echoed through the room, bouncing back at him and mocking him.

God damn it, what if she had a point?

While he dwelled on whether or not his sister would have become a vet, or if his niece would be causing him heartburn about boys, life passed him by. The same life Olive had always loved and embraced. He growled into his fist. What would his sister say if she could see him now?

Fuck.

****

Ana lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. With each inhalation, she struggled to get enough breath to clear her thoughts. Each exhalation made her feel like her chest might cave in on itself; the ache was so strong. How could such a small space feel so vast and so suffocating at the same time?

She rubbed her forehead, trying to chase out the tension. The gesture did nothing to drive away the insomnia or the frustration at the root of it.

Her head ached, her heart ached, and her thoughts ached. She wanted to scream in the empty hotel room.

She knew better. People used people. And she had only known this guy for a few days. How the hell had she managed to surrender enough of herself to him, for this to hurt so badly? What the hell was wrong with her?

The ringer of her phone jangled through the room, and she turned her head to the side, staring at the thing blipping and chiming on the nightstand.
I should probably get that.
The thought was enough to force her hand out. She raised the device to her ear. “Morgana.”

“You did it again, didn’t you?” The voice scraped her eardrums and raw nerves. Joyce was her boss, and frequently her confidant.

The question bounced in Morgana’s head. There was no way anyone knew what had transpired with Camden, so there was no reason to be defensive about the question. Still, it set her on edge, and she couldn’t push her uneasiness away. She took a deep breath, this time managing to get enough oxygen into her lungs to think, and locked her emotions behind a wall. She needed to deal with what had happened with Cam, but right now, she was on the clock. “Run up a mini-bar tab? No, I learned my lesson after the last lecture.” Her teasing sounded forced to her own ears, but she let it ride.

“Clever.” Joyce’s sigh pushed into Morgana’s skull. “Did you sleep with the guy, or just get careless?”

Morgana winced at how close to home the question hit, and a heavy stone sank into her gut.
Both
. So much for dealing later. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Okay, we’ll play it your way for a minute.” There was a hint of sympathy in Joyce’s exhaustion. “I’ll be the investigative reporter, and draw conclusions about the evidence, and then you tell me what it really means.”

Shit
. Morgana didn’t think she could handle another interrogation, especially if she had to be on the receiving end. Maybe she could lie her way out of it. “Since nothing happened, there’s no evidence. So that’s fine with me.”

“You’ve been doing this too long, Ana. I almost believed that.”

Morgana scowled at the receiver, and conflict raged inside. “You were saying?”

“Matt saw you head out the first night y’all were in town.” If the accent was slipping back into Joyce’s voice, that was a bad sign. It meant she was worn out by something. “In your, as he put it ‘come fuck me’ heels and jeans. And all the guys noticed the tension the next day, during filming.”

Of course they had. Morgana should have known she couldn’t hide that. “This Camden guy is an asshole.” She cringed at the lie, and how bitter it tasted rolling over her tongue. At least no one could see her face. “He didn’t want us there. I don’t know why he even agreed to see us.”

“Right.” Joyce sounded less than convinced. “So you didn’t just happen to meet this guy at a bar, the night before you were supposed to start filming him, and—oh, say—sleep with him?”

Maybe if she had slept with him that first night, things would have gone differently. The walls would have appeared sooner, and the two of them could have stayed detached. Morgana hated admitting it to herself, but the hollow gnawing in her chest told her she was attached.

Her laugh sounded forced, at least to her own ears, but at least she could answer part of the question honestly. Mostly. “First of all, you know me better than that. Picking up a random guy in a bar? Who does that? Second, what would the odds be—even if I had lost all control of my senses, and gone on the prowl—that in a city of five million, I’d find the one guy I was supposed to connect with the next day? And lastly, no, I didn’t sleep with anyone that night.”

“And your expense receipts show you taking a car back to his place the morning after he kicked the crew out.”

Stupid, paranoid, fucking, advanced, stupid-everything-is-automated-and-instantaneous. Morgana could be honest about that too, though. Or, at least as honest as she allowed herself to be, even when nobody was listening. “I’m here for a story. I went back for the same reason.”

“Right.” Joyce didn’t sound convinced. “And then you took a car back from his place a full twenty-four hours later?”

“I was still working.” Morgana couldn’t hold up to this much longer. Was this what it felt like, talking to her in front of the camera? Was this what Camden had felt like, during their interview? No, she definitely wasn’t going down that road. She had no sympathy for him.

“Of course you were. Would you let a subject feed you that kind of line? Especially if a colleague saw them storm into a hotel lobby in tears, at the end of said car ride? Sam says a mic is missing.”

Morgana blinked at the rapid switch in subject, but instinct pushed her to keep up, bringing a sick, creeping dread with it. Cam’s voice echoed in her head.
I’m not the interesting bit about my story… I’ll tell you exactly what to look for.
“So Sam should have kept better track of it.”

“Two nights ago CyGes had a security breach.” Joyce’s tone had gone flat. “Same signature showed up again last night. They’ve traced it back to the missing mic, and the person who did this left their connection open far too long. I don’t understand the technology behind it, but apparently it was enough to follow every re-route he’d done on his location, and hop the trail of breadcrumbs back to your biography subject. That’s what this document in front of me says, at least.”

Morgana was going to be sick. “What does that mean?”

“Off the record, Ana. As your friend. Tell me you didn’t sleep with this guy. Please. Tell me that, honestly, and we can figure out the rest.”

Morgana flopped her head back into the pillow, air whooshing out around her. She was so screwed, in every way possible. “It’s not what I set out to do.”

“Shit, hon. Really?”

Morgana chewed her thumbnail, to help bite back the betrayal and frustration surging inside. It couldn’t be like last time. There was no way. She knew better. She’d walked away.

So why was every inch of her crawling from the news? “He’s not like in the write-ups. Or the psych evals. He’s handsome and intelligent and witty…”
And absolutely fantastic in the sack.
She snarled at the thought. “But I didn’t give him anything. I do know better than that.”

Joyce sighed again. “This is just like with Travis. And you were warned.”

It wasn’t though, was it? Travis had seduced her, and told her he loved her, and led her on for over a year, just so he could use her corporate clearance to gain access to CyGes files. But Camden wasn’t like that. Was he?
I’m not the interesting bit about my story…I’ll tell you exactly what to look for.

Shit, she’d been suckered. Again. She bit back a sob of betrayed frustration. Why did it hurt so bad to realize that? Joyce was right, it was Travis all over again. Cam hadn’t seduced her, hadn’t wanted her because of her, he’d wanted access to what she could get from CyGes. At least this time she hadn’t been the one to let him past their security. No more than the rest of her crew was, since they’d all forgotten he had the mic. That didn’t make her feel any better though.

The throb in her head increased to a seven or eight on the Richter scale, and sharp tears dug into her eyelids. Even if she’d wanted to hide the raw ache in her voice, she wouldn’t have been able to. “So do I pack up my stuff, or will you have someone send it to me?”

“I’m not firing you. Not today, anyway,” Joyce said. “I can’t guarantee the people above me won’t override my decision, but I know you, I know you don’t make mistakes like this, and as long as no one goes public, we can still save face.”

Morgana wasn’t so sure it would stay a secret. Camden seemed dead set on exposing CyGes, whether or not there was anything to expose. If he’d just been trying to distract her, to use her to get even more inside information, there was nothing to stop him from spilling what had happened between them.

“I’ll send Matt to go fetch the mic or something. You’re catching a train back home.” Joyce sounded sympathetic, but there was no room for argument. “You’ll still have to deal with a write-up for the ethical boundaries you completely ignored.”

Right. That was a good idea. Except even the thought of leaving hurt. She wanted to go; she wanted to stay; she wanted everything and nothing. But mostly, she wanted this agonizing ache caused by his betrayal to vanish. Too bad that wasn’t going to happen. “I can’t believe I fell for it again. I thought he cared. What’s wrong with me?”

“We’ll work it out, I promise.” The waver in Joyce’s reassuring words gave away her uncertainty. “We might have to tone back some of your security access for a while, but just until we can convince the right people that you’re not the issue.”

Morgana bit back a frustrated sob. Except she couldn’t convince herself it had to do with the problems she was about to have at work. She was still stuck on the mistakes she’d made with Camden, and how much being so wrong about him tore her up inside. “Right. Of course.”

It was a struggle to finish the call without screaming or breaking down. He had tricked her. Kicking her out of his apartment had been a setup. Letting her back in the next morning must have just been a bonus for him. He got laid, he got the mic. He’d acted wounded and hurt, and used her to get what he wanted.

Camden stared at his half-empty glass. The amber liquid bounced the dim lights of the bar back at him, but didn’t hold more answers than anywhere else he’d looked. He didn’t have the will to try and get drunk. The few-second buzz wouldn’t be worth it. Since his annual vigil for his sister had been interrupted last time, however, he figured it was only appropriate to finish it.

He’d come back to the same bar he did every year. It had nothing to do with maybe, possibly, hoping he might run into Ana. Even though her voice interrupted his mourning in his skull every time he tried to lose himself in the past.

“Hey, Tinman.” The chair across from him screeched against the. The owner of the voice spun the seat around, so the back was facing Camden, and straddled it.

Camden cringed. He knew the guy from the day the film crew had been in his condo. One of Ana’s colleagues. “Hey. It’s Scott, right?” Or was it Zane?

The cameraman narrowed his eyes. “Matt. It’s Matt.”

Camden had no idea how the guy managed to slur such a short sentence. “Right. Matt. What’s up?”

Matt held up a single finger, and his brow furrowed. He moved his hand closer to his face and then away again. He shook his head and wobbled in his chair. “Ur an ash hole.”

Camden let the words repeat in his head, until they made sense. He probably shouldn’t provoke the guy, but he was tired of his vigil being interrupted. “And?”

“I don’t know what happened with you and Morgana.” Matt’s words slurred together and then bled apart. “But that whole stealing our microphone thing wasn’t cool.”

Right. One of the other guys had stopped by earlier to pick up the abandoned hardware, and Camden had handed it over in pieces, shrugging at the raised eyebrow the guy had given him. “You shouldn’t have left it behind.”

“Lishen, dude.” Matt leaned forward again, outstretched finger wavering in the air. “You’re lucky they didn’t file charges, right? I mean how awkward would that be? ShyGesh having their own tin poster boy arrested for hacking their electronics. Publishity nightmare of the shenchury.”

That was a tempting thought. Camden lingered on the consequences of that for a while, tripping through the possibilities. If he couldn’t find proof their ineptitude had caused the accident, he could always bring them down another way.

It wouldn’t bring them back. It wouldn’t help anyone.
Ana’s voice echoed in his head, and he shook it away. Maybe he should have had that bottle after all. Damn her for trying to erase the grief and mourning that were his right. He searched for the familiar ache in his chest, and found it buried in a midst of frustration and confusion.

He was so over tonight. He nodded at Matt while he stood. “Enjoy your night.”

Matt scrambled to his feet. His legs tangled in the chair, and he kicked it aside, wobbling before he pulled upright again. He stepped in front of Camden and shoved him back. “I’m not done yet.”

Camden winced and turned away from the wash of liquor that greeted him. He might not need an entire bottle of something after all. There might be enough alcohol on Matt’s breath for a residual high. How was the guy even still standing?

“Please, carry on.” Cam took a step back, and crossed his arms. It was tempting to punch Matt, but it wouldn’t get Camden anything. Maybe if he placated the cameraman and heard him out, he could break away more easily.

Matt shoved a finger into Camden’s chest, words still slurred. “Just because CyGes is letting you walk doesn’t mean you deserve to. I know whatever has Morgana on edge is your fault. You’re the reason the biography was cancelled. She’s withdrawing even more than last time. It’s pretty obvious you’re at the center of it all.”

Camden yanked back the urge to snap the offending finger off. More withdrawn than last time? Something in his chest ached at the thought of causing Ana trouble. He needed to get out of here. The entire situation was screwing with his head. He stepped to the side. Maybe if he caught Matt off-guard, he could move around him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say. I’m not a part of Ana’s life anymore. Problem solved?”

“You can’t call her that. Her name is Morgana.” Matt wrapped a hand around Camden’s upper arm, and shoved him back. He pulled back his right hand and let his fist fly.

Camden was startled by the sudden movements. Stars danced in his vision when the fist clipped his cheek.
Fuck, that stings.
He wasn’t going to react. This drunken asshole wasn’t going to get a rise out of him. He stepped out of arm’s reach, still rubbing his cheek.

“Come on, Tinman.” Matt’s upper lip pulled up in a sneer. “Did they take your heart when they replaced your insides? Is that why you don’t care how many lives you’ve fucked up?”

Camden gritted his teeth. He wasn’t going to be drawn into this. He didn’t care what some random stranger thought of him.

“Too bad those bits that saved your life keep you from fighting back,” Matt said. “I guess that makes you my punching bag.”

He meant the safety protocols that kept Camden from using his prosthetics to hurt people. This time Camden saw the fist coming. Matt’s movements were slow and clumsy. Camden side-stepped, to avoid the punch.

“She’s had a rough enough time without having to deal with another asshole like you. Just because she’s a little loose doesn’t mean she deserves to be used and tossed aside.”

That caught Camden’s attention, and for the first time that night, his blood raced with anger. “Excuse me?”

Matt stepped closer, half-bouncing, half-stumbling on the balls of his toes. “Just because she’s kind of slutty doesn’t mean you can treat her like shit.”

Slutty?
Camden let the fury fill his veins. He stepped in so one foot rested between Matt’s. He clapped Matt on the shoulder with his synth hand, and looked him in the eye. “What she doesn’t need”—his voice was a low growl—“is people like you, calling themselves her friends and then insulting her behind her back.” He drove his organic fist has hard as he could into Matt’s diaphragm.

Matt let out a soft grunt and doubled over. It took all of Camden’s restraint not to deliver another blow.

Fuck it.

He pulled his fist back again.

****

Camden stood at the processing counter at the police station, his jumbled thoughts slowly separating into distinct snapshots. Being arrested for the fight in the bar. Cooling his heels in a cell. Being contrite and apologetic to the grumpy night judge. Paying a fine to secure his freedom, but
finally
getting out of there.

The man on the other side of the window held up an envelope, turned it over, and unceremoniously dumped the contents into a waiting tray. The policeman shoved the box through a spot to the left of the safety plastic. Once Camden closed the door on his side, he was able to retrieve the belongings that had been confiscated when he was arrested.

Camden watched his own feet shuffle toward the door. He’d have to take a Mag-Car home. The last thing he wanted to do was ride in one of those deathtraps. He tried to summon the normal animosity he had for the vehicles, but he couldn’t find it in him. He was just too drained. His shoulders ached. The organic muscles in his back were stiff. His eye had to be bruised and swollen at this point.

“Cam.” A familiar voice interrupted his reverie. He didn’t want to turn. He didn’t want to look at Ana. But he couldn’t help himself.

Her expression was impassive, as if it had been carved out of ice. She stood near the entrance to the hearing room. She nodded behind her. “I’m here with the company attorney for Matt.”

He should have guessed. “That’s nice.”

“He’s completely wasted still. I have a feeling he’ll feel like shit for a few days.”

It serves him right
. Camden bit back the angry words, and fingered the sensitive skin under his eye.
What does she want from me?
“Probably.”

She glanced down at her feet, before meeting his gaze again. Her expression was still hard, but something wavered in her eyes. “When he talked to the lawyer, he did a lot of bitching and whining about the asshole Tinman who socked him in the gut. He spent almost as much time apologizing to me for…something?”

The reminder brought back Camden’s fury, and he clenched his fists. Part of him wanted desperately to tell her what kind of so-called friends she had, but something told him it wouldn’t help anyone, and it would make her night infinitely worse. “I’d rather not repeat it either.”

“Did you really hit him because he called me a slut?”

So she knew. He nodded.

The corner of her mouth tugged up, cracking the stern expression. “Thank you.”

He shrugged. “You don’t deserve that.”

She shook her head. “I need to get back. Good night.” She spun away and disappeared back into the hearing room, before he could figure out what else to say.