His Conspiracy Girl (Emerald City #4)

by Allyson Lindt

  He flared his nostrils flared, and widened his eyes. “I didn’t coerce anyone into anything. The schools are better here. The tech is better. My niece needed this environment.”

  Her head swam with revulsion about what she had to do. She inhaled through her nose to regain her composure. “So you and your sister never argued about it?”

  His shoulder jerked when he shrugged, as if he were forcing the casual gesture. “That’s what siblings do. I never forced her into anything.”

  Guilt twinged inside her—a feeling she didn’t like. “So on the day of the accident, the day her neighbors heard her screaming about how she didn’t need her child to attend some snotty upper class pre-school to prove she was smart, you left her alone and just went home?”

  If he had been tense before, it was nothing compared to how he looked now. He clenched his hands clenched, and his breaths became short and heavy. “Why are you asking me this?”

  She knew the next question would hit him hard, and every inch of her protested what she was about to do. But this was her job. She didn’t know this guy from the schmuck down the street. Just because she and Camden had shared a bike ride the night before… Just because he was human, and had a soul she was about to crush… “It must have been devastating to lose them both, knowing they wouldn’t have been on the Mag-Line if you hadn’t insisted on that preschool interview.”

  His mouth drew into a thin line.

  Morgana pushed forward, because she knew she’d stall if she didn’t. She could hate herself at the end of the day. His expression dug deep into her will, and the hurt stamped across his face chewed at her gut. “It must be difficult for you. Waking up every morning and knowing they’re gone. Wondering why you were the one who survived. Thinking about where the little girl might be today, if she’d lived. Starting junior high maybe? Drawing. Following in your footsteps?”

  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.

  Chapter Four

  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 movemen
ts, 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.”

  Chapter Five

  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 a
gainst 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.”