Safeword: Quinacridone

by Candace Blevins

  When Travis finally called he only reported he’d had success, as he’d been wary of encrypting the phones and drawing attention to them. He’d even gone so far as to take the SIM card out of the router in his car, and disconnect the power.

  She wanted to wait for him in the garage but curbed her anxiety and instead busied herself by setting the table and warming the dinner Debbie had made.

  As they sat down to broiled fish, wild rice, roasted root vegetables, and a mixed fruit compote; she reined in her tongue and didn’t immediately give him the third degree.

  He placed a spiral notebook on the table beside him but didn’t open it until he’d heard how her afternoon had gone and given her a brief rundown of his. He waved towards the tablet and said, “All information gathered from hacking will go here. Nothing in email, text, or on any networked computer.”

  He opened and turned it towards her, talking as she looked through the data he’d gathered.

  “They paid her one hundred thousand dollars and, other than what appears to be a shoe and clothing spree, the entire amount is still in her account. I hacked into the tabloid’s servers and downloaded around fifty gig of email and memos, and found the google login they use to share documents so I can keep an eye on future articles. Sloppy of them, but I’m not complaining.”

  He pulled two thumb drives from his pocket and placed it on the table beside the notebook. “I’ll go through them later on the playroom unit, since it isn’t hooked to the ‘net. We’ll keep all documentation in the downstairs safe; it’s hidden well enough I don’t believe anyone will find it even with a warrant.”

  “If you’re so sure no one’ll catch you hacking, why are you being so careful — the throw away phones, keeping this in the safe, and using only the playroom computer?”

  “If I decide to retaliate they’ll know it’s me, even if they can’t prove it. With only circumstantial evidence I doubt a judge will agree to enough probable cause for a search warrant, but I’m making sure they won’t find proof just in case.”

  “Okay, so what do we know?”

  “Some of this comes from what I found when I hacked her computer, the rest I discovered tonight. The jock’s name is David Calloway, and he’s Connie’s stepbrother. It sounds like they had a sexual relationship as teens and it turned into a fuck-buddy agreement in their twenties. David’s a few years older than Connie, and she’d go to his apartment to hang out when she was still living at home and he’d moved out after graduating college.”

  He took a bite, and circled his hand on the tablecloth, looking up in obvious discomfort to say, “From what I can tell, I believe he’d called her and invited her over one evening, but she had plans and told him she couldn’t come. He went to a club and found someone else, and brought her back to his apartment. Connie had a key and came waltzing in when her date didn’t work out, but found him in delicto flagrante with another woman.”

  Cara’s memory instantly supplied a replay — a very pissed-off woman barging in on them, screaming terrible things. Cara had felt awful and had apologized, saying, “He told me he was single. If I’d known he was in a relationship I’d have never gone home with him.” She’d donned the minimum amount of clothes necessary to flee to her car without being arrested, and the girl had called her all sorts of horrid names with the guy looking helplessly at Cara and saying over and over she wasn’t his girlfriend but his sister, he hadn’t lied, and he was sorry for this.

  Now, she looked at Travis and said, “I remember now. A young woman storming in, my thinking they were in a relationship, and him telling me not to worry about it because she was his sister and being unreasonable. But she didn’t act like a sister and I didn’t know who to believe or what to think. She called me horrible names.”

  “Yes, that’s it. I found the video on her hard drive and have a copy if you’d like to see. There are also videos of Connie and David having sex, and of David with other women. Based on a voice mail left on Connie’s phone, it appears Connie had a hidden camera in his apartment allowing her to keep tabs on him. He had no idea, but figured it out when the pictures went public.”

  “What’s he doing now? Is he in a relationship? I can’t imagine this is easy for him, either.”

  “He’s apparently happily married with a baby on the way, and Connie doesn’t care that the video caused problems in his marriage.”

  “So, legally, if David and I press charges she’d get in trouble for taping us. We weren’t in public, and had a reasonable expectation of privacy. Neither of us consented.”

  He traced circles on the tablecloth again, not looking at her as he said, “That’s one possible way to handle her.”

  “What would be your way?”

  His hand stilled and he looked up, decisively meeting her gaze. “I’d like to empty her account, making it look like she authorized a transfer to an offshore fund so the bank won’t be required to reimburse. In ten or so years, when the statute of limitations runs out, David’s child, or children, will receive a trust fund for whatever the account has accrued, with stipulations the money is used for college tuition. Once a degree’s acquired remaining monies can go towards a down payment on a house.”

  “And...”

  He closed his eyes and smiled affectionately, “You know me so well.” He opened them, took a breath, and plunged. “I want to destroy her hard drives. All of them. Spectacularly so. And I want to grab still shots from the videos of her having sex with David, but crop him out so he isn’t recognizable, upload it to a website, and send the URL to everyone in her email contacts list. I might even edit some of the video, fuzzing him out and altering his voice to be sure no one’ll know it’s him.”

  “And...”

  “I need to make an example of the tabloid as a company, as well as the people directly responsible. I believe I can handle the corporation through the legal system, though I’ve discovered the firm they lease office space from is having cash flow issues so I may consider buying the building. I could have a lot of fun with them as their landlord.”

  “Connie will know you hacked her computer if you point all her friends and family to the pictures and video.”

  “Of course, but she won’t be able to prove it. The email will come from her account and her IP address. Not mine.”

  “She’ll know you transferred her money offshore, too.”

  “Yep.”

  “I think you’re playing with fire.”

  “And you’re worried it’ll backfire and we’ll get burned?”

  “That, but I also worry we’ll spend too much time and energy on revenge instead of enjoying our life.”

  “Do you know why the worst of the stories about me stopped five years ago?”

  She shook her head, almost afraid of what he’d say, but needing to hear.

  “Two tabloids primarily reported the sleaziest gossip, and I’m certain they fabricated most of the rumors. They could report something totally innocent and make me sound like the scum of the earth. They harassed me, my friends, and all of the girls I was seen with in public. Instead of targeting the companies, as I’d done in the beginning, I went after the men behind the harassment. One was quite rich, and I re-arranged his investments, making it appear as if he used insider information to trade, and arranged for one of the affected corporations to file a report with the SEC.”

  He paused, shrugged. “He managed to stay out of jail, but barely. Six weeks after his legal troubles ended, I fiddled with his portfolio again but this time I positioned him in futures. He was on vacation, and by the time he came home his fourteen million was worth less than four thousand.”

  “Have I mentioned lately how scary you are? How’d you get in a second time, didn’t he establish safeguards to make sure you couldn’t do it again?”

  “Why yes, he did. He changed investment companies and was assured their systems were safe. Unfortunately for him, I wrote the security software the brokerage utilized.” He shrugged. “I made a side door and was able to g
et in and out without leaving a trace. I even worked it so the changes originated from the IP address of his vacation rental home.”

  “And the other man?”

  “I found footage of him from his college days, lobbying hard to keep the Ivy League school he attended from admitting more than the handful of black students already enrolled. He called them animals, said they belonged in the jungle and not the classroom — it was a horribly damning video. Besides making the clip available online and assuring everyone in the industry saw it, I also included copies of his embarrassingly low grades and his expulsion letter. It seems he was caught with drugs on campus on more than one occasion.”

  His smile was truly scary now, as he finished with, “Just as the furor over the racist video faded, I provided another that began with him spouting homophobic statements and ended with him vigorously fucking another man in the ass.”

  Cara took a moment to absorb the information. “That’s terrible, Travis. You destroyed those men’s lives.”

  “They wouldn’t leave me alone, Cara. They were making shit up, attempting to bug my phones, launching DOS attacks on my servers to try to hack them... I had to do something. Once I made an example of them, all harassment stopped. No one’s gone over the line in more than four and a half years.”

  “But, people still follow you, and take pictures, and post them, and—”

  He interrupted. “Everyone knew I was responsible, though no one could prove it. I let it be known, in a roundabout way, that I didn’t mind people trying to make a living and only had issues with those who went too far.” He smiled. “A little publicity here and there is good, after all.”

  “But this tabloid absolutely went too far.”

  “Yes, they did.” He turned the page. “Vernon Bishop worked for a legitimate paper five years ago. Two years ago he began taking pictures of celebrities and selling them, and realized trash journalism paid much better than the real thing. Within a few months he’d started an online gossip site and by the end of the year was publishing hard copies as well as the internet version. Either he doesn’t know how unwise it is to piss me off, or he thinks he’s untouchable.” He shrugged. “I need some time to figure out which is true, and yet a little more to decide the best way to deal with him. The company appears to comprise him, a web geek who manages the server and most of the site, and a woman who types and answers the phone and holds down the fort while he’s out photographing and interviewing. If I take him down, I’ll bring the company down.”

  “It’s not fair to make those two people lose their jobs.”

  He sighed. “If I find they don’t approve then I’ll find them other employment. If they help him with his sleaze, they’re on their own.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Travis procured an invitation to a movie premier, complete with red carpet and a dozen a-list actors. Cara insisted she purchase her dress and it killed Travis to let her pay thousands for it, but she told him if he brought it up again she’d find a used one at a consignment shop, so he dropped it. Jacob did well picking it out though, and she looked stunning.

  He could tell she was star struck but he doubted anyone else realized, and when one of the biggest actresses commended her for not going into hiding, Cara managed to gracefully thank her and hold her own in a five minute conversation.

  The next day their pictures were all over the gossip sites, and they even made one of the entertainment shows on Monday evening.

  Cara fell asleep in the limo after the premier Friday night and Travis had the driver/security guy carry her up to the hotel room, to keep from waking her.

  They were up fairly early Saturday since their internal clocks were still on east coast time, and spent the day exploring, playing tourist, and shopping. He took her to a popular club that evening and she danced with one of her movie star idols. Travis loved seeing her so happy, especially since she kept looking at him and smiling as she danced.

  She managed to stay awake until they reached their hotel, but was asleep within seconds of falling into bed.

  When he awakened Sunday morning his cock reminded him it’d been over a week since it’d had sex, or a blowjob, or any attention at all. Cara was spooned into him, and he reached around to fondle her breasts. Her body responded even though her mind wasn’t awake, and he worked her slowly until her hips moved to the rhythm of her moans. He pulled her top knee to her chest, probed forward with his cock, and eased into her pussy, surprised at the feral noise coming from his own chest as he sank into the comforting warmth of her body.

  She finally roused, going stiff for a brief moment before relaxing in his arms, pushing her ass towards him, and moaning, “Oh god, Travis. Yes.”

  He moved slow and steady without varying his pace and her moans continued ramping up until he was surprised she wasn’t thrashing around, milking his cock. He kissed the side of her neck. “Mmmmm. I take it I’ve managed to hit the right spot?”

  “Yessssss. Whatever you did to get this angle, try to remember it. You’re scraping my g-spot every time you go in and out. Fuck, I’m gonna come, already.”

  Travis didn’t speed up, didn’t give her anything extra, just held her as she spasmed and jerked, her breath coming faster and faster as her orgasm rose to a crescendo and held. He must have kept at it twenty minutes and managed to keep her riding the zenith the entire time without speeding up, just slowly loving her.

  As her orgasm reached yet another peak his balls stirred and he relaxed into it, letting his own pleasure have free rein as Cara’s rippling and shuddering inner walls sent him over the edge, instead of the speed of his thrusts.

  Neither of them spoke for a while afterwards, they just lay, with Cara content in his embrace. Travis reflected on how she’d jump up and escape his arms after sex when they first met and thought that now, having her so relaxed and comfortable in his arms was the sweetest thing ever.

  He kissed her temple and she shifted, turning a little so she could see him. “I love you so much, and that was incredible. We had vanilla sex and we both came! It was even slow vanilla sex. Maybe we aren’t as broken as we thought?”

  “Oh Cara Mia, we’re not broken; our sexual tastes are merely a bit different.” He was quiet a second and added, “I don’t know how to explain what just happened, though.”

  Her expression transformed into a dreamy smile, and she said, “Magical? Breathtaking? Exquisite?”

  Travis laughed and pulled her to him a little tighter. “How about all of the above? What do you want to do today? I need to give the pilot a rough timetable but I’m good with either heading home early or exploring some more and flying back tonight.”

  She grinned her naughty smile and said, “I vote we get some breakfast and head back, and have sex in the plane the entire way home.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Cara had spent at least two days and nights in her solarium. She’d napped on and off for maybe six or eight hours combined, the rest of the time so absorbed by painting she’d barely noticed the passage of time.

  This wasn’t Travis’ first experience with her manic painting phase. They’d lived together for over a year and he’d learned how to take care of her without pissing her off when she grew so consumed by her need to paint she’d only occasionally stop for a one or two hour nap.

  She drank water and ate nutrition bars when he put them in her hands, as he insisted she stay hydrated and get enough sustenance to keep from losing weight. She knew he kept an eye on her — he was honest about the video cameras out here from the start or it would’ve creeped her out. She also figured Papa Bear and Kiki had told him how to handle her when she got like this.

  However, she was finally finished and ready to begin the clean-up process. She pulled out her turpenoid and soap, removed the brushes and pallets she’d stored in the freezer while too busy working to bother with cleaning, and had almost everything free of paint and in its proper place when Travis walked through the door. She looked up at him, then down at herself,
covered in paint.

  “What do you need, Cara.”

  “I need help winding down, please. But I’m a mess.” She hadn’t talked in so long, her voice sounded unfamiliar.

  “I’ve sent everyone home for the day. I love you like this, with your work still all over you. Don’t clean yourself. Finish washing your brushes and pallets and meet me in the playroom, please.”

  He turned to leave and she said, “Travis.” His hand touched the door as he stopped, but he didn’t turn around, for which she was grateful. It was easier to say things to his back than his face sometimes.

  “I need pain, but I’m afraid of how this feels. I don’t think I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”

  His back still to her, he said, “Do you trust me to not take you too far?”

  “Yes. I’m just telling you I don’t trust myself to warn you.”

  “I won’t harm you Cara. I’ll hurt you but I won’t go too far.”

  “I know. If I didn’t I’m not sure I could stay with you.”

  “I need to hurt you. You need to be hurt. It’ll work out.”

  He walked out without turning around and she knew it was because sometimes he was aware of how cold his face was. Sometimes, he didn’t want to show how much he needed to cause pain, to hear the screams.

  * * * *

  Cara detoured by the laundry room and stripped out of her clothing, loading it straight into the washing machine and starting the cycle — not that the dried paint would come out, but this would keep what was still wet from getting on anything else. She wanted to shower but knew he wanted her as she was, so she stopped in the bathroom only long enough to relieve herself, run a warm washcloth across her underarms and private parts, and brush her teeth. She hadn’t shaved in days and felt prickly. No, she felt prickly because she was manic and needed to wind down. Needed to crash. Travis would help with that.

  He’d cleared the center area of the playroom when she arrived, and a spreader-bar hung from the ceiling winch. This playroom had wooden equipment stained in a soft walnut and had silk ropes instead of steel chains, and wood spreader-bars in lieu of steel. Warm and romantic. Sort of.