His Conspiracy Girl (Emerald City #4)

by Allyson Lindt

  The latch on the bedroom door clicked, and she strolled out. Her arms stretched over her head, as she pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail. It elongated every line and curve of her figure. He couldn’t help watching the way she moved. There was a tinge of disappointment inside that she was wearing her own clothes from yesterday, and not one of his shirts. He obliterated the notion before it could become more. It wasn’t like she was moving in. Something in his chest twinged.

  Her gaze met his, and he smiled. “Morning,” she said.

  I adore that smile. He shook the words away. “Hey. Coffee?”

  She dropped into a stool across from him, and leaned with her forearms on the counter. “God, yes. Please. Creamer, lots of sugar.”

  He couldn’t help his laugh at the exaggerated tone. He prepped her drink, and set it in front of her. “Didn’t sleep well?”

  “Slept better than I have in ages. But someone”—she fixed an exaggerated glare on him, smile threatening to obliterate the whole look—“kept me up most of the night.”

  That made him laugh louder. “I’d apologize, but I’m not sorry.”

  “I kind of wish I didn’t have to get back to work this morning.”

  Right, reality. The rest of it sank in, snatching away another layer of his good mood. “You’re welcome to come back and finish what you started.”

  She raised her brows, mouth twisted in amusement. “I think we did that last night. At least a couple of times.”

  She had to have known he was talking about the documentary, but didn’t the teasing. And the temptation was there to pin her to the wall, kiss away that smirk, and do it a couple more times. It was time to move past that, though. “I meant the biography. I promise to behave this time.”

  His own comment yanked loose a group of thoughts he’d managed to tuck away for the last twenty-four hours. He didn’t want to be dwelling now, damn it.

  She tilted her head, studying him. “I appreciate it. I promise to tread a little more gently.”

  The part of him that wanted to joke about her liking it rough was being shoved aside by the reality of what she meant by treading lightly. “You know, if you’re interested in the real story about the accident—”

  “No.” Her entire spine went rigid, and she glared at him.

  Whoa, he hadn’t expected that. “I didn’t even finish yet.”

  She relaxed her expression but not her posture. “I’m sorry. Instinct got the best of me. You were saying?”

  Hesitation slid through him. But he had to do this. He had to know, and the rest of the world deserved to as well. He focused on keeping the rationality in his voice. No reason to go off again. If she heard what he really knew, she’d understand. Be willing to help. “I’m not the interesting bit about my story.”

  She caught the inside of her lip between her teeth, and her brow furrowed.

  He took the silence as a sign to continue. “The reason CyGes has tried to pay me off for the last ten years—to buy my silence—that’s your real documentary.”

  She gripped the coffee mug, knuckles turning white. “Cam…”

  The nickname tugged at an emotion he didn’t want to recognize. He used determination to smother affection. He wouldn’t let her shut him out. “I’ll tell you exactly what to look for.” The force was slipping into his voice, and he couldn’t keep it out. “They knew about the defect that caused my crash ten years ago. They knew if word got out, it would shut the whole operation down. You know how much money they’ve made since then. They’re the name in technology. The implants. The Mag-Cars. All of it. If they hadn’t covered up what happened to my sister—”

  “Stop.” She was on her feet in an instant. She slammed her palms into the counter hard enough to make coffee splash over the side of the mug. “Just stop.”

  Shit. Frustration mounted inside, making his muscles tighten, and a nagging throb started behind one eye. She wasn’t listening. He had to make her understand. “There’s more. I just need proof—”

  “No.” The single word was loud and sharp. “You don’t. There’s no conspiracy here.” A waver ran through her voice. “There’s nothing to dig up, because nothing’s been covered up.” She bit her bottom lip hard enough that it paled around her teeth. “And even if there was, what would it do for you?”

  She didn’t get it. His anger won out, and surged to the surface. How could she not get it? He clenched his fist, until his short nails dug into his good palm. “What would it do for me? My sister died in that crash. My niece. You said it yourself in the interview—what could they have done if it wasn’t for that day? Someone has to answer for that.” An edge sharpened his reply.

  His last words echoed off the countertops and reverberated off his eardrums.

  She threw her hands up, glower locked on him. “And then what? I understand your need for closure, and justice. I can only try and imagine how much this hurts. But even if there was something there. Even if you dug, and searched, and finally uncovered some sort of massive cover up, it wouldn’t bring them back. If you dedicate your life to this, what will you have left when it’s over?

  “I’m sorry they’re gone. I really, truly am. But you got another chance at living. You have your entire life paid for, and still all you’re focused on is what you don’t have. Do you think, maybe, your sister might want you to enjoy the now and live a little, rather than curling up and surrendering something you’ve still got that she doesn’t anymore?”

  Every word gnawed away at more of his composure. It dragged a decade of guilt he normally suppressed over the broken shards of his insides. He didn’t back down when she was nose to nose with him. “I think someone should answer for what happened to them.”

  “So …what?” Frustration and hurt coated her question. “Last night was just your way to get me to help? To drag me into a conspiracy theory you use as an excuse not to move on?”

  She stepped back, and then continued to keep the distance between them for each step he took toward her. He heard the growl in his own voice, and didn’t care. Fury had devoured his restraint. “You showed up on my doorstep. You wanted to talk. I’m not using anything as an excuse. I’m mourning the loss of a brilliant woman and her daughter.”

  “It’s been ten years.” She emphasized each word. “A fucking decade. Maybe, just maybe, it’s time to show the dead some respect and start living.”

  He took one more step in, only able to summon a snarl. She halted when her butt collided with the counter. Her wide-eyed gaze was fixed on his face. A tiny voice told him to back down, but rage held him in place. How dare she say those things? He would make her understand.

  She stepped around him, and grabbed her purse off the counter. The slightest tremor ran through her voice. “You know what? My career isn’t worth this. You’re not worth this. We’re done.” She spun on her toe and headed for the front door, floor shaking with every step and rattling the pictures on the walls. Seconds later, the door slammed.

  Camden let all his anger out in a single yell, whirling and punching his fist into the closest wall. The cyber limb bounced uselessly off the plas-crete. He couldn’t even make sense of the emotions raging inside. That pretentious, arrogant, self-righteous…

  Who the fuck did she think she was?

  *

  Ana pulled out her phone, as she stormed toward the elevator. The device beeped, refusing to unlock. And then again. And a third time. Fucking bio recognition locks. Paranoid assholes designed security like that. The kind of people who thought everything that went wrong was a conspiracy. The device wouldn’t let her do anything besides place an emergency call while she was so distressed, in case she was in danger, and someone was trying to get at her personal information.

  She paused in front of the bank of elevators, and took a deep breath and then another. It didn’t help her relax, but it would be enough to trick the phone into thinking she was calm.

  A moment later, she had dialed in a request for a Mag-Car to come get her, and was r
iding down to the main floor.

  Regret and sorrow mingled with her fury. And hurt, and a betrayal she didn’t want to acknowledge. She hadn’t wanted to say those things to him, but at the same time she didn’t regret it. She knew what it was like to lose family. Everyone in this world did. Death was a scary, intimate, and all-too-familiar thing.

  And then there was the other ache inside that she didn’t want to recognize but couldn’t ignore. It was true; twenty-four hours ago she’d only shown up looking to do her job. But that day with him… Something twinged in her chest. She’d thought there was a connection. She’d clicked with him the way she never had with anyone.

  She stood by the curb, scanning the traffic, waiting for her ride. The streets were crowded both with cars and people, but the driver wouldn’t even have to search for her. The car would hone in on her phone, and direct him to the curb near where she stood.

  Camden was just like every other asshole out there. She didn’t want to believe it, but she couldn’t think of another explanation. And he was as bad as her, using her for information. The realization cut deep. At least he hadn’t done what the last guy had, and used her to actually do something illegal like hack the CyGes’ systems.

  The car pulled up next to her, and she sank into the back seat. Tears stung her eyelids, and she sniffled them away. Why did this hurt so much more than last time? Why did she feel as if she were torn apart from the inside, by what they’d both said? By the entire exchange?

  She dragged the back of her hand across her eyes. Damn it.

  Chapter Eight

  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.”