Follow Me (Corrupted Hearts) (19 page)

“But you’ve done this, haven’t you? Touched yourself? Made yourself come?” His fingers moved deeper, stroking me, barely brushing the little bit that ached the most.

A whimper escaped me, something between a sound of pleasure and a request for more.

“Did you know that if a man takes off a woman’s clothes and finds her with matching lingerie, the saying goes that
he
wasn’t the one to decide they’d be having sex?”

That startled a huff of laughter from me, which quickly melted into please-may-I-have-some-more sounds when he slid a finger inside me. My eyes slammed shut.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked.

I pried my eyelids open. Jackson’s eyes were darker than I’d ever seen them, a look of intense concentration on his face, as though he were memorizing everything. His gaze lowered from my face down my chest and stomach to where his hand was moving under silk and lace. The Adam’s apple in his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

“What is this, Twenty Questions?” I managed to ask in between my moans.

He didn’t answer. Instead, his finger moved faster, sliding in and out of me. Each time, brushing that spot that was making me fast lose any semblance of control or dignity. I wanted to touch him, but he was beyond my reach. Raising my hands over my head, I clutched at the couch, digging my fingers into the leather.

I bit my lip to try to quiet my moans, which seemed a little loud, and squeezed my eyes shut.

“God, you are so beautiful, so passionate,” he murmured. “I knew you’d be like this.”

Reaching for whatever part of him I could find, I tugged on a fistful of his shirt, bringing him close enough to kiss me. He got the hint, his tongue plunging inside my mouth with the same desperation I felt.

Adding a second finger to the first, he spread my legs wider. I gripped the back of his head, holding him tight as we kissed. His mouth swallowed my moans when his fingers moved faster and harder. I could feel my orgasm hovering close, and apparently so could he because he was making sounds, too, his lips pressing hard against mine.

Jackson getting more turned on in direct reaction to my arousal was an intoxicating thing. Nothing spoke to that sexual part of me more than being seen as sexy and desirable in my most vulnerable state. It was a fire that fed on itself. The more passion overcame me, the more Jackson desired me, which made it even easier to give myself over to the heat between us and rushing through my veins.

Stars exploded behind my eyes and I made a noise somewhere between a scream and moan. My fingers dug into Jackson’s shoulder, wanting more, even though my body was too sensitive to handle it. I could feel the spasms inside clutching his fingers, an altogether new sensation, and an amazing one. His thrusts slowed to a slow stroking that prolonged the spasms until tears leaked from my eyes and I had to tear my mouth from his just so I could suck in air.

Jackson’s mouth moved to my neck, kissing the spot underneath my jaw where my pulse beat wildly. My skin was so sensitive, it sent a shiver through me.

“You are incredible,” he murmured in my ear, causing my lips to curve in a tired smile.

“I could say the same to you,” I replied. I’d never felt this way before, so sated, yet I wanted more. I wanted
him
.

I reached for his belt, tugging on it. My hand brushed his erection and he moaned. The sound was intoxicating.
I’d
made him do that. I paused working on his belt to stroke him through the fabric of his slacks and he moaned again, his lips seeking mine with an urgency that was deeply satisfying. He wanted me. Just as much as I wanted him.

A sharp, loud rap on the door to the room made me yelp. In a second, I’d pulled my knees to my chest and was scrambling to find my clothes. Jackson was already hissing curses under his breath, which I heartily agreed with.

“Here,” he said, tossing a blanket over me as I struggled to turn my T-shirt right side out. I hurriedly pulled the blanket up to my neck, making sure all my extremities were covered as he went to the door. Though he only opened it a few inches, I could see Lance standing beyond.

“I’m very sorry to interrupt, sir,” he said. “But two FBI agents are at the door, asking for you.”

Oh crap.

“Did they say what they wanted?” Jackson asked.

“I believe they’re looking for your guest.”

Upgrade that
Oh crap
to
Oh shit
.

“All right. Tell them I’ll be with them momentarily.” He shut the door and turned back to me.

I threw off the blanket and scrambled into my clothes. “The FBI?” I asked, yanking the T-shirt over my head and stuffing my legs into my jeans. “They’re going to arrest me, aren’t they?”

“We don’t know that,” Jackson said. “But it doesn’t matter anyway. I’m not going to tell them you’re here.”

I stopped in the middle of dragging on my long-sleeved shirt. “You can’t lie, Jackson. Not to the FBI. You could go to jail for that.”

“I don’t plan on going to jail,” he replied, stepping over to me. Reaching under my collar, he lifted my hair free. “And neither are you.”

“The software is missing and I’m the prime suspect,” I said. “If I don’t find out who has it, they’ll pin it on me. I’ll go to prison for the rest of my life.”

“
You
won’t find out who has it,” he said. “
We
will. I can help you. And the first person I’m going to ask is your mysterious neighbor.”

Alarm shot through me. “No, Jackson. Stay away from him. Promise me.” Clark was a dangerous guy and I didn’t want Jackson within a hundred yards of him. Clark already suspected Jackson of doing something illegal. Jackson showing up on Clark’s doorstep, demanding answers, was a recipe for disaster.

He frowned. “When I come back, we’re going to discuss your neighbor and what exactly he told you. Until then, stay here.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but then he was kissing me. One of those deep, mind-wiping kisses that melted my bones.

“I’m glad he knocked when he did,” Jackson murmured against my lips. “I don’t want our first time—your first time—to be rushed on a couch. I want you in my bed.”

Another shiver went down my spine, his whispered words conjuring images in my head of our naked bodies entwined, sweat-slicked skin, gasps and moans of pleasure . . .

He stepped away, the clicking of the door abruptly ending my fantasy, and my eyes flew open. Damn it anyway. He was going to go out there and lie for me, putting himself and his business at risk. I couldn’t prevent him from doing that . . . but I could leave. Jackson had too much to lose to risk it all for me. Besides, I had my own idea as to who had stolen that software.

13

Slipping on my glasses, I exited the room, turning right toward the back of the house rather than left. As I’d hoped, there was a door leading out onto an expansive deck. To my right, catty-corner, was a small bungalow, which is where I headed.

The front door was unlocked—Lance should know better—and I went inside. Walking through the almost too-tidy house, I found what I hoped was the door to the garage. Keys were sitting on a small entry table and I snatched them up.

“Sorry, Lance,” I murmured. “I’m just borrowing.”

Lance owned a silver Lexus. Huh. Jackson must pay well. I slid inside, admiring the black leather. Very nice.

Ten minutes later, I was on the highway, heading home. I had a stop to make along the way, though, because the last thing I wanted was someone finding Mia and using her as leverage against me, just as Clark had threatened.

The part of my brain not trying to figure out my next step was busy reliving the last hour with Jackson. I couldn’t believe we’d actually made out on his couch, that he’d
wanted
to make out with me. God, he was an incredible kisser . . .

I was lost in memories for a moment, a blissful state that lasted until I began wondering
why
he’d been kissing me. I’d wanted to distract him at first, but it ended with him distracting me. Because now that I thought about it, he never had answered my question about what he was doing writing software for Vigilance. He’d only said he had no intention of going to jail.

An ick feeling spread through my stomach. I hoped Jackson hadn’t been using me, too, the way Clark had. I didn’t think I could handle that.

I pulled into Mia’s school half an hour after I left Jackson’s. It took another ten minutes to find the right office and get Mia. She began peppering me with questions the minute she saw me.

“Why are you taking me out of school early? Aren’t you supposed to be at work? Is it my dad? Did he fly down here to take me home or something?”

I didn’t reply as we walked through the parking lot, half my attention listening to her, the other half scanning the parking lot for anything unusual.

“Where’s your car?” We’d stopped at Lance’s car.

“I had to borrow this one,” I said. “Get in.”

Mia seemed to sense my anxiety and tension, because she took a good long look at me and stopped asking questions.

We were halfway to my destination before I figured out what to tell her . . . and what not to tell her. I took a breath.

“Mia, I’m in some trouble,” I said, “and I need you to just listen, okay?”

“Okay.” She was serious, her blue eyes solemn as she looked at me. I glanced back at the road.

“It’s my job. They . . . suspect that I’ve done something wrong. Something against the law.”

“You would never—” she burst out.

“I know,” I interrupted. “But I have to find out who did. Unfortunately, the people who think I did it . . . they’re looking for me. And I don’t want them to find you while I’m working to clear my name. So . . . I need you to stay with a friend of mine. Just for a while.”

“A friend?” she asked. “Who is she?”

“Um . . . it’s not really a she.”

“Please, Yash,” I hissed. “It’s just for a few days.”

He didn’t stop pacing. “You want to leave a teenager . . . a
girl
. . . in my apartment? Overnight? Are you out of your mind?”

“I’ll owe you one,” I cajoled. I wished Bonnie had been home, but she was in class and hadn’t answered my call, which wasn’t unusual when she was in the middle of one of her four-hour culinary classes.

He stopped in his tracks, staring in horror through the closed French doors to where Mia was checking out the kitchen. “Oh my God! She’s touching my things!”

“She’s looking in the refrigerator, Yash,” I said, impatient. “It’s lunchtime. She’s probably hungry.”

“What am I going to do with her?”

“Nothing,” I said. “Just . . . feed her, park her in front of the TV—it doesn’t matter. She’s not a toddler. It isn’t as though you need to entertain her. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“But . . . people don’t stay here,” he fretted. “
I
stay here, but not people.” Yash was literally wringing his hands.

“Buck up, Yash. It’ll be fine.”

“I have a teleconference in half an hour. Do you think she’ll be quiet for that?”

“She’s not a dog either,” I harrumphed. “If you ask her to be quiet, she will. Did you get into the phone I left with you?”

“Of course I did,” he said, waving a hand impatiently at me while he watched Mia take a container from the fridge and open it. “I left you a voice mail, didn’t you get it? It’s over on my desk. The security has been removed and I modified the GPS to transmit at a random spot about ten miles away, so it’s safe to turn on.”

I left Yash anxiously watching Mia’s every move and retrieved the phone. I read through the latest text messages that had come in before Freyda’s murder. George, John, and Lana had all texted via a group chat regarding the software and who had checked their files in, per the decision I’d made earlier that day.

Then there was some discussion about the project and their safety. Freyda had told them she’d talk things over with me and get back to them. There were a few messages after that, but nothing more from Freyda.

I scrolled through her messages and contacts, especially those from the last few days, pausing on one with just the initials PCOS. The texts from PCOS were much more cryptic and there were only a few.

Status?

Freyda had replied,
Nearly finished. I’m seeing to it.

Remember the nondisclosure.

And that was it. Not exactly a red flag, but enough to warrant more information. I hesitated, then typed,
What’s in the nondisclosure?
and waited. It didn’t take long for a response.

You’re brave, using a dead woman’s phone.

Shit. They knew. Of course they knew. But that still didn’t stop the chill that went down my spine.
Why would you kill her?

Who said I did?

I stared at the screen. They texted again.

I want the software. And I know who you are . . . China.

My whole body broke out in a cold sweat.
I don’t have the software
, I texted, deciding to ignore confirming or denying who they thought I was.

It’s dangerous to lie.

Is that a threat?

It’s a fact. Deliver the software. We’re prepared to go to extreme lengths to obtain it.

Who’s ‘we’?
I texted.

Silence.

I’ll be in touch
. . . I hit Send. Okay, so the people who’d resurrected Vigilance—the mysterious government agency Freyda had been on the verge of telling me about—didn’t have it. Whoever had stolen it didn’t work for them. Which meant whoever had stolen the software was another party entirely and I had no idea who that might be.

The only clue I had was that the person had used Freyda’s log in. Very few people would have access to that information. And at the top of my list was John—who hadn’t gone into work today.

“Any way you could find out who this is?” I asked, showing Yash the entry for PCOS. He paid me no attention. “Hey. Yash.” I waved the phone in front of his face to finally get his attention. “Can you find out who this is?”

“Hm? What? Oh. Oh, yes. I suppose.” He took it from me. “She’s eating my leftover spaghetti Bolognese.”

“That means she likes your cooking,” I said. “I’ve gotta go. I’ll call you.” Opening the doors, I saw Mia slurping up some noodles.

“Hope it’s okay,” she said around a mouthful. “There was lots and I’m starving.”

“Yash said it’s fine,” I lied. “Listen, I’ll be back, okay? Just stay here—don’t go home and don’t go back to school—until I come for you.”

“You’re really worrying me,” she said. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Don’t worry about me,” I said, giving her a quick hug. “Just stay here. That’s what you can do to help.”

The concern in her eyes echoed inside my gut, but I had to leave. Hiding my head under a rock was only going to get it chopped off sooner.

It took me longer than it should’ve to find where John lived. It was midafternoon by the time I pulled up to the ranch house in a nice suburb of Raleigh. It wasn’t exactly the bachelor pad I’d envisioned.

A two-story colonial, its front yard was well tended with a huge oak tree taking up most of the space. The houses here were relatively close together with the plots extending behind them into lush backyards.

I drove by at first, to see if I noticed anything out of the ordinary, but from the outside it appeared as though no one was home. Still leery, I parked on the street rather than in the driveway. Images of Tom’s widow, crying in their home, and Freyda, dead in the front seat of my car, crowded inside my head. And then there was Terry, victim of a supposed car accident. If John was involved, he wasn’t going to just confess to me and come quietly to the police. But if he
wasn’t
involved, chances were good he was a target and needed to be warned.

I took a deep breath and got out of the car. My name needed to be cleared. I was betting that one of the members of the team had stolen Vigilance. John had argued hard to shut down the project and go public. I wouldn’t put it past him to steal the software and destroy the backups himself to make sure that happened. And if he had, then odds were he was already gone from here.

Maybe I could hack into his system and find out more. If he was innocent—which I highly doubted—then I had nothing to worry about and maybe he could help me figure out who
had
used Freyda’s credentials to steal the program.

Making my way to the front door, I rang the bell and waited. A minute went by. Nothing happened. I tried again, waiting another minute or two, but still no one came. I peered through the window next to the door, focusing my gaze past the gauzy translucent curtain.

The foyer was hardwood and held only a small table on which sat a stack of mail. Beyond the foyer, I saw a set of stairs leading up, and what was perhaps the kitchen past that. Then my gaze went no farther because there, lying on the floor, I could see a pair of legs. They weren’t moving.

Jerking backward, I reached for my cell phone, only to realize it wasn’t there. A cold rush of adrenaline poured through me. Was it John? Was he dead? What if he needed help?

I hurried from the front to the back of the house, knowing it would be far easier to break inside farther away from prying eyes. I knew CPR and rudimentary first aid—courtesy of living forty-five minutes away from the nearest hospital growing up. I might be able to help John.

A decorative stone wall provided a big enough rock to sail through the glass sliding doors. I winced at the cacophony of noise, then wrapped my hand inside my shirt so I could reach in and unlock the door.

The fact that the body on the floor hadn’t moved when I’d broken the glass wasn’t a good sign and I was right. I skidded to a halt in the middle of the kitchen linoleum, bile rising in my throat. Whoever was killing the team no longer felt it necessary to make the deaths look like an accident.