Sweet Seduction Stripped (3 page)

RiC3.1415:
You recognised the reference. I knew you were the girl for me.

Oh, God. I was back in Luxembourg. What was it about the place that made him re-route there
three
times? I'd have to look into that country's cyber structure more closely. Maybe it was better than Sweden.

Danc3r:
What makes you think I'm a girl?

Take that, Luxembourg! He'd have to rewrite his code to go back through there, an unexplained internet failure through the part of the country he had used as a re-router. Every single person trying to access the internet in that area right now would be locked out and thinking their internet provider had crashed. Petty, but I was sick of ending up back there. And now, look at that. A straight line to an IP address in...

RiC3.1415:
That was rude, Danc3r. What have I done to deserve such vandalism?

A long breath of air pushed out of my lungs, and I leaned back and stared at Ric's last message. He'd been watching my efforts from the start.

Who was this guy?

Danc3r:
Who are you?

My screen went black.

I stood up from my seat and took several steps back. This was a night for the unexpected. I shook my head. What the hell had I been thinking? Messing about with Ric when I should have been trying to formulate an escape plan. Jaxon wouldn't come home until the early hours of the morning, about five or six depending on how business went at the club. I could be long gone from here.

But I knew I couldn't leave my dad without getting in touch. A phone call would be monitored, and even I can't circumnavigate that. A visit at this time of night would be suspicious, and I thought perhaps blocked at Jaxon's direction.

If I ran, it
would
be without looking back. What Dad would recommend. What I should do.

But I can't.

So here I was losing myself in what had appeared inane fun with a hacking buddy.

Not so much fun anymore, was it?

I moved back to the laptop intending to shut the now useless device down. Ric had accessed my
isolated and secure mobile network
. So much for my genius work, professor.

Just as I reached the lid of the computer the screen flickered. Making me hesitate, hand outstretched, leaning over toward the laptop, Jaxon's t-shirt riding up my bare legs.

"There you are," a smooth and deep male voice said. The screen was back to blank. "And look at you, Dancer. Quite the cute internet hacking outfit. Is that a University of Melbourne t-shirt?"

"Who are you?" I whispered, pulling my hand back and staring resolutely at the blank screen as though that would make him appear.

"You look a little shaken," he said. "But you did force my hand. The Luxembourg officials are tracing your signal as we speak. I've given them a little side excursion into Sweden."

Sweden. Go figure.

"But if you don't answer my questions in the next sixty seconds I'll lead them to your door."

"Why are you doing this?" I demanded, sitting down on the seat and covering my legs with Jaxon's oversized t-shirt.

"You hacked me, remember."

"I needed your help." It was a poor lie.

"So you say, then you bang on my back door. Not nice. Where did you learn your netiquette?"

A huff of a breath left me.

"Nice house," he commented mildly. I glanced over my shoulder. Gave a shrug and turned back to face the still blank screen.

"I hate it," I admitted.

Silence.

"Why did you try to hack me?" he finally asked. "Last chance, the Luxembourg authorities are in Australia as we speak. Next stop Auckland, New Zealand. Apartment 28B.
Oh, the penthouse.
104 Saint Stephen's Ave, Parnell. Do you live next door to the Prime Minister, Dancer? That's his neck of the woods, isn't it?"

"You're a Kiwi," I said, suddenly realising his accent was familiar, his knowledge a little more than your average computer geek. Not so quick on the uptake with verbal cues.

"Answer the question. Tick-tock."

I shook my head despondently; the loss greater for some reason than realising my boyfriend was capable of truly atrocious things.

"You're not meant to be in New Zealand," I said before I could stop myself.

"Why not?" he asked, his voice softer.

"Because that means you belong to him."

"Who, Amber?"

Another head shake. I reached for the laptop, ready to close this conversation down once and for all, and the screen lit up.

Piercing green eyes stared back at me, taking up my full attention for a long breathless moment.

"Talk to me, sweetheart," he said. "Just talk."

The eyes. So beautiful. Mesmerising in fact. For some strange reason I felt like I could trust them, when I knew in my heart there was no one left to trust.

"Just tell me," I said, almost pleaded. "That you don't know Jaxon Harding."

Please, Ric.

He blinked. It was the only sign that he'd recognised, at least, the name. He was good at hiding his reaction, but not good enough.

"Damn it," I mumbled, reaching up and shutting the lid down before he could make a further sound.

I was screwed. Totally screwed.

How long before Jaxon heard about this?

Fuck me. That was some of the fastest hacking I have ever had the pleasure of witnessing. She spent less than a millisecond at some of those stops. Broke the code and kept on coming. Like some ninja internet hijacker. An absolute wet-dream. The girl could sure rewrite code.

And shit. She was just a girl. Twenty-two years old, twenty-three in a few weeks time according to her driver's license information.

I rubbed at my knee, feeling old and decrepit. And then found my eyes wondering over to the still shot of her bare legs.

Old and decrepit. And a pervert, it would seem.

Fuck.

I scrubbed my face with one hand as I swept through her bank records, library card details, tax information and email account.

Amber Louise Lane.

Amber. I'd never bothered to find out who she was. She'd always been Danc3r to me.

Fuck.

I hit a button and waited for the line to pick up as I flicked through stills of her perfect, long legs. Right up to her...

"Shaw. What have you got for me?" came Nick's disgruntled reply to my call. Eva had walked into his office twenty minutes ago. I was definitely interrupting.

"Got a minute, boss? Need to show you something."

"All right. Give me five."

The line went dead. Five minutes. The day Nick Anscombe could survive on just five more minutes with his cowgirl would be the day hell freezes over.

I went back to staring at the legs.

Fuck me. Danc3r probably was a dancer with all that long length of limbs. Who would have thought my little hacking bud was such a looker. Long to mid-back, sleep ruffled, dark, shiny hair. Hard to tell the exact shade in the low lights of that room, but probably some deep chestnut or iced chocolate. Smooth unblemished,
young
skin.

So fucking young.

And a University of Melbourne t-shirt. No bra. Hallelujah! Shirt was too big to get a decent idea of shape, but size was definitely on the generous handful side of the scale.

Ah, but fuck it. University of Melbourne. Jaxon Harding's old school.

I wondered if that was why she was so scared. Pale, too pale for that hair colour. Not natural. Eyes too wide, full bottom lip trembling. Fingers shaking when they snaked out to close that lid the first time.

Ah, sweetheart. What have you got yourself into?

A loud thump on the door to control brought me out of my momentary fantasy involving those gorgeous legs, me and a wall.

Yep. Pervert.

I checked the screen, unlocked the door and waited for the bossman to storm in.

"This better be good," Nick barked, the door clicking shut behind him. Eva was waiting in his office, hadn't seen her leave and the cameras were off inside. Damn. Nick hadn't got any yet.

I didn't waste time.

"Check out the inside of Jaxon Harding's home."

"You got eyes in there?"

"Not officially. Not technically."

"Then what the hell? Who's the babe?"

"Amber Lane. Jaxon's girlfriend. And my on-line hacking buddy. Been conversing with her for three years. Never bothered to delve deeper than locale. Her controls and covers have been too tight for a quick look. Bothered tonight."

"Three years and you didn't even check her name?"

Yeah, it was suspicious.

"You try flirting with a stranger. Quite a buzz."

"Pervert."

"Don't I fucking know it. She's twenty-fucking-two years old."

"Jaxon's thirty-three, older than you," Nick pointed out.

"That does not make me feel any better, man."

"OK," he returned, getting us back on track. "Can you use her?"

I need a friend.

"Yeah, I can use her." Fuck, I was an absolute arsehole.

"This gonna be a problem?" Nick demanded, seeing right through me as he stood back upright, getting ready to return to more pleasurable activities.

"No problem, boss," I replied, but even I could hear the note of regret in my voice.

"Since Declan King died we've had nothing.
Nothing
," he reiterated. "This could be the break we need. You gonna let Pierce in on it?"

"Not yet. Let me just feel her out, she's skittish."

"Wouldn't you be if your fuck buddy was a suspected killer and drug pusher, as bad as, if not worse than, Declan Fucking King?"

He left through the door without a backwards glance. Eva was waiting.

I stared at the chocolate eyes, the hair that begged to be held in a fist, the legs that screamed all manner of interesting and yeah, OK, twisted positions, and despite all of that there was such innocence on her sweet face I couldn't ignore.

My finger stroked down the screen before I realised what I was doing, as though I could brush the tears away from behind my secured wall of technology.

A wall I'd spent way too long hiding behind.

We needed to meet face to face.
I
needed to see her face to face.

Ah, fuck this was already so screwed.

Twenty-fucking-two years old. Really? You couldn't have been fifty and ugly, you had to be a goddess with innocence and a little fear in your eyes.

I need a friend.

Yeah, sweetheart. Don't we all.

I removed my earpiece and pulled out my personal cellphone. One quick flick of my eyes up to the screen and I broke every rule Anscombe Securities and Investigations ever had.

I dialled her phone. On an unrecorded line.

She picked up on the third ring.

What the hell just happened?

That was Ric. My Ric. With the most amazing green eyes I'd ever seen.

And he knows Jaxon.

I shoved the laptop back in the sleeve I kept it in and moved to the wardrobe, pulling down a gym bag I hadn't needed to use in months. Home gym downstairs, no reason to attend a public one. Where I could get hit-on by a stranger, something Jaxon would not allow.

I shook my head as I stuffed the laptop in the base of the bag and grabbed a few extra essentials; power cords, mobile data stick, an old PDA and a touch screen tablet. I walked swiftly back down the hallway to the master bedroom, ignoring the fine art and plush carpet under foot.

Dressed in skinny jeans, a figure hugging white t-shirt, and a new bra because I couldn't even bring myself to touch the one Jaxon had just removed, I grabbed several pairs of underwear and a couple of changes of clothes, shoving them all in the bag. Then I was onto the bathroom ensuite, loading all my toiletries in one after the other. The bag wasn't even full when I was done. I stared at it for several seconds, then glanced around the room in the hopes of finding something else important to me that I wanted to take as well.

But this was Jaxon's home. Always had been. I'd lived here, but only ever been a visitor. Why? Because that's what I wanted? Or because that's how Jaxon behaves.

Like the sculpture standing in the corner of the room under strategically placed lighting, I was just a possession. Not a partner. A tool. Something to show-off and use. Oh, I was sure he was attracted to me. He was a man and I did have a body made for sin, apparently. But Jaxon would just as easily be attracted to any female at the club. And God, maybe he had been. Maybe he'd even taken up all the offers that usually came his way.

Since my promotion to C&C Security I haven't been in the club as much as I used to be. But Jaxon certainly has.

I rubbed my stomach and wondered how to feel about that. The overriding emotion was disgust. Shouldn't I have felt jealousy? I just felt sick.

But then I'd felt sick from the moment I opened that fucking file, it hadn't eased at all in the past two hours since.

I checked the clock on the side of the bed one last time, zipped the bag up and lifted it to my shoulder.

Then stopped in the middle of the room. Could I actually do this? Leave Dad without a single word? He'd be so worried. Consumed by it. He couldn't afford that sort of emotional turmoil, it could affect his health to such an alarming degree. Could I be that selfish? Run to save my own skin? Cause Dad's decline?

A sob escaped me and I sank to my knees on the carpeted floor. One hand gripping the handle on the gym bag still, the other covering my mouth as though that would stop the pain-filled sound from coming out.

I can't do this. I can't run. But God help me, staying was impossible as well.

I started rocking. The bag ignored now, both arms wrapped around my stomach.

What am I going to do? What am I going to do?

My cellphone interrupted my mental decline. I sniffed unattractively, pulled the device from my back jeans pocket and stared numbly at the screen. Private caller. Unlisted number.

I let it ring three times, then thought what the hell. My night couldn't get any worse, could it?

"Hello?" I said down the line.

"Just hear me out," Ric's voice demanded. How I could recognise his voice having only just heard it for the first time tonight over the computer, I didn't know. But there it was. I knew it was Ric on the phone immediately.

"Why are you calling?" I demanded, sounding a little rough around the edges from all the crying.

"Are you OK?" he asked, obviously picking up on my crumbling state of mind.

"Fine!" I snapped. "Why are you calling?"

Anger was good. I used it.

"I can help you, Amber," he surprisingly said, and received a huff of incredulity in reply.

With a shake of my head, when he didn't respond to the snort, I whispered, "No one can."

"I think
I
can," he argued softly.

"
Who the hell are you, Ric?
You clearly know Jaxon. Did he put you up to this? Is Ric even your name?"

"My name is Eric. I like Ric, though. Only you call me that."

I wasn't sure how to feel about that. The astonishment, and I admit elation, at having a private moniker for him was surely misplaced. I remained silent. I'd said more than enough already.

If Ric knew Jaxon, saying anything could mean my or my father's immediate death.

I gripped the cellphone tighter, realising I'd started panting in fear again.

What the hell am I going to do?

"Amber, sweetheart. Slow down."

I shook my head again, pulled the phone away from my ear and swiped the call closed. My forehead came down until it rested on the carpet. My body curled into a ball as though that would protect me now.

Nothing could. Jaxon was a no good, murdering bastard. I was sure I'd be next on his list.

"I'm sorry, Dad," I whispered, forcing myself to my feet. "I'm so fucking sorry."

I walked out of the bedroom and straight down to the front door. I didn't stop. I didn't look at a thing. As though that would prevent any distractions, or stop the changing of my mind.

I pushed the down button on the elevator in a haze, my vision blurred so much I couldn't make out my reflection on the polished lift doors. The ding it made as it came to rest on my floor startled me. When it swooshed open, I half expected to see Jaxon standing there. Gun barrel pointed at my head.

I know too much.

I scrambled into the lift and hit the button for the garage level, then felt my stomach disappear as the elevator descended the necessary distance. Time seemed distorted. Before I knew it, I was standing on the smooth concrete of the echoing parking area.

Crossing the silent garage to my vehicle was unnerving. My knuckles fisted white around my keys, my eyes kept darting from shadowed corner to shadowed corner. No one jumped out at me, but my heart had started to actually hurt inside my chest; it beat too hard, too fast, too frantically.

The beep of my little car unlocking made me jump. I had to catch my breath for a second before I opened the door and threw my bag on the back seat. Once inside I flicked the locks and stared blindly out of the windscreen.

I can do this. I had to. I knew too much.

My hands curled around the steering wheel and for a moment I just breathed, sweat dripping down the side of my neck, soaking into the collar of my t-shirt. I couldn't stop thinking about Dad. Lying in that bed, hearing I'd disappeared. Facing Jaxon's wrath.

Then my frenetic mind skipped to that encrypted file I had cracked. The images inside it flashing behind my closed eyelids. So much blood, yet the skin on the faces of the dead was porcelain white.

And the man I had been sharing my life with,
my body with
, in one too bright, too vivid picture. Standing over a kneeling, blindfolded, hands-cuffed-behind-back, trembling person holding a gun to his head.

The next shot was taken as the bullet went flying and lodged in the victim's brain. Blood splatter arced through the air, the muzzle on the handgun glowed. And Jaxon just grinned.

I knew that grin. I'd seen that grin. Jaxon sometimes grinned at me that way.

I sucked in a shaking and nauseated breath of air and started the car. Thank God it was an automatic. It was hard enough remembering how to steer the bloody thing, changing gears would have been too much right then. The garage door lifted up as I approached, my headlights flicked on automatically as I left the artificial brightness of the parking area, and I entered into Auckland's night.

Jaxon's apartment was in Parnell. Champagne & Chandeliers was a short distance away in Lower Queen Street, near Fort. I always thought it amusing that the exclusive gentleman's club was situated on Auckland's premier business street, but within spitting distance of one of its more nefarious red light districts. Those strip clubs on Fort Street did not compare. Or so I'd told myself.

C&C Enterprises probably owned most of them as well.

I drove away from the city centre towards Newmarket, intending to get on the motorway there and head south. But as I navigated Broadway my resolve faltered. The further I got from Jaxon the easier it was to breathe. But the further I got from Jaxon, the further I was from Dad. I could breathe, but I couldn't stop crying. The tears not for leaving my boyfriend and the place I'd called home. Not for turning my back on the job I'd worked so hard for or the city I loved. But for my dad.

I couldn't do this.

But I couldn't go back. Not yet.

I pulled into a parking spot down the far end of Broadway and sat listening to the cars drive past on one side of me and the pedestrians out for a night on the town walk past on the other. Reds and golds and blues and greens flickered around me as lights on shop signs flashed and cars streamed past adding to the over stimulation of colours.

What the hell am I going to do?

I'm not sure how long I sat there, but eventually I realised I was looking at a little alleyway to the side that led to an Irish Pub. The green and white swinging sign above the door read The Claddagh. Jaxon hated Irish pubs.

I couldn't go back yet. I couldn't go forward. So, for a moment out of time I would forget. Ensconce myself in an environment that Jaxon would abhor. Just until I could think of something,
anything
, to get myself out of this mess.

I climbed out of my car and locked the doors. Then watching the immediate vicinity warily, I walked toward the entrance to the pub, pushing my way inside and being met with the exuberant sounds of live music; an upbeat cover of a Corrs song. The customers all singing along and downing their Guinness beers in relative harmony.

I felt immediately safer. The crowd alight with laughter and conversation, enjoying the band's performance and wiling away the late night hours. A haven in the middle of chaos. An oasis to hide amongst like the cluster confusion of carefully laid false trails to cover a hack. I grabbed a beer from the bar and found a corner to settle into, intending to people watch, nurse my drink, and miraculously come up with an answer to the mess I was in.

I was sure I'd probably only succeed in one of those endeavours. My mind too scattered to enjoy the antics of the crowd, my fear too great to puzzle out an answer, and my stomach too churning to suffer a belly full of beer. So, nursing the drink it was.

The first two guys to approach my solitary position soon got the message I wouldn't make great company tonight. Not long after that word must have gotten out, because I wasn't bothered again for quite some time. When I'd been there, staring into my still full beer for more than half an hour, the Corrs now moved on the Commitments, a determined suitor braved my corner of the world.

His shadow registered before he did. And as I silently cursed my inattentive - or distracted - mind, I lifted hard eyes up to his, hoping my look alone would scare him off.

Then sucked in a startled breath of air. The ability to breathe afterwards all but forgotten, as I was drawn inexorably into mesmerising green.

"Didn't pick you for an Irish Pub fan, Dancer," Ric said as he sat himself down opposite my seat, Guinness beer already in hand.

I jerked back in my chair, my eyes darting around the room finally, but not spotting anyone I knew.

Licking my lips nervously, I asked, "What are you doing here?"

"You're in my neck of the woods now, sweetheart," he shot back, taking a long pull on his drink.

The question was out before I could stop it. "You live around here?" Admittedly, I was intrigued. Any information on him could be helpful. But this was dangerous ground I was treading, and letting surprise distract me could cost my life.

He shrugged. "Might as well. My work is just up on Broadway, past the traffic lights. Spend more time there than at home."

That sounded a little sad.

"What's the name of your work?" I asked, unable to resist the allure of knowing more. More about the hazards I could be facing? Or just more about this man?

He smiled. It made the greens of his eyes sparkle, fine wrinkle lines appeared at their corners. I found my gaze flowing over his features, soaking him up. I'd been so bamboozled by the vibrant green of his eyes earlier that I hadn't taken in much more than that. But Eric was a looker. Jet black hair, cropped close to his head, matching stubble along a firm jawline. His neck was thick, like he worked out often. His wide shoulders complemented that theory.

He wore a black leather jacket and plain black t-shirt underneath, with black jeans, boots and belt. He had a ring on his right hand. Gold, an emblem of some sort on it. Dragon I think. But my eyes couldn't stay there for long, they kept being drawn back up to the green, then down to the curve of his full, red lips.

Black hair, green eyes and lips made to kiss a girl senseless; that was my Ric.