Pure Pleasures Read online

  “No.” I shook my head. “He'd know that you were trying to make him angry at me and stop looking, but he'd think it was because you didn't want him hurting. He doesn't know how you feel about me.”

  He couldn't hide his surprise.

  “Come on, Zeke. It's just the two of us. No reason to pretend that you haven't been hiding your real feelings from Rylan.”

  “My real feelings?” His eyes narrowed.

  I rolled my eyes. “Skip past all the shit and just tell me what you're thinking. If Rylan won't believe that you found me with someone else, what's your bright idea now since there's no way we're having sex?”

  “I tell him we did,” he said.

  “What makes you think he'll believe that if he wouldn't believe the other?”

  Zeke gave me a wry grin that actually didn't have his usual anger in it. I could almost see what Rylan saw in him. Almost. There was still something a little wild in his eyes. “Because you're going to give me some information that only someone who slept with you would know.”

  I balked at the idea of having to share intimate details of my sex life with Zeke, but after a moment, I realized that wasn't what he meant. He didn't want to hear about my likes and dislikes. He just needed something that would convince Rylan that I'd been naked.

  “And you're willing to risk your friendship with Rylan like this?” I asked.

  Zeke's expression hardened. “If it means he moves on and stops mooning over you, I'll do it, and damn the consequences to me.”

  I almost frowned, trying to figure out what exactly was going on with him, but I pushed it aside. He wasn't my concern. Even though I wasn't with Rylan anymore, wasn't planning on being with him again, he was still my concern, and I would do whatever it took to make sure he got the life he wanted.

  “All right,” I said. I didn't let myself think too deeply about what I was doing. That would be for later, when I was alone and could curl up in bed and cry.

  “All right?” Zeke asked.

  He sounded like he didn't quite believe me and I realized that he'd thought I was going to come up with an excuse. He still didn't believe that I wasn't going to try to get Rylan back.

  “I have a scar,” I said. I put my hand on my side, over where the scar was. “It's a burn from when I was a kid. Hot grease.”

  Zeke nodded. “Unlikely I would've seen it before, but he might not take just that. You could be in a bra and I'd see it.”

  He was right.

  “Do you...shave?” His eyes flicked down and then back up again, his ears turning red.

  I could feel the heat rising to my face and I wanted to slap him, but I could see the embarrassment in his expression. He wasn't asking to hurt me or anything like that, which I supposed was something in itself. He genuinely thought he needed to know.

  “Not completely.” I forced myself to answer. It wasn't the first time I'd had to talk to someone about things like that, and if it would help Rylan, I'd bear it. “Trimmed, but not shaved.” I tucked some hair behind my ear. “And this is my natural color.”

  He nodded. “I'm hoping it wouldn't come to that question, but I don't think the scar will be enough.”

  “I have a tattoo,” I said. “Here, on my right hipbone. It's a lily. It's not like my scars or other tattoos that you could've seen depending on what I was wearing. The lily barely shows when I wear lingerie.”

  Zeke's ears were bright red now and I felt slightly smug. He wanted to act all cool and in control, but this wasn't like before, when he'd had me in places where I wasn't comfortable. I could handle talking about my body and sex like this.

  “That should do it,” he said. He met my eyes only for a second and then looked away. “You really mean it, don't you? You're not going back to him?”

  “No.” My already broken heart shattered even more with the admission. “If you don't mind, I think I'd like to be alone now.”

  He nodded without a caustic remark, which surprised me, but I didn't say anything. If he was going to be preoccupied with what he planned to say to Rylan, that was fine with me. He walked out, not saying anything else. I counted to ten after the door closed and let go of everything I was holding together.

  I crumbled to the floor as a sob escaped. I pressed my hand to my mouth, afraid that if I made any loud sound, I would scream and not stop screaming. The last thing I needed was someone to think I was being hurt and send someone busting in here. I was hurting, but not because of anyone else. It was me. All my fault. And there was nothing the cops or a hospital could do about it.

  I squeezed my eyes closed as I drew my knees up to my chest. I pressed my face against my knees to muffle my sobs and tried not to think about what would happen when Zeke got back to Rylan.

  As much as I'd told myself that Rylan didn't care that much, I knew better. He was hurting now, but he still believed in me. The lie would crush him, and that hurt me more than I could say. Almost more than I could bear.

  I could see it all. The way his face would fall. The pain in his eyes. How Zeke would apologize over and over again. Rylan would forgive him, of course, because he wouldn't want to lose me and Zeke in the same day. They'd go out to some strip club or something. Get Rylan a lap dance...

  I lay on the floor, images flashing through my mind as I cried, one after another, each worse than the last. I hadn't planned on going back to Rylan, but I'd always thought I'd at least leave him with decent memories. He'd be hurt, but believe that I was just scared. Now, all of that was gone.

  I was alone and I knew I'd stay that way. The future held nothing for me.

  Chapter 9

  Monday was definitely not my best day or night, but I did eventually manage to pull myself together enough to get off the floor, shower and get into bed. I slept late on Tuesday, but I at least didn't stay in bed after I woke up. I got up and made myself eat something. Then I made the call.

  Agent Matthews didn't really seemed surprised to hear from me and I wondered if he'd already known I wasn't working at Archer Enterprises anymore. He was FBI, so I wouldn't have exactly put it past him to have checked up on my current employment. Since he didn't mention it, however, I wasn't going to press the issue. I didn't want to talk about it, especially my reasons for leaving.

  “My bosses said they were fine with you working freelance for a bit to see how you fit in,” he said. “You'll need to come by for your company computer and passwords, but billing and things like that can be done online.”

  I almost asked him why bother with a company computer or passwords since I could get into the servers with relatively little difficulty, but I figured it probably wasn't the best time to point out flaws in FBI security. Or remind him that I could get into it anytime I wanted. While I wished I could've just stayed at Archer Enterprises, I knew that was a dream and this was a real. A solid job, with a paycheck and benefits. And I'd be helping people, kids like me.

  “Can I come in tomorrow?” I asked. “I'd like to get started as soon as possible.”

  “You'll have to come to Denver,” he said. “I won't be back to Fort Collins until next week. Things are still in flux with Christophe's case and my boss wants me starting on some paperwork.” He paused, and then added, to my surprise, “Plus my kid's got a ballet recital on Friday.”

  “Married?” I hadn't seen a wedding ring, but that didn't always matter.

  “Divorced.” He didn't sound bitter about it. “Two kids. Seven and twelve. A boy and a girl. I'm away a lot, so when I can get to one of Abby's soccer matches or one of Steven's recitals, I do my best.”

  My estimation of Agent Matthews went up again. Not many men, especially men in an occupation like his, would even admit to his son being involved in ballet, much less say it without a hint of apology or embarrassment. I could excuse the gruff exterior if it covered a good heart, and his obviously did.

  “I can come to Denver,” I said. “Mid-morning okay?”

  “That'd be great. It'll give me enough time to get your things together, i
ncluding your first assignment.”

  My stomach flipped and I regretted having eaten my meager breakfast.

  “We want you to take a look at our imaging software,” he said. “We try to use it to focus on specific images and find everything we can, one child at a time. You can imagine how time consuming that is.”

  I could. “You want me to improve it?”

  “As much as possible,” he said. “For the last couple years, we've been trying to find ways to not only arrest the perpetrators and rescue the kids, but to also start cleaning up the mess online.” His voice softened. “I know you understand, better than anyone, what it's like knowing this shit's out there.”

  “I do,” I said softly.

  “You'd mentioned doing some damage to the online videos made of you,” he said. “That's the kind of thing we're looking for. That's why we need someone like you. We're struggling to keep up with technology, but we're losing.”

  “I'll see what I can do to level the playing field,” I said.

  For the first time since I'd left Rylan, I felt a purely positive emotion. Even if this was all the work I did for the FBI – being able to improve their software and give them the means to hit these perverts, hard – I'd be making a difference. I'd be giving others hope that what they went through wasn't going to be some easy thing to find online, that their pain and humiliation meant something and we were going to do our best to erase as much of it as we could.

  I spent the rest of the day writing out my old virus program as well as my image search program. Even though I had them on my laptop, I wanted to see them in a different way. Sometimes, for me, having them spread out on a table or floor allowed me to see things in a different light. I knew both of them worked, but they would need to be tweaked if they'd fit into the parameters of what the FBI could use.

  By evening, I was satisfied that I had a pretty good idea of what to do, and I'd decided that I needed to go back to my apartment. I was sure Zeke'd had enough time to tell Rylan what we'd supposedly done, and for Rylan to accept it. That meant my apartment was safe. Relatively speaking, anyway. Christophe was still out there, but I did have a restraining order in place. And new locks. Besides, I couldn't live in fear of every nutcase who'd seen my movies. Sleep was going to be hard enough once I settled back into a routine.

  The next morning, I checked out, took a cab back to my apartment and left a note for the landlord, saying I'd be staying a bit longer. I still wasn't sure if I wanted to renew my lease, but by the time I had to make that decision, I'd most likely know if I wanted to move to Denver or DC to work with the FBI.

  The bus ride from Fort Collins to Denver wasn't exactly fun, especially in the lovely winter weather we were currently experiencing, but I reminded myself that it was better than having to drive myself in this shit. I knew how to drive, of course, but that had pretty much all been done in Florida. While I knew, in theory, how to drive in the snow, I wasn't looking forward to putting it into practice.

  The thought made me remember what Rylan had said about how he'd worry about me driving in bad weather. I pushed the thought aside and turned my attention back to the notebook I kept in my bag. I was always it using to jot down ideas and coding. Now, I used it as a distraction. I reviewed the information I had written down, crossing out what didn't work or wasn't a viable idea. I made notes as I considered each concept, deciding what should be kept or thrown out. I usually did this every few weeks, but I'd been so preoccupied with everything that had gone on that it'd been months since I'd last gone through it. That was good since it gave me plenty to do. By the time I reached Denver, I was about three-quarters of the way through.

  Picking things up went smoothly. Agent Matthews had it all laid out for me already. There were sheafs of paperwork for me to sign and initial, outlining my job description, compensation, benefits, termination policies and confidentiality agreements. Basically, most of the same stuff I'd been signing with most of my big clients, except with the power of the US government behind it. There was also a government-issued laptop with significantly less to offer than my own electronics. That was okay since I'd do most of my coding work on my own computer. Their laptop would be used to actually run the program. Finally, there was a folder with my first assignment outlined. I didn't linger, but I did take the time to thank Agent Matthews for all he'd done and renew my promise to think about moving. I'd seen that clause in my contract as well, the agreement to change things should I decide to move from being freelance to working on site.

  I took my copies, the laptop and the file and headed back out to catch my bus back to my apartment. I put that work aside and finished up with my own notebook before going back to more thoroughly read everything I'd signed. I'd skimmed it all with the same practiced ease that I'd used on other clients' paperwork, but I wanted to go over each word. It wasn't because I thought Agent Matthews would screw me over, but rather because I wanted to make sure of the changes in my contract should I decide to change the nature of my relationship with the FBI.

  When I arrived back at my apartment, I didn't get to work right away. I needed to put things away, unpack everything so that I didn't have a reminder of what I'd given up. It was harder than I'd anticipated. Putting each item back in its place was another reminder that I was here, alone. By the time I finished, the last thing I wanted to do was work, but it was better than the alternative. I'd slept enough over the past week. It was time to move on.

  I sat on my couch, opened the new laptop and began the tediously mind-numbing process of setting up my passwords. I went through the programs, checking out each one to make sure they all worked properly and then sent off an email to Agent Matthews, assuring him that everything was in working order.

  I shut down the computer and picked up the file. With a glance at the clock, I stretched out on the couch and began to read. I'd finish it off and then head to bed, hopefully too tired to think or dream.

  The fist to the back of my head came as a surprise more than as pain. It didn't feel good, obviously, but I was pretty sure it had hurt the other person more than me. Judging by the swearing behind me, I was right. I turned around, my fist clenching around the strap of my book bag.

  The boy cradling his hand had dark hair and a wide, unfriendly mouth. I thought his name was Edwin, but I'd only been here for a couple weeks and none of the kids were very friendly.

  “Leave me alone,” I said firmly. I wasn't very big for a thirteen year-old or a girl, but I'd survived a hell of a lot worse than some teenage bully.

  “You're a whore!” Edwin shouted, injured hand forgotten as he apparently remembered the reason for his attack. “My dad got arrested because of you!”

  Shit.

  Lily had come yesterday and told me that someone had leaked my name to the press and that she was going to figure out who it was. It had been six months since she'd rescued me and I'd finally been settled in a group home in a different school district from where I'd gone before. I'd thought I'd been safe. I should have known better.

  “You ruined my family!” Edwin charged at me and I sidestepped, letting him run past while I took off in the opposite direction.

  I didn't know who Edwin's father was, but I knew the police had spent the last few months arresting various people in the videos my mother had made. My only part in that had been testifying in front of a grand jury about the videos en masse, saying that they had been made without my consent, that I was underage at the time – still was, but that hadn't been the point – and that the men involved had known both. The only name I'd been able to give had been that of my 'doctor' and he'd been arrested not long after my statement had been taken. All I could figure was that Edwin's dad had been one of the men in the videos.

  I wasn't about to try to explain to Edwin, however, that his dad was a child molester and rapist. Somehow, I doubted that would do any good.

  I could hear Edwin behind me and, suddenly, my throat began to close up, my chest tighten until I was gasping for breath. The memory
of the huntsman came over me and I stumbled. I felt my knees hit the ground with a jolt, my palms scraping across the cement. I was vaguely aware of my head hitting the sidewalk with a thud, but I couldn't see anything but the memory.

  I heard Edwin catch up to me, felt him kicking and hitting. Felt a hand grabbing at my breast. I couldn't do anything to stop it. I was frozen, helpless, caught in a memory even worse than the violence being done to me now. I heard voices and Edwin was suddenly gone, but it didn't matter. I was trapped and I always would be. I couldn't run far or fast enough to get away.

  I woke suddenly and it took a minute for me to remember where I was. I'd curled up into a ball at some point and my muscles were clenched and stiff. I winced as I stretched back out on the couch, knocking my file to the floor. I didn't pick it up yet, still processing my dream.

  I hadn't thought of Edwin in a long time. He hadn't been the first or the last to bully me or call me names because of what had happened. Kids tended to be either overwhelmingly kind or overwhelmingly cruel. Unfortunately, most of my encounters had been with the latter. Edwin had, however, been the only one whose father I'd sent to jail. I'd pestered Lily until she'd revealed to me which one Edwin's dad had been and I didn't feel so bad anymore. He hadn't been the worst, but he'd certainly been bad enough.

  I'd been pulled out of that school shortly after the incident because even though Edwin had been suspended for what he'd done, he'd be back and everyone had agreed that it'd be best if I wasn't there when it happened. I'd ended up with a concussion, three cracked ribs and more bruises than I'd been able to count, but I'd been the one who'd had to leave.

  That had been the moment I'd truly understood that, even though I'd been the victim, there would always be those who'd blame me for what had happened. And that, no matter what anyone told me, a part of me would always blame myself.

  I picked up the folder. I wouldn't be getting anymore sleep tonight. I supposed I might as well do something useful.