Picture after picture of me. Asleep, so many of me asleep, my hair over my face or fanned out across the pillow, lips parted . . . shit -
sucking my thumb. I haven't sucked my thumb for years! So many photos . . . I had no idea he'd taken these. There are a few candid long shots, including one of me leaning over the rail of the yacht, staring moodily into the distance. How did I not notice him taking this? I smile at the photos of me curled up beneath him and laughing - my hair flying as I struggle, fighting his tickling, tormenting fingers. And there's the one of him and me on the bed in the master cabin that he took at arm's length. I am cuddled on his chest and he gazes at the camera, young, wide-eyed . . . in love. His other hand cups my head, and I am smiling like a love-struck fool, but I cannot take my eyes off Christian. Oh, my beautiful man, his ruffled just-fucked hair, his gray eyes glowing, his lips parted and smiling. My beautiful man who cannot bear to be tickled, who could not bear to be touched just a short while ago, yet now he tolerates my touch. I must ask him if he likes it, or whether he lets me touch him for my pleasure rather than his. I frown, gazing down at his image, suddenly overwhelmed by my feelings for him. Someone out there wants to harm him - first Charlie Tango, then the fire at GEH, and that damned car chase. I gasp, putting my hand to my mouth as an involuntary sob escapes. Abandoning my computer, I leap up to find him - not to confront him now - just to check that he's safe.
Not bothering to knock, I barge into his study. Christian is sitting at his desk and talking on the phone. He looks up in surprised annoyance, but the irritation on his face disappears when he sees it's me.
"So you can't enhance it further?" he says, continuing his phone conversation, though he doesn't take his eyes off me. Without hesitation, I walk around his desk, and he turns in his chair to face me, frowning. I can tell he's thinking what does she want? When I crawl onto his lap, his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. I put my arms around his neck and cuddle into him. Gingerly, he puts his arm around me.
"Um . . . yes, Barney. Could you hold one moment?" He cups the phone against his shoulder.
"Ana, what's wrong?"
I shake my head. Tipping my chin up, he gazes into my eyes. I pull my head free from his hold, tuck it beneath his chin, and curl up smaller on his lap. Bemused, he wraps his free arm more tightly around me and kisses the top of my head.
"Okay, Barney, what were you saying?" He continues, wedging the phone between his ear and his shoulder, and taps a key on his laptop. A grainy black and white CCTV image appears on the screen . . . a man with dark hair wearing pale coveralls comes on the screen. Christian presses another key, and the man walks toward the camera, but with his head bowed. When the man is closer to the camera, Christian freezes the frame. He's standing in a bright white room with what looks like a long line of tall black cabinets to his left. This must be GEH's server room.
"Okay Barney, one more time."
The screen springs to life. A box appears around the head of the man in the CCTV footage and suddenly we zoom in. I sit up, fascinated.
"Is Barney doing this?" I ask quietly.
"Yes," Christian answers. "Can you sharpen the picture at all?" he says to Barney.
The picture blurs, then refocuses moderately sharper of the man consciously gazing down and avoiding the CCTV camera. As I stare at him, a chill of recognition sweeps up my spine. There is something familiar in the line of his jaw. He has scruffy short black hair that looks odd and unkempt . . . and in the newly sharpened picture, I see an earring, a small hoop.
Holy crap! I know who it is.
"Christian," I whisper. "That's Jack Hyde."
Chapter Seven
"You think?" Christian asks, surprised.
"It's the line of his jaw." I point at the screen. "And the earrings and the shape of his shoulders. He's the right build, too. He must be wearing a wig - or he's cut and dyed his hair."
"Barney, are you getting this?" Christian puts the phone down on his desk and switches to hands-free. "You seem to have studied your ex-boss in some detail, Mrs. Grey," he murmurs, sounding none too pleased. I scowl at him, but I'm saved by Barney.
"Yes, sir. I heard Mrs. Grey. I'm running face recognition software on all the digitized CCTV footage right now. See where else this ass**le - I'm sorry ma'am - this man has been within the organization."
I glance anxiously at Christian, who ignores Barney's expletive. He's studying the CCTV picture closely.
"Why would he do this?" I ask Christian.
He shrugs. "Revenge, perhaps. I don't know. You can't fathom why some people behave the way they do. I'm just angry that you ever worked so closely with him." Christian's mouth presses into a hard, thin line and his arm encircles my waist protectively.
"We have the contents of his hard drive, too, sir," Barney adds. What?
"Yes, I remember. Do you have an address for Mr. Hyde?"
Christian says sharply.
"Yes, sir, I do."
"Alert Welch."
"Sure will. I'm also going to scan the city CCTV and see if I can track his movements."
"Check what vehicle he owns."
"Sir."
"Barney can do all this?" I whisper.
Christian nods and gives me a smug smile.
"What was on his hard drive?" I whisper.
Christian's face hardens and he shakes his head. "Nothing much,"
he says, tight-lipped, his smile forgotten.
"Tell me."
"No."
"Was it about you, or me?"
"Me." He sighs.
"What sort of things? About your lifestyle?"