The Value of Vulnerability (38 page)

“An ordinary, boring life. Do you remember that, Ford?” she asked softly. “So ordinary, so boring, that the only dirt someone could get on me was a freeze-frame from an assault incident. Of course I brought it to your attention. I’m absolved of any suspicion because you know about that incident
. You know I didn’t sleep with Joe.” Ominous yet calm, each syllable perfectly enunciated, she said, “What if you did not
know
?”

She raised her head, sending him a look that was so sad it nicked the scar tissue on his heart.

“What if,” she continued, “it had been outside of your knowledge? Racier maybe. A triumphant demo of Photoshop skills? Could I have brought it to you then, claiming innocence and helping you ferret out a spy or traitor? I would have, you know.”

She held up her hand as he made to speak, effectively silencing him.

“What if this had been something serious, something meant to drive us apart, like . . . like . . .” She struggled a moment for an example. “Like evidence that I was gathering and selling BHG secrets. Would you believe me then? Would you believe me just because you have faith in me, and know I’m just an ordinary, boring girl with an ordinary, boring life?”

“Erin,” he sighed heavily.

When he imagined such a scenario as she suggested . . . He wanted to protest, but his schemes underscored the reality that he did not entirely trust anyone. Not even her.

*

“Did something else happen tonight?” he asked.

“Like what? Wasn’t this enough?” The incident with Helen, which had faded rapidly after receiving the extortion envelope, came crashing through her brain. She groaned faintly.
Cat by the scruff
, she thought with frustration, and whirled back to Ford.

Amber eyes watched her with wary calculation, quickly masked to reveal only patient humour as she met his gaze. She cocked an eyebrow, wondering what was going on inside that dark, complex mind of his.

“I met your mother tonight,” she said bluntly.

“Is that so? How did that go?”

Her eyes narrowed at the deliberately light tone. Turning away again, she refocused on the crackling fire. Relaying the details was out of the question. Ford had enough hurt in his life without her adding to it. But that was not the primary reason for her silence, as she was sure it would come as no shock to him that his mother was a complete bitch.

No, sharing the details of that meeting presented a major catch-22. If Ford
had
set up the meeting, Helen would report back any lie that would most hurt her son, in which event Erin should both warn him and protect herself. If it weren’t true—if it had been an accidental meeting—it didn’t make the particulars any less hurtful to him.

How she hated being caught like this!
Hated not knowing what was true and what wasn’t.

And then there was the bit about his dying father. He must have learned that news around the time they had met. Did it affect him? Did he think about Brett?

But she couldn’t ask about that either.

She half wished she had bought into the temptation of Helen’s bribe. If she had, she’d not have learned so many things she wished now she hadn’t.

She would give almost anything to have Ford open to the concepts of love, marriage, and children. There wasn’t a chance in hell. There was no reaching him. She had been lying to herself the entire relationship. That too, had become clear tonight, seeing his manipulation in refusals to meet her family and friends on very weak pretexts she should have seen through.

“Oh. My. God.” The laugh she uttered was just this side of hysterical and she clapped a hand over her mouth. Six hours ago, she was perfectly happy, willing to be patient and work with him in the hope of having a future. And
now it all seemed to be crumbling under the weight of reality. A relationship built on sand.

“Erin?”

She got it together enough to face him. “Sorry. What was the question?”

“How was meeting my mother?”

“Oh.” Tears glossed her eyes, but she managed to keep them out of her voice. “Fine. She said to give you her best.”

The outrageous lie stood in stark contrast to the informational flotsam of the evening, and everything clicked together in her mind.

“The
Psycho
ringtone. That’s—that’s her, isn’t it? Because you hate her. And she conspired with you to oust your father.”

“I thought you would admire my sense of humour about it.”

“Yes. Hilarious.”

“Erin, I’ve never seen you like this.” He took a step towards her. “Are you all right?”

“No. It was a very tough evening, Ford. Things don’t just . . . wash over me. They hurt.”

“I disagree. Life does indeed wash over you. You deal with trauma—drama, if you prefer—like no one I’ve ever seen. It’s admirable,” he added encouragingly.

“Thanks.”

“Nothing else to report?”

Another semi-hysterical laugh left her. “You know, I don’t
report
to you. I
share
things with you, my—” She waved a hand. “Whatever it is you are to me. It’s late. I should go.”

She made it as far as the lounge doorway before Ford spoke.

“Wait! Where are you off to?” Just like that, his mood shifted. He crossed to her and, taking her hand, led her to the sofa, settling them both cosily, his arm going protectively around her shoulders. “I’m sorry you had such a terrible night.”

It was on the tip of her tongue to assure him it wasn’t his fault, but since that wasn’t
completely—or necessarily—true, she settled for, “Thank you.”

He stroked her hair, loosening strands from the upsweep. “I know you are hurt. I did not mean to suggest you weren’t. But your recovery rate from the things that hurt you seems almost miraculous to me.”

“How do you mean?” It was easy to give in to emotional exhaustion, to snuggle against him, to inhale the warm scent of him.

“You do not hold grudges. Even for people who have deliberately hurt you, you just forgive and move on.”

His heart thudded comfortingly in her ear. “Grudges sap energy. I don’t want to live like that. It doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten. I just,” she shrugged, “don’t dwell.”

“All right,” he soothed. “I’ll get all of this sorted, Erin. You needn’t worry about any of it.”

She pulled back. “I can’t go on like this, Ford.”

“Just a little more time. Please,” he said. “Stay.”

There were too many things to sort out, all those reasons the relationship was failing. But she nodded, too tired to think clearly. Too emotionally drained to discuss any of it.
Helen was not a reliable source. Once Erin recharged, she would try to sort out the tangled mess of tonight. Right now, it was easier to pretend nothing was wrong.

Nothing else was said as they sat in front of the fire, but his possible methods of getting things sorted worried her
—long after they went to bed, and into the next day.

Erin glanced at her watch as she pushed through the revolving door of BHG tower. She wasn’t late yet, but hardly cared about Ford’s obsession with punctuality at the moment. Fatigue lingered from the previous night’s drama, the lack of sleep, the morning rush to get home and ready for work, only to be summoned here almost the moment she arrived at Xcess.

Surely this could have been better arranged,
she thought with atypical annoyance.

Security directed her to IT rather than Ford’s office, however, and the relief that this was all work related buoyed her mood a little.

Manny greeted her cheerfully enough, though he was obviously stressed. “Come on,” he said. “They’re in the conference room.”

‘They’ were Ford and another man she did not know—a
really
good-looking outdoorsy type (though he looked comfortable in his suit) with a rangy build and sparkling green eyes.

Ford nodded at her (
okay, I don’t like PDAs either, but I did spend the night naked in your bed—maybe a ‘Hello, Erin,’ wouldn’t be out of line
), but the green-eyed bit of gorgeousness rose from the conference table to come to her, smiling and holding out his hand.

“Hi, Erin. I’m Cameron,” he introduced himself as she shook his hand.

“Hi. What’s going on?”

“Have a seat,” Ford said, indicating the chair next to his. “Manny, is the package ready?”

“Almost, Mr. Howard. I’ll—” He waved in the direction of the bullpen. “I’ll check on it. Erin, do you want coffee or anything?”

“No, thanks.”

He closed the door on his way out.

Erin sank into the chair. Ford offered her a half-smile and reached over to squeeze her hand.

“You look good,” he said, and turned back to the laptop in front of him.

She couldn’t help laughing at his version of a public display of affection, and replied, “Thanks. You, too.” She shot a glance
at an amused Cameron. “Makes you all warm and fuzzy, huh?”

Cameron laughed outright at that. “Comparatively. I could tell stories.”

“I do not advise that,” Ford intoned.

“Are you a friend of Ford
’s?”

“Cameron is a business associate.”

Cameron’s expression turned wry. “As good a description as any. I analyse security issues.”

Well, wasn’t that very vague. “How nice.”

Ford looked at her then—likely in reaction to the overly sugared tone. “Cameron is an investigator. He has been working with Manny on the source of the virus and your stalker.”

“We just found out about my stalker last night.”

“We know who it is,” Cameron said. “The virus came from the same source.”

“Who is it?”

The men exchanged a glance. “A former business rival who has taken exception to the destruction of his business,” Ford said.

“You phrase things so prettily! Is it someone seeking revenge? Holding a grudge?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“See what a waste of energy it is?”

Cameron laughed, rocking back in his chair. “That’s good advice she’s tossing at you, Ford.”

“Erin tends to hold a sunny look on life.”

“I think I was just insulted,” she said, then blazed her sunniest smile. “Why am I here?”

Now all business, Cameron straightened his lazy posture. “We expect this person—or his agent—to contact you again within thirty-six hours. It’s a typical time frame,” he explained when she queried this estimate with a look. “We know who it is, but we don’t
know
. Manny’s preparing a digital package of false information that you will pass on as the extortion payment, and the digital signature on that information will give us the proof.”

“How will I be contacted?”

“I expect you’ll get an email, or perhaps another envelope, to confirm your cooperation and arrange a drop. Or an upload to an FTP or cloud service. Untraceable, of course. Anybody can set up such things from a public library PC.”

“I’m aware,” she said.

He grinned at her tone. “Once contact is made, call me.” He slid a business card to her.

“And then?”

“And then we’ll handle it,” Ford said.

“You mean . . . Contact the police?” she suggested sweetly.

“Handle it,” was all he would confirm.

“Ford, I gather that for whatever reason, you hurt this person—or their business—because of some perceived slight. Now they’re doing the same to you. So you’ll do the same back. Where does it stop?” She rubbed a hand over her face. “Nowhere. It goes nowhere. Stops nothing. Just feeds whatever it is you need fed.”

He gave her his full attention then, something akin to concern in his expression.

“Excuse me,” Cameron said and, pushing away from the table, left the room.

“Erin, I know you don’t understand. Wait,” Ford said, as she made to protest. “I made many enemies in the takeover of BHG, and I’m still dealing with the backlash.”

“So this current situation is a result of that?”

He hesitated. “Not directly, but in a way.”

“My point. It’s not so much backlash as a constant whipping.
Let the horse die already.”

His chair rolled back hard to bump the wall as he stood. “What am I to do, Erin?” he demanded in a cold tone she hadn’t heard in many weeks. “Let them win?”

“Win? Win what? You’ve already won. Who can hurt you? You’re Ford-effing-Howard! Who can touch you?”

“Corporate espionage—”

“This isn’t simple corporate espionage. It’s personal, what this person is doing.
That’s
the thing that eats at you. Hells, it’s personal for me, too, Ford! How do you think
I
feel, finding out I’ve been followed by someone who probably would have let me be raped just to get the pictures of it? But that’s what police are for. What courts are for.”