Shiver Sweet (25 page)

I snapped my head her way, saw disappointment at her lack of contribution rampage across her face.  But there was no need for her to feel that way.  A cunning idea came to mind.  That’s it!  I grabbed her face and planted a noisy thank-you kiss on her cheek.  “You’re not useless.  Don’t ever think you are.  You’re a genius!”

CHAPTER 27

CHRISTA

I retrieved my digital camera from my office and joined Nicola in the kitchen. 

She laid various items from her craft kit on the worktop; tape, wire and superglue.  “Do you think this will work?”

“Sometimes simple is best.  Looping the feed is a bit beyond my skills, and I don’t have time to figure it out.”  I nodded toward the door.  “Step out for a second.  I don’t want you in the shot.”  Trying to act all innocent and sly, I carried a chair to the other side of the kitchen, set it beneath the air vent near the top of the wall where Nicola thought the camera was situated, and stepped on. 

Nicola moved to the doorway that led to the utility room, poked her head around and watched with fascination.

After waiting a moment hoping the website feed would click off in this room due to lack of activity, I raised my camera up to the air vent, and snapped a quick photo of the room from hopefully the same angle as their hidden camera.  “Done.”  I whipped the camera back down and pressed the view button to check my handiwork.  “Not bad.  Focus is fine.” 

“Show me.”  Nicola dashed over.  We huddled against the wall and looked at the viewing screen. 

“Do you think it shows enough of the room?” I asked.  “Is the angle right?  Was the hall door visible on the website?”

She squashed her plump lips into a flat line.  “Looks okay to me.  Yes, I think the door was visible.”

“Do you think this will fool them?” 
Oh, maybe this was a bad idea.

“Looks okay to me.  It’s a sharp photo.”

“Good.  Then it’ll do.” 
Maybe
.  

“We have to hang them at the right distance,” Nicola said.  “Too far away from their cameras and the edges of the photo will be in shot, too close and the pictures will be dark and out of focus.”

“And not show enough of the rooms.”  Heck, even this most basic idea had variables.  “After printing them out, we can test it.  Look at them through the viewfinder of my camera to get an idea of the gap needed.  And if you can remember how much of the kitchen was visible on screen, we can use that as a bench mark for the other rooms.”

“Sounds wise.” 

“Just go with your gut.  I trust you.”

Nicola’s eyes looked tired, her frame slumped; she was running on fumes. 

I held her hands.  “We’ve got only a second or two to race into each room, grab a chair and stand beneath the camera before movement is detected and the thumbnail becomes visible on the website.  Are you up to this?”

Nicola shrugged, her wild, unkempt hair bobbing around her shoulders.  “Carrying a chair will slow us down.”

“I know.”  I paused.  “If the cameras detect us, those men will wonder why we’re flying in and out of rooms with a chair and camera.  But we might get lucky, they might not even be watching.”

“Ummm...  Don’t bet on it.  We need a distraction.”  Nicola pinched the bridge of her nose in thought, then snapped alert.  “These viewers want a show, right?”

“That’s the core of things.”

“So I say let’s give ‘em one that blows their socks off!” 

“Like what?”

“I don’t know... I’ll dance, do aerobics, wear some slinky lingerie and...” 

I gulped.  “Lingerie?”

“Yes.  And heels.  You deal with the cameras and I’ll distract them.”

Crikey.  Nicola’s idea was good and simple, if not insane.  “No.  Let me.”

“You?”

“Yes.  You have a better idea of where the cameras are hidden.”  I paused to let her answer, but she just chewed her lip.  “And I think you’ve dealt with more than enough already.”  The thought of putting on a show for murderers, and God knew how many online perverts, made me want to empty my stomach.  But I knew my decision was right.

Nicola nodded then closed her eyes and rubbed her temples.  “I think most cameras are in the vents, but not the office one.  Perhaps the clock above the door or the picture frame.” 

“Photograph the hall, lounge... just the main rooms downstairs which the police might walk through.  And don’t forget the driveway or they’ll see cop cars roll up.  That should be enough.  Print the pictures onto matt paper so they don’t bounce light, at the highest dpi, and suspend them in front of the cameras,” I said in a clear and slow voice so that it would filter into her tired head.  “If for some other reason the cameras click into action, perhaps remotely, viewers will only see empty rooms.  Okay, I think we’ve got things covered now.”  

She said nothing.

“Nicola?” I nudged her.

“Huh?”

“Are you feeling faint again?  Are you gonna manage to do this?”

“Yes.  I’ll be fine.”

I hoped so.
  “The photos need to be perfectly still and secure.  If they wobble or slip–”

“Yes, yes.  I’ve got it.”

Anticipation swirled in the depths of my stomach.  The tides were turning our way.  I knew it.

“This is crazy.”  Worry clipped her voice.  “How can this possibly work?”

I squeezed her hands.  “It won’t.  Not in a million.  Who are we to outsmart these guys?”

Her left eye crinkled around a sly wink.  She squeezed me back.  “Then let’s do this.”

We hugged, left the lounge and split up in the hallway.

I raced upstairs for suitable attire.  What to wear?  Something sexy, something...  I rummaged through my wardrobe flinging tops, leggings and bras about the room.  Would wearing a few scraps of fabric be enough to keep viewers eyes on me, and off Nicola? 

God, I couldn’t believe we were in such a position.  Today’s events had certainly put a deep and hot crimp in my birthday, in fact it had blasted a crater that I’d never forget into my entire life.

I selected a white, belt-sized bandeau top and flesh-coloured panties.  It was really no different to being ogled on the beach in a bikini, and
that
I could handle.  Oh, what the heck!  I had one chance to get this right.  Time to cast my dignity aside.  I had to go the extra mile to make the house Safe for Sarah’s return.  I flung the bandeau onto the bed, discarding it.

The song ‘Dance like this,’ drifted upstairs from the kitchen.  Oh, hell. 
That’s my cue!  

What to do?  What to do?
 

I scrambled over the bed.  I had to create a distraction, fast. 

CHAPTER 28

CLAIRE

“Make yourself comfortable,” Claire said, tottering in on a broken heel.  Having lured Brian into her home on the pretence of loaning him her old, pay-as-you-go mobile phone, she sought an excuse to touch him. 

“Thanks.”

Although dishevelled, he still looked amazing in his slick black suit with the top buttons of his white shirt undone.  A strange ache filled her core at the thought of never again waking up to his dazzling good looks and warm body.  There was no way he was going to leave this house until they’d gotten back together. 

“I’m so confused,” he said, rubbing his chin.  “It’s just too weird, that biblical thing... right?”

“Sure is.  Although that’s not necessarily what it meant.”
 
Claire winced and pointed around the room.  “You know where everything is.  TV, magazines...  What’s mine is yours.  Want anything to drink?”

He slipped his hands in his trouser pockets and remained standing.  “Thanks for helping me out, Claire.  I feel terrible that... but if you could just lend me your old mobile, that’s really all I need.  I’d like to check up on, ummm... Sarah.”

And Christa!
  Claire clenched her teeth but tried to hide it behind a smile.  She knew he wouldn’t be so rude as to phone Christa from Claire’s house, that’s why he was so desperate to leave.  She had to stall him further.  If he contacted her, he’d likely learn about the text she’d sent from his mobile, and that would blow her chance of reconciliation.  “Sure.  I’ll go look.  I’m sure it’s in a drawer in my bedroom.” 
Care to join me?
  Claire turned on her stilettos just as her mobile rang.  She pulled the phone out of her pocket, didn’t recognise the number, but answered it anyway when Brian frowned at her.  “Hello?”

“Hi,” a man said.  “Is this Claire?”

“Yeah.  Who is this?”

“Marcus.”

“Marcus?” she repeated, trying to place the name.

“Brian’s mate.  I can’t get hold of him.  His sister gave me your number.  Is he with you?”

Claire stared back at Brian, who must have heard her say his name. 
Damn.

“My mate Marcus?”

With reluctance, Claire handed the phone over.

“Hi.”  Brian paused.  “Rumours saying what?  That Christa and I...  Hell no.  Listen, I don’t know who told you that but it’s all lies.  I just found him.  I didn’t put him there.”

Claire gulped.  She pointed at the hall and mouthed, “I’ll er... go and find that old mobile.”

Brian flipped his thumb up.  “Yeah, lost my phone.”

Claire raced into her bedroom and flung herself face down on the bed.  Hell, her brother wasn’t lying about those malicious rumours.  She smiled.  Dale always had her back and it felt good.  But if his methods didn’t work, she would think of a way to banish that bloody woman from Brian’s head even if she had to track down a witch to put a spell on him.

Knowing Brian, he’d want to speak to Christa more urgently than ever now, to forewarn her about the rumours.  Claire had no intention of lending Brian her old mobile phone.  No way!  As soon as she handed him a phone, he’d be out of the front door like he had a rocket up his ass, to contact
her
in private. 

She rolled over onto her back, reached out for her bottle of perfume from the side table and sprayed a generous cloud of its sweetness across her chest and in her hair.  After a few moments of wasting time, banging wardrobe doors and drawers so Brian would believe she was searching for her mobile, she tottered out to fix herself a drink. 

“So you’ll swing by and pick me up?” Brian said from the lounge, still chatting on the phone. 

Claire halted in the hall outside the lounge.  She slipped her stilettos off and pressed her back against the wall to eavesdrop.

“Great.  It’s number ten.  The one with a bay window.  Er, no.  We’ve split up.”

Claire’s eyes pricked with the threat of tears.  The words ‘we’ve split up’ rumbled through her like a life-sucking thunderstorm.

“Their phone line’s not working.  I tried at the station.  I’m about to send Sarah a message on Facebook.  If I’m not outside, just beep or knock for me, mate.”

Great!  Just wonderful.
  Brian had been in Claire’s house for all of five minutes and was already arranging his escape.  Frustrated, Claire lumbered along the hall and entered the kitchen.  She grabbed a bottle of whisky that she kept for when her brother needed a tipple – which was often – and poured a few burning gulps down her throat.  Bloody Christa, Marcus, Sarah... who else was going to get in the way of her seducing her man?  She carried two glasses and the bottle into the hall, then stopped in her tracks.  Crap.  A solid lump of dread collected around her heart. 

Did Brian mention Facebook? 

Sarah’s computer!  Oh, shit.

It was on her bookshelf.  Claire was meant to give it to Dale, who would hand it back to the guy who owned it - a subscriber to their website.  His stupid wife had swapped it with Christa for a desktop without his knowledge, and the idiot had ticked the ‘keep me signed in on this computer’ box.  It would not have been a problem if Christa had wiped the computer, but Sarah had mentioned that her mum hadn’t had time.

Blind panic flared like a torch inside her.  She steamed into the lounge.  “Brian, wait!  Don’t use the...”

Too late. 

Brian had found Sarah’s laptop and booted it up on the coffee table.  From kneeling on the rug, he turned to Claire, his mouth agape, his face pale as chalk, ruining his handsome features. 

She glimpsed the screen and immediately lost grip on a whisky glass.  It thudded on the wooden floor breaking into shards.  Oh, fuck.  Yes, the guy was still signed in to their site. Could today get any worse? 

“Have you seen this?”  Brian glanced at the broken glass then back up at Claire.

“Wha-t?”  Panic knotted her shoulders. 

“This is Sarah’s laptop, right?”  Brian didn’t seem to care that Claire had possession of it.  No.  His dilated eyes fixed back onto the screen which showed thumbnails of rooms in Christa’s house.  Most rooms were empty, except one.

“It’s this stupid mouse pad.  I must have clicked on this link by accident and...”  He glanced at Claire, his eyes crinkled in confusion and shock.  “I just don’t understand... I... Is this for real?”  Brian’s voice wavered.  “A screen popped up... thumbnails, cameras.  Then I recognised the front of... it’s Christa’s house!” 

Claire lurched forward then stopped.  If she grabbed the laptop Brian would surely be suspicious.  How should she play this?

Brian fiddled with a button on the laptop.  “There’s no sound.”

Indeed there wasn’t. 

Wiring up microphones was something Dale said the guys had been organising.  It would be a big job, but would heighten the viewing experience, gain them more subscribers, as well as give the guys a heads up on the plans of those being filmed.  Until then, Claire was the ears who gathered gossip and passed it on, by either befriending the stars of the show in the flesh, or on social networking sites.

Brian clicked on the bathroom thumbnail.  Its border was flashing red, indicating a popular feed.  Instantly, the bathroom enlarged.  “Bloody hell!  Is that Christa in the...?”

“C-Christa?”

He pointed at the screen.  “It’s hard to miss.  Look.”