Spike by Jennifer Ryder Page A

Bye.”
    “Bye.”
    Eevie slumps onto the couch and puts her feet up on the coffee table. “Hey. What’d your mum say?” she asks.
    Shit . I can’t say anything about Tara. “She was wondering how my new living arrangements were goin’. She asked me if I think I rushed into it.”
    Eevie’s face drops. “Oh.”
    Shit . I shouldn’t have said that. Nice goin’, Aidan.
    I pull Eevie into my arms and kiss her soft lips. “No, baby. Nothin’ to worry ‘bout. Mum probably thinks it all happened a bit soon, but she didn’t know we’d practically lived together for a few months after you were in hospital. She’s happy that I’m happy. You know what mothers are like. She’s always been over-protective.”
    “We should have your mum and Frank over for dinner. It’d be nice to cook for them.” Good idea. Two birds with one stone—keep Mum happy by seeing her, but also get her to see how happy we are, and know that she has nothing to worry about. And maybe then she can stop fussing over her boy.
    “Yeah. Mum would love that. I’ll give her a call during the week.”
     
    ****
     
    * EEVIE *
    It’s only eight pm, and Aidan’s already gone to bed. He was exhausted and has an early start tomorrow. As much as I’d love to join him, I need to get some work done.
    After a couple of hours of study, I’m ready to crash. Big time . Just before I shut down my laptop, I remember to check my email. Hopefully, Ally from uni has sent me those links she promised for research for my next assignment.
    There are a couple of emails from eBay, but nothing from Ally. There is, however, an email from a random Hotmail address, made up of letters and numbers. From the sender’s address it appears to be junk mail, but the subject heading is clear.
     
Attention: Genevieve Lawson
     
    Huh?
    I open it up.
     
If you don’t want these pretty portraits splashed all over the
Internet, you’ll listen to me when I call. Keep this to
yourself and no one will get hurt.
     
    The air is suddenly crushed from my lungs and my heart sinks in my chest. I open up the first of at least ten attachments, and gasp as I take in a full-screen photo of Aidan and I having sex. My fingers freeze over the keyboard, my jaw going slack. There is no mistaking that this is the two of us. We’re both naked, and I’m straddled over Aidan’s lap, hair wild and nipples hard. I’m either close, or in the middle of an orgasm. Fuck.
    I bury my eyes into the heels of my hands. Surely I’m dreaming. The weight on my chest grows heavier, making it increasingly hard to breathe.
    I close the attachment, and look at the rest. Some pictures are blurrier than others, but if anyone who knew me saw these, they would recognise me. Some pictures are from Aidan’s place—on the couch and in his bedroom, and some are from my bedroom at my old apartment. Apparently up on the second floor, with blinds partially closed, I was a target. Even with the secluded courtyard here, someone has gotten in. Someone has been stalking me.
    How long have they been watching?
    If ever there was a time when my world was going to crumble, this is it.
    How did they get my email address? I didn’t think it was so easy for people to get that information. I open up Facebook. Damn security settings. I had it set so anyone could see my profile, including my email address. Dumb, dumb, dumb Eevie! ImmediatelyI change it to only be viewed by friends. There’s enough info in my profile for someone to know that I’m dating Aidan, where I went to school … God! I never thought this stuff was out there, but now I realise I should’ve been more careful.
    They said they’d contact me by phone. I stare at my mobile on the desk. When are they going to call? Am I supposed to answer it at all hours? Are they going to ring me at work? They could have already discovered where I work from my Facebook profile. Crap.
    Who are they planning on hurting if I talk? Me? Aidan? My family?
    I’ve always been good at