Fifty Shades Freed

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 ca

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 ca

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 a

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.”

“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 ru

—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.

“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 he encircles my waist with his arm.

“We have the contents of his hard drive, too, sir,” Barney adds.

“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?”

Christian shakes his head and puts his index finger against my lips to silence me. I scowl at him. But he narrows his eyes, and it’s a clear warning that I should

hold my tongue.

“It’s a 2006 Camaro. I’ll send the license details to Welch, too,” Barney says excitedly from the phone.

“Good. Let me know where else that fucker has been in my building. And check this image against the one from his SIP perso

skeptically. “I want to be sure we have a match.”

“Already done, sir, and Mrs. Grey is correct. This is Jack Hyde.”

I grin. See? I can be useful. Christian rubs his hand down my back.

“Well done, Mrs. Grey.” He smiles and his earlier rancor forgotten. To Barney he says, “Let me know when you’ve tracked all his movements at HQ. Also

check out any other GEH property he may have had access to, and let the security teams know so they can make another sweep of all those buildings.”

“Sir.”

“Thanks, Barney.” Christian hangs up.

“Well, Mrs. Grey, it seems that you are not only decorative, but useful, too.” Christian’s eyes light up with wicked amusement. I know he’s teasing.

“Decorative?” I scoff, teasing him back.

“Very,” he says quietly, pressing a soft, sweet kiss on my lips.

“You’re much more decorative than I am, Mr. Grey.”

He grins and kisses me more forcefully, winding my braid around his wrist and wrapping his arms around me. When we come up for air, my heart is racing.

“Hungry?” he asks.

“No.”

“I am.”

“What for?”

“Well—food actually, Mrs. Grey.”

“I’ll make you something.” I giggle.

“I love that sound.”

“Of me offering you food?”

“You giggling.” He kisses my hair then I stand.

“So what would you like to eat, Sir?” I ask sweetly.

He narrows his eyes. “Are you being cute, Mrs. Grey?”

“Always, Mr. Grey . . . Sir.”

He smiles a sphinxlike smile. “I can still put you over my knee,” he murmurs seductively.

“I know.” I grin. Placing my hands on the arms of his office chair, I lean down and kiss him. “That’s one of the things I love about you. But stow your twitching

palm—you’re hungry.”

He smiles his shy smile and my heart clenches. “Oh, Mrs. Grey, what am I going to do with you?”

“You’re going to answer my question. What would you like to eat?”

“Something light. Surprise me,” he says, mirroring my words from the playroom earlier.

“I’ll see what I can do.” I sashay out of his study and into the kitchen. My heart sinks when I see Mrs. Jones is there.

“Hello, Mrs. Jones.”

“Mrs. Grey. Are you ready for something to eat?”

“Um . . .”

She is stirring something in a pot on the stove that smells delicious.