“As a matter of fact, I do.” He set his laptop on the table and sat down. “I want to show you a web site.”
Her nerves skittered. Doctored photos, maybe? She hadn’t the foggiest. Whatever it was, he wasn’t going to get away with this.
“Shall we?” He pulled the other chair close beside him. “Have a seat so you can see.”
She was too curious not to. He typed in some letters and a password, and photos of nude women popped onto the screen.
Truly, she told herself, you have nothing to worry about. You didn’t do anything wrong. You never posed for photos. The one lap dance you did was out in the open, not back in the private rooms. Nothing to worry about, Amber. Nothing.
Until the first photo emerged.
Her bowels clenched and nausea gripped her throat. The blond girl with the slim muscular legs…legs famous for her pole dancing. That girl lay on a red satin sheet, her legs spread wide, another woman’s head—Laura’s head!—between them.
“It’s enhanced,” she whispered. “It can’t be me.”
“It is.” Blake clicked on the screen. “And so is this.”
This time she was on a man’s lap, naked, her nipple between his lips. Her back arched and her eyes shut—clearly enjoying the stimulation.
She swallowed hard. “I’m going to throw up.”
“I don’t doubt it. Here’s another.”
This time she was giving a guy a blow job. Bitterness coated her tongue. She swallowed a heave.
“Seen enough?”
“It can’t be. I never…posed for these. I don’t understand.”
“How many drugs did you do in your Rachel’s days, Amber?”
“Damn it!” Tears welled in her eyes. “I didn’t do any drugs! I hardly drank. It can’t be me. It just can’t be.”
“This one will tell the tale I think.”
A black-and-white photo appeared. Her ass was in the air, and a triangle shaped birthmark was apparent on her right butt cheek.
As if of its own accord, her right hand wandered to her hips, over the spot where her own birthmark marred her skin.
How could this be?
“How many more pictures are there?”
“There are twenty-four altogether. Six are girl/girl, two solo, the rest with men.”
“Am I…having sex in any of them?”
“Alas, no. But you’re doing pretty much everything else.”
Her stomach threatened to empty. She covered her lips with her hand. “I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I. You seem like a nice girl.”
“I really don’t remember.”
He powered down the laptop and flipped it closed. “I’m sure you don’t. But unfortunately, that gets filed under the heading of ‘not my problem.’”
&nbs