by DiAnn Mills
Taryn stepped back. “I want the truth.”
“Don’t you trust me? Babe, we have to get out of here.” He grabbed her right wrist—hard. “Cops are everywhere.”
In the madness of today, had she lost touch with reality? “Don’t we want to go to the authorities and prove our innocence?”
A bus rolled to a stop, its brakes screeching. The driver opened the door. No one exited. “I’m running late. Y’all gettin’ on?” the female bus driver said. “Haven’t got all night.”
Taryn tried to jerk free from Shep’s hold. She opened her palm and pressed her thumbs into his wrist. He loosened control, and she stepped back.
“Trust me,” he said. “You’ll regret this.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Without me, you’ll end up dead. You know what I want.” He reached for her, but she took another step back toward the bus.
Her worst fears had manifested and stood before her.
The bus driver called out. “Either get yourself on in here, or I’m drivin’ on.”
He grabbed her wrist again, and she drove a kick into his nose. Blood gushed. He doubled over and fell.
“I’ll find you, you b—” he cursed. “No one can save you now.”
She scrambled up the bus steps, and the door closed behind her. The bus rolled away, and contempt for the man she’d sworn to love until death settled in her.
CHAPTER 10
9:35 P.M. MONDAY
Shep’s betrayal bannered across Taryn’s mind. Had he committed all of today’s atrocities? Sent innocent people to their deaths? Murdered Claire? Done something with Zoey? Clenching her fists, she allowed herself to accept the unthinkable. She’d been used, but for what purpose? Could it be . . . ?
Shock numbed her as the bus rumbled down the street, letting passengers on and off at various stops. She didn’t want to believe what had happened. She wanted to believe that Shep hadn’t threatened her but was a good man who loved her. The screen mounted inside the bus continued to report the bombing. A segment of the Houston FBI director’s speech replayed . . . the number of dead and injured etched into her mind.
Special Agent Grayson Hall hadn’t lied to her. His insulting questions held a vein of truth. She shivered.
She’d hurt a police officer because she believed in Shep’s innocence. Her mind spun with one thought after another, all centered on hurt and betrayal. Her throat thickened, but she refused to cry. Her life had been dedicated to solving dilemmas for businesses and industries through the latest in software technology. But no amount of superior programming could reverse today.
She rode the bus through four more stops, her heart and mind torn in many directions. A huge stone church set back from the street caught her attention. Safety. Rest. Surely it would be open. The bus stopped and she exited, peering in every direction for Shep. He said she knew what he wanted. Before the question left her mind, the answer came.
The only thing she possessed that anyone would ever want was access to Nehemiah and her knowledge of other encrypted files from Gated Labs.
Once the taillights of the bus disappeared, she worked her way across a busy intersection to the church. Claire always used to say God reigned with His people, and Taryn wanted to believe her friend’s words. She hoped God’s house held an invisible shield to protect those who needed it.
She yanked on the main entrance door. Locked. Would the church have an alarm system? Of course it would. What was she thinking? In this world, no one could be trusted. She’d learned that valuable lesson today.
Please, God. I need rest.
She walked the perimeter of the church building, trying each door until a rear one by the children’s playground surprisingly released. She stole a look over her shoulder before pulling the door open. A swing moved as though a child eased back and forth. If an alarm sounded, she’d simply escape into the night.
No sirens. Eerie quiet met her ears . . . like a low hum. She locked the door behind her and leaned against it, willing reality to lift its weight from her shoulders. She couldn’t recall ever being in a church alone. But the need for rest overpowered caution. Here in the solace of those who lived by faith, she’d find a way out of today’s mess.
In the shadows, she explored the hallway, finding a series of offices. A table lamp lit the desk of one of the larger ones, and she limped inside, the sting in her foot growing worse. A green leather sofa caught her attention, and she lay down, not to sleep but to close her eyes and think.
Two days ago she had readied herself for a beautiful wedding and a fairy-tale honeymoon. The problems at work with Kinsley Stevens and Haden Rollins would be easily resolved once Ethan returned from Mexico City. The overheard conversation in the break room between those two had sealed her concern about the software’s vulnerability. She regretted not being more social. Making friends might have given her an edge in office activities.
Why hadn’t she gone to Mr. Patterson and shared her concerns about the project on Friday? Asked for permission to disable the software? Gone ahead and revealed her doubts about his niece and Rollins? Taryn’s stupid pride had been her downfall. The Nehemiah Project was her team’s best work, and she feared Kinsley planned to take over her leadership role. Sleeping with Haden guaranteed it. Taryn had relied on Ethan, and he’d died in the blast. Her stomach tightened as she tried to keep from breaking into a mass of sobs.
International security implications for her team’s software project were a concern from the beginning. In the wrong hands, access to the software source code could be used against the US and its allies. Could the bombing be related? How far-fetched were her suspicions? Why would anyone blow up an airport terminal for software? There had to be more, but she had a sick feeling the two were connected.
She’d told Shep that whatever project held her attention at Gated Labs came home with her. If he now had her phone along with her iPad, he would have access to the software.
The backdoor was buried deep in her iPhone, and it would take the most experienced hacker time to find and decrypt it.
Why hadn’t she seen Shep’s deceit in their three-month whirlwind romance? If he’d been part of a conspiracy to gain access to Gated Labs’s technology, the plan had been thorough. And one person alone couldn’t have put this into play. Kinsley’s and Haden’s names surfaced again. Was jealousy over Kinsley’s connection to Brad Patterson ruling Taryn’s thoughts?
She was so far from her comfort zone that she didn’t recognize herself. The future looked hopeless and scary. She had to initiate proving her innocence because the world believed otherwise.
She rubbed her face as though the pounding in her head would slip into oblivion. Answers were supposed to come with the morning, but tomorrow seemed an eternity away when every law enforcement official in the city and state was looking for her. The search had probably gone nationwide. Not that she could blame any of them. Too many facts pointed to her supposed guilt.
Taryn forced herself to stand. Perhaps if she paced, the pieces of her jumbled mind would slide into place. She glanced at her wedding ring. It might not be real either. She hurt, not just physically, but through every fiber of her being.
Forget your feelings and focus on the bigger picture. People are dead. A child is missing. You’re wanted. It can’t be a coincidence Shep left you at the airport and then emerges from the dark threatening you. Something larger than her damaged heart was at stake. And she couldn’t deny or hide her involvement.
She knew none of Shep’s friends except the limo driver. Neither had he mentioned any names. His past was rooted in Abilene, the only child of a couple killed in a car accident when he was in college. Why hadn’t she checked into his claims? She couldn’t blame herself—she’d had no reason to doubt him. How clever. She nibbled on a fingernail, recalling how it annoyed him. Too bad. The events leading up to the bombing marched across her mind.
A fake wedding.
“I’ll take care of everything, honey. I’ll mak
e sure our day is perfect.”
She rubbed her cold arms . . . remembering.
“Drink a second cup of coffee, my precious lady. You need to wake up.”
Shep had her iPad.
Their separation before the bombing.
He’d probably taken her phone too. He’d been in the hospital room, and that wasn’t something she’d dreamed.
Her destroyed condo and the missing photos.
Her laptop with pictures of them gone.
Claire’s murder and the missing computer and photo equipment.
Zoey’s disappearance.
Ethan Formier dead in the bombing.
Shep’s appearance at the bus stop.
By all rights, she should have been killed today. And if her fears were valid that his abandoning her at the airport was all about the Nehemiah Project, she could have been another body at the morgue. She shook her head, wanting to believe her injuries had taken her on a hallucinatory trip.
I’ve not gone mad. Somehow, someway, I’m going to find answers to all that’s happened.
At the moment, she was worth more alive. Kidnapping was a strong possibility, which must have been Shep’s reasoning at the bus stop. He’d meant to scare her, and it worked. She ran from the law and Shep. Who was worse? Gated Labs probably wanted her arrested or had already fired her.
She rose and limped along the wall of bookshelves, glancing at reference and history books to help whoever occupied this office form theologically sound messages. A nudging whispered to give herself up. She wanted to do the noble thing—help the FBI find those responsible for the day’s tragedies and locate Zoey.
Taryn fought sleep while her body cried out for more Tylenol 3, but she didn’t want to take anything that would dull her mind. Come morning, pastors and staff would enter their offices, and a church harboring a fugitive sounded like a medieval story line. Whatever she chose for her next step, she had to figure it out now.
She shook off her weariness. The items in this pastor’s office held her fingerprints. Did it really matter at this point?
A Bible lay open on a small table. She was a once-a-month believer. That’s when she attended church with Claire’s encouragement, or she’d not gone at all. It had been years since she studied Scripture. Her family had served faithfully in church, sending her and her brothers to every church event imaginable. But her regular attendance ended when she entered the world of science and accepted her professors’ nonexistence of God. Then her father died suddenly of a heart attack, and she struggled attending church even with Claire. But today she needed to find answers outside herself—a rarity. Her world, once secure in technology and its continuous advances, had been hacked.
Her gaze dropped to the Bible. A funeral service bulletin marked Psalm 23, a passage she’d memorized as a child. Information about the deceased caught her attention.
The woman was a Holocaust survivor, a Polish Jew. Soon after she completed her education as a medical doctor, the Nazis had invaded her country. She refused an opportunity to escape because she didn’t want to leave loved ones behind and was later sent to Auschwitz. While in the concentration camp, she helped others as best she could. After the liberation, she became a believer and emigrated to Houston. A Messianic Jew . . . like Claire. A quote from the woman caught Taryn’s attention. “I could not blame God for the penetrating stench of death, for He was my only hope. I clung to God in worshipful desperation, and He strengthened me beyond comprehension.”
Life required sacrifices in every generation. Nothing Taryn experienced had prepared her for this unfolding nightmare. So many people gone, snuffed out of life. For what? Burying her face in her hands, she reached within her soul for the faith she had found as a child.
Oh, God, I’m so scared. Forgive me for the doubts that pulled me away from You, for building a shrine to technology. I need Your wisdom. Help me. I don’t know what to do.
How could she do any less than sacrifice her own freedom to find Claire’s child? Taryn had no means to find Zoey. Neither could she clear her name without help. Who should she contact? A name rested in her mind—a man she hadn’t regarded as a friend. Quite the opposite.
Why him, God?
CHAPTER 11
NEW YORK
10:56 P.M. EASTERN, MONDAY
My plan was flawless.
I gave him all the necessary resources to secure information from Taryn Young and do my legwork. I even paid for a nose job after he broke it in a prison fight. Gave him her pathetic history. Her education. Wine and dine her. Sleep with her. But she had this prudish idea of marriage, so I arranged that too. His only task was to give the iPad to Breckon when he dropped off the honeymoon couple at the airport. Then eliminate her in Puerto Rico. I put the funds in her account to ensure she looks guilty of selling Gated Labs’s information.
I pick up my burner phone and try him again, the fourth time in the past hour. I hate his lack of communication. He’s avoiding me because he’s failed. He knows he’s a dead man.
The idiot thinks he can trump my ace. Thinks he can outsmart me and sell the software for a small fortune. What a fool. He has no idea what I’m capable of or who’s pulling the strings—a powerful man who has no regard for life when he’s motivated. Sometimes I think I’m crazy for working with a man who hates Americans, but the money is too good to pass up.
He won’t ruin what’s been in motion for months. Let him line up the bidders.
I’ve worked too long and hard for this. He’ll spin this mess until he bleeds out.
The airport bomber did a great job of sidetracking law enforcement agencies. I’ll congratulate him on his clever tactic and stay on his good side. I deserve to know all of his activities, although I’m not happy being left out of the loop. After all, I’m a partner in this. He will hear from me about it.
I should have researched his background more thoroughly instead of him always arranging our meetings. Never will the lure of money trump common sense again. But he can’t complete the mission without me, and he knows it.
CHAPTER 12
10:05 P.M. MONDAY
At the FBI office, Grayson slipped into a chair beside Vince with a cup of coffee strong enough to stop al-Qaeda. That’s what he needed. Who knew all the players in today’s game? Rumors about a bidding war connected to Gated Labs held credibility, but they didn’t have names of any potential buyers. Unconfirmed info indicated North Korea, Pakistan, and Iran were among the bidders. The question driving him nuts was why bomb the airport if the bad guys had the software?
The op room was filled with special agents poring over intel. Like him, they labored over the many angles of the airport bombing according to their specialty. No one planned to leave until arrests were made. No one wanted to leave. The director of Homeland Security had elevated the threat level, and questions about how the government had allowed this to happen bellowed from the media. News reports made comparisons to other incidents, and blame scattered in a spiderweb across the globe. Grayson shoved aside media reports, which were often unreliable, to concentrate on confirmed info. His first concern was finding Young and Shepherd if they were still in the country. Now they had a photo of the man who called himself Francis Shepherd. If the man was in their system, the FIG would have an actual ID on him shortly. But Grayson’s patience wore thin. Without the man’s real name, Grayson fired blanks.
While waiting, he sorted through FBI updates. A woman by the name of Claire Levin had been found murdered in her photography studio. Her cell phone lay under her body, and the call history indicated she and Young talked frequently. He shook his head. If Young had been involved in the bombing, then killing a friend meant nothing. But why would Levin’s phone be under her body unless the killer wanted to implicate Young?
A woman by the name of Lydia Garza had called into the office. She claimed to be employed by Claire Levin as a babysitter for three-year-old Zoey Levin. The child was missing. An Amber Alert had been issued.
Another update caught
his attention. A young woman resembling Young had entered a Starbucks six blocks from Levin’s studio and used an employee’s cell phone. The barista stated she was clearly shaken and upset. That supposed appearance matched the timeline for the 911 call reporting the murder. Why kill, then report the crime?
Little about this case made sense, and nothing more had surfaced from the BOLO bulletin. Background checks on Young’s team brought little, except that Brad Patterson was Kinsley Stevens’s uncle. Another plug for her to take over Taryn’s position. Gated Labs’s financial reports were sound, and their stock was up 12 percent over the previous quarter.
He blew out an exasperated sigh while arranging and rearranging facts. What had he missed that possibly linked Gated Labs and the bombing? Agents and law enforcement officials were divided on whether they were two separate incidents or somehow related.
His BlackBerry beeped with the FIG’s latest findings. Francis Shepherd’s real name was Phillip Murford, an ex-con who’d done time in Arizona for several bank robberies and murder. Ex–Navy SEAL. Now they were getting somewhere. Not sure how Murford managed parole, but once released, he disappeared. Murford had lightened his hair and shortened the style, shaved a scraggly beard and mustache, and possibly gotten a nose job. But his identity was confirmed. Definitely a man who had skills and experience. The FBI finally had something concrete. An updated BOLO was going out statewide and nationwide. Based on this latest info, Murford could have killed Claire Levin, but was Young with him?
If the two were separated, as her appearance at the Starbucks indicated, she could be upset with the murder and ready to talk to authorities. All they had to do was locate her.
