by DiAnn Mills
10:12 P.M. MONDAY
Taryn knew it was fruitless, but she had to know how far Shep had gone in building this elaborate scheme. Two more calls would cement Shep’s fraudulent dealings in their supposed marriage. How many were involved? Had any part of their relationship been real?
The first went to Tony’s Restaurant, where they’d shared dinner last night. She found the number online and reached for the pastor’s desk phone.
“I dined there last evening and a particular waiter did an excellent job. His name is Winston. Is he available?”
“We don’t have a waiter by that name. Is there anyone else who could assist you?”
She startled. “Oh. My husband has misplaced his credit card. The name is Francis Shepherd. Do you have his card?”
The man put her on hold. “No, ma’am. It’s not here. I checked our reservations list from last night and the name isn’t listed. Are you sure you have the right restaurant? This is Tony’s.”
“So you don’t have a record of us being there?”
“Not at all. Unless it was a cash transaction.”
It wasn’t. “Thank you.” She disconnected the call. The sophistication of what she was uncovering took her breath away.
They spent last night at the St. Regis. Shep had the room key when the limo drove them to the hotel.
“Let’s take the back entrance,” Shep had said and kissed her. “I don’t want anyone gawking at my beautiful bride.”
She called the hotel’s number.
“I spent last night there, and I forgot my pearls. I think I left them in the bathroom. Room 1412.”
“Ma’am, we have twelve floors. Perhaps you were at a different hotel or a different room.”
More lies. “The room was registered under Mr. and Mrs. Francis Shepherd or just my husband. It was our honeymoon, complete with champagne and roses.”
“One moment, please.”
Taryn’s heart might give out before daylight.
“Ma’am, we don’t have that name in our files. I think you have the wrong hotel. This is the St. Regis.”
All physical links of her and Shep’s relationship were supposedly gone. The realization seemed to strangle her. How could she deliberately have put herself in harm’s way?
Taryn hung up. The same man’s name surfaced again. This must be from God because Taryn saw no reason to trust anyone.
CHAPTER 13
10:45 P.M. MONDAY
Grayson scanned through an internal system, gathering more information about Phillip Murford. The man’s work had been solo until now, and he had the brains to pull off the enormity of today’s bombing. But did he work with others to steal the software? None of his fellow prison inmates flagged any interest. No wife or family. What about his Navy SEAL buds? Grayson made a note to do a background on all of them.
His to-do list grew. When daylight emerged, he wanted an interview with Ethan Formier’s widow. She might have insight into the case.
His BlackBerry rang. Not a number he recognized.
“Agent Grayson Hall?” a woman said.
“Speaking.”
“This is Taryn Young.” She sounded weak.
Grayson motioned to Vince and mouthed, Trace this call. “Go ahead, Miss Young.”
Vince moved slowly to accomplish the one task that would lead them to the person of interest.
“I need your help,” she said.
He was FBI, not the Red Cross. “Are you ready to give yourself up?”
“Not yet.” She drew in a breath as though in pain.
She wanted to barter? She needed a good lawyer more than the FBI’s assistance. “Explain how I can help you.”
“I’ll speak fast. I’m innocent of today’s bombing. I have no idea where Francis Shepherd is, but I’m convinced he played a part in something illegal. That’s what I want to discuss with you. I have proof he used me, probably to get access to a Gated Labs project in which I was lead developer. But I can’t figure out the reason for the bombing. Or if he’s connected to it.” Exhaustion tipped every word.
How long could this woman go on after the trauma of today? “Why contact me?”
“Because you’re the only person I can trust.”
Whoa. Didn’t see that coming. “Why?”
“I know it doesn’t make sense. But I saw sincerity in your eyes, a commitment to learn the truth. I want the truth too. But there’s something more important than clearing my name.”
Here it comes. . . . “Which is?”
“I found my best friend murdered in her photography studio—Claire Levin.” She drew in a breath. “Claire was like a sister to me. I want her killer found. Her computer and photo equipment were missing.” She sobbed, then apologized. “Claire has a daughter, a three-year-old, and I can’t find her. I’m afraid something’s happened to her.”
Click.
Grayson laid the phone on the table, his investigative skills wrestling with Young’s words. “As long as we talked, I know you got her location.”
Vince shook his head.
Grayson’s blood pressure inched up several points. “Why did you drag your feet?”
“Might not have been her. So she wants to bargain?”
“Not exactly.”
“Why the call?”
When this case ended, Grayson would go to the SSA about ending his partnership with Vince. “Concern for Claire Levin’s three-year-old daughter. I want everything on Levin and her child. Begin with phone records. Client lists. Family. Doctors. Agent Thatcher Graves is working the homicide. Talk to him.”
“Slow down,” Vince said. “We’ll get the field plowed.”
Grayson held back his fury. But his original thoughts of Taryn Young’s innocence surfaced again.
10:55 P.M. MONDAY
Taryn’s stomach growled. When had she eaten last? Didn’t matter. Nothing would stay down anyway. She’d swallowed two more Tylenol 3, knowing her insides would protest and rebel. Adrenaline and the need to locate Zoey kept her going.
She’d completed her online search for Francis Shepherd. No combination of symbols or words produced anything legitimate. She couldn’t hack into something that wasn’t there. Who did Claire know who might have Zoey? No one marched through her thoughts. Claire had been alone in Houston except for Taryn, Lydia, and her church family.
The image of Claire in the photography studio burned in her mind while her stomach churned. They’d been so close, opposite personalities that strengthened each other. Tears dripped over her cheeks, and she whisked them away.
Right now grieving for Claire couldn’t occupy heart space because then emotions would overrule logic. Finding Zoey had to take precedence. Later, when the path ahead was cleared of the rocks and potholes, Taryn could plan her future with the child she loved so dearly. Images of the inquisitive little girl with huge dark eyes and curly hair flashed across her mind. Squeezing her eyes shut, she could almost hear the giggles. Oh, to hear them again . . . and again. Claire, I miss you. You were my lifeline.
Realization stabbed her hard. Could Zoey have been taken as leverage to get her to cooperate with those who were after the software?
God gave her strength, she knew, because left on her own, she would’ve collapsed.
A clock ticked away on the pastor’s desk. She needed to call Agent Hall back and hope the previous call hadn’t been traced. Picking up the phone, her hand shook as though she’d contracted Parkinson’s. Right now she’d welcome the disease over reality. The phone rang once . . . twice.
“Miss Young?” Agent Hall said. “I was hoping you’d call back.”
“I have no choice but to trust someone.”
“Do you know why Claire Levin was killed?”
“I’m afraid to speculate.”
“Why?” Grayson said.
“I don’t want to falsely accuse anyone of a horrible crime.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Meet with me alone so we can talk. Help me sort through
what has happened over the past three months. The more I discover, the more fearful I become.” She caught the near panic in her voice. “Will you meet with me?”
“Can I bring my partner?”
“No, sir. One more thing I wanted to tell you about Claire. With her equipment gone, our wedding pics are in someone else’s hands. Also, the ones that were in my condo and my laptop are missing. I think Shep confiscated all traces of himself. Have you recovered my phone?”
“Not yet. I’ll see what I can do about meeting with you privately. Where do you have in mind?”
She wanted to bolt from her resolve. Everything centered on the agent’s believing her. She’d been set up by Shep, and the idea of being duped again gnawed at her conscience. Yet Zoey knew Shep. She’d go to him willingly. . . .
“Miss Young?”
“I’m sorry. My concern is for Zoey Levin.” She sighed. “And all the dead and injured today. When I was in the hospital, you said Shep hadn’t given me his real name. Have you identified him?”
“Yes. I can give you his information and background when we meet.”
“Okay. I’m at the church on the corner of Voss and Westheimer. There’s a door in the rear by the children’s playground. I’ll be waiting.”
She ended the call and laid her head on the desk. From the hour and traffic, she estimated about thirty minutes before Agent Hall arrived. He might have lied to gain her confidence, and in a few moments the church could be surrounded by a SWAT team with every media camera in the city focused on her. Along with guns.
Great epitaph.
But she had to take this chance for Zoey’s sake.
CHAPTER 14
11:45 P.M. MONDAY
A light rap at the rear church door seized Taryn’s attention. The ending to Bonnie and Clyde filled her mind. She could do this. Help the FBI discover the truth and find Zoey. She’d written down every fact she could think of, including the problems at Gated Labs and her whirlwind romance with Shep.
The knock repeated, and she leaned her back against the door. “Who’s there?”
“Special Agent Grayson Hall.”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes. You have my word.”
Shep had given his word too, along with pledging his love for the rest of his life. But she had to trust someone, so she opened the door. The agent stepped in, and she locked them inside, as though that could keep out a SWAT team.
“Thank you, Agent Hall.” She stared at him in the shadows, hoping she’d see compassion. “I appreciate your giving me the opportunity to tell you what I’ve learned.” They walked together down the hall, where a faint light from the pastor’s office cast a golden path. She hoped it was a good omen.
“I have one hour to listen to what you have to say.” He swung a look and cringed.
“I’ve seen my reflection in the mirror,” she said. “I’m a little colorful, but I’ll heal. Of course, I could leave here in a body bag.”
“That’s not my intention.”
She believed him and told herself this wasn’t another bad decision. “I’m in the second office on the right. It has a sofa and chair.”
“You probably need to sit.”
She led him to where she’d taken residence. Would he jam a gun into her back and slap handcuffs on her wrists? She swallowed hard. “It’s very quiet. A little unsettling.”
“Doubt if the building is haunted.”
“Depends on what spirits are here.”
He chuckled. “Good call.”
“Are you wired with a team waiting outside?”
His brows narrowed. “No, and I’m taking a risk.”
“Why?”
“A hunch. Against FBI protocol. Never mind my reasoning.”
They sat on opposite ends of the sofa. This was a beginning to push the past several hours in the right direction.
“What do you have to tell me?” Hall said.
Her hands shook. “I’ve been so stupid. Now I’m angry at myself for thinking Shep cared.”
“What caused you to reach out to me?”
“Putting pieces together . . . and a feeling in my spirit.” That sounded lame. “Not a woman’s intuition but a spiritual urge.”
He nodded as if he understood. “Has Shep contacted you?”
“I saw him earlier tonight. He threatened me.”
“Where? What did he say?”
She envied how he looked so relaxed. “A bus stop several blocks back. I’m sorry. I was so upset, and I don’t remember which one. Finding Claire in her studio put me into a panic state. Anyway, I stopped at a couple of places to search for more information about Zoey and Shep. Everything pointed to your being right, but I didn’t want to believe it. Then at the bus stop, I saw a frightening side of him. He became belligerent when I wouldn’t go with him. He said I had something he wanted. That I’d end up dead without him.”
“How did you get away?”
“I know self-defense, as you probably already figured out.”
He nodded. “Do you mind if I record our conversation?”
“Go right ahead.”
“I’ll take notes too.” Grayson flipped open his BlackBerry, pressed a button, and grabbed a small notepad from his jacket pocket.
“Why don’t you take notes on your phone?”
He smiled, the first she’d seen. “I’m a little old-fashioned.” He jotted down what she assumed was information about her. “Tell me what’s happened since the day you met Francis Shepherd, whose real name is Phillip Murford.” He lifted his gaze. “I’m sorry. Should have been a little more considerate with the news.”
The alias cut through her like a knife. “Who is he?”
“A former Navy SEAL who’s done time for armed robbery and murder.”
“What proof do you have?” Contempt for Shep laced every word.
Grayson showed a prison pic of a man on his BlackBerry. “Here’s a photo of Phillip Murford. What do you think?”
A few cosmetic changes, but the same man. She tilted her head. “The nose is wider.”
“Maybe a nose job.”
More events darted into her thoughts, and she pointed to Murford’s picture. “I remember him complaining of a headache. Said he’d fallen playing soccer with some friends and broken his nose. That would fit.” She shook her head. “I feel like such a fool. A whole lot of good my IQ did when it came to judging his character.”
“Emotions can deceive us.”
“Make us feel like idiots. Like I should be in a straitjacket.”
“Understand you’re doing the right thing. We’re circulating his photo on digital billboards throughout the city. We’ve had tremendous success using them to find suspects.”
“I saw one with my pic—and the $15,000 reward for information.” Exhaustion had almost overtaken her.
“How did you meet him?”
“At a party given by Gated Labs. I detest those things, but it’s a part of the working environment. He introduced himself to me, and I thought he was a new employee, but he said Haden Rollins invited him. That was the weekend after Memorial Day.”
“Did he and Rollins spend time together during the party?”
“No. Shep . . . Murford never left my side. We didn’t talk much in the beginning. I can be incredibly shy at social functions. Total social misfit.”
“You’re doing fine with me.”
“I’m motivated.”
“Good for you.”
Agent Hall could not begin to fathom what she felt—betrayed and hunted. “I thought he really knew me. For the first time, a man admired me, seemed to respect my individuality. He said and did all the things that mattered. Was attentive but didn’t smother me.” Details rushed through her. “He must have had access to everything about me. Suggested my favorite restaurants. Where I shopped for clothes. Understood how much I loved my Lhasa apso. He even expressed concern about Bentley’s ears and how all his hair easily matted and needed special care. Why didn’t I question
the coincidences?” She pressed her lips together. “Of course he knew all about me. Money and technology can buy anything.”
“Unfortunately you’re right. What other kinds of things are you referring to, the things that mattered?”
Please, don’t be playing my friend to trick me into something. “He said he preferred a shy woman who had brains, a woman committed to her career. Admired my ability to not disclose highly secured information.”
“That’s not too unusual.”
“There’s more. He claimed I was beautiful. Asked if I’d always been the center of every man’s eye.” She offered Grayson a sad smile. “Don’t I wish. He guessed I’d been shy, had bad hair, and wore braces for years. Never dated. . . .” She drew in a deep breath. “I’m doing my best to be transparent. But this is difficult. Not my personality, and you’re a stranger.”
He glanced up from his note taking. “I have no idea what you’ve been through, but you’re doing fine. Where did he take you?”
Stupidity again slammed against her brain. “Secluded picnics. Catered dinners at his condo from my favorite restaurants. Long evening walks in the park. Rented movies.” She massaged the continuous pain in her temples.
“Anyone see the two of you together?”
She thought back through their times together. “Only the limo driver, who also delivered our food—always the same man. Maybe someone paid attention at the office party. Haden. Claire and Zoey met him. But . . .”
“What?”
“I’ve learned he’s covered his tracks for everything we did, so I imagine he has there too.”
“Regarding the limo driver, later I’ll put you in touch with facial recognition to see what we can find about him.”
“Have you talked to Haden Rollins?” she said.
“Briefly.”
“What did he say?”
He studied her. “You’re exhausted. When’s the last time you ate?”
So that’s the game he played. Pretend to care so she’d confess to something she didn’t do. She clenched her fist.
“Did you eat at the hospital?”
She’d refused a hospital tray. “A couple of strawberries this morning before being picked up for the airport.” And the two cups of coffee.
