Firewall

by DiAnn Mills

  “But you don’t have enough evidence to arrest him.”

  “Right. That’s why Joe was brought in. The two used to work together.”

  “So Joe’s aware?”

  “Yes. Vince could lead us to whoever bombed the airport.”

  CHAPTER 27

  3:45 P.M. TUESDAY

  Taryn hit Send on the e-mail to a hacker who knew all the available illegal jobs. They’d corresponded in the past, and she’d gone to dinner with him at a Black Hat conference. A total narcissist. His arrogance and money controlled him, and he didn’t care who needed access to a site or about the possible grave repercussions. If anyone could point Taryn in the direction of who wanted to hack into Nehemiah, it was him. The man went by Save. Ironic, considering. She ensured her e-mail couldn’t be traced. Now to see if she received a job offer for her alias, Julie Harmon.

  She reached inside her purse, where a picture of Zoey was tucked away. Claire had taken it at a nearby park in August, an early-morning shot when the sun seemed to kiss the earth. . . . That was Claire’s claim. Taryn swallowed a sob. Oh, how she missed her. She brushed her finger over the little girl’s dark curls, then buried her face in her hands. My sweet girl, is someone taking good care of you? Are you hungry? I’d gladly trade places with you. Her mind replayed scenes with Claire. Gone forever. Her thoughts dwelled on Zoey—her first steps, her first words, and her adorable giggle. Taryn had to believe the FBI would find her, and she’d be okay.

  Murford would not be so cruel as to extinguish the life of a child who had sat on his lap, would he? Kissed his cheek? But look what else he’d done. Reality left a bitter taste in her mouth.

  Taryn clenched her fists. Hope would get her through this. Hope would build her future with Claire’s daughter. Hope would fuel the FBI and others to find answers.

  How would she provide for herself and Zoey? Her reputation as a software developer had been destroyed. Who would ever trust her? The media had done a tremendous job of making Taryn look like America’s number one enemy. Unfortunately some journalists weren’t quick to admit when they were wrong, and their accusations would stay with her forever.

  Taryn stretched. Buddy probably thought she’d deserted him. Before giving in to sleep, she’d visit the dog. Let him know she loved him, appreciated his friendship. She hoped he didn’t have an owner looking for him. She wanted the dog as her very own, and she didn’t care if her desires were selfish. He was an angel in disguise, a protector.

  The condo charged an exorbitant pet fee for Bentley, and two pets would be like a chunk of the national debt. She blew out a frustrated breath. No problem since she had no intentions of living in the same complex after their high-tech security system allowed someone to demolish her home. Plus, she no longer had employment, although her savings account had six figures. Tomorrow she’d tackle keeping Buddy in dog food . . . and pray a job arrived when Zoey was found safe.

  With her mind dull and her body aching, she focused on cracking Ethan’s password. Most likely a useless venture, because she and Ethan used to tease each other about the password choices of the public, who believed their files were safe. She already missed Ethan, his wit and wisdom, always challenging her to encrypt more layers into the development process.

  “Protect the software” was his mantra. “Remember, the product is only as good as its developer.”

  She longed to reach out to his wife and family, but the SSA had asked her to wait. Taryn understood, although she wanted to grieve with Ethan’s family. She paused and replayed one of her conversations with Ethan about how people were victimized by identity theft.

  “Taryn, what are people thinking when they toss out personal info as word choices? Then use the same password on everything they think is protected?” Ethan had said. “They’re asking for identity theft, and businesses aren’t much smarter.”

  She’d agreed with him. “The ones who change their passwords daily are still heavy targets. Then there are the websites that will do it for them. The users follow a sequence as though hackers aren’t smart enough to figure it out.”

  “How much effort do you put into your passwords?” Ethan’s eyes twinkled.

  “A lot. Totally random. Different ones for different sites. What about you?”

  “Something you’d never expect.”

  “Try me,” she’d said.

  “Like hiding in plain sight?”

  Taryn massaged throbbing neck muscles. Had Ethan given her an indication of where his password was stored?

  The agony in her body made it so difficult to concentrate on the many tasks before her. She craved sleep to heal and help her mind to function. But not yet. Ethan had gone to his grave with answers, and he must have recorded them where she could find them. Of course, she’d been the one to disable Nehemiah and keep the log-in credentials to herself. Tossing aside her own actions, she understood Ethan stored everything somewhere. His file would reveal findings about who was involved at Gated Labs.

  Not to his wife and family.

  Not to Brad Patterson or anyone on the team.

  But the secret must be embedded in a file and possibly e-mails to her. She stared at the bottle of Tylenol 3 with codeine near the keyboard. Tempting. Instead she reached for a cup of coffee. Bad stuff—reminded her of church coffee.

  She searched webmail for all the correspondence Ethan had sent for the past six months. This would take a while. She sorted them according to subject and then by date. The ones sent while he was in Mexico held her attention. Why hadn’t she done this first? She shook her head and rolled her shoulders in hopes of clearing her mind. She couldn’t give in yet. Her body had become an enemy dancing with time.

  She read through Ethan’s e-mails, the ones she hadn’t seen before last weekend. She’d ignored e-mails after Friday. Not like her, but getting married was the most important commitment she’d ever made. She’d never dreamed life could be so perfect—what a stupid dream. The last-minute preparations of packing for their honeymoon included finding nightwear that didn’t totally humiliate her, new perfume, an outfit to wear on the plane, a new bathing suit. Taryn’s throat constricted, and she reined in her emotions.

  Many of the messages were a short phrase—his preferred method of handling e-mail—but when he needed to explain something, he’d detail it. She reread several until she saw one that had arrived early Saturday morning, long after she’d stopped checking:

  Taryn,

  Keep a heads-up on your suspicions. I’m doing a little digging here. Don’t like what I see.

  Document everything. Protect your project at all costs, and keep me posted.

  Ethan

  Later on she had received another message. At the time it might have sounded like concern from a good friend.

  Taryn,

  Your wedding is tomorrow. I’ve got to be your big brother here. Have you thought about waiting? This is sudden. Is this guy good enough for you? If he hurts you, I’ll go after him myself.

  I can’t connect all the dots at Gated Labs. I guess you didn’t make a decision about Nehemiah. We have to work together on this.

  Ethan

  Taryn,

  Nehemiah dots are driving me crazy. The bugs that someone is planting threaten everything you and I have worked hard to accomplish. We tested for those things. My suspicions are playing out, and it’s bizarre.

  I know who’s involved. Please send me any changes you’ve made to the project.

  Ethan

  Taryn,

  My life’s in danger. Be careful. Good thing you’re leaving on your honeymoon. You’ll be safe. Forget what I said about waiting to get married.

  We’ll talk when you get back.

  Ethan

  Taryn,

  99% sure this is bigger than we thought. Get a burner phone and call me as soon as possible.

  Every thirty days life changes.

  Ethan

  Three hours later, when she was supposedly Mrs. Francis Shepherd:

  Taryn
,

  Francis Shepherd isn’t his real name. Please, don’t marry this guy. Call me.

  I’m taking the first flight out of here in the morning.

  Ethan

  Tears dripped over her cheeks. She blamed her emotion on the grief of losing friends, the agonizing throb in her head, and the plethora of horrific occurrences over the past two days. Vince Bradshaw sat a few desks away from her, hunched over a computer, and she turned so he wouldn’t see her pitiful lack of control.

  “Hey, lady, time to rest.” Joe’s soothing voice interrupted her thoughts.

  She stood and fell into his arms and sobbed. Yes, it was weak and unlike her. Yes, she’d be embarrassed later. But she needed another human being. She had no idea how long she wept, but with a sense of embarrassment, she stepped back and swiped beneath her eyes.

  “So many good people were killed,” she said. “I know none of it was my fault, but when so many believe it is . . . it’s hard.”

  “We’ll find who’s responsible. Getting closer all the time.”

  “And Zoey. She has to be all right.”

  “We’ll keep praying for that little girl.”

  “Thank you. Oh, Joe, I’m so worried about my mom. She must be miserable with all she’s heard from the media.”

  “I’ll see if we can get a personal message to her. Lady, you need a bed and no one to interrupt you for at least eight hours.”

  “Where could I go? Is there a cot here?”

  “We have a couple of beds in the health services unit. A full-time nurse is there too. Round-the-clock protection. No one will bother you.”

  “I just need a few hours.”

  “Sure.”

  “Can Buddy come with me?”

  “Not so sure I can arrange that. The area’s not equipped for pets.”

  “I understand. Will you wake me with any new information or if Zoey’s found?”

  “Of course.”

  Would he really? Maybe she was an irritant to the FBI. Maybe they didn’t need her skills at all.

  CHAPTER 28

  4:45 P.M. TUESDAY

  Grayson glanced at his watch before he and Joe entered the interview room to question Jose Pedraza. Vince chose to observe the suspect through the one-way glass. Why? Was he afraid Pedraza would recognize him? Ever since the SSA indicated Vince was under investigation, Grayson had watched his every move.

  “Get this done. I need to get home,” Vince said. “Aaron’s out of insulin.”

  “Why can’t he get his own medicine?” Joe said. “He’s a grown man, and we have a job here.”

  Grayson didn’t know any Aaron.

  “Hey, retired agent, my personal life is none of your business.”

  “Suit yourself,” Joe said. “People died yesterday, and it’s our job to find out who’s responsible.” He frowned and nodded at Grayson. “You take the lead. Go with your gut.”

  Joe and Grayson entered the room and seated themselves at a table across from Pedraza.

  Pedraza met them with a cold gaze. Grayson had tangled with Murford’s men more than once in the last two days—highly trained men who’d been recruited for what? Confiscate a software program from a woman? Bring down an airport terminal?

  “We have a problem, Jose, and we need your help.” Grayson tossed a notebook and pen on the table.

  “How do you figure?”

  “We have dozens dead, a murdered mother, a missing child, and we think it’s all linked to a security breach on a software program.”

  “And you think I have those answers?” Pedraza laughed. “Do I look like the intellectual type?”

  “I think you’re one smart man. And you’re alive because I chose to give you a break.”

  “A break?” Pedraza frowned and cursed. “You shot me.”

  Grayson grinned. “My aim was a little off. A few inches to the right, and you’d be on a cold slab. Looks like Breckon drew the short straw.”

  “Thanks. Maybe I need a lawyer after all.”

  “You were read your Miranda rights and waived the right to a lawyer.”

  Pedraza stared at his hand. “I did. So let’s get this done.”

  “As I said, you’re one smart man.” Grayson opened Pedraza’s file and purposely took his time to leaf through it. “According to this, you have a preference for prison food and thirty minutes a day of sunlight. Or solitary confinement.” When he didn’t respond, Grayson closed the file. “Look, make this easy on yourself. You’ve had a few bad breaks and paid for them. Now the media will have you fried if it leaks you’re connected to the airport bombing. So far, you’ve been a lucky man. Are you going to keep your streak?”

  Pedraza cocked a brow. No doubt he didn’t feel the past hours had gone his way. “What are you suggesting?”

  “You were in the same Navy SEAL unit as Murford and Breckon. Old buds. I wasn’t in the military, but my dad retired from the Marines, and my brother will be a lifer. I understand the camaraderie.”

  “So how does that help me?”

  “Any of the other guys you served with active in this mission?”

  When Pedraza didn’t respond, Grayson continued. “Tell us how to find Murford, and we’ll talk to the judge.”

  “Lesser sentence or witness protection?” He swallowed hard, and for a split second his hands shook.

  “We can let the prosecutor and judge know of your cooperation and recommend a lesser sentence or a witness security option. Depends on what you have.” What did Pedraza know that scared him?

  “And it better be good,” Joe said. “That was my house you blasted.”

  Pedraza snorted. “Aren’t you glad you weren’t inside?”

  “You’d better be glad I wasn’t.” Joe spoke just above a whisper. “Or we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” He leaned forward. “Let me tell you something, Pancho Villa. I’ll forgive the mess you made of my house. I might even suggest a lesser sentence. But not without a solid lead to Phillip Murford and who’s behind the airport bombing.”

  “What’s an old man like you doing in the FBI?”

  “They called in the best.”

  Go for it, Joe.

  “Okay, Pedraza,” Joe said. “Let’s hear what you got. We’ll keep you out of Murford’s way, and we’ll need your testimony in court.” Joe did the stare down, the one he used to level on Grayson when he’d gotten into trouble.

  Pedraza hesitated. Shook his head. “Murford’s not who I’m concerned about.”

  “Who is?” Joe said.

  “No idea. I said before, I’m just a low man on the food chain.”

  “I bet you heard a name, saw a face.”

  “Nope. All I know is he isn’t from Houston.”

  “Where?”

  “New York.”

  “What do you know about him?”

  “Murford didn’t like him much. Said the boss had a temper.” Pedraza lifted his chin. “Took my orders from Murford. We worked by phone. You know, contract labor.”

  Joe rubbed his brow, a sign for Grayson to take over.

  “What’s the phone number for Murford?” Grayson shoved the notebook and pen toward Pedraza.

  Joe pointed to it and Pedraza wrote a number.

  “What kind of orders did Murford give you?” Grayson said.

  Pedraza simply stared.

  “I smell a lie,” Joe said. “We need the truth.”

  “He contacted me for whatever he needed. In the beginning I followed Taryn Young. Took pictures. Recorded conversations. Told him where she went.”

  “What else?” Grayson said.

  “Witness protection, right?”

  Grayson leaned in. “Why are you so afraid of this man?”

  Pedraza’s gaze darted about the room. “Two men from our original team were killed weeks before the airport bombing.”

  “Why?”

  “Didn’t answer their phone by the second ring. It was a message to all of us.”

  Grayson jotted a few notes to run through th
e FIG later. Those hits were done recently. “What else have you done?”

  Sweat formed on Pedraza’s brow. “Breckon and I helped Murford tear apart Young’s condo. He was looking for a flash drive and getting all the pics of the two of them together.”

  “Do you know what was on the flash drive?”

  “Murford called it a tiebreaker. Worth a few million or more.”

  “So Murford needed the flash drive to sell to someone else.”

  “You got it. I guess the boss needed it for something big.”

  “Did you take part in the airport bombing?”

  “We were as shocked as the rest of the world. Don’t lay that one on me.”

  Grayson made notes. Were the agents who explored the connection way off? “Did you murder Claire Levin?”

  Pedraza narrowed his eyes. “Murford killed the woman.”

  “Did the little girl watch the crime?”

  “Murford had me take her to the front of the studio before he took care of the woman. Then he left with the kid.” No hint of regret crossed Pedraza’s face.

  “Did he give you an idea where he stashed the little girl?”

  Pedraza shook his head. “He told us just enough to do our jobs.”

  At least Zoey hadn’t witnessed her mother’s murder. “Did the little girl go willingly with him?”

  “Yes. Called him Mr. Shep.”

  “Anything else I haven’t asked? Things we should know?”

  Pedraza blinked. “I didn’t kill Claire Levin. I’ll swear to it.”

  “I believe you,” Grayson said. “How many others work for Murford?”

  “No one else I know of.”

  “Who was at the church?”

  “The three of us.”

  Grayson would grill this guy until tomorrow if that’s what it took. “Who’s giving information to Murford from the FBI?”

  “Do you think I’d tell you that? I’d be dead within the hour.”

  That confirmed a mole existed. “Give us the name and we’ll make an arrest.”