Firewall

by DiAnn Mills

  The older man shook his head. “Actually, I hadn’t put in my hearing aid yet, so I can’t help you.”

  Luke paced the area behind the counter.

  “Do you have information for these agents?” the man said, his tone soft and gentle.

  Luke stopped. “I was afraid I’d done something bad when the other men were here.”

  The older man placed a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “If you know something that can help these agents, you’d be a hero.”

  “A hero?”

  “Yes, son,” Joe said.

  Luke swallowed. “I was taking out the trash ’cause that’s one of my jobs. I heard a shot from the roof and hid on the other side of the Dumpster. A man jumped from the roof onto a truck bed, then got into it and raced away.” Luke’s eyes widened. “It was like a movie.”

  This could be the edge they were looking for. “Can you describe the truck?” Grayson said.

  “I . . . I can do better than that.” He held out his palm, where he’d written a license plate number. “I was going to show it to my grandpa later.” He pointed to his shirt pocket. “Grandpa says to always carry a pen. Never know when you might need it.” He pulled a cell phone from his jeans pocket. “I took a picture of the truck too.”

  CHAPTER 39

  12:45 P.M. WEDNESDAY

  Taryn woke in a stupor that reminded her of a few days ago in a different hospital, where the nightmare had begun. She climbed her way through the haze to think, but not about what happened to Murford because she’d already decided his assassination was up to the FBI to figure out. Instead she prayed for Zoey, like she’d done so many times since Claire was killed.

  Desperation settled on her. Lying in a hospital bed without computer access made her feel useless . . . helpless.

  Her mind rested on Grayson, the kind of man heroes were made from. He’d apologized for not being at the restaurant parking lot this morning when his job assignment had been something other than her bodyguard. When had the attraction crept in? Had she betrayed her wedding vows? But she hadn’t really been married. The love that embraced her girlhood dreams last Sunday afternoon had turned to loathing. She regretted Phillip Murford had lost his life, but she felt no intense grief. The emotional tie to him had died when she realized he was a liar and a killer. How could she ever heal from such deceit? Sounded like weeks in therapy, but she was alive to learn from her mistake. Her dogged determination to always rise above her circumstances held her firm—a gift from God.

  Mentally shaking her confusion about what the future held, she turned her attention to unlocking Ethan’s password, the one hidden in plain sight. That was her goal at this moment, but her head needed to clear, and she must manage the pain without sleep-inducing drugs.

  She thought back through Ethan’s last few e-mails. She’d memorized some of the key words—dots, Nehemiah, wedding, connect, document, bugs, protect, danger, and the puzzling phrase “Every thirty days life changes.” From past conversations, she knew Ethan’s wife had the passwords for their personal files. But he’d stated that his wife didn’t know how he secured his business files. Where? His computer at Gated Labs that had been mirrored by the FBI or his laptop at home? He’d never gone anywhere without his iPad, but that must have been destroyed in the bombing. She focused on Ethan’s personality: fiercely loyal to family. He refused to talk to them about his projects, claimed they wouldn’t understand the technical jargon and it would bore them. That meant the passwords were connected to his office, where the right people could have access.

  I need a computer.

  She hesitated to move, remembering the agony from her last concussion. Using the landline on her nightstand meant enduring the torment. How nice if pain meds wouldn’t put her to sleep. The door in the right corner of the room was closed, and two FBI agents guarded her. She assumed the nightstand sat on the right too. Slowly she turned, moaning all the way. Pulling the phone to her, she pressed in Grayson’s new number.

  “This is your friendly software developer,” she said.

  “And you sound like you’re drunk.”

  “If I were a drinking woman, I’d be tempted to drink a whole bottle.” She closed her eyes and willed away the hammering. “Could someone bring me a laptop?”

  “After you’ve rested.”

  “Grayson, please, I want to work on Ethan’s password.”

  He sighed, and she knew it was for dramatic effect. “Do I need to remind you this is the second head trauma of the week? I’m surprised you can function.”

  “I do have a bedpan.” Why did she say that! “Delete my last remark.”

  He chuckled. “You’ve proved my point. This is SA Hall on behalf of your medical team. Sleep until you’re moved, and we’ll talk about work tomorrow. If you’re good, I might bring you a bunch of bananas and almond butter.”

  “How can I resist? Have you found Zoey?”

  “I would have called.”

  Her spirits plummeted. “Have you arrested Murford’s killer?”

  “Hmm. Who are you going to tell?”

  “Who do I know?”

  “All right, but keep it to yourself. The media coordinator is putting together an update on the situation. So until then, this is between you and me.”

  “Got it.”

  “A hired assassin. We have a name and a BOLO for him.”

  How deep did this go? “Someone who worked for Murford?”

  “Not Murford’s caliber. International type.”

  She wished she could think more clearly. “How many people are involved?”

  “We’ve all suspected Murford worked for someone else.”

  “So if the sniper was hired, then he knows how to stay hidden.”

  “Yes, Special Agent Young.”

  “Pass on your recommendation to the SSA.”

  “But that’s all you’re getting until I’m assured you’ve taken a nap.”

  “Yes, sir. Don’t forget the bananas, almond butter, and Fritos.”

  “I never mentioned Fritos.”

  “Of course you did. See you later.” She hung up the phone and tried to stay awake. Hidden in plain sight . . . What did Ethan have on his desk?

  1:20 P.M. WEDNESDAY

  Grayson stuffed the last onion ring into his mouth and picked up his double cheeseburger.

  “Have you ever tried mixing your food?” Joe took a long drink from his Sonic slush. They sat at a picnic table outside the fast-food restaurant.

  How many times had Joe asked this? As if Grayson had any intentions of changing his eating habits. “Nope. One thing at a time so I can enjoy the whole experience.”

  “It all goes down the same hatch.”

  “It’s mixed where I don’t have control.” Grayson took his first drink of Coke Zero.

  Joe wagged a finger at him. “Control. I should have known. All these years I thought it was simply being picky.”

  Grayson grinned. “Truthfully, Mom got me started on it when she insisted I eat my vegetables before I tasted the food I liked. The habit stuck.”

  “A wise woman.”

  “I agree. We lost a saint.” Grayson had other things to discuss, which weren’t about his mother. He couldn’t do a thing about her death, but he could help solve and prevent crimes. “Got a report from the agents who tailed Aaron Bradshaw after he left the office.”

  “What did you learn?”

  “He visited a bank. Came out mad. Probably looking for funds in his dad’s account to pay his gambling debts.”

  “What else?” Joe had indicated earlier he’d been upset with some of Aaron’s responses today. “He’s about the most immature thirty-year-old I’ve ever seen.”

  “He met with one of his gambling buddies, a lowlife from downtown,” Grayson said. “The guy grabbed Aaron by the throat.”

  “Not good. Any leads to our case?”

  “Nothing. Aaron’s health and his gambling addiction are going to kill him if he doesn’t make some changes,” Grayson said. “Vi
nce deserves whatever he gets for turning on us, but I don’t see anything ahead but bitterness if Aaron’s no longer on the scene.”

  “Glad to hear you’re not holding a grudge.”

  “I hope I’m bigger than that. Hey, we made headway today,” Grayson said. Identifying Murford’s killer brought another player into the mix.

  “What do you think about our sniper? Or rather, who do you think he works for?”

  “I’ve tried to speculate with reliable information,” Grayson said. “Cameron Wallace works internationally. He’s thorough and clean, and his profile is not the stereotypical assassin. No history of being a recluse or loser. Never been evaluated for mental issues. Did some postgrad work in statistics at Oxford. Left the school and entered the world as an assassin. No one ever sees where he comes from or where he goes. Of course, no one lives to tell their story.”

  “High-dollar killer.”

  “Makes me wonder if he’s taken credit for assassinations he hasn’t committed. But this morning he was a bit sloppy. He took a huge risk by riding in a speeding truck down that alley, but risk taking is a part of his portfolio.”

  “He hasn’t built a reputation on being stupid.”

  “He’s calculating, and I doubt he was hired at the last minute. I’ve asked the FIG to give us a dossier on his confirmed past kills.” Grayson paused to put together what he did know. “Wallace must have hijacked the truck, since the vehicle was found east of town, and the driver had a bullet in his head.”

  “What about the driver?”

  “Twenty-year-old student.” Grayson pointed to his BlackBerry. “Info came in while we were talking.” He pulled up another report listing every victim attributed to Wallace. The assassin’s employers weren’t quick to list him on their payroll. “Looks like his usual stomping ground is Europe, and he’s not picky where his money comes from. Intel says he’s killed in the US and Mexico too. Suspected employers have come from the Middle East, Russia, South America, and North Korea.”

  “Middle East,” Joe said. “Like the suspected bomber.”

  “That makes sense. Most countries know how to hide terrorism because we’d pull aid.” But Grayson wanted to delve deeper into the situation. Look for a connection. Although the Middle East had his biggest vote, he wouldn’t rest until he found the answer.

  CHAPTER 40

  5:30 P.M. WEDNESDAY

  Taryn woke to the clang of meal trays. One look at the hospital’s dietary special, and she turned up her nose—meat loaf, mashed potatoes, green beans with bacon, a fruit cup, and a slice of chocolate cake. That would teach her to sleep through filling out the day’s menu. Okay, she could eat the fruit and hope Grayson remembered the bananas, almond butter, and Fritos. Who said a vegan had to neglect junk food? Iced tea never appealed to her, so she reached for the glass of water.

  No word about Zoey. Lord, I won’t sink into depression. I vowed to trust You.

  The pain in her head had eased. She concentrated on how to access Ethan’s files and allowed the password possibilities to float through her mind. She reached for a pad of paper and pen on her nightstand. The best way to see what was in plain sight was to imagine being in his office.

  On his desk sat a photo of his family. The first letters of each of their names came to mind. Although that idea ranked between too common and dangerous, she jotted it down anyway, then backward. She tried the same with Formier. With each arrangement, she also assigned numbers according to where the letters fell in the alphabet and then backward. She listed the other items on his desk—a lamp, phone, computer, notepad, coaster, and a picture of his chocolate Lab, M&M. Using birthdays made little sense, but she could find out his family’s and arrange and rearrange those numbers.

  She started another list—where he was married, vacation spots, first car, name of high school, college, grad school, and where he’d worked. . . . All of the answers would have to come from his wife. What else? Ethan liked to mix things up. He told jokes and loved classic movies, often reciting lines. He had a ranch in the hill country, a getaway for him and his family. A caretaker there oversaw the grounds and fed twenty head of cattle and two horses. Something there, or too obvious? She’d play with all his idiosyncrasies once she had her hands on a laptop.

  She envisioned the tall, slim man with streaks of gray hair and piercing eyes. Ethan, what did you mean by “hiding in plain sight”?

  “You don’t look like you’re napping to me.”

  She perked at the sound of Grayson’s voice. He leaned against the door of the hospital room.

  “I slept for hours, and now I’m working on Ethan’s password.” She drew in a sharp breath. “Zoey?”

  He sat, shoulders slumped, and she steadied herself for the worst. “Looks like she’d been at the cabin with a woman. Clothes were found indicating so. Agents are searching the area, sweeping for fingerprints and DNA.”

  “If a woman has her, then I can hope Zoey is okay.” A woman might show some maternal instinct that would help keep the little girl safe.

  “They left in a hurry. Milk in the fridge. A box of mac and cheese on the counter.”

  “Good,” she whispered. “You brought me hope.”

  He kept his chair at a proper distance. “How’s the head?”

  “Better than before.”

  “But you’re frowning.”

  “That’s because I’m hungry, and I don’t have a laptop.”

  He peered at her supper tray. “I can see why.” He set a Kroger plastic bag on the bed. “Organic bananas and almond butter and Fritos.”

  “Heaven has come to earth. Help yourself.”

  “I’ve eaten.” Grayson pulled a single banana from the bag and handed it to her. He unscrewed the lid to the almond butter. “Want me to stir it?”

  “Please, Chef Hall. And thank you.” She reached for a spoon on her tray, noting he stirred the almond butter better than she did.

  “Do you want it smeared over a banana?”

  “Yes, please. You know my weakness.”

  A flash of something crossed his face, but she refused to comment.

  Once her tummy was satisfied, she studied him. Tired lines fanned from his eyes. “How’s Joe?”

  “Good. He spent some time late this afternoon with an insurance adjuster.”

  She cringed. “Did they board up his windows?”

  “Yesterday.”

  She took a long drink of her water. “Does my mom know I’m all right?”

  He nodded. “We had an agent pay her a visit. Explain you are safe and not to worry.”

  “Thanks.” She wiped the Frito crumbs from her bedding. “I’ve got a concern.”

  “A new one?”

  She adored his teasing grin. “How do you sleep when cases are like spiderwebs?”

  Grayson moved his chair closer, and she welcomed it, though she’d not admit that. “We can’t solve this tonight. In fact, we’re two small players. Tomorrow, when you’re feeling better, we can explore what you can do. Right now let’s talk about you, which is an amusing topic.”

  “I can’t think of any other childhood stories. Unless you’re analyzing me.”

  He gave her a thumbs-up. “I’m just making conversation.”

  She allowed herself a glimpse into his blue eyes. Again feelings rose in her she wasn’t ready or willing to address. “Okay. I’ll give you a little insight into what you already know. My two older brothers are incredibly talented, successful, outgoing, and good-looking. I’m the youngest. My parents wanted a girl so badly, and then they got me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  She shook her head. “I was born a total introvert—very socially backward.”

  “But you’ve always seemed comfortable with me.”

  She’d heard that before from a man who’d betrayed her. But it wasn’t fair to compare the two. “You’d be singing another tune if you’d seen the lack of social skills in my younger days.”

  “Can’t even imagine it.” He drew
in a breath. “Anyone ever tell you that your hair is the color of sunset?”

  She sensed a slow blush rising from her neck.

  “Hey, I’ve embarrassed you. Sorry.”

  “No problem. Anyway, I suffered through a painful adolescence and became engrossed in school. So I pursued my dream of developing software to help industries and companies do a better job.”

  “Good choice. Were you looking for a husband when Murford stepped onto the scene?”

  “Absolutely not. Some of my high school days left a few scars.” She swallowed to gain control of her emotions. “I should have known better with Murford. No one’s that perfect.”

  “You’re wiser for the next time.”

  She hoped so. “Now tell me about you. From the conversation at Joe’s house, I gather you and your father have issues.”

  Grayson tossed her banana peel onto the meal tray. “Lots of issues.”

  “What about your mom?”

  “She’s dead.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “It was a long time ago. Her death is part of the problem.” He stuffed his hands into his jeans pockets. “Are you sure you want to hear this?”

  “You heard my story, and what else are we going to talk about?” She tilted her head. “I’m a good listener.”

  He hesitated, no doubt thinking through his decision. “Okay, here’s the whole story. I had a twin who died at birth, and I was scrawny and sickly. Had asthma until I grew out of it.” He paced at the foot of her bed. “Dad wasn’t happy to have a wimp for a son, especially when my older brother was a replica of a Marine. When I was eight, Mom and I were driving home from Little League practice. A storm blew in, along with a twister.” His brows narrowed. “Mom pulled under an overpass, and we climbed up a bank to the narrow area where the concrete bracing was built into the ground. She shoved me in, but there wasn’t room for her. The tornado came through.” Moistening his lips, he stared out the window. “I held her hand as long as I could.”

  Taryn wanted to reach for him. How horrible for a child.

  “Her body was found a mile away. My dad never got over it. Still blames me. Go figure why. Anyway, our relationship is not good. Dad’s now an ex-Marine, and my older brother is a lifer there. I chose to follow in Uncle Joe’s career path, and that made things worse.”