Firewall

by DiAnn Mills

  Grayson chose not to respond. What could he say?

  “Have you mentioned to her how you feel?”

  “We’ve only known each other a few days. And during most of that time, I was trying to keep her alive or from a kidnapper.”

  “So you haven’t?”

  Grayson swung a look at his uncle. “I told her I wanted to talk after the case was solved.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Joe!”

  “Okay. Not my business. You’re a grown man.”

  “Any good updates? Like finding Zoey?” Grayson said. Anything to get Joe off the subject of Taryn.

  “I’m looking.” He paused. “Nothing that we haven’t seen before.” He scrolled through his phone. “Agents haven’t reported on the address where she could be held.” He glanced up. “This bang on the head has me a bit crazy. Ignore anything stupid.”

  Grayson chuckled. “Pedraza’s been protecting his sister, but he’s obviously rethought another stint in prison. Did he offer any idea about the child’s welfare?”

  “In fact, he did. He said his sister wouldn’t hurt her. The last time he saw the child, she was okay. And his sister drove the vehicle with the bomb into the airport.”

  A call came through to Grayson from the SSA. “Yes, sir.”

  “We have information on Zoey Levin.”

  He didn’t like the sound of the SSA’s voice. “Let me have it.”

  “Agents found Dina Pedraza dead, single shot to the forehead. The child was not there, but food and toys indicated she’d been with the woman.”

  “Taryn and Zoey are probably together.” Grayson tasted the bitterness of reality.

  “Then find them both,” the SSA said. “Alive.”

  CHAPTER 61

  7:25 A.M. FRIDAY

  I despise driving. Look at some of these houses. How do people live in such squalor? I don’t see a decent restaurant or hotel.

  My cell notifies me of a call. Thinking it’s him, I answer it on the first ring.

  “This is Save. I’ve penetrated the firewall. The software’s been tested, and it’s ready to go.”

  My heart takes a rare leap. He’s late, but there’s still time to finish the deal. “And you’re sure there’re no unforeseen problems?”

  “Positive. I’ll text you with what you need. Julie is off the radar. I’m the one who hacked in.”

  “Great. I need it now, and once my work’s done, I’ll deposit a check into your account.” I hang up and make another call. “Be ready. I’ll text you after eleven Central time to take care of the hacker and his useless friend. You already have their information.” I end the call, wishing I had champagne. The killer has worked for me before . . . discreetly, of course.

  A text from Save arrives. Money is no longer the issue. It will flood in, and I’m basking in the power.

  I text him the news.

  Have access details

  With U?

  On my phone

  Drive until I text U

  I want 2 no where I’m going

  Do U?

  Do not threaten me.

  I wait, but he fails to answer.

  CHAPTER 62

  7:50 A.M. FRIDAY

  If Grayson didn’t find something substantial soon, he’d lose what little patience he had left. He felt inept. Stupid. His only job had been to take care of Taryn, and he’d botched it repeatedly. Those who’d planned the crimes since Monday weren’t clever enough to project what law enforcement officials would do, yet every lead went south. He and Joe had backtracked and covered the same roads twice. Where had Wallace or Ryan taken Taryn?

  The futility of life seized him—the lives gone in an instant, good people and bad. His dad’s cancer bothered him more than he wanted to admit. The wall between him and his dad and brother had thickened over the years. They blamed him for Mom’s death. No one knew that Mom had let go of his hand during the tornado. No point in telling them. They’d claim he lied. All thought he’d sent Mom into the whirling mass of wind that tossed her like a rag doll to her death. Joe had been telling him for years to forgive himself. But Grayson clung to the guilt as though he deserved condemnation.

  He turned right off the interstate and into the small rural town of Willis, passing three churches. His gaze rested on a white Mercedes and a woman pumping gas at a convenience store. Earlier this morning, agents had been made aware of a third disguise for Iris Ryan, and the woman at the gas pump held a strong resemblance to the photo. Spiked purple hair and sunglasses, along with short shorts and a pink T-shirt promoting breast cancer awareness. Grayson slowed and allowed a Honda Accord to pass, an elderly man bent over the steering wheel with a cigarette hanging from his mouth. Not Wallace. Grayson swung the car back around to the convenience store and pulled behind the Mercedes. The woman hung the handle on the pump and circled her car to leave. She did a 360 of the perimeter, climbed in, and shut the door. Perfect snapshot of the woman in the photo.

  Grayson exited his car as hers sprang to life. He pulled his Glock. “Iris Ryan. Stop. FBI.”

  She stared at him through the exterior mirror. Emotionless. Not frightened or angry.

  “Step out of your vehicle and raise your hands,” Grayson said.

  Ten seconds ticked by before slender legs preceded the woman, obviously for his benefit. She resembled a downtown working girl, not the Wall Street type. “Sir, what is this all about?”

  Joe exited the passenger side of the car.

  “Are you Iris Ryan?” Grayson said.

  “Who?”

  “Slowly show me your identification.”

  “It’s in my purse on the car seat. Your partner can get it. I don’t mind.”

  Joe moved toward the passenger side of the Mercedes. Grayson used his BlackBerry to take her photo.

  “Who gave you permission to take my picture?” Her voice held a sharp edge.

  “I don’t need it.” Grayson sent the pic to the office. “We’ll visit here for a few moments while I wait for verification of your ID.”

  Joe held up her purse. “Ma’am, do you have a permit to carry this gun?”

  “Yes, it’s in my wallet with my driver’s license. Be careful. It’s loaded and the safety’s off.”

  Joe removed her wallet.

  “Can I put my hands down? It’s tiring,” she said.

  “Of course.” Grayson nodded. She couldn’t conceal a weapon in her skimpy garb. “Shut your door and move away from the car.”

  Her eyes flitted in anger, but she complied.

  “Joe, is she good?”

  “Driver’s license with name and pic. Not Ryan.”

  “Wonderful,” the woman said. “I have no clue who Iris Ryan is, but I hope you gentlemen find her.”

  “We’re not finished yet,” Grayson said.

  “I’m being detained for no reason.” She arched her back like a cat. “You have nothing legally to hold me here. My attorney will be notified of this unlawful obstruction to my day.”

  Grayson’s BlackBerry snatched his attention, and he read the response. Pulling cuffs from his pocket, he took deliberate steps toward her, satisfaction pouring through him. “Iris Ryan, you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent, the—”

  The woman’s head jerked back.

  A pop indicated a sniper.

  Grayson instinctively crouched, the hair on the back of his neck bristling. The bullet had soared between him and Ryan. Her body slumped to the pavement. A red pool dripped down her face, her eyes wide and empty. He cuffed her and felt for a pulse.

  Gone.

  “Joe, are you okay?”

  “Yep. Sure hope the shooter doesn’t fire into one of these pumps.”

  Grayson cringed. “We’ll all be burnt toast.” He moved to the opposite side of the Mercedes and pulled out his cell. “Requesting backup. Suspect shot by sniper. Need ambulance.”

  Studying the area to the left, he saw that the killer could be in one of a half-dozen places—hiding behi
nd or inside a one-story brick house that had fallen prey to neglect, a detached frame garage in disrepair, a small grove of spindly pines, or a Ford that hadn’t been fired up in ten years.

  Cameron Wallace had struck again.

  Grayson itched to get back on the road and check out the area where Frank had indicated unusual activity. But he and Joe were forced to wait at the crime scene until local law enforcement arrived. Joe looked weak. No wonder FBI agents were required to retire in their late fifties.

  “I’m going to take a walk. Check out where our sniper came from,” Grayson said.

  “Not alone.”

  “You can cover the crime scene.” Grayson walked toward the road with his gun drawn. “If we were in the sniper’s sights, we’d already be with Ryan.”

  “Smart aleck.”

  Grayson gave him a sideways grin and crossed the road. The brick one-story, littered with beer cans, had long since been a home. The recent rains were too late for the burned grass, and fire-ant hills had erupted like little volcanoes. A shame some folks allowed a piece of property to deteriorate when it wouldn’t have taken much to keep it looking presentable.

  He explored the garage’s perimeter, snapping pics of fresh boot prints that disappeared into the woods. A lack of paint, a broken window with jagged pieces of glass and kicked-in boards reminded him of someone who’d been beaten and left to bleed out. About a half mile through a thick growth of trees on a winding, muddy path, a dirt road displayed the tracks of a car. He snapped more pics. The vehicle had come from the east, stopped, turned around, and then driven back. A motorcycle would be nice about now.

  While he reversed his steps over the area and stood on the same ground as Iris Ryan’s sniper, he thought about what he’d learned of her past. She’d turned her bitterness into greed, and now she was dead. Grayson’s father was holding on to a lot of bitterness and facing a serious diagnosis. But Grayson, too, had been carrying the bitterness torch. It wasn’t his fault his mom died, but he took the blame and let it come between him and his dad.

  When he stopped to explore the terrain for clues, his gaze swept over the abandoned home, reminding him of his own empty soul. Time to forgive himself, forgive his dad, and move on toward the man he was supposed to be.

  And he did.

  CHAPTER 63

  8:20 A.M. FRIDAY

  Taryn’s senses quickened. A car drove into the barn. A door slammed, and a single set of footsteps left the area. A click sounded and the trunk opened. Rays of sunlight streamed through the barn rafters, along with droplets of water.

  Wallace stood above her wearing a sickening grin. “Hey, sunshine. Did you miss me?” He untied her ankles and pulled her from the trunk.

  Needlelike prickles attacked her legs, and she fell into him. She hurt all over from one injury after another, or she’d have attempted to defend herself.

  “I know I’m hard to resist, but contain yourself.” Steadying her, he released the gag from her dry mouth. “Don’t think about calling out. Hurting you would be an extreme pleasure. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m keeping your arms bound. I’ve seen them and your feet in action,” he said. “Obeying me is the only way to survive.”

  “I’m not making any promises.”

  “Taryn, your honesty precedes you. The boss is ready to talk. Needed a few cups of coffee first.”

  “Where’s mine?” Although frightened and with no substantial plan to free herself, relief swept through her at the idea of meeting whoever was behind the week’s tragedies. Her tongue could get her into trouble, and she resolved to keep her thoughts private until she heard him or her out. Every moment benefited her with time, and her adversary would know that.

  Wallace guided her to the rear of the barn and into the fresh morning. After the rain, the countryside glistened. Maybe the day would end better than the rest of the week had.

  “To the rear of the house.”

  With Wallace at her side, she dropped the buttons she’d grasped for hours onto the spongy earth. Birds sang. In the distance, a cow mooed. Life went on . . . good and evil. The towering trees and overgrowth gave the area a tranquil appeal.

  Once at the house, Wallace opened the door. It creaked like an old man settling into a chair. She stepped inside the shadowed room, where a candle lit what was once a kitchen. A window adjacent to her was boarded up. Musty smells mixed with coffee met her nostrils.

  “Hi, Taryn. Did you get my note?”

  Ethan?

  She froze.

  There had to be a mistake. Her knees trembled. Ethan Formier sat at a dust-ridden table, a gun beneath his fingers. Beside him was an iPad.

  “You seem surprised.” He leaned back in his chair. How many times had she seen this familiar pose? “I must admit, you’ve looked better.”

  Now she knew what Wallace meant when he said she’d have no problem communicating with his boss. She moistened her lips, anger and betrayal threatening her resolve to keep her wits. Wallace shoved her into a chair.

  Keep calm. Every second alive buys time for Grayson to find you.

  “You have more work to do,” Ethan said to Wallace. “Taryn and I will chat for about fifteen minutes. Return with the package then.”

  For Zoey’s sake, she vowed to listen before losing control. Wallace left the house, leaving her alone with a monster. “What do you want?”

  “Nehemiah’s source code and the completion of a few other specialty projects.” Ethan’s menacing tone was out of character. Or was this the real Ethan, when she had grown used to his Gated Labs persona?

  “Did you set me up to die in the airport blast?”

  “Yes, but when you survived, I realized I could use you.”

  “For what?”

  “For starters, to help me gain access to Nehemiah.”

  “I figured as much. What else?”

  “Two additional software projects according to my specs.”

  “What kind of software?”

  “The kind you’re capable of developing.”

  “And if I refuse?” she said.

  “You’re not in a position to negotiate.”

  Taryn dug deep for courage. This man was not her respected friend. “Oh, I’m not?”

  “I’ll kill you if you don’t cooperate. You’ve seen my best work, beginning with the airport.”

  Taryn attempted a sardonic laugh. “You will anyway. That’s why Cameron Wallace is here.”

  “I admit to using him to his full potential.”

  “If I don’t provide what you want, you’ve wasted all this time, effort, and money for nothing.”

  Ethan lifted a phone from his shirt pocket. “I believe you know Iris Ryan. She claimed she had the info. Said her hacker wormed his way into the software.” He studied the device. “I used her to set you up. She thought Murford and Rollins would cover her rear. My hands were clean any way you look at it. Iris was a fool to trust Rollins. He didn’t have the guts to get the job done.” He turned the phone over in his palm. “I didn’t trust her to keep her side of the bargain, so I cloned her phone. Her desire for power and money killed her.” He gave Taryn a brittle smile, sending chills up her arms. He repeated a code only she knew.

  Please, God, this can’t be happening. “Did you clone mine too?” If he’d been successful, then he had the backdoor, which could expose everything.

  “You never gave me an opportunity, but since I was your confidant, there wasn’t a need.”

  “You did your job well,” she said with all the sarcasm she could muster. “I fell right into your plan.”

  “From the looks of you, I see you’ve paid and will continue to pay. Treachery and betrayal doesn’t become you, Taryn.” He chuckled. “But you’ve been a worthy adversary.” He patted a black backpack slung over his chair. “I have your iPad too.”

  Save had been successful, and her life was worthless. Her destiny sat on the dirty table in front of her. “Since you have the code for Nehemiah
on that phone, then all you need from me is to develop your software.”

  “So glad you’ve agreed to cooperate.”

  “Do you have Zoey Levin?”

  “That was Iris and Murford’s arrangement.”

  How could she believe him? “But you know where she’s being held. That’s why I’m here—so you can use her to manipulate me.”

  “Then let it be my little secret until the timing is right.”

  How many layers did the crimes go? “Are you going to explain to me how the airport bombing played into this?”

  “How much do you want to know?”

  “All of it.” She leaned forward despite the rope wrapped around her waist and hands. “I have a right to understand why you’ve betrayed our country, sent dozens of people to their deaths, and stolen top-secret information. My life’s been a disaster since Monday, and it will probably end here today. I deserve to know why.”

  “Whining doesn’t become you. I’m in control here, and you have no rights.” He took a sip of coffee. “This is not my country. I will die burying every American.”

  The depth of his words unleashed new fear. Up to this moment, her unanswered questions had not factored in the prospect of Ethan involved in international terrorism. She thought he was greedy, like Iris Ryan. “Why?”

  “Your country stuck its nose where it didn’t belong. I’m Serbian. Your country interfered in our business. My parents, four brothers, their families, and my grandmother were murdered by Albanians.” He clenched his fists. “Killed with guns supplied by Americans.”

  Understanding gave her leverage. “Do you want others to feel your same hatred?”

  “I’ve committed my life to it. Finding it difficult to accept the truth?” He tilted his head. “I did an excellent job. Don’t you agree? How did you like those last e-mails I sent? And look how easy it was to obtain my password. Makes me look like a victim, don’t you agree? No one will ever expect Ethan, even if the authorities discover I’m alive. I’ll go down in history as one of America’s heroes. Don’t hold your breath for what’s about to come.”