Firewall (12 page)

11:25 A.M. TUESDAY

Taryn’s chest ached from attempting to steady her trembling body. The gunfire stopped. Nothing hurt. She could think, feel, and analyze what had happened. Joe had been right, and by the grace of God, she and Grayson survived. Her arm wrapped around Buddy’s head. He licked her face, and she didn’t care how bad he smelled. Grayson rolled off her onto the grass.

“Are you okay?” she said.

“Yeah. What about you and Buddy?”

Taryn took another glance at the shepherd. Unharmed. No doubt frightened, as she was. “We’re good.” She focused on Grayson. Blood stained through his bandaged side. “You need medical help.”

“I’ll take care of it after we’re clear of this place. I heard car doors slam. Two of them.”

So had she.

He struggled to his feet, Glock in hand.

“Are they waiting for us, Grayson? Or are they sure we were in the house?”

“We’re about to find out.” His gaze panned the area.

“Hand me the extra gun.” Rage burned in her stomach. Everyone who tried to help had been targeted.

“You don’t know how to use it.”

“Doesn’t take much technology to pull a trigger.” She’d come close to killing Murford with her bare hands. Taking a life went against all she believed and advocated, but she’d do whatever it took to block the road of the greedy and end this nightmare.

“And you’d kill us. Stick to what you do best.”

“Okay. So what’s the plan?” Taryn whispered as though those who wanted him dead and her in their clutches might hear. “Other than staying alive?”

He pointed to the right side of the house. “They’ll come through that gate or the rear of the house.” He took her hand and raced to the left side behind a gas grill. Buddy trotted beside them. The dog looked ferocious, which might help the situation.

Once there, she anticipated the screech of the gate opening. Maybe Joe kept it oiled, because nothing met her ears but the sound of neighborhood dogs. Something from the gate area had Buddy’s attention, and he growled.

“I’m sure they’re planning to rush us,” Grayson said.

“Want me to kick in the fence behind us?”

“I’d do it, but my side’s killing me.”

She whirled around and kicked in two vertical boards, then two more. Her hapkido practice had been in a private studio. No one had been around . . . danger hadn’t been an element. It was just a means to work off stress and work through whatever bothered her. Whatever it took when her mind flew faster than cyberspace.

The other side of the fence was clear of shooters. For now. She expected to hear a police siren, or maybe those were wishful thoughts for a quick rescue. A white car sat at the curb in front of the house. Engine running.

Grayson squeezed through the fence, and she followed. Buddy seemed to have no fear. One day she’d figure out the purpose of her angel dog
 
—where he came from and why he’d befriended her, like Grayson. She kept tossing a look over her shoulder, expecting an armed man to aim and fire. Yet she knew Buddy would warn them.

“Stay with me.” Grayson crept along the side of the brick house until they reached the front corner. He pressed in numbers and requested backup. Sliding the phone back into his pocket, he turned to her. “A driver’s waiting. That means at least two more to deal with. One of them might be in the house. But my guess is they will come from behind.”

She studied the driver. He held a gun in his right hand. “He looks like George Breckon. Great. Trouble in every direction. We’re toast.”

“Depends. I’d like to have a few answers, but I doubt he’ll let me arrest him.”

Breckon emerged from the car with a phone to his ear. He dropped it into his pocket and checked the clip on his gun.

“FBI. You’re surrounded,” Grayson shouted.

Breckon aimed in their direction, and Grayson fired.

Breckon slumped over the hood of the car and disappeared onto the pavement.

Where were the police? The FBI? Glass littered the front yard. Grayson’s and Joe’s homey setting looked like a demolition site. Buddy brushed against her legs. She was finished with all the tragedies.

“I’m going to bargain with them.” Her gaze darted back and forth to where the danger lurked. “They want access to Nehemiah.”

“Then they’d kill you.”

“It would buy time.”

“Listen, superwoman, neither Buddy nor I will allow it. Look, these guys will promise anything to get you out in the open. They’re in the business of extracting information and eliminating the source.”

An image of Zoey’s sweet face and dark curls cut through her heart.

And the nightmarish disregard for human dignity.

“Backup will be here soon, and those guys know it. Right now, without a getaway vehicle, they need to get the job done or hoof it.”

A siren sounded in the distance. The FBI wouldn’t give an alarm. One man rushed from the front door. Murford. Why wasn’t she surprised. A moment later, a second bolted from the opposite side of the house.

“Stop! FBI!” Grayson leveled his weapon.

The two dashed across the street and jumped over a fence, but not before Grayson squeezed a bullet into the second man’s shoulder. Murford raced away.

A car sped down the street with two police vehicles behind it. More police cars stopped, and Grayson pointed to where the men had disappeared. Two plainclothes men and an HPD officer hurried in that direction. A female officer who looked like a defensive end made her way toward Grayson and Taryn.

Buddy growled, and Taryn attempted to relax him. He didn’t have a collar, so if he took off after the officer, she’d shoot Buddy. “It’s okay,” Taryn whispered. “We’ll be all right.”

“Control that dog,” the officer said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Taryn said. “He’s protective.”

“So am I. Stand up. Sir, put your weapon down.”

They obliged.

“Both of you lift your hands above your heads. Step out here where I can keep an eye on you.”

“Sit, Buddy,” Taryn said, and miraculously he obeyed.

“I’m FBI,” Grayson said. “Can I show you my ID?”

“No thanks. I’ll wait for backup.”

“As soon as those men return, they’ll confirm it.” Grayson’s voice contained an irritated edge.

“Wonderful. In the meantime, you can do what I say.”

Taryn raised her hands. Grayson set his gun on the ground and complied. Breckon used to tease her about being a computer geek. Now he lay dead. Had she grown so callused in the past two days that a dead body meant nothing sacred? She shivered. Life
was
sacred.

She viewed the front of the house. Every window exposed
jagged pieces of glass from the barrage of shooting. She could only imagine what the inside looked like . . . especially where she and Grayson had been sitting. Thank God for Joe’s warning call. She’d done a lot of thanking Him lately. Grayson’s face hardened at the home’s damage. Anger seethed from every inch of him.

“I was furious when I saw my condo destroyed,” she said. “I felt violated. No words can describe it . . . only reliving the same experience.”

“This is more than brick and mortar,” he said. “Joe took me in when I couldn’t handle living at home. He taught me how to be a man. This was my first real home in years. Guess that’s why I’m still here. Whoever did this will pay.”

Deadly determination she understood.

“The home is registered to Joe West,” the officer said.

“My uncle. He’s retired FBI.”

“Where is he?”

“Meeting with agents at the office.”

“Right. I’m no fool. Too much has happened the last two days for me to believe you. How were you injured?”

“Doing my job for the FBI.”

“Right.”

Grayson’s tensed muscles showed his stress mode.

The two officers who’d gone after the shooters returned with the injured man, a Hispanic with a hard face and wiry body. Murford must have escaped. Taryn wanted to believe she was finally in good hands and stole a look at Grayson. Yes, she trusted him and Joe. But what about the other law enforcement officials? Would they lock her up? Charge her with an unspeakable crime? Not look for Zoey?

12:46 P.M. TUESDAY

Taryn gripped the sides of the chair opposite Houston FBI Supervisory Special Agent Alan Preston. His office alone, and all it represented, intimidated her. The man steepled his fingers while fear and innocence warred with her emotions. A bit of indignation nestled there too, for anyone who’d think she’d be part of an airport bombing or steal software from Gated Labs. Grayson sat beside her, but she wouldn’t look his way. She didn’t need to be rescued
 
—only believed.

“I’ve heard your story from all sources,” the SSA said. “Now hearing it in your words backs up Special Agent Hall.”

Did she dare breathe relief? “Then you see I had nothing to do with the airport bombing.”

He poured confidence into every movement, his dark-blue eyes clear. Definitely in charge. “That doesn’t release you from your connection to the bombing or the accusations by Gated Labs.”

Taryn released her hands from the chair. Anger was her enemy at this point, and she fought it hard. “Sir, I have spoken the truth in every answer I’ve given you. I figured out things, like George Breckon’s identity, that you were only speculating. I accessed sites no one in your office could have found and at a speed that left your whizzes in the dust. I secured information and gave it to Special
Agent Hall. What else do you want me to do? Take a polygraph? I’m not an idiot
 
—” She almost swore but caught herself.

“I’m furious that I was used by a man who now has vital information and also attempted to kill me along with all those others at the airport. And I have no clue who wired fifty grand into my bank account or why. Sort of obvious that it’s Murford, don’t you think?” Her voice rose. She no longer cared what the SSA thought of her.

“He murdered my best friend. He kidnapped her daughter. He destroyed my condo. Did I mention he suggested we put the condo in my name until after we were married? He and his thugs tried to kill the only person who believes me. And I haven’t begun to express how I feel about Joe West’s bullet-ridden home.” She told herself to control her fury, but it didn’t register in her mind’s data bank.

“I’d never seen the wounded man you brought in today. The only ones I recognized were George Breckon and Phillip Murford.” She leaned in closer, noting his red face. “I’ve offered to help, and you know my reputation. Time’s wasting while you’re talking to me as though I’m a criminal. I was a victim along with many others at the airport, and I’ve been a victim ever since.”

Not a trace of emotion crossed his face. “Calm down, Miss Young. You’ve made your point. Are you saying you have no guilt in any of this?”

Taryn pressed her lips together. “I disabled Nehemiah after expressing concerns to Ethan Formier, who is now dead. We were convinced of a security breach. He was in the process of confirming the proof. Prior to his leaving for Mexico, I inserted a backdoor program. No one knew this, not even Ethan.” How many times did she need to repeat these things? “I overpowered a police officer in the hospital, and I let myself into a church because the last person out apparently hadn’t locked the rear door. I used their bathroom, phone, and computer. Oh, I ate an apple and a spoonful of sunflower butter, but you’ll find a ten on the kitchen counter.”

He studied her for several moments, long ones, while Taryn thought back through what she’d said. Not one word would she apologize for.

“Miss Young,” he said with quiet firmness, “when the case is finished, you will either be spending the rest of your life in prison, or I will personally recruit you for the FBI.”

Her pulse slowed a fraction. “I can accept your conclusion.”

Faint admiration met her. “I think we want the same things
 
—Murford and whoever he’s working for in custody, the software secured, answers to yesterday’s bombing, and Zoey Levin found unharmed.”

“You know my skill level.”

He seemed to weigh her words. “We know your abilities. All right. You take orders from me, and you don’t leave the office without my permission or an escort.”

She nodded. He still wasn’t convinced of her sincerity. “Where do I begin?”

“Once we’re finished with our interview, I’m having a strategy meeting. My request is to first look for additional footage at Murford’s condo and then secure information about Ethan Formier. We’re attempting to obtain data from his computer at Gated Labs, but it will take time to crack the password. Our people are tracing the fifty grand from Singapore.”

The SSA swung his attention to Grayson. “Finding Taryn Young’s phone is top priority. The export terminal in Kitimat is launching LNG on Friday morning at the same time as TX-LNG in Corpus
 
—regardless of not having the new software enabled and depending on the older version. Both companies plan to follow through unless given a substantial reason otherwise.”

“Those companies want to be the first to export LNG,” Taryn said. “It’s a race to hit the history books. They won’t halt the export unless you stop them. I want to help you find the evidence you need.”

2:00 P.M. TUESDAY

Grayson had showered at the FBI office and changed clothes, thankful he had an extra set for times like these. The FBI’s nurse had taken a look at his wound and deemed Joe’s patch job satisfactory. He’d gotten another BlackBerry, so he was in business again.

Taryn looked better since she’d cleaned up, but the bruises matched the dark circles under her eyes. One of the female agents, Laurel Evertson, a cryptologist who’d been in Grayson’s class at Quantico, did a Kohl’s run for her. Laurel searched through hundreds of messages, looking for a coded link to the bombing and the source of the bank transfer to Singapore. Another class member, Thatcher Graves, who specialized in homicide, processed Claire Levin’s murder. Food had been brought in for everyone working around the clock. Even Joe had a phone and computer with his contractor status.

Then there was Buddy, the ultrathin wonder dog, who’d been housed in the auto shop. Wouldn’t hurt if someone gave him a bath and flea dip. And a big meal.

The shoe print obtained at Taryn’s condo matched the ones Jose Pedraza wore when he was wounded and arrested earlier. He’d been treated and questioned but could provide little substantial information. He claimed Murford hired him to do a job, and the money paid the bills. Pedraza was holding back, and Grayson intended to get some answers.

He stole another glimpse at Taryn. She blinked, and he imagined she felt the same sand and grit in her eyes. She must have sensed his attention because she focused on him.

“What’s going on?” she said.

Caught, Grayson.
Staring at her only invited trouble.

“I found nothing regarding Murford’s condo but his coming and going,” she said when he didn’t immediately answer. “He knew where the cameras were located and avoided them. So did
Breckon. I think the rest of it could be viewed by another analyst so I can work on Ethan’s password. But not all bad news. I uncovered footage of Breckon picking up food orders at other restaurants.”

He rose from his chair and bent over her shoulder. “What do you have?” He started to call her Sunset, because that’s what her hair reminded him of.
Solve the case, Grayson. Then talk to her.
Two days ago, he didn’t know she existed. How random.

She showed him Breckon entering and exiting restaurants with carryout. “Look at these with Breckon and Murford. According to the time stamp, these restaurants were frequented before I met them.”

“Anyone else with them?”

She frowned. “A woman. I have her back. Nothing here indicates her facial features.”

“Show me.”

Taryn brought up the video. A tall woman. Long, dark hair. Slender. “I’d hoped Kinsley Stevens or Haden Rollins would’ve appeared.”

“Send me what you have, and we’ll see if facial recognition can do anything with it.”

She leaned back in her chair. “Haden and Kinsley might’ve been more interested in Kinsley taking over the role of team leader than sabotaging the software.” She closed her eyes. “I have to be careful I don’t let exhaustion cloud my thinking and accuse innocent people.” She sent the security camera information to Grayson so he could channel it up the chain of command.

“I want you to meet another agent, Thatcher Graves. He works in the violent crime squad, assigned to Claire’s case.”

“Okay. Maybe I can help, or does he already have all the information I gave you?”

“He does. If you remember something else, you can always approach him.”

Grayson touched the small of her back and walked her to Thatcher’s cubicle. He introduced the two.

“Pleasure to meet you, Miss Young,” Thatcher said. “I’m sorry about your friend.” His dark eyes showed his concern.

“Thank you.” She paled at a photo of Claire’s body on his desk. “Do you have anything new?”

He turned the pic over. “Nothing more than you already know. Soon we’ll have an arrest.”

Taryn nodded. “I hope to aid in that process.”

Grayson and Taryn returned to her desk. She slid into the chair, her shoulders slumped. “I’m concerned about Ethan’s widow,” she said. “A dear lady who supported Ethan.”

“Agents interviewed her. She said he’d been in a hurry to get home from Mexico City. Told her he’d learned about disturbing issues at Gated Labs. Said heads would roll on Monday afternoon.”

“Mrs. Formier had no reason to fabricate anything.”

As Grayson had thought, Taryn had no new information about the widow to help them. “Mrs. Formier expressed concern about you.”

“I’m not surprised.” Taryn glanced at her fingers, still poised over the keyboard.

“You need sleep,” Grayson said. “Are you taking the pain meds?”

“Not the prescription ones. I’m using Tylenol. Anyway, I’ll rest after I make progress on accessing Ethan’s files.”

“We’ll have Special Agent Laurel Evertson give you a hand with that.”

Grayson’s BlackBerry rang. The SSA. “Yes, sir. We’ll be right there.” He disconnected the call. “This should be interesting.”

“Does it include me?”

“Yes, and Joe.”

“What’s going on?”

“Brad Patterson is here.”