Firewall (24 page)

9:15 P.M. THURSDAY

Grayson parked a twenty-year-old Dodge pickup on the T of a country road, turned off the lights, and waited for the Escalade to pass. His nightmare had sprung to life when the driver was identified as Cameron Wallace. Taryn’s implant wasn’t transmitting a signal, and the thought of some scum cutting it out of her was . . . He didn’t want to think about it. Agents tailed Wallace by using a series of vehicles
 
—one would follow and turn off. Then another took its place. Wallace drove deep into the rural area east of I-45 and north of Crockett.

He remembered what Taryn said about learning self-defense through hapkido. She needed the confidence of completing something that didn’t involve her IQ. Wanted to kick her way out of her self-imposed “geek” box. She had definitely kicked her way free of all restrictions . . . as long as she didn’t end up on the side of the road.

Reports rolled in on various investigations. Iris Ryan had checked out of her hotel. Security cameras showed a taxi picked her up. She wore a blonde wig, jeans, and a low-cut shirt, but facial software detected her. Her real appearance was shoulder-length dark hair and blue eyes. In her professional facade, she dressed conservatively. According to the driver, he took her two blocks to the Galleria mall and dropped her off. She paid cash and waited on the sidewalk until the taxi drove away.

Agents scoured the mall, searching and checking various cameras inside and around the area. Another BOLO had been issued. Too many places to hide in this city. The SSA had requested a subpoena to search her New York office, but she’d most likely left nothing to trace her whereabouts or dealings.

“What all do we have?” Joe shifted in the passenger seat. “I mean solid stuff.”

“Not so sure about solid, but here’s my list: Vince refuses to talk, and his son’s too selfish to cooperate. Murford’s dead. Breckon’s dead. Jose Pedraza is scared, but he’s protecting his rear by not telling the truth. Rollins named Iris Ryan as the mastermind, and she’s on the run. Kinsley Stevens was used like Taryn. Cameron Wallace is our indication that someone bigger than Iris Ryan is behind it. Probably international, and most think Iran is involved.” He swung a quick look at Joe. “How’s that?”

“A mess.”

“Yet I think we’re on the right trail with Wallace nabbing Taryn,” Grayson said.

“Are you regressing to your old theory?”

“Not really.” He’d voice his opinion when he had substantial proof.

“Where can we get the most bang for the buck?”

Grayson rolled down the window for cooler air. “Haden Rollins. He’s obviously in love with Kinsley. But he’s keeping a few details to himself. I want to see all the interview transcripts.”

“I’ll see if the latest is available,” Joe said, his eyes glued to his BlackBerry. “He sure was quick to ask for witness protection.”

“Iris Ryan may have used blackmail,” Grayson said. “Threatened Kinsley. But he’ll need to give us more information first.”

“Kinda tough to remain loyal to a boss who has a habit of eliminating those who work for her. Hey, I have a report on Rollins’s latest interview.” Joe whistled. “Looks like Miss Iris gave him an assignment he couldn’t handle.”

“My guess is it’s murder.”

“Right. Listen to the list
 
—Zoey Levin, the woman with her, Kinsley Stevens, and Taryn.”

“What does she have on him to make the demands?”

“He didn’t answer. Nothing more without an attorney. Has to have witness protection in writing.”

“Hey, text the SSA to see if Rollins will give us Dina Dancer’s real name.”

A moment later Joe stuck his BlackBerry back into his pocket.

“I bet he knows where Zoey’s being kept,” Grayson said. “Thinks he can trump his plea bargain.”

Grayson’s phone signaled him. “Wallace is a mile back. No headlights.” He backed up a few yards and reached for night goggles. When the Escalade came into view, Grayson drove to the turnoff.

10:09 P.M. THURSDAY

Taryn had never been afraid of the dark. Her fears were emotional from years of rejection
 
—the cruelty of kids because she loved math and science and was painfully shy. Great combo for a misfit. Friends were a precious commodity, and the only one during those awkward years was another socially misfit girl. Like Taryn, the other girl recognized the difference between herself and others. Neither she nor Taryn could figure out how to get past the jeers, the isolation. So they gave up and found solace in their companionship. Taryn helped her with schoolwork, and in return, she learned to value others for who they were, not for what society expected. She’d forgotten that valuable lesson once she took on professionalism to cover her shyness and lack of confidence. If only she’d understood the wonder of God’s love during those agonizing years.

Claire had seen through her little-girl neediness and treasured her friendship anyway. But the years of teasing and loneliness held no comparison to riding in a vehicle with an assassin. Back then she gave up. Back then her intelligence was a deterrent. Tonight
she’d use her head to find a way out of what Cameron Wallace planned for her.

Except none of her superachiever methods had worked to free her from the monster who held her captive. She had nothing left but an invisible thread between her and God. What was left but death and eternity? How would God feel about her failure during these last few days on earth? Perfectionism and over-the-top commitment to Gated Labs meant nothing when lives were at stake.
Claire said God wants all of us, not just the areas of our lives we want to give.
She had thought God helped those who helped themselves, but she didn’t remember ever reading that in the Bible. Right now she was powerless. And there were things she’d reserved for herself . . . like working when she could have attended church or not listening to Claire when her friend asked if she’d prayed about marrying Murford. Her admittance of needing God a few nights ago hadn’t been enough.

God, You have it all because left alone, I make one poor decision after another.

For the past several miles, Wallace had driven without headlights and made more turns than a carnival ride.

“I need a bathroom,” she said.

“Hold it.”

“The seat’s going to get wet.”

“Not my vehicle.”

“Urine smells.”

He cursed. “We’ll have to pull over. Don’t even think of trying to get away.”

“I bet you don’t get paid unless you deliver me.”

“The key word is
alive
. I don’t care how shallow your breathing is. So I’ll be holding your hand.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. Stand over me with the gun.”

“Whatever.” He cursed again and opened the door, the only light except for a farmhouse in the distance. Where were the FBI agents? Had they lost Wallace when he drove with his lights off?

“I’ve seen your hapkido. Coming after me is a bad choice. Not only will I find you and cut out your heart, but Zoey will be dead too.”

“You said you knew nothing about her.” Was there no end to this evil?

“Guess you can’t trust me. What’s your answer?”

“I . . . I understand.”

“Good. I love a cooperative woman.”

I can do this.
“Do you have any tissue paper?” she said.

“This model isn’t upgraded.”

How could she stall him? Where could she run? The hours of training . . . the instructor putting her through what-if situations that involved quick thinking and even faster reactions. Wouldn’t he be more trained with a gun than in hand-to-hand combat?

She’d not come this far to let the other side win. God was with her, right?

The passenger door opened, and Wallace stepped back, his pistol in his left hand and his body shielded by the door. The keys lay in the console. Her only edge would be surprise, and her skills were based on using her attacker’s strength.

“Slide those long legs of yours to the ground,” he said. “Move to the right and the rear. This gun can inflict pain without killing you.”

She touched her head while slowly turning in her seat.

“Hurry up. What’s the problem now?”

“Look, I’m not whining. But in the last four days, I’ve managed two concussions, and my head hurts. I’m dizzy, not that it matters to you.”

“Right. You needed a pit stop, and I’m being a gentleman. You fall, you pick yourself up. The best have tried to trick me, and they paid for it.”

She slid from the seat, still holding on to her head with her left hand, the hand nearest his throat if she could act fast. To keep their location hidden, he’d have to close the door.

Her one downfall when taking advanced self-defense was timing. Too often she reacted early. Taking slow steps, she moved toward the rear of the Escalade. The door closed behind her with a click, just enough to extinguish the light. Her mind registered an image of where he’d be standing.

She whirled around, landing a punch to his throat with her left hand while knocking the gun from his hand with her right. He staggered back but quickly regained momentum and landed a sharp blow to her left arm. The bone snapped. Excruciating pain fueled her adrenaline, and she kicked his groin. He doubled over, and she squeezed back into the passenger side of the vehicle, locking the door.

She dragged herself over the console to the driver’s side and locked that door. Pressing the engine to life, she slammed the Escalade into drive and sped away, leaving Wallace and gravel in her wake.

How quickly would he find his gun?

Where were the lights on this thing?

A bullet cracked the rear window and she pushed harder on the gas. But she couldn’t see. Another bullet zoomed past her ear. She used her right hand to flip on the headlights. The road ahead brightened. She looked for signs of other vehicles. Nothing. On the left a barn emerged. She needed help soon with the agony in her arm. Blinking back the need to fall under a dark spell, she drove farther, ensuring miles between her and Wallace.

But Wallace had his phone. He’d make a call, and she had no idea the difference between the vehicles belonging to the FBI and those associated with Wallace. She’d have to walk for help. No choice.

10:57 P.M. THURSDAY

Through night goggles, Grayson drove without his headlights. He could see roughly three hundred yards, but he was a safety hazard to other drivers. Wallace had taken one turn after another in an attempt to lose them. Maybe he’d succeeded because none of the FBI could figure out where he’d gone. Time and speed calculations indicated he’d slipped by them or reached his destination. Either alternative left a bitter taste in Grayson’s mouth.

“Out here in the middle of nowhere, he could have pulled off the road until he saw us pass,” Joe said.

“That’s risky unless he has means to track us.” Grayson studied the area to their right and left. “Lots of trees. Guess he could hide there beyond our vision.”

“Or hold a family hostage.” Joe brought up a special app on his BlackBerry system to show real-time traffic based on GPS signals and cell tower triangulation. “But that means more people he’d have to eliminate, and Wallace is known as a loner. Get in and get the job done, then slide back under a rock.” He pointed to phones on the map. “These are ours. The other three are unknown.”

Grayson pointed to the screen. “Let’s check on this one about a mile and a half away.”

Joe informed the other agents and held his phone. “I can’t figure out why a professional assassin would nab Taryn. I can see
how her credentials are critical for a deal tomorrow, especially with the scheduled LNG export. But Wallace is way out of his typical job.”

Grayson sorted through his thoughts and shoved ideas into place. He had to separate his feelings for Taryn from the case’s facts. “Her skills are right up at the top, which she’s proved with her past successes. She could develop any kind of program someone might need. The right people could force her to work on designing other projects
 
—especially if they had Zoey.”

Joe dropped his phone into his pocket. “Do you suppose they have that little girl hidden out here, or is this just a lure?”

“Hard to say. Taryn drove north because of the evidence near Huntsville State Park. Wallace followed and intercepted her at the convenience store, but he didn’t turn around. Unless it was a maneuver to throw us off.”

“Which brings us back to how is Wallace involved?”

“Taryn may not be the target,” Grayson said. “If she’d been on his hit list, he’d have taken her out a long time ago. Who else would Iris Ryan want dead?”

“She managed to get rid of most of those who could have testified against her. But who does she want dead in addition to getting her hands on Taryn? I have no clue because none of those we’ve interviewed were high profile.”

Joe slapped the dashboard. “We’ve gone too long without sleep. We keep circling the situation and running into one obstacle after another. What do you know about Iris Ryan?”

“She’s the ice queen of Wall Street and an expert in all the ruthless tactics known to big business. I read where she warned the other traders she’d leave footprints on their graves and dead flowers for their widows and girlfriends.”

“Sounds like ‘ice queen’ is a generous title. Personal life?”

“Very private. Only a few close friends, and they won’t comment on their relationship. Parents deceased. No children. Been through four husbands. Each one helped spike her career. When
she became more powerful than hubby, she ditched him. Her latest escort is ex-husband number four, her attorney.”

“Have we talked to him yet?” Joe said.

“In progress. I imagine if anyone knows her, the ex would.”

“What went on before her rise as an oil and gas trader?”

“Only child. Raised by her dad, who had her in a boarding school from the time she was six. High achiever. Best schools. Keen business sense. The problem is she doesn’t care how she keeps climbing. She managed power of attorney when her father was ill. Took control of his assets and left him in a nursing home until he died.”

Grayson’s radio alerted him to an incoming call, and he responded.

“Spotted a black Escalade less than a mile from your destination. Looks abandoned,” the female agent said.

“Meet you there. Could be a decoy.” He flipped on his lights and raced down the road.

Joe touched his shoulder. “Are you prepared to face the worst?”

Grayson clenched his jaw. For almost four days, Taryn had occupied his thoughts in one way or another. He’d gone to bat for her when others were ready to slap on the cuffs. He didn’t want to think about finding her dead.

11:19 P.M. THURSDAY

Taryn limped along the left side of the gravel road, holding her broken arm. She’d found a flashlight in the Escalade’s glove box, but she used it only when the blackness confused her. She faced oncoming traffic, but every few seconds she stole a glimpse behind her. The main road crossing ahead held an occasional vehicle, but those looked like miles away at her pace. Once she reached the crossroad, she’d find a state highway patrol car, the FBI, or someone who’d help her.

Her left arm throbbed along with the rhythm of her heartbeat.
The right side of her face must be swelling because she could barely see from her right eye. When hadn’t she hurt? She probably resembled a poster child for “Stay Away from Professional Assassins.” No matter what she did to help the FBI, her good intentions backfired. A logical person would advise her to back off from a task that she had no skills for. But she refused to give up until Zoey and all those responsible for the mayhem were found. If she survived.

The last time she’d been afraid, Buddy had joined her. What she wouldn’t give to have that beautiful German shepherd beside her. Or Grayson.

Don’t go there. You’re leaning on him because of your own insecurities.

Grayson, where are you? You warned me not to do this, but I insisted.
His words at the retirement center flowed into her head and heart. He understood her issue with trust and spoke through her fears. She realized counseling would be needed to smooth out the speed bumps of the past three months. Did Grayson see her future along that path? Was he ready to climb aboard the train with her and Zoey? Had he given any thought to their friendship with a very needy three-year-old? God help him if he chose to take on her baggage.

To keep her mind occupied, she thought back through the evening since encountering Cameron Wallace
 
—the things he’d said that Grayson could use. Very little, actually.

She’d barely come two miles, and dizziness wanted to overtake her. How fast would Cameron walk? Fearing she’d faint and fall on her left side, she sank to the ground. A little rest and she’d move on.

Blackness enveloped her, and she gave in to the relief from pain and her jumbled thoughts.