by Juno Rushdan
Father. Mentor. Friend. The one man who’d taught him how to be strong, the meaning of courage, the importance of sacrifice for the greater good.
“I stay in touch with Hannah. She’s always been a surrogate mom to me. We don’t talk often, and she doesn’t see me nearly as much as she’d like, but I don’t know what I’d do without her.”
“I’d love to meet her and hear stories about you as a child.”
Stark wariness scraped him raw. The comment was premature. Contemplating the future while stuck in the thick of war was tempting fate. But it was a testament to her optimism and faith in him to get them through this alive.
“I can’t think past tomorrow.”
Willow sagged against him, arm slackening over his torso, hand slipping from his body. “I want this. Whatever this is between us.”
He was the only man she’d ever really been with, and she was on the run for her life. Safe bet she didn’t really know what she wanted. “You’ve come closer to death more times in the last four days than some operatives have in their whole careers. The need to hold on to something to keep from feeling lost is clouding things. In this heightened state, emotions become flawed and can’t be trusted.”
She lifted on an elbow and speared him with a hurt glance. “Don’t dismiss what I feel. My judgment isn’t clouded. I’m asking if you want this too.”
If only the answer was simple and the question not premature.
“This”—he squeezed her tight against him, memorizing the feel of her in his arms—“is complicated. Keeping you alive and proving your innocence are all I can focus on.”
“I’m not asking for anything.” She lowered her head. “I never should have—”
He tilted her chin up with his forefinger and kissed her, hard and fierce. She was the kind of woman who should ask for everything she wanted, and she deserved a man who’d give it whenever she needed. Not when it was convenient.
She slipped her tongue into his mouth, opening to him. He clenched his fist in her hair, locking her lips to his.
His lifestyle came with sacrifices. A razor-sharp edge required emotional distance to keep from dulling. He couldn’t shake the sense it’d be selfish to be in a relationship with her. It wasn’t easy to be with a man like him. Kelli had reminded him of that often enough with agonizing clarity. He didn’t want to disappoint Willow, fall short of her expectations.
Better for her to have the best life possible, loved by someone who had more to offer than the caged heart of a damaged survivor.
He kissed her, funneling his desire to communicate the truth he couldn’t speak—she was special, and he adored and loved her in a way he’d never experienced before or would again. He threw himself into the kiss, into the blistering connection, in a hard freefall. All the time knowing when this came to an end, he’d crash.
37
Grand Cayman Island
Monday, July 8, 8:55 a.m. EST/9:55 a.m. EDT
Willow strode beside Gideon, headed for the Nova World Bank.
Thirty minutes earlier, he’d left the hotel wearing the bulletproof vest under his clothes for a final sweep of the bank. Once he was sure it was safe, he came back for her.
Smoothing her dress from a tepid breeze as they walked, she gathered her wits and concentrated on the instructions Gideon had drilled into her. They’d practiced several conversational models and come up with prompts for him if she forgot anything.
“Remember, you’re an important client. Speak to the account manager with authority and insist on the things we talked about. Cut him off if necessary, but just stay on task.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
He held open the bank door for her. Strolling inside, she adjusted the sunglasses on the bridge of her nose and lowered the brim of the sunhat he’d purchased this morning.
A zigzag of line dividers snaked up to a row of tellers sitting behind glass on the right. She panned one hundred eighty degrees, glancing over a staircase running up the center of the far back wall. Three spacious offices stretched across the left side.
Gideon stopped near the entrance and scoped out the interior while she approached one of the two security guards as he’d instructed.
“Good morning.” She mustered a tentative smile. “Where do I go for concerns with my offshore account?”
The guard pointed to a woman with gray-streaked hair twisted in a chignon sitting at an desk in front of the three offices.
Giving a nod of thanks, Willow took a calming breath and strode to the left. Gideon was at her side, clutching the strap of the backpack slung over his shoulder.
“Hello, I’d like to transfer funds from my offshore account.”
“Please sign in.” The woman handed her an electronic clipboard.
Willow typed her real name and returned the digital notepad.
“An offshore-account representative will be with you shortly. Would you like coffee or tea?”
“No, thank you.”
The woman indicated chairs to the side in front of a large window where they should wait. Once seated, Willow kept her head lowered and shades on.
Gideon remained standing, back to a wall, gaze sweeping the bank and the street.
She fiddled with her late mother’s pearls, running through the list of everything she had to remember. Make occasional eye contact. No fidgeting. Willow lowered her hand.
Give a soft smile, before or after speaking. Comment with “uh-huh” or a head nod. Ask reciprocal questions. Speak slowly and firmly.
She didn’t want to do or say the wrong thing. This was their only shot to get evidence to clear her. Everything was riding on this. She had to give the social performance of her life.
“Ms. Harper.” A middle-aged gentleman with dark-brown eyes and bronzed skin approached. “I’m Mr. Walters. Please, come into my office.” He extended an arm of invitation to enter.
Willow forced a grin, heart thudding in her throat. “Good morning.” She stood and walked past him as she crossed the threshold.
Gideon followed close enough for his body heat to send a tingle down her spine. They each took one of the twin chairs in front of the desk.
Mr. Walters took his seat. “How are you today?”
“I’m fine.” Willow swallowed past the lump forming in her throat. Ask reciprocal questions. “How are you?”
“Very well. Thank you for asking. How may I be of service to you today?”
“My name is Willow Harper.” He already knows your name. Her face heated. She removed her sunglasses, chiding herself, and took a deep breath. “Did you receive the urgent email I sent yesterday regarding my account?”
“No, madam. I’m afraid not.” He glanced between her and Gideon. “We just opened.”
She nodded and waited for Mr. Walters to find the email, but he simply sat there staring at her. Gideon nudged her knee with his.
“The manner in which you can be of service is outlined in the email,” she said. “I took the time to write it. Please, do me the courtesy of reading it.”
He cleared his throat. “All right. Passport, please.”
Gideon withdrew Willow’s passport from the backpack and gave it to her. She passed it to Mr. Walters and folded her hands, fighting every fidgety impulse beating through her. Following all these new rules had the thick knot in her stomach twisting, but she’d written down the behavioral cues Gideon had outlined and pulled up the list clearly in her mind as if on a teleprompter while he sat languid in his chair, ankle propped on his knee. The only thing to betray the intent behind his relaxed appearance was the unblinking sweep of his cold eyes.
After eyeing the passport, Mr. Walters typed on his computer. “Here it is.” He began reading and frowned. “I’m sorry you’re unhappy with our service and would like to withdraw the full amount from the account. Ms. Harper, you’re a valued client and we�
��d hate to lose you. Surely, we can find some way to fix whatever—”
“No. I’ve made up my mind.” She and Gideon had gone over many versions of this sidetrack tactic. “As I’ve stated in the email, I’d like to wire transfer five hundred thousand.”
“I’ll need your current account number and the bank information for the new—”
“In the email, I included a temporary SharePoint link to my financial information, both for my account with you as well as the one for the wire transfer.” She added a smile, not too broad, tight-lipped, reminding herself to maintain eye contact.
“SharePoint?” He considered her, his eyes narrowed, and dread churned in her gut. “Efficient way to stay organized and have everything you need at your fingertips.” Mr. Walters moved the mouse, his index finger lifted, hovering in the air a second, and left-clicked.
They were in. She released a long, subtle breath.
“Address, account and routing numbers. Excellent. You seem to have more than I need, really. I wish all our clients were as prepared as you. I do wish you’d reconsider—”
“Also, I want to withdraw the remainder of my balance in cash.”
Mr. Walters’s eyes grew wide. “Excuse me, madam. Did you say in cash?”
“Yes, and I’d like it immediately.”
He adjusted his tie and straightened. “Ms. Harper, your request is quite irregular. Clients always prefer to wire their money. It’s safer and easier. Why would you want to risk carrying so much cash?”
Willow swallowed thickly, hoping there was no hint of alarm on her face. She sorted through the choice of responses wallpapered on her mind and said, “That’s none of your business.”
Mr. Walters blinked rapidly and took a long sip of coffee, then folded his hands atop the desk. “Madam, I mean no disrespect, but won’t you be concerned about your safety?”
“No. That’s why I have him.” She gestured to Gideon, who gave a tight smile.
“I’m afraid it’s our policy that we need twenty-four hours to fulfill such a request,” Mr. Walters said. “At the very least, we’d need until the end of the business day.”
“And you wonder why I’m unhappy with your service? I have several important associates who use this bank. Perhaps I should recommend that they transfer their accounts as well.” She was aiming for nonchalant but feared she might’ve overshot toward desperate.
Mr. Walters cleared his throat. Sweat beaded his forehead. “Let me speak with my boss.”
He pressed a combination of two buttons on the keyboard at the same time—most likely locking his screen—grabbed her passport, and headed for the door.
“A moment of your patience, please, while I see how we can best accommodate you.”
Mr. Walters taking her passport hadn’t been part of the plan or the models they’d rehearsed. She shot a look at Gideon and began drumming her thigh.
He rested a hand on top of hers, stilling her fingers. “Everything will be fine.”
Willow clasped her hands in her lap.
“Make yourselves comfortable. I apologize for the delay.” Mr. Walters hightailed it out of the office, shutting the door behind him.
Glancing over her shoulder, she watched him skedaddle upstairs. A panicky unease bubbled inside her. “What do we do?”
Willow turned to find Gideon behind the desk in front of the computer. She’d never heard him move.
“Come on. Use your back door to get in and save the files.” He waved the thumb drive at her.
They’d spent three days waiting for this, and now things were moving at high speed.
She flew to her feet, zipping around to the other side of the desk. At the blinking password prompt, she entered her preestablished rootkit code, which the operating system recognized as an administrator log-in.
“We’re in.” She accessed the offshore account files and typed in her name.
Gideon kept an eye on the lobby from the door, waiting for a sign of Mr. Walters. “Hurry, Willow. Once he comes back, we may not get another opportunity.”
Scrolling through the fake data in her staged account as quickly as her fingers would allow, she searched for anything that might be useful.
None of the signatures on the first five documents matched hers. Helpful, but far from concrete evidence. A folder labeled verification documents was at the bottom of the list. A copy of the passport would be in there.
Please, don’t let it be my picture.
She scrolled to the icon, her stomach turning over, and opened the folder. Four documents. One was a pdf of the passport.
This had to be the proof they needed. It had to be. Holding her breath, she clicked the file.
Her heart shriveled to the size of a dried prune as she looked at the image and the photo stared back. Comprehension rushed through her like a violent tide, hope draining from her.
“It’s my picture.” She fought not to throw up. “It’s me.”
Tension cut grooves on Gideon’s face. He hustled to the desk and glanced at the screen. “That’s your indoc picture from the day you in-processed.”
“How can you tell?”
“Sapphire dress. The lanyard around your neck from your temporary badge.”
She stared at him, wind-knocked-out-of-her shocked the traitor had the foresight to use a work photo and that Gideon remembered what she’d been wearing on her first day, three years ago. “How could the bank let someone else open an account using my picture?”
“If the woman was wearing a hat and sunglasses like you are now and had a million dollars to deposit, I’m sure they didn’t scrutinize the photo too closely.” He clasped her shoulder. “There has to be something to exonerate you. Keep looking.”
She sucked in a shaky breath and scanned the other documents. All of them were littered with her personal information, further cementing her guilt. She scoured every file name under the account, stopping on the beneficiary form. She opened the document and scrolled to the bottom.
A cold pit opened inside her like a grave. “Oh no.”
* * *
Gideon glanced at the beneficiary listed on the screen. “Judas Iscariot, LLC?”
“The disciple who betrayed Jesus for thirty pieces of silver.”
The traitor had a sick sense of humor. They needed ironclad proof to clear Willow and keep her safe, and this wasn’t even in the circumstantial zone.
Willow shot him a frantic glance. “The limited liability company is probably a shell corporation, designed to hide the identity of the owner to allow movement of money without it being traced back to them.”
Gideon did a cursory sweep for anyone headed to the office. “This can’t be a dead end.”
They didn’t come all this way and kill two days for nothing.
“Maybe not. Once we leave the bank, I can dig into the LLC.”
“We’re running out of time. The account manager will be back soon to tell you that you’ll have to wait several hours to get the money in cash.” Gideon shoved the backpack into Willow’s arms. “Go to the hotel. Wait for me in the room. I’ll get copies of the files and your passport back from Walters.”
Reaching over her, he inserted the thumb drive and started closing files so he could drag the entire folder to copy.
“I can help, Gideon.”
“Please, don’t argue.” This wasn’t the time for her ballsy spunk. This was the time for her to follow orders. He guided her out of the chair and sat behind the desk.
“It’ll be easier if I help you,” she said, her voice insistent.
A bad feeling wormed in his gut. “I don’t want you here if I have to deal with security. They’re armed. I’m wearing a vest. You’re vulnerable.”
The guards were out of shape and looked slow, but he wasn’t taking any chances with Willow’s safety.
Gideon searched
for the removeable media icon on the screen where he’d drop the folder, but there wasn’t one.
“I can’t copy anything. The thumb drive isn’t showing up. Why isn’t it working?”
She looked at the screen. “The USB port has probably been disabled.”
“Shit.” They didn’t need Murphy’s law today. “Is there a way to reenable it?”
“Yes. We have administrator privileges.”
“Tell me how to do it and then go.”
“You have to use the command-line interface to edit the registry key.”
His heart pounded as time grew short. “The what?”
She swatted his hands away, and her fingers danced across the keyboard in mind-blowing defiance, making his blood pressure skyrocket.
The woman was going to give him an aneurysm.
A black box popped up on the screen. She typed several lines of letters and symbols.
Whatever command she’d entered worked. Seconds later, the account started copying to the flash drive. Her expertise saved them precious minutes, but she needed to fall in line from here.
A digital bar on the screen showed only twenty percent of the files had transferred. It would take time to complete, which they didn’t have.
“I still need to get your passport. Walters will be inbound any minute. Worrying about you will distract me.” Too easy for a nervous guard to let his finger slip on an easy target like Willow. Not a risk he was willing to take.
She opened the backpack and handed him the gun. “Take it. You might need it.”
“Better not to use deadly force on the local security guards.” They still had to get off the island. He shoved the Maxim 9 back in the bag and grabbed the hammer and screwdriver. “Go to the hotel, out of harm’s way. And wait for me. Now.”
Flinching at his clipped tone, she rushed from the office, slinging the backpack on her shoulder. He hated snapping at her, but there was no time to debate.
Gideon stuffed the tools in his pockets, covering them with his shirt, and stepped into the doorway. He tracked Mr. Walters accompanied by another suit headed downstairs, pointing in his direction.