Blind Trust

by Sandra Orchard

She turned on her computer and pulled up a database. She could input the plant’s characteristics and hopefully narrow in on its plant family and ultimately its genus and species.

  Her inbox chimed notice of a slew of unread emails—not unusual for a Monday. Most were usually spam. She clicked it open to make sure there was nothing urgent.

  One email purported to be from a friend traveling in Europe whose purse was stolen. Delete. Another from a lawyer in the UK, claiming she’d just won twenty thousand pounds sterling in a lottery. All she had to do to claim her prize was supply her banking information. Delete. The next one was from Tom—“Detective Parker,” the sender line read—must be his work email. The subject said, “Good News.” Hopefully he wanted to fill her in on what happened to her stalker. She lifted her hand to where his breath had tickled her cheek as he’d whispered reassurances.

  She felt a little guilty now for taking so long to forgive him for handing her over to the chief during Daisy’s murder investigation. How had she ever doubted she could trust him?

  She clicked open the email.

  “Kate, take a look at this,” it said, followed by a link.

  She clicked it, and in the millisecond after her finger tapped the mouse, a tiny voice inside her said, What if it’s spam? Like the email from the friend supposedly robbed in Italy.

  She yanked the FireWire connection from the back of her screen—the one that connected to the new backup drive she’d recently installed. “Lord, please let the email be legit, please.”

  A red light at the top of the monitor flickered. Why would the computer’s webcam click on?

  The website opened. Only it wasn’t a website. She was looking at herself looking at her computer with flames flicking at her face.

  How did he do that? Words blipped on the screen, too small and too quickly for her to make them out. They blipped again and again, growing larger with each blip.

  You’ll pay. You’ll pay. You’ll pay.

  She clicked the X in the corner of the screen. Nothing happened. She clicked Escape once, a second time, a third time. The words came faster, larger, a darker red. YOU’LL PAY.

  15

  Beth, the proprietor of A Cup or Two, shot Tom a pleading look as he entered the shop, then tipped her head toward the back corner where Hutchinson was grilling a middle-aged woman and her preteen daughter.

  “What happened?” Tom asked Beth quietly. The shop wasn’t that busy, but a couple of tables had patrons stealing glances in Hutchinson’s direction.

  “Vic Lawton’s daughter came in to buy a couple of teas and muffins to take back to the Port Aster Press office. Her mom’s the receptionist there.” Beth folded and refolded the napkin she was holding, “The girl paid with a ten that was obviously counterfeit. She got really upset when I pointed it out, but I didn’t accuse her or anything. I figured she’d had it sloughed off on her without realizing it.” Beth slid a sympathetic glance in the mother’s direction. “But Trish said she got it from her mom and insisted on calling her mother to prove it, who then insisted on calling the police.” Beth lowered her voice. “I’m afraid her boss will milk this story for all it’s worth. You know how he gets.”

  Yeah, he’d demand to know what the police were doing to stop the counterfeiter and get the mayor more riled than ever. He was still irritated that they hadn’t been able to trace the source of his text message. “Thanks,” Tom said.

  As he turned from the counter to join Hutchinson, Beth caught his arm. “And Tom, I’ve overheard them mention Kate’s name a couple of times already.”

  A foul taste slid down his throat. “Okay, good to know.”

  Tom joined Hutchinson and introduced himself to the mother and daughter.

  “Mrs. Lawton claims she has no idea where the bill came from. She shopped at several downtown stores yesterday afternoon but doesn’t recall getting a ten as change from any of them.”

  “Do you have a computer and printer at home, Mrs. Lawton?” Tom asked.

  The woman’s posture turned prickly. “Are you suggesting we printed the money?”

  Tom raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t ask. And I’m sure your boss would be the first to point that out, wouldn’t you agree?”

  She begrudgingly conceded as much. “Of course we have a computer and printer. These days my daughter could hardly do her schoolwork without them.”

  “But our printer’s been out of ink for weeks,” her daughter chimed in. “It ran out in the middle of printing my last essay for school at the end of May. Dad told me I’d have to finish printing it at school because we couldn’t afford to buy more ink.”

  “It’s highway robbery what printer companies charge for ink,” Mrs. Lawton added. “You’re welcome to come to the house to look if you don’t believe me.”

  The last part was clearly a challenge she didn’t expect him to take her up on. Her first mistake.

  Tom smiled congenially. “Thank you, we appreciate that. Does now suit?”

  Mrs. Lawton let out an exasperated huff. “I really need to get back to the office.”

  “I can show them,” the girl piped up.

  “We won’t take long,” Tom assured.

  “Okay, fine.” Mrs. Lawton waggled a finger at her daughter. “Then you come straight back to the newspaper. I don’t want you getting into any more trouble.”

  The mention of more trouble piqued Tom’s curiosity, but he opted to wait to quiz the daughter without her mom around.

  The Lawtons lived within walking distance of the tea shop, so the officers accompanied the girl on foot.

  “Must be kind of boring having to spend the day at the newspaper when your friends are out playing,” Tom said offhandedly.

  “At least I only got grounded for a week. My friend got grounded for the rest of the summer.”

  Tom whistled. “What’d you girls do to deserve that?”

  “Went bike riding with a couple of boys after telling our parents we’d be swimming at the public pool.”

  “Ah, yes, I can see how that would worry them.” Tom’s cell phone rang just as they reached the house. Caller ID said NSA—the National Security Agency—not the kind of call you kept waiting, even if it was probably only his buddy calling to catch up. “You go ahead,” Tom said to Hutchinson. “I’ll take this out here and then join you.” He clicked on his phone.

  “Why’d you call Zoe Cortez?” Zeb barked in his ear.

  “Hello to you too,” Tom said to his friend—a friend who’d helped him track down more than one person during his FBI stint, his partner’s murderous girlfriend being the glaring exception. He shoved aside the resentment that had dogged him for eighteen long months. How on earth had he found out about the call?

  The truth hit him like a battering ram square to the chest. “You knew where she was all along? And didn’t haul her in?”

  “I can’t talk about the investigation. You know that.”

  “Well, she’s connected to a case I’m working on.”

  “Yeah, right. You forgetting who you’re talking to? They told you to leave your partner’s murder investigation alone.”

  “And I did.” Against his better judgment. Not to mention it took quitting the FBI and leaving the country to make it stick.

  “Well, keep leaving it alone.”

  Tom bristled at his friend’s stonewalling. The only reason he didn’t rip into his buddy for keeping his knowledge of her whereabouts from him was that they clearly had her in their sights. “The Zoe Cortez I’m looking for is connected to the arrest of a GPC Pharmaceuticals employee twenty years ago.” Why hadn’t he thought to ask Baxter about her? “Do I have the right Zoe?” Tom tasted the answer in the back of his throat.

  “Leave it alone, Tom.”

  Tom looked at the neat, wartime bungalows lining the quiet street. The kind of street where he and his friends would’ve played ball hockey as kids. But instead of getting a nostalgic feeling, he found himself remembering a raid on a terrorist sle
eper cell on a street much like this one. He hunched forward, gripping his phone tight to his mouth. “You’re telling me we’re talking about the same person.”

  “I’m telling you to leave it alone.”

  Sweat slicked his palms. “I can’t. She really is connected to a case I’m working on.”

  “Then un-connect her.” Zeb hung up.

  The order made Tom’s blood boil. Now that Kate’s dad had revealed himself, he had no reason to follow up on Zoe. But he wanted to. More than ever. And it would be next to impossible if the NSA was monitoring everything linked to the woman. What could Zoe possibly have to do with national security?

  Unless . . . the lab had been experimenting with the amendoso plant for—he choked on the thought—biological warfare.

  “Stop!” Kate yanked the computer’s plug from the wall for fear the flames dancing across her screen might be a picture of something worse burning through her data.

  Patti raced into the office. “What’s wrong?”

  “I . . .” She sucked in a deep breath, shoved away the image of her face bursting into flames, and willed her racing heart to slow. “I’m not sure. I think my computer’s been hacked or infected or something.” She pressed Tom’s number a second time.

  “You calling IT?”

  “No, not yet.” As Tom picked up, Kate pulled the phone from her mouth. “Patti, could you give me a sec?”

  Patti backed out of the room, pulling the door closed.

  “Kate, what’s going on?”

  “The email you sent. I clicked the link without thinking. It burst into flames.”

  “What? I didn’t send you an email. You’re not making sense.”

  “It said, ‘You’ll pay,’ and they were watching me. The flames . . .” Her voice broke. “He could see me through the webcam. I’m sure of it. How did he get in here?”

  “Don’t touch anything. I’m on my way.” The wail of a police siren serenaded his words.

  “I don’t even know who this Beck person is. Why does he want to make me pay? For what?”

  “Beck didn’t do this.”

  “It’s got to be him. He’s been following me for days. Clearly he wants to frighten me. But why?”

  “Kate,” Tom said softly.

  “If it was Brian or Molly, it would make some sense. At least I’d understand why he’s ticked.” Her voice crept higher. “But—who is this guy?”

  “Kate,” Tom repeated more loudly.

  Somewhere in the back of her mind she sensed herself edging toward hysteria, but she couldn’t stop. “Why doesn’t he just tell me what he wants?”

  Minutes later the office door burst open and Tom strode toward her, equal parts empathy and fury smoldering in his eyes. He folded her in his arms. “Katy, I’m not going to let anyone hurt you.”

  The husky promise unraveled what little composure she had left. Her dad used to call her Katy. She burst into tears.

  Tom’s arms tightened around her. “Tell me what happened.”

  “I was staring at myself on the computer screen.” Her words were muffled against his shirt. She straightened and swiped the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. “Then flames erupted. It was like I was Lucetta’s mother. That’s what flashed through my mind. I know it’s crazy. There’s no way Lucetta could’ve hacked into my computer, but that was my first thought. My dad killed her mother and I had to pay.”

  Guilt festered in Tom’s chest. With a few assurances he could alleviate Kate’s doubts about her father. He dropped his hold on her shoulders and backed up a step, hating the feelings that roiled inside of him. The walls of the small office seemed to close in on them. What little sun slipped through the miniscule chest-high window disappeared behind a cloud.

  He shifted his attention to her computer. Everything in him wanted to tell her the truth, to take away the pain shimmering in her gaze. But it was exactly that kind of emotional thinking that he couldn’t afford.

  If her father was right about GPC, revealing his existence to Kate could cause more harm than good. Except knowing that didn’t make him feel any less cruel for keeping her in the dark.

  Her research assistant poked her head through the door. “I called IT. He’s here.”

  Tom raised a hand to block the entrance and further contamination of his possible crime scene. “Sorry, we’re going to want one of our computer forensic investigators to trace the source of this intrusion.”

  “Are you serious?” The anything-but-geeky-looking tech swiped a palm across his sun-bleached hair. “I didn’t know the research they did here was so valuable. Cool!”

  “Someone stole our research?” Patti’s voice lifted with the same edge of panic he’d heard in Kate’s earlier.

  “We have our backups.” Kate patted a portable hard drive that they had yet to check for corruption.

  As the IT tech opened his mouth, probably to point out as much, Tom cut him off. “I’ll need a list from you of anyone with remote access to this computer and any usage information you have.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Patti gasped. “You think someone on the network sabotaged her computer? Not a hacker?”

  “The attack wasn’t random. That’s all we know at this point.”

  Kate’s fingers dug into the back of the desk chair she was leaning on. “Did you notice anything weird on the computer this morning?” she asked Patti.

  “Weird how?”

  “Like, did the webcam light come on?”

  Patti frowned at the computer screen. “Not that I noticed.”

  “Well, if you don’t need me,” the IT guy interjected, “I’ve got other work to do. I’ll get you that list.”

  Patti clasped the doorknob. “I guess I’d better get back to work too.”

  “Patti, wait,” Kate called out. “When Jarrett came to take you for lunch, did he go on the computer?”

  “No.” A moment later the gist of what Kate was really asking penetrated, and Patti’s eyes flared along with her voice. “No! He wouldn’t sabotage our research.” She drew in a breath as if she would blurt out more, then abruptly exhaled and yanked the door shut behind her.

  “I had to ask.” Guilt laced Kate’s voice. “He saw me at Grandma Brewster’s and . . . I don’t know . . . he seems way too interested in the plant I found on Verna’s property.”

  “Wait a second.” Tom’s brain reeled through everything she’d just said. “When did he see you at Grandma Brewster’s?”

  She ducked her head. “This morning. I was out that way and I thought she might know the plant. And I needed a sample if I’m—”

  “You went back onto Verna’s property?” Tom clenched his fists. Keeping this woman out of harm’s way was fast becoming a full-time job.

  “With Grandma B,” Kate said defensively. Then, like a dam had burst, her words tumbled over each other. “I have to act quickly if we’re going to save Verna’s property. The real estate agent was already showing it to a buyer who seemed really serious.”

  This was worse than he thought. The property wasn’t even listed yet. The buyer had to have inside information. “Did they see you?”

  “Yeah, but they didn’t know why I was there. Grandma B pretended to be collecting herbs for her tinctures.”

  Tom shook his head. He didn’t like it. Given their first meeting with the real estate agent, Westby was bound to be suspicious of her reasons for being on the property.

  “Never mind about that right now. I need to know who hacked into my system and if they stole or corrupted any data. That Beck guy must be good on computers to hide his identity so well.”

  “Beck didn’t do this,” Tom muttered, sitting down to examine the computer.

  “How do you know?”

  “I—” She looked at him expectantly, and his insides felt as if they’d been blasted with pepper spray. “I can’t tell you. You’re going to have to trust me.”

  She didn’t protest, just nodded, and her trust only intensified the burn in
his gut. Her father was alive. Alive. And he was keeping that fact from her. Tom shoved away the thought. He didn’t have a choice. Not really. He plugged in the computer, ensured that the computer’s wireless connections were disabled, then flipped it on.

  Flames filled the screen, only now his face, not Kate’s, was the shadowy mirage being consumed. Except in his mind’s eye, he saw his partner’s face and the all-too-real explosion that took him out.

  He wouldn’t let the situation get that far with Kate. He had let his friendship with his partner mess with his priorities, and he couldn’t let that happen with Kate. Yes, he wanted her to trust him. He wanted much, much more. But that didn’t matter right now. She might hate him if she ever found out about her father, but at least she’d be alive to hate him, and he’d have done everything in his power to keep her safe.

  “YOU’LL PAY” flashed on the screen.

  “Turn it off. Please.” Kate’s voice came out shaky. She hugged her waist and stared at the warning dancing with flames.

  Tom tried a few key sequences, and after a couple failed attempts, he managed to bring up the code powering the message.

  “What’s that?” she whispered.

  “The program that the link installed on your computer. It’s actually not as sophisticated as I thought it’d be.”

  He contacted her email provider to have them trace the IP address that had spoofed his email address and that of the link’s webpage, although he didn’t hold out much hope the info would net him a real person. “I’ll get one of our computer forensics guys in here to check for data corruption, spyware, malware.” Tom’s insides churned. If the message could be believed, she wouldn’t escape unscathed, which had him worried the guy planted something in the system that was waiting to be activated.

  Kate dug her teeth into her bottom lip. “Do you think it could’ve been Lucetta? I mean, if she figured out it was my dad who killed . . .” Her voice faltered.

  Tom clasped her arms. “Your dad didn’t kill her mother. Lucetta said herself that the fire didn’t start until after he left.”

  “But”—Kate motioned toward the screen—“the flames. It can’t be a coincidence. It doesn’t matter if Dad did or didn’t. If Lucetta thinks he did, and figured out I’m his daughter, she’d want to make me pay.”