by DiAnn Mills
“How old were you when you went to live with him?”
“Fifteen. Joe’s a man’s man. Believes in God, country, and the FBI.” He smiled. “He’s the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“Sounds like a great ending.”
He stared at her, and heat rose in her face again. “We make choices, Taryn. The good ones we hold on to, and the bad ones we learn from.”
“And your faith has helped you deal with the problems?”
“It doesn’t make the issues disappear, but it’s good to know I’m not walking this life alone.”
She understood what Grayson meant. Since her renewal of faith a few nights ago, she’d sensed God’s presence wherever she went. Would He be there if she were killed? If she discovered Zoey had not survived?
Grayson’s BlackBerry rang, and she turned to give him privacy.
“Sure. We can do it.” He disconnected the call. “Pedraza’s talking. He said the ones who want the software can trace you anywhere. We’ve got to move and figure out how they’re doing it.”
CHAPTER 41
6:15 P.M. WEDNESDAY
Less than an hour later, Grayson walked with Taryn into a retirement center complex. Special Agents Clint and Patti were already there with Buddy.
She hugged the German shepherd as though he were a long-lost friend. “Thank you for bringing him. Oh, he smells so good.” Her eyes watered. “And he’s put on a little weight. Please thank whoever’s been taking care of him. I know it doesn’t make sense to be so attached to a dog this soon, but I am.”
Grayson felt the same way about her. He pointed to Joe. “His idea.” He glanced around the small apartment equipped for a senior citizen. “Guess you won’t be falling.”
Joe chuckled. “This has more safety features than a hospital room.”
“Very funny.” Taryn stroked Buddy. “Whose idea was it to move me out of the room as a corpse?” Her humor was intact, but her face was white as a sheet.
Grayson held up a finger. “Guilty.”
“The ride to the funeral home?”
“Guilty.”
“And the ride here in Joe’s blue beauty?”
“Me again.”
She laughed and sank onto the couch. “That one’s a keeper.”
Grayson couldn’t resist the urge to tease. “It was the first time you were quiet since we met.”
“I’ll get even,” Taryn said. “After I take a nap and develop a good plan.”
“Don’t mind them,” Patti said. “I have a laptop for you. We women have to stick together. Especially us redheads.”
“Two questions,” Taryn said. “Number one—is this arrangement permanent, or will I be returning to the FBI office?”
Grayson knew she wouldn’t like the answer. “Here, until we have the situation resolved.”
“In the eyes of the media, am I still a person of interest?”
Grayson rubbed his palms together. “Yes.”
“When that changes, will the record show I helped with the investigation, and will the media be notified?”
“I imagine so, but the media is cruel. Your innocence isn’t hot news. Your potential guilt is what the readers and listeners want.”
“Okay. I figured the same. Anyway, I have a list of sites to check, and I appreciate the laptop.”
He wanted to go to her side, but he needed to keep his distance. “You’ll be working on accessing Formier’s password, monitoring the hacker job, and behaving yourself.”
“As in, I can’t take advantage of the pool with all the senior citizens?”
“Not unless you dye your hair white and look eighty years old.” Grayson knew she wouldn’t rest until Zoey was found. But each hour that passed without signs of the little girl decreased the chances she was still alive.
Taryn’s burner phone rang, and she answered it. “I thought you’d call before now.”
She mouthed Save to Grayson.
“What’s the assignment?” She wrapped a finger around an auburn strand of hair. “You what? Worked on it a while longer before calling me? I was offered big bucks for this.”
Grayson studied her face. She’d make a good agent.
“So did you get in?” She laughed. “Face it. You need my nimble fingers and quick mind. What is this about?” Her gaze flew to Grayson. “So what’s the problem that they can’t get into the software?” She listened. “Why the deadline? Got it.” She disconnected the call.
“Is it Nehemiah?” Grayson said.
“Absolutely. Friday morning at six is the deadline. So glad I enabled it. Whatever’s going down happens around then. I can drag my feet, but Save has made substantial progress. I have no doubt he’ll gain access very soon, but it will destroy his computer.”
“Good. And it’s not Friday yet,” Grayson said. “More people are working on this case than you can imagine. I’m standing on those odds.”
CHAPTER 42
NEW YORK
9:10 P.M. EASTERN, WEDNESDAY
What is wrong with these stupid people? I pace. I scream. I swear. They’re supposed to be the best money can buy, and they perform like amateurs. Every member of Murford’s team has been arrested or is dead except one woman. Now I don’t know where they’ve taken Young . . . but Save and his hacker friend will have access to the software before the deadline. I have to believe it or I’ll explode. When Nehemiah is mine, I want Young beaten, tortured, and killed.
My phone rings and I see it’s him. His last call still burns my ears. I’m not a coward, but I regret this arrangement. If I’m not careful, he’ll cheat me out of my share. I answer the phone.
“Is the bombing at IAH still fresh in your mind?” he says.
“Yes.”
“Do you want to know why it happened?”
The whole world wants the answer to his question. He never says anything unless he backs it up with something . . . deadly. My opinion was he wanted to stroke his ego and show he could mastermind the explosion. “I suppose to shift attention from LNG to a national tragedy.”
“Close, but not entirely accurate.”
“Why then?” Tell me so I can survive this deal gone south.
“It’s a symbol. Number one is how I feel about Americans. All of you deserve to die, and I’m committed to making it happen. But you knew my sentiments when we started this. The bombing of terminal E is what I’ll do to you if this fails. Your money, your reputation, your high-rise building will crumble. You’ll spend the rest of your life in solitary confinement . . . if you live past the trial. My web of people is endless. Does that inspire you, Iris?”
He ends the call before I can respond.
I’m not a quitter, and I will bulldoze this junk heap. What if he goes down first? If I shoot him in self-defense, I’ll be a hero in the eyes of the free world. He claims to be in Europe, but I’m smarter than he thinks. He’s not going to guard his pot of gold from anywhere but the good old US. He’s in Houston, and I’m going to find him. Eliminate him before he pulls the trigger on me.
I make arrangements to get to Houston’s Hobby Airport on the next flight out, then fly out of the country late tomorrow night from Dallas. Can’t trust IAH with the extra security measures. He won’t expect me. Either way, I win.
CHAPTER 43
10:45 P.M. WEDNESDAY
At the FBI office, Grayson studied surveillance footage from the airport, before and after the bombing. Much of it he’d reviewed before. He was a single grain of sand on an investigative beach. So many agents had gone through these, but the more eyes, the better the chances of finding evidence. The photographs with Murford and Taryn had been enhanced by manipulating the angle, zoom, frame rate, and resolution. Another set of pics of the van used to house the fertilizer bomb had indicated a woman drove it into the parking garage, but she’d avoided the cameras.
The community had rallied by sending personal photographs from the bombing, sharing Facebook, Twitter, and other social media information, and anonymously phoni
ng in information. All would be reviewed by the HPD, the FBI, or any of the dozens of local, state, and federal agencies that had joined the investigation.
He stole a look at Joe, who needed to be in bed. On Tuesday, Joe had phoned the SSA and volunteered to assist when Grayson and Taryn needed a brief reprieve—before Murford’s men shot up his and Grayson’s home. Now it would take a crowbar to pry Joe out of the office. But the heavy pace aged him.
“How about me dropping you off at the hotel?” Grayson said.
Joe peered at him over his bifocals. “I might have something.”
Grayson stared at his uncle’s computer monitor. “Is that Kinsley Stevens’s Facebook page?”
“Yep. I figure if she’s innocent, she posts everything. And if she’s guilty, she’d have a private page.” Joe clicked on photos. “Pay dirt.”
Grayson viewed the screen over his uncle’s shoulder. “Haden Rollins is in quite a few of them.”
“Take a look at the face in the background of this happy hour scene.”
“Blow it up.”
Joe clicked the mouse and slapped the desk. “It’s Dina Dancer, and I recognize the Marriott bar. Kinsley Stevens and Haden Rollins are part of the party.”
“Blow up this other one. Looks like it was taken at the same place.” Grayson examined each shadow and face. A man’s outline near the bar grasped his attention. “Is that Murford and Breckon?”
“Sure looks like them,” Joe said. “Do we have a family reunion here?”
“Definitely a few black sheep. Send those photos for analysis.” Grayson sat and crossed his legs. “Kinsley Stevens is no airhead. She wouldn’t post pics that could potentially get her into trouble, either with a law enforcement agency or the bad guys. Makes me wonder if she was caught up in something a whole lot bigger than wanting Taryn’s job and sleeping with Rollins.”
Joe did a Facebook search. “His information is private except for those he invites. But I know how to get around his settings.”
Grayson chuckled. “Are you taking hacking lessons from Taryn?”
“I’m old, not senile.” Joe squinted at the screen. “Nothing. Rollins’s page is just a place marker. Didn’t the bartender at the Marriott claim he’d never seen Murford?”
“Right. And we didn’t find anything on their cameras either. But it wouldn’t be the first time security camera footage came up missing.”
“Be interesting to ask him if he’s seen any of the other people in those photos.”
Grayson frowned. “But you should be in bed. I’ll get another agent to go with me.”
“Are you kidding? Miss the fun? How can a man sleep with questions slamming against his brain?”
Grayson stood. “All right, Captain America. We’ll shake up the bartender’s memory. While we’re driving, I want to talk more about Haden Rollins.”
11:30 P.M. WEDNESDAY
Grayson parked his Mustang in a spot near the bar area of the Southwest Marriott. Nothing had turned up on Dina Dancer—a clear indicator of no record, at least under that name. He and Joe made their way inside, where a dozen people lounged in the small area. They sat at the farthest end of the bar, where they could face the entrance.
Grayson waved at the bartender. “Remember us?”
The bald man scowled. “What now? The last time you were here, I lost a waitress.”
“This time we have a few pics for you to identify. You’re in one of them.”
The man tossed his bar rag. “Show me.”
Grayson pulled up Kinsley Stevens’s Facebook page. “We need help here, and this time we want cooperation. Unless you’d prefer an arrest for withholding information from a federal investigation.”
The man took the BlackBerry and looked at the photo. “The others met here a few times. Always used the back door. I didn’t ask questions. Figured they didn’t want to be seen. But not her.” He pointed to Kinsley. “Only remember her once.”
“You must have overheard a few comments.”
“Look, I gave you what you wanted. I don’t need to end up in a box.”
“Then you heard what they were up to.”
He inhaled sharply. “They sat in the back. Huddled together. All I did was make sure their drinks were filled.”
“Something spooked you.”
He muttered a curse. “I have work to do.”
Grayson leaned on the bar. “We’ll wait.”
“I have no idea what they were up to. I heard the mention of big money and working the plan.”
“Anyone else ever join them?”
“No.”
“When’s the last time they were here?”
“Saturday night at closing. Dina served them, and they all left together.”
Grayson replaced his BlackBerry. “Two of the people who were in the photo are now dead.”
His eyes widened. “Look, I don’t know anything.”
Grayson focused on Joe. “I think we got what we came after.”
Joe grinned at the bartender. “Thank you, sir. In case you haven’t figured it out, don’t leave town.”
Once Grayson was en route to their hotel and had processed what they’d learned, he swung his attention to Joe. “You’re quiet. So tell me what you’re thinking.”
“Nice to think an old man can still provide input.”
Grayson laughed, and it felt good. “We have a connect.”
“And two of them are dead. Which one of those left is pulling the strings?”
“Neither.”
“Yep. I think Murford was in charge. Rollins may be living on borrowed time.” Joe paused. “Our Facebook gal may be okay. But she needs to get those pics off her page.”
“I’m calling her now.” Grayson handed Joe his phone. “Pull up her number for me.”
A few moments later, a sleepy woman answered.
“Kinsley Stevens, this is FBI Special Agent Grayson Hall. We spoke at Gated Labs and at our office.”
“Why are you calling me?”
“Are you alone?”
“Yes.” Her voice grew stronger.
“You have incriminating photos on your Facebook page.”
“I don’t understand. All I have are personal ones.”
“We are familiar with the posted photos. For your safety, we suggest you remove those with Haden Rollins taken at the Southwest Marriott lounge.”
“Why? That’s ridiculous.”
“Two of the people in those photos are dead.”
She gasped. “I’ll do it now.”
“Understand the wrong people could have already accessed the photos.”
“What should I do?” Panic rose in her words.
“Consider laying low, maybe staying with a friend, but the FBI will need to know your whereabouts.”
“Okay. Are you contacting Haden?”
“Yes.” Grayson was itching to talk to the man. After thanking the woman, he had Joe find Rollins’s number.
The phone rang four times and rolled over to voice mail.
He hit redial three times.
They’d make one more stop before checking into the hotel.
CHAPTER 44
1:30 A.M. THURSDAY
After agreeing to meet Joe at 7 a.m. for breakfast, Grayson unlocked his hotel room. Rollins hadn’t answered his condo’s door, so now they needed to see if he reported to Gated Labs in the morning. Kinsley could have lied, and Rollins was with her, but Grayson didn’t think that was the case.
The bed seemed to call Grayson’s name, and he’d already checked on Taryn. He wanted to spend the night on the couch at the retirement center, but job performance meant sleep and a strong focus on working through the case. He typed an e-mail to the office about tonight’s findings and tried to unwind. In the darkness, his mind whirled like an EF5 tornado.
If only he could download into his brain the data from the thousands of minds working on this case. His assignment from the start had been Taryn and Murford, and life hadn’t slowed since.
He snapped on the light and reached for his phone to make a few notes.
Who gains when oil prices go up?
Who loses when oil prices plummet?
Does anyone stand to gain in either case?
As soon as the questions were typed into his BlackBerry, the answers hit him. Oil traders. Wall Street. New York City. He checked, and agents were already on it. No great revelation there.
Calls from Vince and Murford traced to the same number in New York, a burner phone. Could an oil and gas trader stoop so low as to steal software for personal gain? And how did that theory fit into the bombing? Could the explosion have been a diversion or part one of an ultimate plan? Pretty far out there.
Why blow up a terminal to eliminate Taryn and Murford? A sniper could have easily taken care of them. Grayson could count Ethan Formier as a third person connected to the software, but his death was circumstantial. Or so some thought. No other persons had hit the radar in the investigation. Bewildering, while the public cried out for arrests.
God, I need You in this. Those responsible for taking lives and destroying property must be brought to justice.
Grayson breathed in and out. . . . Relax. His mind slowly weighed the possibilities. What if the Middle Eastern signature held no credibility? Other homegrown terrorists had used fertilizer bombs, like Timothy McVeigh in Oklahoma City.
What if the signature was a deflection from the who and the motivation? He typed into his BlackBerry and read the many reports surfacing from the investigation. Specialized agents worked the same theory. They needed a link—a name, US companies, or a country that would benefit from the US not being able to export LNG. Obviously Russia didn’t want their economy damaged, but they weren’t that stupid.
He speculated on oil and gas traders. They were ruthless cutthroats and able to cover their tracks. He lay back on the pillow, ready to go after the complexity of the bombing from a new angle.