by DiAnn Mills
“Kinsley, this is Taryn Young. How are you?”
She broke into sobs. “I’m so scared, and I feel so stupid.”
“I know. I’m right there with you. That’s why I called.”
“How . . . kind of you. I’m going to be all right. They say Haden is involved in a conspiracy to steal Nehemiah, and he’s disappeared.”
Taryn chose not to reveal that he was in custody. “It’s hard when you love him, especially when you need the truth but fear it too.”
“Exactly.” Kinsley sucked in a sob. “Oh, Taryn, I don’t know what to believe. He told me horrible things about you, things I realize now were lies. I did attempt to get into your computer. Haden told me you were hiding things that were valuable to the team. I feel used. Dirty.”
Taryn understood the need for a perpetual shower. “Our IQs aren’t attached to our hearts.”
“I loved him. Still do.” Kinsley’s misery tugged at Taryn’s own betrayal.
“I wish I could help you.”
“Listening helps . . . and I am sorry.”
“It’s okay. Are you safe?”
“Yes. Special Agent Hall suggested I take a leave from work and not tell anyone my location but the FBI. Going crazy thinking. How are you managing?”
Taryn toyed with what to say. Her faith was new, unexplored in talking to others. “This whole mess has caused me to reach out to God.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in a deity, that you were an all-science person.” Shock rose in Kinsley’s voice.
“Oh, that was me. And finding faith is so new that it’s awkward talking about it.”
“I never had much use for the God thing. Impossible to trust what I can’t see.”
Taryn recalled what Grayson had said about his philosophy—how impossible wasn’t a word in his book and shouldn’t be in hers. “Wasn’t so long ago I thought the same thing. Faith’s a good healing place to start.”
“Okay,” Kinsley said slowly. “Are you suggesting I start going to church? Get religious?”
“Maybe just talk to Him, like you’re talking to me. See if He responds.”
“Odd, we’re discussing God like this.”
A cleansing freshness settled over Taryn. “I agree. When this is over, I’d like the opportunity to be friends—at the office and outside.”
“I probably won’t have a job at Gated Labs.”
Taryn laughed. “I forgot. I don’t have a job there either. We can stand in the unemployment line together. Drink fast-food coffee until we can afford Starbucks.”
Kinsley’s voice broke and she apologized for her emotions. “Thank you so much for caring enough to call. I really appreciate it. Are you going to be all right?”
She hesitated to answer.
“Taryn?”
“I hope so, but finding a little three-year-old is at the top of my list, then helping to arrest those involved with all the tragedies of the week. A big order when every law enforcement person in the country is working on the same thing.”
“You’ve always followed through on your dreams.”
“Thanks. Talk to you soon, Kinsley.” Taryn ended the call, a bit shaken at her own transparency, yet peaceful.
CHAPTER 51
6:55 P.M. THURSDAY
Taryn wished the sun would stay up a few more hours, but dusk approached, and with it the hidden dangers of night. She stopped at a convenience store and gas station along I-45 past Huntsville State Park. How obvious could she be for someone tailing her?
Agents would be in disguise, and she didn’t want to stare. But knowing where they were sure would go a long way in easing her fears. Rural folks in a banged-up pickup slid beside a gas pump. Two teens smoked outside the store—from their eyes, it wasn’t cigarettes. A truck driver wearing shades and low-riding jeans stepped outside his semi. A middle-aged couple exited a Lexus. None looked like Grayson or Joe, or Clint or Patti, or anyone else she’d seen at the FBI office. Grabbing her purse, Taryn left the rental. She had to call Grayson.
Public restrooms gave her a bit of a phobia after Monday, but she didn’t need a full bladder while in stressed mode. After washing her hands, she made sure no one else occupied the area and keyed in his number.
“Hey. Any signs of company?” Grayson said.
“Nothing. But I need to toss this phone.”
“Why?” The edge in his voice showed his concern.
“I called Kinsley. Don’t say a word. It’s a woman thing. I wanted to let her know I empathized with her situation.” When he failed to respond, she summoned the courage to explain her actions. “She’s hurting, and I couldn’t go a mile farther down the road without an attempt to console her.”
“The word crusader crosses my mind. I don’t approve, but I agree. Toss the phone.”
“There are others around me?”
“Yes. I saw you pull into the convenience store. Are you sure you want to risk continuing this crazy mission? No one would question your backing out.”
“Quitting is not up for debate. Talk to you soon.” She wanted to say more—if nothing else, to thank him for being her friend. With a grim look at her last form of communication, she powered off the phone and tossed it into the trash.
She purchased a bottle of water and a bag of mixed nuts and walked outside. The evening shadows brought a slight breeze, and she let it cool her while drinking the water. A young Hispanic gal sporting five-inch heels and a skirt the same length moved across the parking area. A man who resembled one of the characters from Duck Dynasty tipped the bill of his cap—not that she watched the show, but Claire did and described every detail.
A man with his little boy pumped gas.
Don’t stare, Taryn. Act normal. Whatever that is.
She swung her attention to her rental car. A jean-clad man leaned against it, arms crossed and wearing a smirk. Blond shoulder-length hair swept back from his face, and he wore a diamond stud in his ear. No doubt this was the man Grayson had warned her about. The chameleon. What was the purpose of sending an assassin? Fear gripped her . . . but if his intentions were to kill her, she’d already be in a pool of blood.
Stage time. She capped her bottle of water and walked toward him. A pair of Louis Vuitton sunglasses dangled from his right hand.
“You’ve been expecting me,” he said with no accent, not even a distinguishable hint from a part of the US.
“Wondered when you’d make your appearance.” She prayed her trembling hands wouldn’t give her away. “I’m ready to deal.”
“Really?” He took her bag of nuts and opened them. “Love these things. Full of antioxidants to ward off disease. . . . Makes a person live longer.” He dipped his hand into the bag. “Do you mind if I help myself? Looks like we have something in common.”
He knew where the kidnapper held Zoey, and that was in-common enough.
“I’m not vegan, though,” he said with his mouth full. “Nothing like a thick rare steak.” He winked.
Did he flirt with all his prey? “You know my habits. But I’m not surprised.”
“What can I say? I’m good at what I do.”
“So am I.” She maintained a steady gaze into his dark eyes. Showing distress would be her downfall.
“We’ll see. I detected one carload of your FBI friends, and I’m sure there’re others. One hint of trouble, and you’re dead. Understand?” He spoke through a smile as though they were old friends. Or more.
Taryn ventured closer to him. “I’m not working with the FBI or any law enforcement agency. They failed to deliver Zoey.”
“I saw your dissatisfaction. Ready to take a ride?” He pointed toward a black Escalade and slipped on his sunglasses. “We’ll take mine. No way to trace us.” He took her hand. “Don’t try anything because I’ll stick a knife in you before you can swing a fist or leg.”
“I want to retrieve Zoey. Nothing else.”
He kissed her cheek. A brief reminder of Murford . . . only more deadly.
“Since w
hen does a professional assassin get personal with his target?”
Wallace laughed. “When the money’s good.”
“For me, it’s all about a little girl who needs rescued.”
“Then let’s get it done, my auburn-haired beauty. Murford had good taste.” He escorted her to the Escalade and opened the door. Glancing about, he pulled her close and planted a hard kiss. She recoiled, his cologne a woodsy scent that she’d never forget. “Most women enjoy this,” he whispered in her ear. His hands trailed over her body, and she stiffened. “Relax. Got to make sure you’re not armed.” He stepped back, obviously satisfied she didn’t pose a threat. He’d touched her hip where the tracking implant rested, but he hadn’t lingered there.
He gestured for her to climb into his vehicle. Once she was seated, he took her purse and crammed it into a Walmart plastic bag. “Stay right here. Buckle up. I’m a fast driver.” He slammed the door and took the plastic bag containing her purse to the trash.
He waved across the way as though they were . . . together.
I can handle this. She waved back just to prove she could.
Sliding into the driver’s side, he yanked something out of the console and aimed it her direction.
She startled. “Are you taking my picture?”
“Not exactly. This device disables implants, like the one in your rear.”
Hide your panic. God’s in control, not this hired killer. The FBI wouldn’t abandon her. They were watching and would follow. And they’d attempt a rescue when necessary.
He turned the air-conditioning to full blast, then dropped his keys into the cup holder. “I don’t want you going to sleep,” he said.
“Are you afraid your presence will bore me?”
He slapped her face. She refused to cry out or touch where her cheek and eye stung. A banner rolled across her mind with the first rule of engagement: Don’t make Cameron Wallace angry.
“Where are we going?” she said, regaining her composure.
“Where it’s quiet, secluded.”
“Am I going to learn what this is about?”
“What part?” He whipped the SUV north onto I-45.
“All of it.”
He flashed her a smile full of pearly white teeth as though he hadn’t hit her. “I don’t ask questions from those paying the bills.”
“How can you plea-bargain without leverage?”
“My dossier states how many times I’ve been caught.”
None, which was terrifying. “How were you tracking me?”
He grinned. “Pure instinct.”
An animal. “Why the airport bombing?”
“Not my baby. I have a very specific job description.”
If Cameron Wallace hadn’t been responsible, then who was? The contact in New York?
“Are the wheels turning?” he said.
“What do you want from me?”
“You don’t know?” He laughed. “Take a wild guess.”
She twisted her shoulder in a desperate attempt to flirt. “Software access.”
“Smart girl. But there’re a few more demands.”
“Enlighten me.” Whoever Wallace worked for wouldn’t be content with just access to Nehemiah. Would Taryn be forced to design something catastrophic?
“I’ll let someone else explain it to you.”
That meant she was worth more alive than dead. At least for the present. “How is the software connected to the bombing?”
“Maybe my boss will tell you.”
“The one in New York?”
“Could be. What else is going on inside your pretty head of a 150 IQ?”
What didn’t he know about her? “I’m thinking. I’d like to work a deal, go into partnership with whoever wants the software. I can develop anything your boss wants. In fact, I made the same offer to Murford.”
“I know. He fell for it, but my contract has a narrower scope.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t work for your boss. I have top-level secret clearance.”
He sneered. “The password to access the software is now in the boss’s hands. Your talk is worthless.”
“Do you think I’d program something that easy to get into?”
“My info said the hacker and the buyer tested it.”
She shrugged. “Believe what you want. I thought we were making a deal for Zoey.”
“The terms have changed.”
Play the game, Taryn. Don’t show your emotions. “Is she alive?”
He laughed and shook his head. “I don’t know anything about a woman named Zoey.”
CHAPTER 52
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 hi
m 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.