Winter Black Box Set 2

by Mary Stone

  Eric Dalton had been within earshot the entire time, and he hadn’t felt the need to defend his teenage daughter.

  That night, Noah and Lucy stayed up after the Dalton family went to sleep. They called their mom from the basement phone of Eric and Kelly’s house and pleaded with her to let them leave early.

  To their relief, Liv hadn’t taken much convincing. She contacted the airline to adjust their flights, and they returned home three days before Christmas.

  And now, nineteen years later, Eric Dalton was down the hall in an FBI interview room where he had all but begged for his estranged son’s help.

  “Dalton.” Bree’s voice snapped him out of the reverie and back to the circular table where he sat.

  “Yeah.” He dragged a hand down his face. “Sorry. Didn’t get a lot of sleep last night.”

  “Thank you for bringing this to me, Agent Dalton,” SAC Osbourne said. “I’ve gathered that you and Mr. Eric Dalton aren’t close, but it’s still a potential conflict of interest, so I’m going to put Agent Stafford and Agent Black on this.”

  “Of course,” Noah replied, nodding. “Understood, sir.”

  Thank god.

  “One more thing,” Bree started as the little group rose to stand. “I don’t have a ton of in-depth knowledge about the Russians and their specific operation, but I do know they’re dangerous. Any investigation into organized crime is dangerous. Noah, I know you and Eric aren’t besties, but you’ve still got the same last name. We’re going to have some agents in Baltimore keep an eye on the other Daltons, but you should be careful, all right?”

  Every four-letter word in existence flashed through his thoughts, but instead of cursing his father, he forced a smile to his face as he nodded. “You bet.”

  5

  Winter stifled a yawn as she hopped out of the passenger side of Noah’s pickup. A patch of fat gray clouds had moved in to obscure the sun’s rays, and as the day grew darker, she grew more and more tired.

  After their briefing about Eric Dalton, she had slunk away from Violent Crimes to visit her friend upstairs in the Cyber Department. Part of her was convinced that Doug was wrong about the origin of the email, but he confirmed that he’d double-checked and even triple-checked the IP address.

  Aside from the fact that the message had been sent from somewhere in Harrisonburg, they hadn’t gleaned much else from the close-up examination. The internet service provider was one of only two that even serviced the city of Harrisonburg, and they had determined that the message was sent using a wireless internet connection, either from a computer or a mobile phone.

  However, the device identification number—a unique series of numbers that helped to differentiate one computer from another—had been masked. Winter’s friend advised her that concealing a device’s identifier was simple enough. From that information, Winter surmised that Justin might not be a master hacker, but he was clearly cautious.

  But if he had gone through the trouble to conceal the device ID number, then why hadn’t he used a proxy server to mask the IP address?

  To Winter, the answer was simple enough.

  He wanted her to find his location.

  Though she’d hoped that the trip to the Cyber Crimes Division would assuage a portion of her mounting anxiety, the discussion only left her with more questions than she’d had before. But otherwise, the majority of her day had been occupied by Eric Dalton.

  She and Bree had set the man up at a hotel with a federal agent just down the hall to keep an eye out for any suspicious activity.

  They had spent the majority of the day retracing Eric’s steps leading up to the threatening message he received the day before. The threat had been sent via email, but the tech team at the FBI had been unable to glean much useful information from the sender. Whoever sent it had used a disposable email domain, and the address had since been canceled. Plus, they bounced the IP address, unlike her brother.

  After a day full of dead ends, she and Bree had decided to pick up the investigation in the morning after they’d each had a chance to rest and refresh. Winter wasn’t sure how much refreshing she would be able to accomplish. Between Justin’s email and the leaden weight on Noah’s broad shoulders, she had far too much to occupy her thoughts.

  In all the time Winter had known Noah, she had never seen him so irritable for so long. None of his irascibility was directed at her or Bree, and there was no doubt about the cause of his sour mood.

  As much as she wanted to ask him to talk more about why there was so much venom in his eyes whenever he looked at Eric Dalton, she bit back each question before it formed.

  She pulled herself from the contemplation as she stepped around the front of Noah’s truck. When he turned his head to face her, she offered her best effort at a reassuring smile.

  “Hey,” she said.

  The gray afternoon light glinted off the lenses of his aviators as he pushed the sunglasses to rest atop his head. “Yeah?”

  “Are you all right?” When she reached out to touch his shoulder, she wished she had Autumn’s ability to read people.

  In response, he shrugged. When she lifted an eyebrow, he blew out a breath. “Yeah, I’m fine. Tired, maybe a little irritated, but I’m fine. What about you?”

  She dropped her hand back to her side as they started toward the apartment building. I’m losing my mind. Instead, she swallowed the offhand comment and returned his shrug with one of her own. “I’m all right. Are you okay with not working this case?”

  Though the sound was mirthless, he chuckled. “More than all right, darlin’. I’m glad I’m not on that case.”

  She swung her head to look at him. “Seriously?”

  “That came out worse than I expected. I’m not saying that just because Eric’s an idiot who shouldn’t get our help, I’m just saying that Max is right. It’d be a conflict of interest. I don’t like Eric. Not even a little, and with what we do, that’s not a good attitude to have when you’re trying to keep someone safe.”

  Her warm smile came unbidden. Now, that sounded more like the Noah she knew.

  “What?” He raised his eyebrows. “What’s that look for?”

  Winter laughed. “Nothing. It’s just, you’ve been pissy all day, and that’s the first time you sounded like you since you got that phone call last night. It made me happy.”

  When he flashed her a grin, she felt the start of the unfamiliar flutter in her stomach. Unfamiliar, but welcome. It was the feeling of anticipation, and she could only hope it wasn’t unfounded.

  “What are you doing tonight?” she asked, more to draw herself out of the contemplation than anything.

  “Honestly? I think I’m just going to bed. Pull an Autumn and sleep for sixteen hours straight.”

  Winter was relieved. Apparently, the farther Noah was away from Eric Dalton, the more he acted like himself. The sooner they figured out a way to keep Eric and his family safe, the sooner the man would leave, and the sooner she would have her friend back.

  Then, once that stressor was gone from Noah’s life, she could confide in him about Justin’s email and its origin.

  She hated keeping the secret.

  She glanced over to him as they neared the entrance to the building. “Speaking of Autumn, I think I’ll go hang out with her a little later tonight. Probably going to take a nap first, though. Do you want to go with me?”

  The corner of his mouth turned up in a smile. “Darlin’, I was serious. I’m going to sleep for a solid sixteen hours. I don’t even feel like a real person right now. More like some kind of apparition or something.”

  Winter chuckled to hide her disappointment. “Fair enough. Speaking of apparitions, I started watching that show you told me about. The one Autumn told you about, with the two brothers and all the demons and ghosts and whatnot.”

  “Supernatural? Good, so now when I say that I think I want to rock a haircut like Sam Winchester, you know what I’m talking about.”

  “I could see it. You do kind
of look like him.” She offered him a mostly sarcastic wink. “Anyway, I’ll let you head home to your sixteen hours of sleep. I just thought you should know that I’ll finally be able to understand all the Supernatural references you make at work now. Especially the stuff about the Impala.”

  He laughed, and Winter couldn’t help but grin in return.

  “You know what,” he said, “that might be the best news I’ve heard all damn day. Thank you.”

  The tension in her tired muscles slipped away at the comment, but the moment of relief was short-lived. As soon as Winter waved her final goodbye and stepped into the shadows of her apartment, the stress was back with a vengeance.

  Now that she was away from Eric Dalton’s case, she could puzzle over the meaning of Justin’s email. Well, the email itself hadn’t been all that informative, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that the location where the message had been sent was significant.

  It had to be significant.

  How could it possibly be so difficult to track down a nineteen-year-old kid? Even if he avoided social media and the internet, there had to be some trace of his existence. A clue to point them to where he might have gone, a snippet overheard by a high school friend that gave some insight into his goals and ambitions.

  She had to remind herself that his memories of her were limited. He had been only six when their parents were murdered, and the trauma of that night might have made the remembrances even fainter.

  But if he couldn’t remember her, then how in the hell did he even know she was searching for him? The entire point of his email had been to tell her that he knew. But how? And why did he care?

  There were so many questions flitting through her head that an effort to count or write them down would be fruitless.

  Why had he used a fake identity to begin with? Was he hiding from someone, from Douglas Kilroy? Did he even know that Kilroy was dead?

  Though she hated the uncertainty and the countless question marks, she hated the idea that she had purposefully kept the information away from her best friend even more.

  She ignored the pang of guilt that nestled its way into her thoughts. Her decision to keep the information from Noah, for the time being, was the right one. It had to be the right one.

  Without bothering to change out of her work clothes, Winter dropped down to sit in the center of her couch as she retrieved her phone. She had been truthful when she told Noah that she had plans to visit Autumn that night, but now, she wondered if she would even be capable of maintaining a conversation with her friend. And with Autumn’s knack for reading people, coupled with her unique ability, she would see straight through any of Winter’s attempts to feign nonchalance.

  As she unlocked her phone, she prepared to type a message to Autumn to cancel their evening plans.

  Hey, I’m exhausted, so I’m going to call it a night and stay at home to sleep. She hovered her thumb above the send button.

  Was this what she was doing now? Was she really about to revert back to the secretive, manipulative mode of operation under which she’d operated during the Kilroy investigation? It had been bad enough when she purposefully kept information about Douglas Kilroy from Noah, Aiden, and the rest of the team, but now she was about to outright lie to one of her best friends?

  She yawned, her mouth opening so wide that her jaw joints cracked. Maybe she should follow Noah’s lead and go to sleep. She ruled that possibility out almost as fast as she considered it. Though a nap sounded divine, she knew there were too many thoughts whirling around in her mind for her to fall asleep even for a couple hours.

  Instead, maybe she could drive to Harrisonburg and visit her old house. No one even had to know about it—she’d be there and back within four or five hours. Although she was certain she wouldn’t find anything, especially her brother standing in the middle of their old living room with his arms wide open for a hug, the desire to go there was strong. She needed to see it for herself.

  But should she see it by herself?

  Trying to come to a decision, Winter glanced back down to the phone. Her thumb was still perilously close to the send button, but she moved her finger to the backspace key.

  As the words disappeared, she actually felt relieved. She wasn’t the same person she’d been during the Kilroy investigation. Kilroy brought out the worst in her, and now he was dead. Just the other day, in the midst of a breakdown over the fear that she had lost her direction in life now that Kilroy, The Preacher, was dead, she’d spat on his grave.

  If he was dead, she didn’t need that Machiavellian part of herself anymore. She wouldn’t let Kilroy take any more from her than he’d already taken.

  Once she deleted the excuse to bail on their planned evening, Winter sent Autumn a text message to ask if she could stop by a bit earlier than they had planned.

  Autumn’s response had come almost immediately: Sure. I’m making baked ziti, so you can help me put a dent in it. I always make way too much.

  Italian was the type of cuisine Autumn preferred to cook, and for the first time, Winter had developed a real appreciation for pasta. Before Autumn, the extent of her experience with Italian food was limited to a couple chain restaurants and a handful of local joints. The local places were by far the better choice, but now that she’d honed her palette, the difference was even more noticeable.

  How had she survived for so long without friends like Autumn and Noah? Now that she knew how valuable those connections were, she doubted she’d ever be able to manage without them again.

  And she had come damn close to putting an uncomfortable distance between her and Autumn.

  She would do better. For herself, and for her friends, she would do better.

  She had to do better.

  Though she had put Bree and Shelby’s clothing store gift card to good use for her new job, Autumn never hesitated to change into a band t-shirt and shorts or leggings when she was at home. Even after she had been adopted by Ron and Kim Trent, she and her family hadn’t been especially well-off. Despite the numbers she had seen on her contract with Shadley and Latham, there were plenty of the frugal habits from her childhood that she couldn’t shake.

  During middle school and even into high school, Autumn had made a habit of changing out of her so-called good clothes once she returned home from school. Though much of her time at that point was spent playing video games or reading, she didn’t want to risk the wellbeing of her “good clothes.”

  Eyes fixed on her reflection in the bathroom mirror, she pulled her dark auburn hair away from her face in a low ponytail to reveal silver hoop earrings—the one part of her wardrobe she hadn’t yet abandoned.

  Autumn had always loved earrings—it was an infatuation she and her friend Bree Stafford shared. As far as she was concerned, the bigger and tackier, the better.

  Just as she flicked off the bathroom light and stepped back into the hallway, a rap against the front door drew her attention. Ever since she had been almost killed by a hitman, Autumn was automatically paranoid whenever she heard someone at her door. Nico Culetti, the contract killer who had tried to drag her out the back of a gas station to shoot her in the head, was dead, but the anxiety that came with a failed mob hit was still alive and well with her.

  Out of habit, Autumn squinted at the peephole to make note of the visitor. Normally, the sight of her friend would have brought a smile to Autumn’s face, but even through the door, she could tell that Winter was on edge.

  Flicking the deadbolt, Autumn scooped up her little dog and pulled open the door. Toad was a good dog most of the time, but he would still take the opportunity to bolt out into the hallway if she didn’t pick him up.

  She made her best effort at a welcoming smile, but she didn’t have to see herself in a mirror to know she had failed. Whatever weighed so heavily on Winter’s mind wasn’t the run of the mill workplace drama, if there was such a thing at the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

  Autumn maintained her smile as she eased the door closed and
locked it behind Winter, but the expression faded when she turned back to her friend.

  “Hey,” Winter said, stepping out of her flats.

  As she set Toad on the floor, Autumn reached to take her jacket. “You look like hell.”

  With a nervous chuckle, Winter followed Autumn out of the foyer. “It’s that obvious, huh?”

  The corner of Autumn’s mouth turned up in a smirk as she dropped to sit on the couch. “Remember who you’re talking to.”

  Though her smile was still strained, some of the haunted shadows on Winter’s face seemed to dissipate as she cuddled down into the comfy cushions. “Good point.”

  During the intense training she’d received while acquiring her Ph.D. in forensic psychology, Autumn had learned the most important secret to getting someone to open up. Silence.

  Autumn propped her feet atop the stone coffee table and leaned back in her seat. She nearly smiled when Winter broke the spell of quiet.

  Twirling a piece of ebony hair around an index finger, Winter sighed. “It’s been a really, really weird twenty-four hours.”

  Autumn offered her friend a knowing smile. “Then you’ve come to the right place. Weird is my bread and butter.”

  Winter’s laugh was strained, but it was progress. “I don’t even know where to start. The thing that was bothering me the most yesterday seems like it hardly even matters now.”

  “Well, just because other stuff has happened since then doesn’t mean it’s not still important.”

  As she took in a shaky breath, Winter shrugged. “I guess. But that’s just me being out of my mind. And the stuff that’s happened since then, well, it might involve the welfare of actual people, you know? It feels like helping them should be my priority, and I should just deal with the rest of this some other time.”

  Before Winter had even finished, Autumn was shaking her head. “No, that’s not quite how that works. How do you expect to be helpful to people if you’ve got this other thing weighing you down? You can’t help the people you care about if you don’t know how to take care of yourself. We like to think we can, but even if we might be able to make it work in the short-term, we still have to take care of ourselves if we want to be remotely useful in the long-term.”