Firewall (26 page)

3:55 A.M. FRIDAY

Taryn screamed, and the pickup ceased rolling, upside down.

Odd how life could spin and drop at the same time.

The door on Joe’s side clicked open. Her mind wavered between consciousness and the safety net of blackness. A hand steadied her and then lifted her from the truck. She wouldn’t say a word but listen
 
—and pray Grayson and Joe were okay.

The scent of Cameron Wallace met her nostrils, and with it rose fear, raw and primal.

He tossed her onto the backseat of the SUV and raced off. She believed they were the only two in the vehicle and opened her eyes a slit to confirm it. She mentally checked herself for additional injuries and didn’t note new ones.

“I heard you moan, Taryn,” Wallace said. “Can’t outrun me. I’ll give you credit, though. You know how to think on your feet.”

Suck it up. Play the role. Pray Joe and Grayson aren’t hurt badly.
She slowly sat.

“You also have a daredevil streak,” he said.

The tag meant more when it came from Grayson. “Is that a compliment?”

“I’ll put it in your epitaph.”

She was so tired that she no longer cared about his threats. The game needed to end. But she’d not give up. She’d play until the last whistle blew. “Nothing’s changed since we were together?”

“This isn’t a date.”

Her arm throbbed along with her head and eye. She shuddered at what he’d do in retaliation. “Okay, I get it that you killed Murford. I get it Iris Ryan wants access to the software. I get it she has a hacker working on that access. I get it she has Zoey to force me into giving her what she wants. Those things make sense. And I get it that I won’t live to see many more sunrises. But why did Ryan bomb the airport?”

He chuckled. “You don’t have all the facts.”

“What am I missing?”

“I don’t work for Iris Ryan. She and I have the same boss.”

Was the FBI aware of this? “Does your boss have the little girl?”

“If you’re referring to the Zoey person, that was Iris’s plan.”

“Will I meet the woman?”

“Before or after I kill her?”

The pieces had shifted. All this time she thought the New York connection was the mastermind linking Nehemiah and the bombing into one bizarre picture.

“A contract to kill the Ryan woman and Murford is why you’re in the States?”

He glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “You sure ask a lot of questions. But yes. You’re a bonus.”

“Am I a third victim, or are you going to transport me to your boss?”

“Depends on your attitude.”

She stared out the window, noting they were driving toward Houston on I-45. Had the FBI been able to follow them? Lights of businesses lined both sides of the highway as they drove through the Conroe area. More traffic. A state trooper passed them. How were Grayson and Joe? Neither had uttered a sound when Wallace took her from the truck. She reached for the door. Locked.

“Don’t give up, do you?” Wallace said. “By the way, you look awful.”

“I’ll go down fighting.”

“I have no doubt. You’re fun, Taryn. I’ll be sorry for this to end.”

“Glad I’ve been so entertaining.” But playing the witty, assertive, aggressive woman had lost its charm. Taryn Young wanted to give up. The past few days had drained the life out of her with no results. Her thoughts rested on Claire, all the dead and wounded, and Zoey.

“Lost your FBI buddies when I nabbed you the first time. Just you and me now.”

“It’s not over.”

“I’m a calculating kind of professional.” He turned left and drove north again. “Never talk to my prey. No need to. Plan the killing and do it. You’ve seen a side of me no other victim has. Hope you feel special.”

This wasn’t over yet. Did she really have a choice but to give her best a little longer? Had Zoey given up too?

4:14 A.M. FRIDAY

In the flipped truck, Grayson opened his eyes and did a quick body assessment. Nothing hurt, except his head, and that was the hardest part of his body. He gave Joe his attention. In the shadows, blood trickled from a nasty gash on the right side of his uncle’s forehead and down both sides of his face. He must have hit the door. Grayson listened to his uncle’s chest. Breathing. “Joe, are you okay?”

When his uncle didn’t respond, Grayson released his seat belt and turned off the engine. Whoa, where was Taryn?

He’d failed to protect her.

Cameron Wallace or Iris Ryan had nabbed her.

He exited the driver’s side and hurried to help Joe while pleading for his uncle to hold on to life. A semitruck stopped, and the driver waved. “I called 911.”

Grayson shouted thanks and yanked on the passenger door. A low groan met him. “Stay with me, Joe. Help is on the way.”

The truck driver approached, a fence-post-thin man with a tattered Astros cap. “I saw a car take off.”

“I’m FBI. Don’t suppose you got a license plate number?”

“Too far off. Phoned 911, though.” He peered at Grayson attempting to pull Joe from the pickup. “I’ll climb in on the other side and get this guy out of there. Hangin’ upside down ain’t good for nobody but possums.”

Grayson considered the risk of taking him out of the pickup, but leaving him suspended with dripping blood couldn’t be healthy. Together, they eased him out and laid him on the soft ground.

Local law enforcement arrived, and Grayson explained the situation. “I’ll need your backup once we locate the SUV.”

“You got it. Did you get the license plate?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

By the time the ambulance pulled onto the scene, Joe had regained consciousness. Except for the deep slice on his forehead, he appeared all right. His first words were concern for Taryn.

“Put a Band-Aid on my head and send those paramedics home,” he said.

“You could have a concussion,” Grayson said.

“Taryn’s out there somewhere with more injuries than me. Get us a vehicle and let’s leave this Popsicle stand.”

Grayson blew out his response as the two paramedics laughed. “All right. I’ll find us a ride.”

The truck driver pointed behind him. “I live about two miles away. The little woman and I have us a double-wide on forty acres. Anyway, we got two extra ve-hiculars sittin’ over there. Both run like racehorses. I’ll call her and let you boys borrow one.”

Grayson loved down-home people. “It might not return in good shape.”

“Aw. That’s okay. I got insurance.” He pulled a cell phone from his shirt pocket and pressed in a number. “Hey, babe. I’m over
here on I-45 near the turnoff to home. Can you drive over? Got a couple of FBI agents who need one of our rides. Don’t care which one. You choose. Thanks, babe. . . . Oh, that’d be real nice. Love you.” He nodded at Grayson. “She’ll be here in a few minutes, and she’s bringing a couple of insulated mugs with hot coffee too.”

Grayson reached out to shake his hand. “Thanks. I don’t even know your name.”

The man offered a firm grip. “Frank Lewis.”

Joe shook his hand too. “Appreciate all you’ve done.”

“The good Lord would have me do no less. Wish I’d gotten that there license plate for ya.”

“That’s all right. You’ve done a lot already.”

Ten minutes later, Frank’s wife arrived with a ten-year-old Chevy Impala, not a mark on it and all gassed up. She handed them two huge travel mugs of strong coffee that tasted heaven-made.

With Joe wearing his red badge of courage, he and Grayson sped in the direction Frank had indicated the car had gone.

“Do you suppose Rollins or Pedraza came through with information we can use?” Joe leaned his head back.

Grayson mentally kicked himself for not searching for Taryn’s pain meds before leaving the crime scene. Joe had to be in pain and too stubborn to admit it. “I called while you were getting fixed up. Pedraza said Dina lived in the Conroe area.”

“Bet Taryn’s there. I’ll blow a few heads off if they hurt her.”

Joe’s knock on the head must have shaken his brains. Grayson hoped he was okay and pushed forward. “Makes sense to me that Dina would have Zoey. Right now, we
 
—” His BlackBerry interrupted him, and he read while driving. “Pedraza has no idea if his sister has the child.”

“He knows more.” Joe paused. “Dad-blasted liar.” He rubbed his head around the bandage.

“Are you sure you want to continue with this?”

“Yes. Just managing a little headache.” He stiffened, then relaxed. “Anyway, sure would like to interrogate Pedraza and
Rollins myself. The way I feel, I’d not be following any rules. Anything else?”

“Pedraza gave his sister’s cell number. It’s a burner, and she’s not answering. Agents are en route to the address he provided.”

“Makes me wonder if she’s alive.”

Grayson had considered the same thing. Frustration burned. He had no idea where Taryn had been taken.

“Were you unconscious when she was taken?” Joe said.

“Yep. Don’t remember a thing.”

When would these guys slip?

4:50 A.M. FRIDAY

Taryn rode with Wallace through heavy rain. What she’d originally thought was cleansing now splattered toward her life’s end. He drove down a lane that was about a quarter mile long to a deserted house in the middle of nowhere. The headlights showed boarded windows and a small structure in bad need of paint. A dilapidated porch. No visible lights, but the covered windows could conceal what was going on inside. Wallace eased the SUV behind a barn and pulled inside. A Lincoln Town Car was parked on the right and a Honda Accord on the left. He killed the engine. The only sound was the steady rain.

“We’re here,” Wallace said, too chipper for her liking. “Doesn’t look like much, but it serves the boss’s purpose.”

She blinked to adjust her eyes to the dark, but the blackness hid any sights that would give her a clue to her location. He opened his door, faint light illuminating shadows around her. A bridle looped over a nail on the wall. A bucket hung beside it. Tack for horses dominated what she could see on the barn’s wall. Four stalls, two on each side. In the corner two bales of hay rested next to a pitchfork. The latter she could use in defending herself. If she seized an opportunity to grab it. He closed his door. Darkness again.

Her shirt had buttons in front. She yanked off the bottom two and clutched them in her palm. With the rain, Wallace couldn’t
cover his SUV tracks, and she could only pray someone would find it unusual for a vehicle to drive back into deserted property. And finding two white buttons in the middle of mud and dirt would be random.

He opened the door on her side. “You’ll need to wait here until it’s time for your appointment.”

His face faded from view. The chameleon. What could she do to escape him?

“The boss has been asking for you, but he has a few details to work on first. Stay right here.” He walked away, his feet slapping against the wet floor. A few moments later, he returned and jerked her from the vehicle. She couldn’t fight what she couldn’t see, and he wouldn’t fall for the same trick twice. He pulled her to the right. She scuffed her feet on the barn floor . . . whatever she could think of to leave a trail. He pushed her face-first against what she realized was the Lincoln and wrapped a rope around her right wrist and then around her waist, sealing her casted arm against her.

“Does your boss have a name?” she said.

“I’ll let him do the honors.”

“Can you prep me for this guy?”

“You won’t have any problem communicating with him. He’s the kind of man who asks the right questions and expects the right answers.”

His ragged breathing seemed to singe her neck, his presence like a predator’s. He gagged her with what she thought was a sweat-soaked cotton scarf or bandanna. He stepped back, and a trunk popped open.
Oh, please, not there.
Claustrophobia plagued her, and since these people knew everything about her, they’d have this tidbit too. . . .

Wallace swept her up and dumped her into the trunk. The scent of gasoline and worn boots met her nostrils. Another rope wrapped around her ankles. “Think of this as a precursor to a coffin. Get used to it.” He slammed the trunk.

She’d have air, but her instincts told her otherwise. Fighting the
panic that accompanied her fear of closed spaces, she prayed for strength. This was temporary until they questioned her, a holding place designed to frighten her. And it worked.

A car engine hummed to life, but not the one she was in. Wallace was leaving in the Honda? How long would she be here? Wallace’s boss needed access . . . unless Save had managed to find it. Acid rose in her throat and she forced it back down. Choking to death on her own vomit while locked in a trunk wasn’t the ending she had in mind. The car left the barn, and she clung to the purr of the engine until it faded into oblivion.

God was with her, and He’d stay to the end. She thought of Claire and how she’d wanted to prove her love. And so many others
 
—her parents and brothers, who’d supported her even when she was the school nerd. Dear Ethan, who’d always encouraged her to stretch her mind, and how she’d only wanted to protect him by not documenting every aspect of Nehemiah. Joe, who made her laugh and see reality. The FBI, who gave her an opportunity to prove her innocence. And Grayson, the man who wanted her to trust him. The man who would have won her heart.

Soon she’d know who fought so hard to kidnap her, kill others, and do the same to her once she gave them full access to Nehemiah. If Wallace’s boss didn’t have Zoey, she’d refuse to cooperate and endure whatever they planned. If he did have Zoey, then God help her make the right decisions.

5:30 A.M. FRIDAY

Grayson pulled over to the side of a country road and waited for a call back from the SSA. His BlackBerry rang. Odd
 
—the caller was Frank Lewis. Annoyance trickled through him at even a moment’s delay in finding Taryn.

“Grayson, I have an idea,” Frank said. “I know this area like the back of my hand. Grew up here. I’m going to drive around to a few of my old haunts. See if I can find your friend.”

“That’s dangerous. You’ve seen what they can do.”

“Not the way I look at it. I’m a God-and-country kinda guy. Already called my two brothers. We all live right around here, and this is our territory. Those pissants ain’t got a thing on us boys who know where’s the best hiding places.”

Grayson wanted to add that Taryn could be miles away, but Frank had a point. “Call me if you see anything suspicious. Don’t be pulling out your rifles.”

Frank chuckled. “Someday I’ll tell you a few stories ’bout me and my brothers in our hell-raisin’ days. Gotta go.” He ended the call.

Grayson explained to Joe what was happening on their behalf.

“Hope those good ole boys stay safe,” Joe said. “Better yet, I’d welcome them finding something solid.”

“I hate the thought of being outdone.” Grayson palmed the steering wheel. He’d failed all those who’d died at the airport and so many others. But worst of all, he’d failed Taryn.