Firewall (3 page)

“Money. Always money.” Vince snorted the words.

“We clearly don’t have the whole picture.” Grayson acknowledged the nurse who entered the room. “Do you have Ms. Young’s cell phone? It’s not in her purse.”

The nurse started. “I used it when she was brought in
 
—an iPhone in a red jeweled case. Since she wears a wedding ring, I called those on her favorites list to find her husband. Then I put it back in the zippered compartment.”

“Were you successful in contacting anyone?”

“No. The name of Shep in her favorites simply rang. A number was listed as Mom and another as Claire, and I left voice mails on both.” She searched through Young’s purse and nightstand. “I don’t understand why it’s not here.”

“Did anyone else have access to her belongings?”

“Just me.” She lifted her chin.

Grayson pulled a pad and pencil from his jacket and noted the information. “We need to see all the hospital security footage since Ms. Young was brought in.”

2:27 P.M. MONDAY

Taryn climbed through her sleep stupor. She kept her head still and her eyes closed, trying to minimize the pain. Had it been just this morning when she’d greeted the predawn as Mrs. Francis Shepherd? She shoved aside the hammering in her head to think. Asking for more pain meds would prolong her inability to piece together every moment. If the FBI agents were legit, and if Shep wasn’t sitting beside her bed, then she had the enormous task of proving herself and her husband innocent of the airport bombing. The mere thought of his involvement was unthinkable.

Or maybe she was afraid that if Shep didn’t occupy a chair beside her bed, he could be seriously wounded . . . or dead. The tragedy at IAH seemed unreal. She’d survived, probably because she’d been in the restroom. How bizarre that a second cup of coffee had saved her life. What about the others? The women and children who’d been in line? Was Shep buried in the debris and unable to defend himself against the FBI’s accusations?

Oh, to return to those early hours when she lay cradled in his arms. The low hum of the air conditioner, the scent of the deep-red roses, and his warm caresses had set the stage for the rest of their married life. She would’ve sensed betrayal. Felt it in his embrace.

Moistening her lips, she braved forward. “Shep.”

When no one responded, she forced her eyes open. Alone. She
chewed on a fingernail, a habit Shep detested. How she longed to see him, hear him soothe away all the uncertainties stalking her since the FBI had invaded her life. Being with him was like living between the lines of poetry
 
—beauty beyond definition.

Francis Shepherd was not a conspirator involved in a plot to blow up the airport.

The FBI agents could be reporters. False credentials could have gained them entrance into her room. Fighting the pain, she reached for the nightstand drawer. At least she wasn’t cuffed to the bed. She cringed and located her purse, noting that her arm must be bruised. She’d been incredibly lucky with only a head injury. After dragging her purse onto the bed, she fished through it with both hands. No phone. A surge of panic raced through her.

Maybe it was hospital policy to confiscate cell phones, especially during a crisis such as this. A landline sat on the nightstand, and she’d memorized most of her contact list. Her mom was probably sick with worry, especially since she’d told her about the flight to San Juan. Although they were miles apart and somewhat distant in their current relationship, they cared for each other. She had to get through to her. That meant turning her head to dial and enduring blinding pain. But her mom needed to know she was okay, and maybe she could help Taryn find Shep.

She deleted her last thought and attributed it to desperation. Her mom lived in Florida. Shep didn’t have her information, and her mom didn’t have his. Who could help her? Their romance had been three months of seeing each other daily until he proposed. She hadn’t met his friends, nor did he know any of hers
 
—except Claire. She pressed in Claire’s number. Her dear friend would be waiting to hear from her after the bombing, and the many hospital lines would be tied up with inquiries. The number rang several times. Before she could dwell further on Claire, the two men who claimed to be FBI agents walked into her room.

She was in no mood to talk to them. “Get out unless you have identification other than your badges.”

A police officer stood in the doorway. Agent Bradshaw, the older man, secured the uniformed man’s attention. “Officer, would you tell Ms. Young who we are?”

“Mrs. Shepherd,” Taryn said.

The officer pressed his lips together. “These men are FBI agents.”

“Why are you outside my door?”

The officer’s face resembled granite. “To stop anyone from entering other than medical personnel.”

“Why?”

“For your own protection.”

Taryn’s breath caught in her chest. “My protection?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she understood. If anyone suspected her of being a part of today’s bombing, her very life could be in danger. “I understand. Has my husband been here?”

The officer shook his head. “Only the FBI.”

“Thank you.” Concern swept through her. Time . . . she needed time to process the day’s disaster.

Agent Hall handed her a business card. Was it credible? Turning to the agent, she mustered the strength to sound rational. “My phone was in my purse, but now it’s missing. Have you taken it?”

“No. A nurse used it to locate an emergency contact. Claims to have replaced it.” Agent Hall studied Taryn as though she were scum. How would she approach this mess if she were in his shoes? She’d certainly listen to the suspect before passing sentence.

“I’m assuming she was unable to contact my husband. Perhaps she got through to my mom in Florida.”

“Your mother responded to the nurse’s voice mail. I spoke with her. She claims never to have met Francis Shepherd.”

“That’s true.” She needed her mother, no matter how immature it sounded. Hope settled on her as though she were a child. “Is she coming?”

“The airport is closed
 
—no flights in or out
 
—and she isn’t confident to drive this far.”

Mom hadn’t made arrangements to attend the wedding. She’d understood Taryn’s desire for an intimate ceremony. And Taryn and Shep had planned to visit her before returning home from Puerto Rico.

In the shadows of afternoon, stress lines across Agent Hall’s face displayed his obvious exhaustion. She’d failed to see how others were suffering in this tragedy, which resembled the Boston Marathon bombing. “I’m sorry. I’ve been wrapped up in myself and this confusion linking my husband and me to the bombing. You are as committed to finding answers as I am to proving Shep and I are not a part of today’s tragedy.”

Dark-blond hair fell across Agent Hall’s forehead. He nodded. Emotionless.

Perhaps she could find a way to convince him of her sincerity. “You’ve had a rough day too. What are the casualties?”

“Currently, forty-nine confirmed dead. Over one hundred injured and fifty-five missing.”

Faces from the morning flashed across her mind. Unspeakable horror. “I’ve tried to think of a reason why my husband would’ve left the airport. Had our flight been delayed?”

“No.”

“Terrorist threats?”

“No.”

“Was the explosion due to some malfunction at the airport?”

“Initial findings reveal a vehicle fertilizer bomb.” Agent Hall pulled a chair to her bedside, and Agent Bradshaw did the same. “More than one person had to have been involved.”

“Then you should be talking to
all
the wounded and those who escaped.”

“Hundreds of agents are conducting interviews, Miss Young,” Agent Hall said. “We are assigned to you because of our experience with the Joint Terrorism Task Force. If you’re ready to help us, we have questions about your position at Gated Labs.”

“What kind of questions?” She didn’t like his implications.
Her position was highly classified, and her newest project was the epitome of her career.

Agent Hall captured her attention. “We spoke with your supervisor about your latest project for the exportation of liquid natural gas. A little above our heads. Can you explain in simple terms your role and what the software does?”

“I’m the team leader for a software development project exclusively designed for LNG companies. The software, which we called Nehemiah, regulates the temperature of liquid natural gas, a necessary safety precaution, and includes extensive preventive measures to deter hackers. The latter is a firewall.”

“So the software in itself is not a firewall?”

“Right. It’s a protective mechanism.”

“Is Nehemiah the firewall?”

Her patience was running thin. “No, sir. Nehemiah is the name of this specific software project that contains a firewall.”

“You are fully aware of its catastrophic potential in the wrong hands.”

Of course she knew the security concerns. “Your point?”

“Did Shepherd ever have access to your work files?”

“Never.” Taryn recalled Shep taking her iPad. Should she tell them? Her iPhone was missing as well. A lengthy encrypted key that gave backdoor access into the software was stored on it and not synced or backed up anywhere else. How could the FBI suggest such despicable things about the man she loved? “If my work files could be obtained, a hacker still couldn’t
 
—”

“Password protection means nothing.” Agent Hall’s eyes narrowed. “Even I know that. It’s not
if
but
when
.”

“In this instance, we incorporated extraordinary security measures.”

“You have an extremely high IQ, Miss Young. But you’re not infallible.”

She swallowed hard. “I disabled the software on Friday and
enabled an older version that also contained a firewall. I’m not authorized to say why.”

“Your supervisor said the Nehemiah Project was fully operational.”

“He lied.”

Dare she state she didn’t trust two members of her team
 
—her supervisor and a woman who seemed too ambitious and yet careless? A woman whose uncle was the CEO of Gated Labs? “I planned to discuss the situation with the VP of product development today after arriving in Puerto Rico. He’s been out of the country.”

Agent Hall cocked his head. “Why would you leave those companies vulnerable when they’re relying on the latest version of operating information and security?”

She considered telling him the truth: she’d feared Haden might compromise the software, and she wasn’t sure of his hacking abilities. “The software they are using does have a firewall. Let’s just say there were problems, and my decision was based upon protecting the project and ultimately the two LNG companies piloting the software.”

“So you left work on Friday and didn’t plan to return until a week from tomorrow? And a highly secured software project was to lay dormant until you returned?”

“Not necessarily. I know that sounds irregular
 
—”

“And only you can re-enable the software?” Agent Hall said.

“Yes.” She could reveal her suspicions, but they had nothing to do with the bombing. Agent Bradshaw shut the door. He hadn’t said a word. Was he saving up for his interrogation?

“Is it normal protocol for only one person to hold the keys?” Agent Hall said.

“I’m not in a position to say anything else.” She’d discovered a bug and fixed it after overhearing a conversation that threatened the reputation and future of Gated Labs. “Quite the contrary. The situation would have been rectified once I spoke to the VP.”

Agent Bradshaw moved to lean over her bed. His eyes were kind, like she remembered. “Mrs. Shepherd, we need to know the whole story. If you’re innocent, you have nothing to fear.”

“Then you and Agent Hall can obtain clearance and be present at a secure site when I talk to the VP of product development.”

“Count on it.” Agent Bradshaw shook his head and walked back to the door.

It wasn’t like her to be uncooperative. “Look, I made a choice to disable the software knowing I might not have a position when I returned. The Nehemiah Project means more to me than my career.”

“How noble,” Agent Hall said with a huff.

“Noble?” Irritation swept through her. “Are you questioning my integrity? Because you’re way out of line.”

Agent Hall lifted a brow.

“Go ahead and write my response in your report.”

“Did Shepherd ever ask what you were working on?” Hall said.

Taryn struggled to keep her emotions in check. “Of course he asked about my work. We were getting to know each other. When I explained the security clearance issues, he understood.” Heat flooded her for so many reasons that she couldn’t list them. Shep had the answers to end her fears. “I wouldn’t betray Gated Labs or conduct unethical behavior.” She clenched her fists. “Do you want to see the red, white, and blue tattoo on my backside?”

“I’m sure your patriotic symbol is on the hospital records,” Hall said. “Perhaps you wouldn’t knowingly provide information to Mr. Shepherd. Has he ever given you any reason to believe his interest in you was anything other than personal?”

“Never.” Her mind slipped back to the tenderest of times. She could trace his attentiveness from the moment they met.

“Where is he employed?” Hall’s voice softened and he pressed his lips together. “You do understand he didn’t give you his real name.”

She refused to respond to his provocation. “He owns his own business. Imports diamonds from Africa.”

“Name?”

“Shepherd Gem Enterprises.”

Agent Hall picked up his phone and pressed the keypad. “Shepherd Gem Enterprises does not exist. Neither are there any import businesses or diamond companies remotely resembling Shepherd Gem Enterprises.”

“But I’ve seen his website
 
—shepherdgementerprises.com.”

He handed her his phone. “This site is under construction.”

3:05 P.M. MONDAY

Grayson walked to the hospital parking lot with Vince at his side. He believed Taryn Young had been played. Even so, he had planted a bug in the nightstand beside her hospital bed in case Shepherd made contact.

Vince claimed she was knee-deep in a terrorist plot. The man had twenty-eight years of experience. Add seven years, and that’s how long Grayson had walked the earth. Grayson wanted to believe Vince’s experience partnered with wisdom, like barbecue and potato salad. But some days he wasn’t in the mood to listen to Vince’s war stories. Everything had to be viewed through an ego the size of Texas.

“You watch,” Vince said. “She’ll make a connection, and we’ll lose her. If our bad guys manage to slip her out of the hospital, we’re sunk. It all adds up
 
—she hid out in the bathroom while Shepherd made his escape. She’s claiming innocence, and yet we’ve discovered she’s involved in a project with national security repercussions. To me that’s a big neon sign flashing,
Terrorist
.”

“I’m not convinced.” Grayson unlocked his Mustang. “She could have died this morning.”

“Or she could have arranged to meet another partner in the restroom. Think about what we just learned. She’s up to her rear in today’s mess.”

Hospital cameras had filmed an unidentified man dressed in scrubs on Taryn Young’s floor an hour after she arrived. His build resembled the man who called himself Francis Shepherd, but so far they had no images that facial recognition software could use. If Shepherd had been able to get to her, and she knew more about the bombing than she claimed, why didn’t he kill her? Except her survival made her look guilty. Her death would indicate others were involved. Grayson wasn’t ready to concede yet. If the man had slipped into her room and taken her iPhone, what did that mean?

He pulled onto a feeder road. Destination: Shepherd’s high-rise condo along the waterways in The Woodlands, about twenty minutes north of the hospital. Agents had already swept it for fingerprints and DNA. So far nothing.

“Any leads on the limo Shepherd used for transportation to the airport?”

Vince scrolled through his BlackBerry. “Listed owner died four months ago. Vehicle found in Galveston about two this afternoon.”

“No one commits the perfect crime. What else do we know about Shepherd?”

“Manager of the condo never met him. Everything was handled by phone or e-mail. The monthly fees were an automatic draw from an account listed as Shepherd Gem Enterprises. He drove a 2014 silver BMW convertible, a confirmed lease. Again, the same company listed. He also used an e-mail account with Shepherd Gem. Unable to unlock paper trail any further.” Vince seldom gave him eye contact
 
—his gaze always darted about as though avoiding Grayson. No surprise, since neither man respected the other.

“What about the deceased limo owner?”

“A man who lived in an Alzheimer’s unit in Galveston. Only relative is a nephew in Chicago who didn’t attend his uncle’s funeral. Both records are clean. Nothing there, farm boy.”

Grayson whipped a quick look at Vince, his eyes etched with deep lines. According to the SSA, he hadn’t always been
so disagreeable. At one time, he’d been a highly respected agent. “Look, Vince, let’s put aside our personal differences and work together on this.”

“Isn’t that what we’re doing?” Vince jutted his chin.

“Sure it is.” Grayson shoved back his ire. “So we have no photo of Shepherd or his real name.”

Vince read his BlackBerry. “Got an update from the FIG. Some of those missing are confirmed dead.”

What went wrong today? What had happened to the US’s security measures? The media’s mad scramble to find answers also meant misleading information could be reported. The public deserved justice, but determining it took time and analysis of thousands of data sources. The final answers would take months.

“The situation with Shepherd and Young looks simple to me,” Vince said. “They partnered with terrorists to blow up terminal E and make a chunk of change from the software.”

“Possibly.”

“I’m right and you know it.”

Grayson let him talk while processing their findings. Young’s phone was missing. Shepherd must have managed entrance to her hospital room before the FBI arrived. She claimed to have heard his voice. When Grayson told her there was no record of her marriage, she’d paled. Told him to check again.

Grayson drove to Shepherd’s condo, a high-end complex with every amenity imaginable. The manager, an olive-skinned beauty, didn’t appear pleased to see them.

“This is a popular place. Do I need an attorney?” she said.

“Not unless you have something to hide,” Grayson said.

“I mean with what’s happened and the FBI sending in a team to one of our units
 
—” she stood, revealing a postage-stamp-size skirt
 
—“we have legal ramifications to consider.”

Grayson ignored the flick of hair over her shoulder and the moistening of her lips. He’d experienced her type before
 
—
Get distracted with me and forget why you’re here.
“We asked you about
Francis Shepherd. You can answer our questions here or at our office with your attorney.” He offered his best professional smile. “Why wouldn’t you want to assist us?”

She walked across the room and closed the door, the swing in her step definitely for their benefit. “I’ve already made a statement to the other FBI agents.” She picked up an agent’s card, shoving it under Grayson’s nose. “This guy was rude. But go ahead. Ask the same questions and waste your time and mine.”

Vince stepped into her personal space. “We have a bombing to investigate. I recommend your cooperation. The public is hot for us to make an arrest.”

She blinked. “Sure. Whatever. I feel bad about the deaths, but I can’t lose my job over this. We have a stellar reputation.”

“Did you ever have a face-to-face with Francis Shepherd?”

“No.”

“I find that difficult to believe. So he purchased his condo without seeing it?”

“The negotiations were done by phone.”

“Never personally?”

“A representative from a realty company handled it all.”

“I want the Realtor’s name.”

She swished to her desk and computer. After a few keystrokes, she stiffened. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. “The name has been deleted from the file.”

Grayson studied the woman and her shaking fingers.

“Sir, I don’t know how this disappeared. No one uses this computer but me. I’ll . . . I’ll do my best to recall the name and then contact you. Perhaps I can find it in a backup.”

“You’re not helping us at all.” Vince narrowed his gaze. “See if you can answer this one: Does he have a reserved parking spot?”

“Yes, but the other agent reported it empty. Are we done?” She glanced at Grayson as though she needed deliverance.

“Agent Hall can’t help you.” Vince stuck his face within inches of hers. “I’m in charge here.”

Technically, Vince didn’t have the lead, which had been a sore spot between the two. But if it offered intimidation and produced results, he could claim anything. Except this time Grayson didn’t think the tough-guy facade was working.

“I’ve already given the payment tracking information to the FBI, along with all the information I could find about Mr. Shepherd.”

“Anything you might’ve missed?” Vince said.

She squared her shoulders, her composure in check. Vince wouldn’t get anything more from the woman. He nodded at Grayson, his cue that his partner should take over.

“Let’s take a look at the condo,” Vince said.

“Go ahead. I’ll be there in a few minutes. I want to see the camera footage.” Once Vince left, Grayson offered the woman a dazzling smile. “Sorry about my partner.”

She returned an equally charming look. “That’s okay. I’ve learned to deal with those rough-around-the-edges types.”

“The truth is we’re getting hammered to find who’s responsible for the bombing. Hate it when the big guys pound us.”

“I can only imagine.”

“Especially when I’m the new guy. Sure would like to find Shepherd.”

“He had a deep voice. Sexy.” She sighed. “I’ll pull up the footage for you.” She typed, then frowned. “Agent Hall, the footage from the gate Mr. Shepherd would have used and from his parking spot are missing.” She typed again. “It’s all gone.”

Grayson looked at the screen. The time-stamped videos had been deleted. “What about the backup program?”

“I can give you the security company’s information.” She reached inside a desk drawer and gave him a business card.

He phoned the FIG for their assistance. Shepherd, or whatever his name was, had the cunning to cover his tracks. “Thanks for your help.”

“I keep thinking I’ve missed a detail, but I don’t think so,” she said.

“Odd, he never showed up to sign papers or pick up his keys. The Realtor handled it all.”

“It’s not unusual for our clientele to have others handle what they feel is trivial. But there was a woman who stopped by about a week ago looking for him.”

“Did she give a name?”

“Yes. I remember she said the two of them were engaged, and her first name was unusual. Had auburn hair. Attractive.” She tapped her chin and reached inside her desk drawer, producing another business card. “Taryn Young. Works for Gated Labs Technology. She left a gift for him, which I kept here until he called for one of our staff to deliver it.”

Like bomb pieces? “Do you know what it was?”

“No. I’m guessing a clothing article. It came from Neiman Marcus.”

His BlackBerry indicated a notification from the FIG. The security company had reported a break-in. The footage from Shepherd’s condo had been deleted.

4:45 P.M. MONDAY

Taryn would do anything to get out of the hospital. Being pumped with IVs while a police officer stood guard outside her door meant she had no control of her life
 
—defenseless against the strong accusations hurled against her. For once in her life, she needed to step outside her introverted role and seize life before it seized her.

Media reports monopolized the TV networks. They claimed the FBI had a person of interest, and she knew it was her. Swallowing hard, she accepted the inevitable
 
—once the doctor released her, she’d be in custody until the real bomber was found.

She must find Shep. He’d be able to explain what happened this morning. Where could he be? He’d probably stepped away from the airport to surprise her with her favorite roses.

Worrisome thoughts about his possible injury would not leave
her alone. He could be in another medical facility with no ID. Or buried beneath twisted metal and concrete.

The FBI claimed he’d left in a limo. Had the driver waited for him?

Francis Shepherd wasn’t his real name?

His website content had vanished?

She shivered, and the chill had nothing to do with the hospital’s cold temps. They were wrong, and she’d find a way to prove her husband’s innocence. But how could she when others blamed her for today’s tragedy? She and Shep had far too many documented proofs to show their marriage was legitimate. A man didn’t get married one day and betray his country the next.

A police officer stood in the way of her leaving. Dare she . . . ?

She focused on the IV in her arm. Couldn’t be that hard to remove.