Firewall (6 page)

7:50 P.M. MONDAY

Think, Taryn. Don’t let emotions paralyze you.

She couldn’t feel her heart beat or her feet touch the pavement. How long and how far had she walked? She hurried across the street in the midst of traffic. Horns blared. Brakes screeched. She didn’t care. Claire’s mutilated body stayed fixed in her mind. The blood . . . The day had been filled with so much blood.

The police needed to be contacted. Leaving Claire alone at the studio seemed heartless, but Taryn was afraid. Her fingerprints were everywhere. Why should she be surprised her name would be linked to one more brutal crime? Since her cell was missing, she had to find a pay phone. . . . When had she last seen one? Shep called them a relic of the past. She needed her husband to help her work through this nightmare.

Taryn hoped Zoey hadn’t witnessed her mother’s death. Or had she? Where was Zoey? The little girl must be with Lydia. That made sense. Claire could have scheduled a late-afternoon photo shoot and taken Zoey to the sitter’s. Taryn pushed logic into her thoughts. But truth packed a hard punch
 
—the poor child was now motherless.

Today’s tragedies didn’t involve codes and numbers that she could delete with a keystroke. Reality never responded to Shift or Backspace. Real life had to be met with strength, and hers had just run out.

An office building towered before her. But the time neared eight. As she’d feared, the doors were locked. A block down, a Starbucks was nestled in a shopping strip, its green-and-white sign glowing like a beacon. Maybe it had a pay phone. She slipped the sunglasses back on and made her way inside the café. Normally the aroma of freshly brewed coffee perked her up. But not tonight. The darkened view of her surroundings handicapped her. She wanted to be in control, and her disguise diminished her vision.

The sounds of laughter and conversation irritated her. No pay phone in sight.

She used the restroom and washed Claire’s blood from her hands. Bruises continued to rise on her face. A sense of filth resonated within her, and that feeling would not dissipate until today’s bomber and Claire’s killer were found. Once back in the café, she scanned the tables for police officers.

“Can I help you?” A young man grinned from behind the counter. His dimples must have earned him lots of tips.

“I have an emergency, and I’ve lost my phone.”

He pulled a phone from his pocket. “Use mine. Are you okay?”

She nodded and moved to a far table. Glancing to see that no one observed her, she pressed in 911. The police or FBI wouldn’t be able to trace the call to her. How far had she sunk to avoid those who were committed to protecting the public? The operator responded.

“I want to report a murder.” Her voice trembled. “Claire Levin, at her photography studio in the Galleria, near the mall. I found her in the back room a few minutes ago. The sign says Closed, but the door’s unlocked. Her equipment is missing, so I assume it was a robbery.”

“Where are you now?”

“I’m not sure. I . . . I couldn’t stay there.”

“What is your name?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“What’s the number you’re calling from?”

The operator had her number. “I don’t know.”

“Stay calm, miss. Don’t hang up.”

Taryn disconnected the call, fighting the desire to dissolve into a puddle of emotion. A woman laughed as though her coffee held a shot of brandy. A table of teens sipped on their syrupy drinks while texting. Didn’t they understand the world was falling apart?

She pressed in Shep’s number, but it simply rang. She ignored a call, assuming it was the 911 operator.

Next she called Lydia. “This is Taryn. I’ve got to be brief.”

The woman cried out her name. “Oh, the news is saying terrible things about you.”

“They aren’t true.”

“I know, dear one. Makes me angry. I want to call the FBI and tell them they have the wrong person.”

“Thanks, Lydia. Is Zoey with you?”

“She’s with Claire.”

How many times would terror wind a fiery trail through her body? “I just came from the studio. Someone has stolen her equipment, and . . .” Taryn’s voice cracked, and she sobbed. “I hate to tell you this, but Claire is dead, and Zoey wasn’t there.”

Lydia broke into wailing. “What’s going on? Claire is a good, kind person. Who would do such an awful thing? And where is our little girl?”

Taryn swiped beneath her eyes. “I wish I knew. Does anyone else ever keep her?”

“You know Claire only trusts you and me.”

Taryn didn’t say what rippled through her
 
—the killer might have taken Zoey. Had it been a theft since Claire’s equipment was missing, or was it something to do with the danger unfolding around her? “I’ll find her and whoever took Claire’s life.”

“Where is your new husband?”

“I haven’t seen him since before the explosion.” Suspicions paralleled her rising panic. No. She refused to think Shep was a part
of today’s chaos. “I called the police about Claire. Please don’t tell them I contacted you. I’ll be in touch.”

“God be with you. I’m praying for this to end and bring us sweet Zoey.”

Taryn ended the call. The barista studied her curiously, and she held up her finger to let him know she was nearly finished. What if he’d recognized her beneath the hat and sunglasses? As if anyone needed their eyes protected this time of evening. What if he’d already informed the police? Desperation mounted. She pulled Pastor Willis’s card from her purse and pressed in his number. A respected man could provide sound counseling, help her sort through the terrifying moments since this morning. The phone rang several times. She tried again. When no one answered, her insides knotted. A pastor always had voice mail. Right? And he specifically said this number also rang into his private cell so he could be reached day or night.

She returned the phone with a polite thanks and left the coffee shop. Where could she go to think? Dusk was approaching, and predators did their best work then. Exhausted, her body throbbing in time with her pulse, she needed a safe place where she could search for more information. She loved Shep, and he loved her. Once they were together, he’d explain what really happened this morning, and she’d tell him about the break-in at their condo and poor Claire and Zoey. The FBI would be satisfied and forgive what she’d done to the police officer. Without rest, she’d soon collapse. The need to find answers drove her more strongly than clearing her and Shep’s names.

Claire had told her about an Internet café four blocks from her studio. Gathering her wits, Taryn looked for street signs and pinpointed her location to backtrack. Her commitment to the truth and locating Shep deepened. Every car that drove past, every person she passed, upped the urgency in her spirit. The sign for the Internet café boasted neon red . . . the same color as blood.

Inside, she waited fifteen minutes before a computer was
available. After paying ten dollars for an hour, she slid into a chair and brought the computer to life. She checked local news and cringed at her own picture. She hated the accusations.

One report listed her as a terrorist. Another as a person of interest and tied her to smuggling technology from Gated Labs to enemies of the US. Considered armed and dangerous. Her hand flew to her mouth.

No one mentioned how Nehemiah aided those exporting LNG or how she’d dedicated her efforts to protecting US infrastructure.

Taryn leaned back in the chair and stretched before focusing on the news report again. She fought the tears. Ethan was listed among the dead! How could this have happened? He was her friend and mentor. And now he was gone. He’d shared in her suspicions of Kinsley and Haden before he left for Mexico City, and he’d promised to investigate the matter. She stared at the computer screen, her heart hammering against her chest.

The death toll rose at an alarming rate. The number of injured recovered from the rubble continued to grow. More sites listed her as a bomber . . . killer . . . traitor. She clicked on the FBI’s website to read their press release. Thank goodness they didn’t make the horrendous claims of the media. If only she could send her mom an e-mail or call her.

She scrambled to find info about Pastor Willis. Another useless search. His church didn’t exist, and the address on his card was a vacant lot. She studied the diamond Shep had placed on her left finger, promising his love and devotion. His smile said forever. Would he be horrified to learn the pastor was a fake, or did he already know? Shaking away the rising panic, she looked for proof of the things he’d told about himself. She had to learn the truth. Her fingers sped across the keyboard, seeking more answers. Even if the results shook her world.

Harris County had no listing of her and Shep’s marriage license application. He was not the man she thought she’d married . . . if she were married at all.

With the last finding, she left the café but had no idea where to go. She remembered a bus stop and made her way slowly in that direction. Once there, she slid onto a bench. No one waited with her. So very hard to think when her body was one mass of bruises, and she had nowhere to turn. But she could ride the bus until she figured out the next step. Lydia would be looking for Zoey too. Perhaps she’d call the police.

The truth . . . where was it? Could Shep really be trying to save her from some unknown evil? Or was he evil personified? The thought made her physically ill. Combined with the pounding in her head, her thinking faded in and out. She wanted to give up and let the police find her. She hadn’t done anything seriously wrong, but how could she prove it?

“Taryn.”

She froze. Shep! She whirled around. Bolting from the bench, she flew into his arms. He held her close while she fought the urge to sink into hysteria. The familiar scent of his woodsy cologne and the strength of his arms helped make the horrors of the day fade.

“There’s no need to board a bus.” He stroked her hair and back. “We have to talk about the miscommunication at the airport.”

She hesitated, a tug-of-war raging through her emotions. Miscommunication? “What happened this morning?”

“I got a last-minute business call. Urgent. I had to take care of it.”

Her mind screamed
liar
. “You left me at the airport without a word. On our honeymoon!”

“I tried to call you after the explosion.”

Shep . . . her husband, the man she loved. She’d looked for him since waking in the hospital. The FBI said he’d fed her a fictitious name. They displayed footage of him leaving the airport before the explosion. An image of Claire’s body flashed. The brutal savagery of all the dead and injured. And where was Zoey? The country believed Taryn was a traitor. Still, he’d not contacted her until now . . . in the dark.

Taryn stepped back. “I want the truth.”

“Don’t you trust me? Babe, we have to get out of here.” He grabbed her right wrist
 
—hard. “Cops are everywhere.”

In the madness of today, had she lost touch with reality? “Don’t we want to go to the authorities and prove our innocence?”

A bus rolled to a stop, its brakes screeching. The driver opened the door. No one exited. “I’m running late. Y’all gettin’ on?” the female bus driver said. “Haven’t got all night.”

Taryn tried to jerk free from Shep’s hold. She opened her palm and pressed her thumbs into his wrist. He loosened control, and she stepped back.

“Trust me,” he said. “You’ll regret this.”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Without me, you’ll end up dead. You know what I want.” He reached for her, but she took another step back toward the bus.

Her worst fears had manifested and stood before her.

The bus driver called out. “Either get yourself on in here, or I’m drivin’ on.”

He grabbed her wrist again, and she drove a kick into his nose. Blood gushed. He doubled over and fell.

“I’ll find you, you b
 
—” he cursed. “No one can save you now.”

She scrambled up the bus steps, and the door closed behind her. The bus rolled away, and contempt for the man she’d sworn to love until death settled in her.

9:35 P.M. MONDAY

Shep’s betrayal bannered across Taryn’s mind. Had he committed all of today’s atrocities? Sent innocent people to their deaths? Murdered Claire? Done something with Zoey? Clenching her fists, she allowed herself to accept the unthinkable. She’d been used, but for what purpose? Could it be . . . ?

Shock numbed her as the bus rumbled down the street, letting passengers on and off at various stops. She didn’t want to believe what had happened. She wanted to believe that Shep hadn’t threatened her but was a good man who loved her. The screen mounted inside the bus continued to report the bombing. A segment of the Houston FBI director’s speech replayed . . . the number of dead and injured etched into her mind.

Special Agent Grayson Hall hadn’t lied to her. His insulting questions held a vein of truth. She shivered.

She’d hurt a police officer because she believed in Shep’s innocence. Her mind spun with one thought after another, all centered on hurt and betrayal. Her throat thickened, but she refused to cry. Her life had been dedicated to solving dilemmas for businesses and industries through the latest in software technology. But no amount of superior programming could reverse today.

She rode the bus through four more stops, her heart and mind torn in many directions. A huge stone church set back from the
street caught her attention. Safety. Rest. Surely it would be open. The bus stopped and she exited, peering in every direction for Shep. He said she knew what he wanted. Before the question left her mind, the answer came.

The only thing she possessed that anyone would ever want was access to Nehemiah and her knowledge of other encrypted files from Gated Labs.

Once the taillights of the bus disappeared, she worked her way across a busy intersection to the church. Claire always used to say God reigned with His people, and Taryn wanted to believe her friend’s words. She hoped God’s house held an invisible shield to protect those who needed it.

She yanked on the main entrance door. Locked. Would the church have an alarm system? Of course it would. What was she thinking? In this world, no one could be trusted. She’d learned that valuable lesson today.

Please, God. I need rest.

She walked the perimeter of the church building, trying each door until a rear one by the children’s playground surprisingly released. She stole a look over her shoulder before pulling the door open. A swing moved as though a child eased back and forth. If an alarm sounded, she’d simply escape into the night.

No sirens. Eerie quiet met her ears . . . like a low hum. She locked the door behind her and leaned against it, willing reality to lift its weight from her shoulders. She couldn’t recall ever being in a church alone. But the need for rest overpowered caution. Here in the solace of those who lived by faith, she’d find a way out of today’s mess.

In the shadows, she explored the hallway, finding a series of offices. A table lamp lit the desk of one of the larger ones, and she limped inside, the sting in her foot growing worse. A green leather sofa caught her attention, and she lay down, not to sleep but to close her eyes and think.

Two days ago she had readied herself for a beautiful wedding
and a fairy-tale honeymoon. The problems at work with Kinsley Stevens and Haden Rollins would be easily resolved once Ethan returned from Mexico City. The overheard conversation in the break room between those two had sealed her concern about the software’s vulnerability. She regretted not being more social. Making friends might have given her an edge in office activities.

Why hadn’t she gone to Mr. Patterson and shared her concerns about the project on Friday? Asked for permission to disable the software? Gone ahead and revealed her doubts about his niece and Rollins? Taryn’s stupid pride had been her downfall. The Nehemiah Project was her team’s best work, and she feared Kinsley planned to take over her leadership role. Sleeping with Haden guaranteed it. Taryn had relied on Ethan, and he’d died in the blast. Her stomach tightened as she tried to keep from breaking into a mass of sobs.

International security implications for her team’s software project were a concern from the beginning. In the wrong hands, access to the software source code could be used against the US and its allies. Could the bombing be related? How far-fetched were her suspicions? Why would anyone blow up an airport terminal for software? There had to be more, but she had a sick feeling the two were connected.

She’d told Shep that whatever project held her attention at Gated Labs came home with her. If he now had her phone along with her iPad, he would have access to the software.

The backdoor was buried deep in her iPhone, and it would take the most experienced hacker time to find and decrypt it.

Why hadn’t she seen Shep’s deceit in their three-month whirlwind romance? If he’d been part of a conspiracy to gain access to Gated Labs’s technology, the plan had been thorough. And one person alone couldn’t have put this into play. Kinsley’s and Haden’s names surfaced again. Was jealousy over Kinsley’s connection to Brad Patterson ruling Taryn’s thoughts?

She was so far from her comfort zone that she didn’t recognize
herself. The future looked hopeless and scary. She had to initiate proving her innocence because the world believed otherwise.

She rubbed her face as though the pounding in her head would slip into oblivion. Answers were supposed to come with the morning, but tomorrow seemed an eternity away when every law enforcement official in the city and state was looking for her. The search had probably gone nationwide. Not that she could blame any of them. Too many facts pointed to her supposed guilt.

Taryn forced herself to stand. Perhaps if she paced, the pieces of her jumbled mind would slide into place. She glanced at her wedding ring. It might not be real either. She hurt, not just physically, but through every fiber of her being.

Forget your feelings and focus on the bigger picture. People are dead. A child is missing. You’re wanted. It can’t be a coincidence Shep left you at the airport and then emerges from the dark threatening you.
Something larger than her damaged heart was at stake. And she couldn’t deny or hide her involvement.

She knew none of Shep’s friends except the limo driver. Neither had he mentioned any names. His past was rooted in Abilene, the only child of a couple killed in a car accident when he was in college. Why hadn’t she checked into his claims? She couldn’t blame herself
 
—she’d had no reason to doubt him. How clever. She nibbled on a fingernail, recalling how it annoyed him. Too bad. The events leading up to the bombing marched across her mind.

A fake wedding.

“I’ll take care of everything, honey. I’ll make sure our day is perfect.”

She rubbed her cold arms . . . remembering.

“Drink a second cup of coffee, my precious lady. You need to wake up.”

Shep had her iPad.

Their separation before the bombing.

He’d probably taken her phone too. He’d been in the hospital room, and that wasn’t something she’d dreamed.

Her destroyed condo and the missing photos.

Her laptop with pictures of them gone.

Claire’s murder and the missing computer and photo equipment.

Zoey’s disappearance.

Ethan Formier dead in the bombing.

Shep’s appearance at the bus stop.

By all rights, she should have been killed today. And if her fears were valid that his abandoning her at the airport was all about the Nehemiah Project, she could have been another body at the morgue. She shook her head, wanting to believe her injuries had taken her on a hallucinatory trip.

I’ve not gone mad. Somehow, someway, I’m going to find answers to all that’s happened.

At the moment, she was worth more alive. Kidnapping was a strong possibility, which must have been Shep’s reasoning at the bus stop. He’d meant to scare her, and it worked. She ran from the law and Shep. Who was worse? Gated Labs probably wanted her arrested or had already fired her.

She rose and limped along the wall of bookshelves, glancing at reference and history books to help whoever occupied this office form theologically sound messages. A nudging whispered to give herself up. She wanted to do the noble thing
 
—help the FBI find those responsible for the day’s tragedies and locate Zoey.

Taryn fought sleep while her body cried out for more Tylenol 3, but she didn’t want to take anything that would dull her mind. Come morning, pastors and staff would enter their offices, and a church harboring a fugitive sounded like a medieval story line. Whatever she chose for her next step, she had to figure it out now.

She shook off her weariness. The items in this pastor’s office held her fingerprints. Did it really matter at this point?

A Bible lay open on a small table. She was a once-a-month believer. That’s when she attended church with Claire’s encouragement, or she’d not gone at all. It had been years since she studied Scripture. Her family had served faithfully in church, sending her and her brothers to every church event imaginable. But her
regular attendance ended when she entered the world of science and accepted her professors’ nonexistence of God. Then her father died suddenly of a heart attack, and she struggled attending church even with Claire. But today she needed to find answers outside herself
 
—a rarity. Her world, once secure in technology and its continuous advances, had been hacked.

Her gaze dropped to the Bible. A funeral service bulletin marked Psalm 23, a passage she’d memorized as a child. Information about the deceased caught her attention.

The woman was a Holocaust survivor, a Polish Jew. Soon after she completed her education as a medical doctor, the Nazis had invaded her country. She refused an opportunity to escape because she didn’t want to leave loved ones behind and was later sent to Auschwitz. While in the concentration camp, she helped others as best she could. After the liberation, she became a believer and emigrated to Houston. A Messianic Jew . . . like Claire. A quote from the woman caught Taryn’s attention. “I could not blame God for the penetrating stench of death, for He was my only hope. I clung to God in worshipful desperation, and He strengthened me beyond comprehension.”

Life required sacrifices in every generation. Nothing Taryn experienced had prepared her for this unfolding nightmare. So many people gone, snuffed out of life. For what? Burying her face in her hands, she reached within her soul for the faith she had found as a child.

Oh, God, I’m so scared. Forgive me for the doubts that pulled me away from You, for building a shrine to technology. I need Your wisdom. Help me. I don’t know what to do.

How could she do any less than sacrifice her own freedom to find Claire’s child? Taryn had no means to find Zoey. Neither could she clear her name without help. Who should she contact? A name rested in her mind
 
—a man she hadn’t regarded as a friend. Quite the opposite.

Why him, God?