Читать книгу Killer Colton Christmas - Regan Black, Lara Lacombe - Страница 13

Chapter 2

Emiliano studied the Colton, Incorporated, CDO, simultaneously impressed by her composure and wondering when the dam would break. No one could hold up indefinitely to the news of being hunted, online and in real life. Whatever had incited this attack, Townsend was right; the Cohort had zeroed in on Miss Meyers and they weren’t letting up.

Why? During his work on this task force, he hadn’t seen anything quite like the vitriol they were spewing at this particular woman. She seemed nice enough. Polite and competent. Pretty, too, though that was irrelevant. Nothing he’d heard so far gave him any insight as to how she’d landed on the bad side of one of the most dangerous hacktivist groups in existence.

Yes, the core of her career was at odds with the Cohort mandate on privacy, but why were they determined to incite direct violence?

She had courage in the face of the clear, physical danger, he’d give her that, and he had to assume integrity and commitment as well, based on how the executive staff treated her. And she was watching him expectantly from those wide, intelligent brown eyes shot with gold and framed with long lashes. He cleared his throat and got on with his job. “You can see the Cohort claimed responsibility immediately,” he began.

Her gaze held his, serious and steady. “Because they think they can bring Livia Colton to justice? It’s as if they believe hacking our personal records will prove the company is hiding her.”

He’d expected the outburst, though she’d delivered it with admirable control. “It’s a better reason than hackers usually offer,” he said. “Public opinion will swing their way on this one.”

Temper flashed in her eyes. “They’ve exploited innocent, hardworking employees. I’d think public opinion would go against them.”

Across the table, Finn, one of Emiliano’s best friends in the FBI, gave a snort. “Not with Livia Colton alive and on the loose. Do you have any idea—”

He held up a hand and cut him off again, wondering why Finn was so determined to terrorize Miss Meyers. They could cover the basic information without running the risk of sending her into a paralyzing tailspin. Her expertise might prove valuable on this case, assuming she wasn’t in league with the Cohort somehow.

Her gaze shifted to Finn. “You believe the Cohort has turned the city against me, personally?”

Finn nodded, looking less than sheepish. Emiliano barely swallowed his aggravation. “Miss Meyers...” He waited until her gaze swung back to him. “Our team can unravel the digital details. We have methods to root out those responsible for the breach here. For your safety, it’s best if you take a leave of absence. We’ll assign a protective detail to keep an eye on you.”

Her dark eyebrows arched high. She turned to the Colton executives gathered at the other end of the long table. “You’re okay with this?”

“For the duration of the investigation, yes,” Fowler Colton said. Beside him, Zane nodded emphatically. “This isn’t a typical hack, Marie. Ignoring these threats could be a grave mistake.”

“Shouldn’t the FBI be keeping the Colton family safe?”

“We’re taking precautions,” Zane replied. “As you can see, the most immediate threats are aimed directly at you.”

A fact that made this case more intriguing than any of the others he’d recently handled.

“You won’t consider another option?” she implored. “I know I can help.”

Almost in unison the men shook their heads. “We agree it’s best to suspend your normal operations until the investigation is complete,” T.C. said. “Don’t want to give the hacktivists more ammunition.”

“It’s December, Marie.” Fowler gave her a wan smile. “Get into the Christmas spirit. You haven’t taken a real vacation this year. Take the rest of the month. We look forward to seeing you in January.” He glanced around the room. “Surely she can resume her work by then.”

Emiliano noticed no one on the task force made that kind of promise. Watching Marie, he caught the flash of panic in her eyes and the quiver in her lip before she dropped her gaze to the table. When she looked up, only a steely calm remained, her lips set in a tense smile.

In full investigative mode, he wondered what the woman was hiding. Most people would appreciate extra time at the holidays. He made a mental note to take a closer look at her file. Nothing indicated she’d be sympathetic to the Cohort, though he’d seen stranger things and known women who excelled in hiding their true natures.

Finn stood up and came around to stand at the door. “I’ll drive you home.”

“No, thank you.” Although her lips curved upward, the expression couldn’t be considered a smile. “I’ll need my car to make the most of my unexpected time off.” The resigned, almost sad glance she aimed at her bosses made Emiliano flinch inside. “Happy holidays, Zane, Fowler, T.C. Give my best to your f-families.” She hurried away without waiting for a reply, leaving Emiliano and the rest of the room a bit stunned in her wake.

“We can’t let her leave. Not alone,” Finn appealed to SAC Dashwood. “She might be the access point the Cohort needed.”

The brash remark drew everyone’s attention. Astonished incredulity radiated from the faces of those who weren’t FBI. Emiliano glared at him. They didn’t publicly call out a suspect that way without evidence to back it up. Then again, Finn had been working for nearly an hour and he was one of the best at rooting out hacker signatures within computer code.

“Did you find something?” he asked.

“Call building security,” Dashwood ordered before Finn could reply. “Have them hold her at the door.”

“I’m on my way.” Finn pulled his keys from his pockets and started for the door.

“No.” Dashwood’s stern gaze stopped Finn cold. “I need you here, Agent Townsend. You have the most experience with the Cohort and their primary hackers.”

Temper moved over Finn’s boyish face like a thundercloud, but he didn’t argue as he returned to his seat. When Selene used that tone, none of them argued.

“Agent Ortega, you’ll stick with Meyers until we can mute these threats. Her safety is your first priority as we work this case.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Emiliano closed the laptop he’d brought along and stowed it in his computer bag, no happier than Finn with the new orders.

Smart and gorgeous, all signs pointed to Marie Meyers being a difficult woman for him to keep an eye on. He’d done his best to clear drama and difficulty from his life. Guarding a suspect or potential victim was the least favorite part of his job description.

He hurried down the hall to Marie’s office. She was already gone.

“Hang on, Ortega,” Dashwood said, catching him at the elevator.

“So she is a suspect?” Emiliano kept his voice low.

“I didn’t say that.”

He waited for her to clarify.

“We both know this isn’t typical Cohort strategy,” she said. Only her narrowed gaze revealed her frustration. “I want to stop this before it becomes a trend. We’ll work it from this side while you keep working it off-site. With or without the CDO’s cooperation.”

He understood what she wouldn’t say outright in this building. They had to protect Miss Meyers based on the credible threats. In doing so, he would be close enough to catch her if she was cooperating with the hacktivists.

“When did you put her in the suspect category?” He knew some cyberattacks were assisted by insiders, but this felt like a big leap in judgment against Miss Meyers.

Selene spread her hands wide. “We’re just getting started. I’m not ready to rule out anything.”

“Let’s move fast. I’m not looking forward to spending Christmas in my truck.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m sure it won’t come to that.”

“If it does, you can explain it to Scrabble.” His beloved corgi would be grumpy if he wasn’t home soon and she could hold a grudge. “I’ll keep you posted,” he said.

With a brisk nod, she strode back down the hallway to the conference room.

Alone in the elevator, Emiliano smiled as he thought of his dog patiently waiting for him back at his family ranch in Shadow Creek, several hours away. She had plenty of care and company out there; he didn’t worry about that. It was the idea of being stuck in the city for the holidays that put a pinch between his shoulder blades. There was a fresh sincerity in small-town life he’d never found in the major cities he’d worked in. Only gone half a day, he already missed the rhythm and routine of the ranch that kept him grounded.

Dallas, in particular, set his teeth on edge. Despite the gloss and polish that impressed so many residents and tourists, he saw the unsavory elements lurking just under that pretty surface. And whose fault was that? he wondered with a sigh.

He stepped out of the elevator into the lobby and walked right into the unwelcome glare of Miss Meyers.

* * *

Marie could hardly contain her frustration. The FBI had ordered security to hold her here until an agent arrived to escort her. She had been taking care of herself, and doing a fine job of it, since turning eighteen.

She wished she could take back her promise not to argue this decision. Who would they send? Not the woman in charge, and probably not the rumpled-looking Mr. Staller. The idea of Agent Townsend hovering over her life turned her palms damp with nerves.

Agent Ortega stepped off the elevator and relief flooded her system. There was a kindness in his gaze, a compassion that she wanted to trust.

“Thanks for your patience,” he said.

“They said I didn’t have a choice.” She gripped the handle of her purse with both hands, her computer bag over her shoulder. “How exactly will this work?”

He gave her a hesitant smile. “With your patience and cooperation you won’t notice me at all.” She almost laughed. Overlooking this handsome agent in any environment was unimaginable.

“The goal is your protection, not inconvenience,” he said, holding the door for her. “We work quickly and should have your life back to normal by the holidays.”

He couldn’t know how little comfort that was—the holidays were always a study in loneliness for her—but she thanked him anyway.

“We’ll take my truck to your car, and then we’ll head to your place and make a plan.”

Her heels clicked sharply on the pavement and she noticed he slowed his pace just enough that she didn’t feel rushed. The heels put her at nearly eye level with him and she appreciated the sense of equality.

“A plan?” she echoed after a moment. “The FBI considers house arrest a plan?”

“You think you should be under house arrest?”

“No.” Exasperated with the entire day, she puffed her long bangs up off her forehead.

He unlocked the truck and let her settle into the seat before he closed her door. After stashing his computer bag behind the driver’s seat, he climbed in and started the engine. “Where are you parked?”

She gave him directions and then closed her eyes, silently counting to ten. There was a logical way out of this nightmare. When the truck didn’t move, she opened her eyes and found him watching her intently, his lips tilted up at the corner.

“My mother used to do that when she got fed up with my brother and me.” He pulled away from the parking space, his gaze on the road.

The man had a striking profile. “You have a brother?”

He nodded without volunteering any information. She got the impression he didn’t make a habit of sharing personal details. A tactic she could respect. What people didn’t know about, they couldn’t judge.

“I could help this investigation, you know,” she said as he pulled up behind her car.

The full weight of that dark, enigmatic gaze landed on her and she resisted the urge to fidget or plead. Would nothing convince his team or her bosses that she could be an asset? Didn’t the FBI have safe houses or something outside the Cohort’s reach where she could help?

“Right now the best way to help is to stay safe and give us room to work,” he replied.

“This is outrageous.” She pulled her car key from her purse and shoved out of his truck before her temper snapped and she said something she might regret.

* * *

Emiliano noticed there had been no searching or rooting around for her key. The woman was organized. He appreciated efficiency, focused on that trait rather than her lush feminine curves and lovely legs.

Both ranch life and FBI experience had taught him that calm was the best option when tempers turned hot. He braced for the slamming door. It would be easier to get a read on her once she relaxed.

Suddenly she turned back, her eyes flashing.

“I’ve never jeopardized or abused customer information the way the Cohort does.”

He listened to her words and studied her body language. Hard to believe she’d willingly let in a hacktivist group.

“We do not share or sell personal information,” she continued, in that staccato pattern that reminded him of her high heels on the pavement.

“Good.”

“I knew programmers with hacktivist ideologies and skills. In school.” Those dark eyes met his, held. “I didn’t agree with them then and I don’t support their criminal behavior now.”

“All right,” he said.

She sucked in a breath as if his acceptance offended her. “Do you know my address?”

“Yes.” Her address, along with her cell phone number and the make, model and license plate of her car, was in her file. He plugged the address into his navigation app on the truck’s dashboard. “I’ll follow you over.”

“Are you planning to stay in my apartment?”

He wasn’t sure yet how they would work that out, only that he had orders to keep an eye on her. “Let’s get over there and we’ll talk.”

Her lips twisted, though she didn’t speak as she finally closed the truck door. The spunky Mini Cooper suited her, he decided. Painted creamy white with a dark green rocker stripe, it would be useless anywhere but the city.

And why was he analyzing her car? She put her purse and computer bag behind her seat and slid behind the wheel. He prepared to move his truck so she could back out, when she opened her door and peered at the windshield.

He powered down the passenger window. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. A flyer or something.” She stretched an arm out and he ordered her to stop.

“Let me see it first.”

He grabbed his phone and hustled around the front of his truck to her car. Tucked low under the windshield wiper was a small square of white paper.

“Not a flyer,” he said as much to himself as to her. He took pictures and used the flashlight app on his phone to peer under the hood. He dropped to the ground and checked the undercarriage.

She crouched beside him. “What are you doing?”

He deliberately kept his focus on the car rather than her legs. “Looking for any obvious signs of tampering or tracking devices.” On his feet again, he called Dashwood and gave her an update.

“Tampering? You’re a bomb expert, too, I suppose.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“Not an expert.” He dusted off his palms and smacked at the dirt on his trousers. Why couldn’t he remember he was in a suit on the job, rather than in his work jeans at the ranch? “The FBI does keep us trained.”

“Of course.” She tucked a lock of hair, teased loose by the breeze, behind one ear. “I’m not handling this well,” she admitted softly. “My work is everything to me and I don’t appreciate strangers interfering with that.”

There hadn’t been any mention of a spouse or other family in her file and he’d assumed the rest of her background was in process. Now Emiliano wondered what that background would reveal. “May I?” He pointed to the note.

She shrugged, arms folded again. “Go ahead.”

Using the end of a pen, he freed the note and unfolded it there on the windshield.

The image of a Guy Fawkes mask filled the top half of the letter-sized paper. Underneath, one sentence in all caps threatened her.

YOU WILL PAY FOR TRADING PERSONAL PRIVACY FOR PROFITS

Emiliano took a picture of the note and sent it to his boss by text message. Within two minutes she replied that an evidence team was on the way. The only hope for a lead was a camera on the parking area or fingerprints on the paper itself. The standard copy paper and black-and-white printing would be impossible to track down. Anyone could have printed this at home, an office or a copy store.

It took a little more than an hour for Emiliano to sign over the scene to the crime-scene unit. Miss Meyers wasn’t happy about leaving her car to the investigators, but he convinced her it was temporary.

“That’s one thing settled,” he said as they drove away.

“One thing?” Another huff of frustration lifted her bangs.

“You can’t stay in Dallas.”

She gaped at him. “I certainly can’t leave. Not without my car and not while the investigation is ongoing. Sooner or later you’ll discover I can help.”

“We’ve got it under control,” he said. The woman had plenty of nerve to think they’d share information before they made a determination on her involvement.

She folded her arms over her chest. “I’m not leaving town.”

She was wrong. “You’re under my protection, so that choice is out of your hands.”

“Third-worst day,” she muttered. “Special Agent Ortega.” She said his name with such respect it startled him. “I can manage on my own.”

He believed her. “Since these circumstances aren’t normal, I’m transporting you to a safe place until we sort this out.”

He still couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard himself suggest to Dashwood or that he was about to say it again. “The FBI has decided you’ll stay at my family’s ranch until we’re sure it’s safe for you to return to Dallas.”