Free Firewall by DiAnn Mills

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 partof 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 wasavailable. 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