Protected Secrets. Heather Woodhaven
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felt her eyebrows rise. Normal procedure took at least ten business days to get witness protection from the Marshals. To have it scheduled within one day meant something big had happened. “Any details?”
“They’re coming to me piecemeal. Two witnesses stopped a hacker from planting a back door that would provide access to bank credentials. The hacker allegedly murdered the security guard and escaped before law enforcement arrived on the scene. Security cameras and access logs had been disabled. No murder weapon has been found.”
“The hacker?” Delaney tried to make sense of what she was hearing. The situation was certainly serious, but so far she didn’t see the reason for expedited protection.
“Arrested an hour ago. Feds think he’s the key to bringing down the CryptTakers.”
That particular criminal organization had been wreaking havoc across the country for the past three years. Last year, they’d taken insurance claims for ransom as well as hospital records. Unlike other “hacktivism” groups that insisted their cybercrimes were for good, the CryptTakers had suspected ties to terrorist groups.
“Preliminary background check shows your witness, a Bruce Walker, has no priors. Owner of the software company that provides banks with analysis software, divorced over a year ago, sole custody of his adopted daughter. No other family in town.”
A mental image formed of a workaholic man in his early fifties with a teenage daughter. She knew the type. “So are we talking WITSEC or trial protection?”
“Assistant US Attorney thinks the moment the witnesses show up to testify, the guy will be ready to turn informant.”
“So there must be a reason the hacker doesn’t turn informant now.”
“Exactly. The suspect implied he didn’t think the witnesses would be able to make it to trial.”
“A veiled threat, then. Matches the reputation of the CryptTakers.”
“The other witness, Nancy King, commutes from Story City. We already have a team on the way. Your witness is located in Ames. I want you taking the lead on his detail.”
Delaney nodded silently. She knew the Ames area best, likely better than the other marshals based out of Des Moines, but it still seemed like a big step to be appointed lead.
“Police are with your witness now. I’ll tell them to expect you in an hour.”
She hesitated to answer. “I’m actually in Ames now.” She kept her gear packed and with her at all times. She never knew when a fugitive alert would come her way.
An uncomfortable silence followed. “That’s good. Face those memories head-on.”
Delaney cringed. Bradford didn’t even have to be in the same room to see right through her. How was she supposed to impress a man who already knew all her faults?
“I’ll send a car,” he said. He rattled off the witness’s address. “Since this is my stomping ground, feel free to consult me as well as the chief deputy with any questions. We’re working tandem on this one. Two deputies will meet you there in an hour for transport to the safe house. I’ll send the vetting information and case briefing as soon as I have them.”
It would be the first time she’d ever served as lead on anything in the Marshals, which meant she couldn’t let Marshal Bradford down. And being responsible for someone as important as a witness who could take down the CryptTakers caused a sudden craving for chocolate. Was there still a chocolate shop on Main Street? She shook off the thought and made a U-turn.
Bruce Walker lived in an older neighborhood near Squaw Creek, where the streets were lined with mature maple trees. She gawked at the house as she slowed to a stop. Unlike the typical farmhouse architecture on the street, his was a Tudor, a gorgeous piece of architecture the likes of which she’d only dreamed of ever owning. The steeply pitched gable roof, the curved wooden door, the decorative brick on the lower half and the chimney all hinted at simpler, more elegant times.
Given the age of the house, it wasn’t a surprise the garage was unattached. A police cruiser was parked in the paved space between the garage and the house. A block away, an officer sat inside another cruiser strategically positioned at the curve, behind a twisted oak tree that jutted into the road.
Delaney braced herself. It’d been about three years since she’d been on the Ames police force, and during the last months of her service there, she’d been pregnant. Hopefully, the officers assigned to the protection detail were new recruits. She didn’t want to rehash the past or go down memory lane with anyone. She stepped out of the rental car, held up her US Marshals badge in the direction of the cruiser and strode up the curved sidewalk to the front door.
A female officer she didn’t recognize rounded the corner. “Ma’am, I’ll need some identification.”
Delaney displayed her badge and pulled out the rest of her ID. “I’ll need the same from you.”
The officer smiled and complied. “We heard you would arrive soon. I guess we’ll let you take it from here. I’ll be honest, though. I was looking forward to this assignment when I saw the cutie I’d be protecting.”
Delaney felt her eyes widen at the unprofessional admission but said nothing. If this woman had been a fellow deputy, she might’ve pushed the issue. The officer waved her forward, and Delaney knocked on the door.
When it swung open, she fought to keep her face neutral. Bruce Walker looked nothing like the older man she’d imagined. At approximately six feet tall, a good five inches taller than she was, with wavy brown hair that barely curled over the top of his ears, light green eyes and olive skin, the man couldn’t have been more than thirty-five at the most. He was the owner of the software company? That meant he was as smart and capable as he was handsome. But while certainly attractive, she wouldn’t dare refer to him as a cutie. His professional demeanor, broad shoulders and rugged good looks demanded a much stronger descriptive word.
She held out a hand and Bruce’s own hand enveloped hers. “Deputy US Marshal Delaney Patton.”
He held her fingers for a moment and tilted his head. “Have we met?”
Her neck grew hot, and she dropped the stalled handshake before she could reflect on how his touch made her stomach flip. “Not likely,” she said. The one thing she’d excelled at was remembering a face. The skill helped when tracking down fugitives but wasn’t going to help tonight when she tried to fall asleep. Bruce’s green eyes were unforgettable.
“Sorry. You look familiar to me. I—”
“Daddy!” A high-pitched squeal and thundering footsteps came from the living room.
Bruce squatted down and caught the running toddler in his arms before standing up. “This is Winona.”
“Winnie,” the little girl announced, her forehead creased in stern rebuke.
Bruce nodded. “But as you can tell, she likes Winnie for short.”
“Bye, cutie-pie.” A voice rang out. Delaney turned around to see the officer wave goodbye at the little girl. So that was the cutie she’d meant. Delaney’s cheeks heated at her mistaken assumption.
“Winnie, honey, this is Mrs.—” Bruce’s eyebrows rose and he leaned forward toward her. “Sorry. Could you repeat your last name?”
“It’s Miss Patt—actually, Deputy Marshal Patton.”
The little girl’s face scrunched up in confusion. Delaney tried to smile but could feel her face fighting against it. Seeing the girl was like a punch to the stomach. The little one had to be the same age as her daughter would be.
She consoled herself with the fact that her newborn had had dark hair and the darkest blue eyes she’d ever seen, nothing like this child’s light brown hair and sky blue eyes. Winnie wasn’t her little girl, but her mind kept drifting, wondering if the couple who’d adopted her