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  Third Hour

  NORTHWEST COUNTER-TERRORISM TASKFORCE BOOK 3

  Lisa Phillips

  Copyright 2019 Lisa Phillips

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Publisher Lisa Phillips

  Cover design Lisa Phillips

  Edited by www.jenwieber.com

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 1

  Talia breached the first firewall in minutes. That was disappointing.

  In her peripheral, a slender figure moved closer.

  “Can I get you anything, Ms. Matrice?” The bank manager’s assistant had a perfectly blank face. Slim, though not from working out. She probably ate a quarter cup of almonds for lunch. Her blond hair didn’t dare move out of the straight fall she’d styled it into, and her makeup was understated. Professional.

  Talia said, “No, thank you. I’m fine here.”

  The assistant nodded. “I’m sure Mr. Crampton will be out momentarily.”

  Talia sent her a smile. She didn’t mind sitting. The leather chairs in the bank’s waiting area were comfortable, and her feet hurt from walking two blocks of downtown Seattle on three-inch heels because her Uber driver had decided to hit on her. She’d climbed out early and taken those few minutes to clear her head.

  Talia looked down at the tablet computer in her lap. The screen was fourteen inches and the machine inside more powerful than several top-of-the-line desktop computers hooked together. She’d built it herself.

  The bank had forwarded her a list of IP addresses for their internal network, but she preferred to see if she could find that information herself. Later, she would compare the two. She tapped the screen and started a scan on their internal IP structure. That would tell her the scope of how their network was pieced together. Pockets. Layers. Sections. She was going to access it all. Then she would write a report, informing them of the vulnerabilities in their system.

  Beyond the tablet screen, she swung her foot. Gold, strappy three-inch sandals. She’d owned them for nearly a week and had worn them five times already, just to adequately express her thanks to The Good Lord and His grace for allowing them to be on sale last Saturday. Nothing like retail therapy to distract her from the swirl of thoughts in her mind. Plus, she’d gotten a new matching gold purse out of it. That put her up to six gold purses. Her home computer was running a program at this very moment, searching the internet for sales so she could get her seventh.

  Her mother thought her flashy style was excessive, though she agreed with Talia in giving due credit to God for her innate ability to find bargains. Mom responded to most things in life by regularly texting Bible verses on all kinds of things she thought Talia should know.

  There were two unread on her phone from this morning. Later, when she’d shorn up her defenses, she would read them—maybe over ice cream. She hadn’t exactly backslidden the past few weeks. She still believed. She just didn’t want to deal with what had happened.

  Not yet.

  She was way too busy to cry.

  The bank manager, Arnold Crampton, exited the hallway to his office on the far side of the bank lobby. The man who followed him wore a quality suit, but not so nice that it bragged of the tons of money he made as a Secret Service Agent. Because, yeah, he didn’t make that much.

  Talia had read the agent’s whole file. Divorced, the father of a teenage daughter. The girl’s mother, a psychiatrist, had moved to Washington State a year ago and brought the girl with her. Mason had taken a position at the Seattle office of the Secret Service three months after. He rented a townhouse downtown but had recently been prequalified for a home loan.

  What she’d read on her computer had not prepared her for the full impact of seeing him in the flesh, even from across the busy lobby of a snooty bank.

  She actually gasped. Talia just barely managed to tamp down her reaction. Otherwise the old lady in the chair opposite was going to think she had loose morals. Everything about the man was…thick. He was like a California redwood. Tall. Barrel chested—she now knew what that expression meant. Long arms. Long legs. His head was shaved close, dark hair against his 95% cacao, hazelnut-truffle skin, smooth as it would taste…

  The old lady across from her cleared her throat. “I think you might be drooling, dear.”

  Talia shut her eyes. She had to. The pull of him was too powerful, she had to look away. As much sensory deprivation as she could get. Though this wasn’t a good solution, because now she could hear the low timbre of his voice. Lordy be. This wasn’t going to be good at all.

  She looked down at the steady tap of her foot. Fresh pedicure.

  Her mind immediately flashed back to that cellar. She didn’t dare close her eyes again. Not right now, when she would see it all again in full color, high definition. The screams. The cold floor. She could even smell it.

  Don’t.

  Talia got up and swung her purse over her shoulder. No point in sitting here, watching them like a total stalker. She strode past the assistant, who called out, “If you’ll wait…”

  “It’s fine,” Talia told her. This woman didn’t know who she was, or what she was doing here. She just knew that Talia was here to see Mr. Crampton.

  He must’ve seen her strutting over. She never just “walked.” Not if she could help it. He turned, saw her coming, and she saw it—the second his eyes widened. Did she care if she wasn’t his cup of tea? No way. He might be an Earl-Grey-stuffy old man, but she was spicy Chai tea with milk and whipped cream.

  Mason had a different reaction entirely. Eyebrows rose, and he shifted his stance. Appreciation? Maybe. She would love to be distracted by him, but too bad she was here to do her job.

  She stuck her hand out to the bank manager for him to shake. Or kiss the back of her knuckles. A little sputtering and apologizing always made her feel better. “Talia Matrice, National Security Agency.”

  She would have sworn she saw Mason’s lips twitch.

  “Oh.” There was the sputtering again. Crampton smoothed his tie with one hand and took hers with the other. Limp shake, slight squeeze. “Of course. We were expecting you.”

  Mason had shown up early.

  Talia squared her shoulders and held her hand out to the Secret Service representative. “Agent Anderson?”

  He held her hand with his warm, strong one as he nodded. His lips curled up and she got a flash of the kind of orthodontics bill her mother hadn’t been able to afford. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Ms. Matrice.”

  That was the way it was going to stay. If only for her peace of mind. “Talia is fine.” She turned to the bank manager. “If you’ll show me to the server room, I’ll get hooked in.”

  She shifted her tablet computer, cradled in her left arm like she wasn’t already working on the assignment, to assess the bank’s computer system for vulnerabilities. He didn
’t need to know that.

  “Of course.” Crampton nodded. “If you’ll come this way.”

  He strode back to the hall, and they turned a corner where the carpet met the double doors to his corner office. Mason glanced over at her as they followed. His head dipped to her shoes and back up.

  Concerned she’d have trouble walking? She prided herself on never showing how much her shoes hurt her feet. Years of wearing heels and sticking those gel pads in, and they still weren’t always comfortable.

  His gaze scanned back up to her head. Intense, but more of a professional assessment. Trying to figure her out. She’d picked one of her more understated dresses, though it was bright purple. It hung loose, more loosely the last month or so at least. She’d lost twenty-five pounds since… Don’t think about that. The team kept asking her out to lunch, or dinner, or both. Truth was, she had collar bones for the first time since junior high. She wasn’t all that fired up to put the weight back on.

  “Everything okay?”

  She realized the manager had opened the door to the server room. Talia said, “Of course,” as the obvious reply to Mason’s question, and then strode in.

  Liar.

  . . .

  Mason watched her walk in, then turned to the bank manager. “Thank you.”

  “Ask my assistant.” Crampton waved a nonchalant hand. “If there’s anything you need.”

  He nodded. “Will do. Thank you.”

  Crampton peered in after the NSA lady, probably curious as to what she was doing. No, the woman didn’t match any expectations of what a computer geek, hired to do what they’d called a “penetration test” on the bank, would look like.

  Some people claimed they didn’t like surprises. He wasn’t one of them.

  Mason left the door open and wandered inside. Talia Matrice wore a dress that was at least a size, if not two, too big for her. It in no way detracted from the impact of the full package.

  Considering it would be creepy to just stare at her, he walked over and looked at the screen of her computer. She’d plugged it directly into the computer terminal on the server rack. He knew some of the terminology, and how to breach a network, but was still learning all the ins and outs of the new things hackers were doing. Later, he planned to get certified in order to add to his resume. Maybe move into private information security work when he retired from the Secret Service.

  Interesting, but not as interesting as the way her hair fell over her shoulders. Black curls were interspersed with bleached blonde ones that touched her shoulder blades.

  Mason shifted his attention to the computer screen. “So how does this all work?”

  Out the corner of his eye he saw her turn toward him. “Are you going to talk to me the entire time? Because I can get this done faster if I have quiet.”

  Decisive. Determined.

  Beneath those qualities lay something else. There it is. It really was too bad that what was found under the surface never matched the persona a person showed on the outside. It might sound jaded to some, but it was the truth he’d learned over and over the hard way. No matter how appealing this woman might be on the surface, it wasn’t reality.

  Face facts.

  Talia sighed. Then she reached out and braced a hand on his shoulder. She gave him a good portion of her weight while she pulled off one shoe, then the other, tossing them on the floor. She now stood three inches shorter. Her nose barely reached his shoulder.

  He looked down at her. “I’ll let you get to it.”

  “Thanks.” She went back to the device. Her fingers flew across the keyboard so fast he lost track a few strokes in.

  Mason turned away and wandered the room in a circuit that never took him out of arm’s reach of her. The servers didn’t need much more than a closet. He checked his phone and saw a calendar notification to meet his daughter for dinner. Like he was going to forget. She certainly wouldn’t pass up the chance to let him pay for her food and give her some gas money.

  Stella wouldn’t like it—she never did like his generosity with his daughter—but if that was the worst he had to deal with from his ex-wife, he was going to take it. Some people had horror stories of their broken relationships. He had a strained, semi-friendship and a healthy, thriving daughter who was becoming an excellent negotiator. Rayna would make a great lawyer, but she wanted to go into public relations. The Senate wouldn’t know what hit it if she ever decided to run for office.

  Talia rolled her shoulders and paced a few steps.

  “Done?”

  She shook her head. “I’m waiting for the scan to finish.”

  Mason stowed his phone in the inside of his jacket. “How did you get into working with the NSA?”

  “I hacked the school district website in sixth grade to change my F in PE to a B. The school’s librarian caught me, because I was using the computer in there, and he sent me to the public library to take a class. The lady running it was a retired FBI agent. She told me I should do something legit with my abilities instead of ending up in jail.”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “So I did. Much to my mother’s consternation, I did not major in fashion design or work to become a weather girl or some kind of TV news anchor with a fabulous collection of necklaces. Though, I got the bling.” She spread her hand over the necklace she wore today, her fingernails tipped in a light pink.

  Mason smiled. “Don’t see eye to eye?” Who did, with their own parents?

  “About the only things we agree on are gold, and Jesus.” She hesitated there, at the end, waiting for his reaction.

  Mason nodded. “My father is a reverend at a big church in Atlanta. They stream services now, so he has his own YouTube channel.”

  She smiled. “You subscribe to it?”

  He chuckled. “The podcast, actually.”

  Her giggle had an alto pitch that sounded warm, instead of high pitched and annoying. Her tablet thing emitted a series of beeps. She turned to it, and he took her in. A study in contradictions. The comparison to his ex-wife was evident, without him really even thinking about it.

  Stella always pulled her black hair into a tight knot, so as to appear more professional. She was taller than Talia and worked to keep her figure as slim as possible. She had also frequently explained to him her views on any hair color that was not what God gave you.

  Still, first impressions never panned out. Not in his experience. In fifteen years of marriage to a therapist, he’d been analyzed and diagnosed more times than he could count. Enough he’d absorbed some of it.

  He’d thought that he and Stella would be in love for the rest of their lives. They’d both been working on their careers, and he thought they’d be going strong until Rayna was out of the house and college was paid for. Then they’d have time to rekindle the romance they shared at the beginning. Take a second honeymoon, or retire somewhere warm. Meanwhile, Stella had different expectations. She considered him her first, and longest running—though not most successful—client. Her client.

  When she’d told him that, he’d filed for divorce. He wasn’t interested in a business relationship with someone who never intended to work on the love part of their marriage, and who seemed to only want to shape him into the kind of person she thought he should be.

  He had a good feeling about Talia. He could already tell that she understood a little about facing up to people’s expectations. And owning who you were, regardless.

  “Huh.” She tapped away on the keyboard, then lifted a finger to swipe at the screen of her tablet.

  Mason checked the time on his smart watch. He should probably get the assistant to order in sandwiches for their lunch. These penetration tests usually took all day, sometimes two work days to finish. Then he’d have to spend half a day doing paperwork. It wasn’t life as a Secret Service agent in Washington DC, where he’d been hoping to end up on the president’s detail. But it was honest, and it meant something to the stability of the financial sector to have the Secret Service ensure things were all wo
rking as they should be; that no one was gaming the system.

  Her shoulders straightened, and she peered closer at the screen. Tension outlined the muscles in her back and the angle of her head.

  He took a step toward her, feeling the gun on his hip with the shift of his legs. But the danger wasn’t going to be physical. Not with an assignment like this. “Is everything—”

  “What on earth?”

  He wondered if she’d even heard him. “Talia.”

  She turned to him then, wide eyes full of fear.

  “What is it?”

  Chapter 2

  Talia looked at the screen again, just to make sure what she’d seen was correct. The program, which she’d written herself, had flagged a line of code running inside the bank’s internal network. A line of code with her name on it.

  Literally.

  “Maybe you’d like to share with the whole class?”

  She shot him a look, too worried about what this meant to be annoyed with him. Though, at any other time, she’d have been seriously irritated by that asinine comment. Before she could explain, her phone went crazy in her purse.

  She bent and pulled out the iPhone, her fingers sliding around the pop socket on the back her niece had covered with plastic gems. Talia had taught the girl everything she knew about hot glue gun usage.

  The notification on the screen made her frown.

  She swiped through, then logged in to view her bank balance. “What…”

  “Talia.”

  Rather than form the words—and she wasn’t sure she actually could right now—Talia showed him the screen.

  “So you have two million and some dollars in your checking account.” He looked about as pissed as she’d been at his comment a second ago.

  “I’m not bragging. I’m saying that just came out of nowhere.” The phone shook, gripped in her hand. “The seven hundred and change is mine. The rest was just deposited. From an account in this bank.”