Page 52 of Taylor’s Warrior

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On entering Livingston’s office, Taylor’s anxiety level decreased by at least a couple of notches, thanks to the aesthetically pleasing balance between sleek bureaucratic efficiency and proud Texas heritage. The atmosphere—far less intimidating than she’d anticipated—made the man taking his place behind the impressively tidy desk seem a little more human and a little less forbidding.

“If you’d all like to take a seat?” Livingston said. “Ms. Markham?”

Since he was specifically indicating the center chair, and not wanting to do anything to jeopardize her situation, she obeyed. Rhys took the chair to her right, Rachel the one to her left, leaving the chair on the other side of her for Nick.

“Have you had an opportunity to look through the notes I sent you?” Rachel asked.

“Some, but if it’s okay with you, Ms. Markham, I’d like to hear it all from the beginning. I’d also like to record this meeting, with your consent, so that I have an accurate narrative to refer to later. For the record, this is purely a fact-finding exercise. You are not under arrest and I am not questioning you as a potential perpetrator of a crime.”

Taylor glanced in the direction of Rachel, who gave her an encouraging smile and a nod. Taylor gave her consent. “Yes, that’s fine, Special Agent Livingston.”

“Thank you.” He opened a desk drawer, withdrew a small digital voice recorder, and switched it on. After he made an opening comment to document the nature of the meeting, Taylor relaxed a little more.

His gaze came to rest on her. “Ms. Markham, in as much detail as you can remember, please would you describe the sequence of events that have led to your attendance at this office today.”

How long did he have? Suddenly, the hour scheduled for the meeting seemed too little. Still, the agent had asked, and she was—relatively—happy to oblige.

“I believe this actually started a few years ago, when I used to live and work in New York, as did my father, Charles Markham. He was an accountant at KDT until… everything went wrong.”

“In what way?” the agent prompted.

“Again, this is just a feeling I have, that this… that what happened is connected to this in some way. I was seeing someone—his name was Wyatt Harman. I met him through my father, because he worked for KDT as well. Everything was going well between us, until they pulled him out of the river. He’d been shot. Would this investigation lead to reopening the investigation into his murder?”

“I can’t say, Ms. Markham, but if your information does lead to an investigation, there’s a strong possibility it would be within scope. What happened then?”

“I called my father to tell him. I think that might have been the actual trigger.”

As Taylor recounted the events that followed, she was more grateful than Rhys would ever know for the strength in the hand that covered hers. She was mortified by how gullible she’d been for allowing her father to keep her in the dark for years, waiting for him to tell her he’d done the right thing.

“Looking back, I can’t believe how naive I was,” she confessed. “I tried calling him on his old cell phone number, but it was dead, and he ignored the questions in my letters. There was nothing I could do. With the arrangements we’d made to communicate, I had no way of finding out where he was located.”

“And all that time you had no idea why he’d told you to give up everything and leave the city?”

Livingston’s expression held a hint of skepticism, and Taylor couldn’t blame him. “You must think I’m a massive fool for letting him get away with this for so long.”

“Family relationships can make it difficult to remain objective,” the agent noted. “You said yourself you had no way of finding him. Beating yourself up about it now won’t change anything. Please, continue.”

Taylor remained silent for a moment while she marshaled her thoughts. “At the beginning, I checked the box once, maybe twice each week, but less often once I’d gotten a feel for how regularly he was writing to me. This went on for months, and months turned into years. I kept asking the questions but I never received any answers to them. Eventually, I stopped asking. To be honest, I think I was afraid to find out. Then I found the package. I didn’t know what to do, so I went to Nick.”

“And when was that, Ms. Markham?”

“Three weeks ago. Exactly,” she added. “Although it feels like it should be much longer.”

“Do you have the package with you?”

“It’s here,” Nick replied, indicating the attaché case by the side of his chair, although he made no attempt to retrieve it.

Livingston looked up from the notes he’d been taking, in addition to the recording. He frowned. “I see. You didn’t think to report it to the police or the FBI as soon as you received it?”

Nick stepped in. “That would be my fault, Special Agent Livingston. Taylor came to me for help, and I wanted to do that as effectively as possible. In order to do that, I had to ascertain exactly what we were dealing with, so I took it upon myself to consult friends who have more expertise in that area. One of those friends is an IT expert who was able to give us a location for Charles Markham, and because he’s former military, he was also able to⁠—”

“Whoa.” Livingston raised a hand. “Your former military IT expert wouldn’t happen to go by the name of John Keegan, retired from the SEALs for medical reasons, would he?”

“You know Tex?” Nick asked.

“Friend of a friend, and highly respected, but you still haven’t explained why you waited until now to report this.”