Page 28 of Nothing to Fear

He went dead still, eyes locked on her name.

“We have enough for you to hold her for interrogation,” the heavier-set accountant in the brown suit said. “This type of account had to be opened in person. We’ll request copies of all supporting documentation, but these banks are notorious for not cooperating. We can’t wait for additional proof that may never turn up.”

Sanborn ran his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair. “Let’s start with verifying the date the account was opened and cross-check her whereabouts. If she was here at work, that’s reasonable doubt, and we can take a step back.”

“Not necessarily,” the lanky accountant in black said. “If she was out from work anytime within the month prior to the account being opened, that would be enough. Account holders can submit documentation at least thirty days in advance and specify a future date for activation. With the short flight time, she’d only need to be out one day. And if she planned it correctly, flying in the night before, theoretically she could’ve made it back early enough, only missing half a day.”

Gideon’s teeth ached for a piece of gum, but he held a neutral expression as he read the rest of the information. Dates. Amounts of deposits.

The account had been opened with a four-hundred-thousand-dollar initial deposit right after Kelli died. A fist of ice punched his heart.

Sanborn had given everyone the day off when they received news about the accident, and all personnel had been excused from work for the funeral. Ample time for anyone to have flown out, opened the account, and returned without missing an unexcused work day, but the documentation painted a flaming bull’s-eye on Willow.

This was bad. His pulse hammered at his temples and he fought to stay focused, to think, for Willow’s sake.

Gideon never went against protocol, never acted against evidence, but his gut was churning with certainty that this was a setup. Someone had gone to tremendous effort and trouble to frame Willow.

“I’ll check the TSA data logs for a specific date,” Maddox said. “Her passport would’ve been scanned departing and reentering the country. But I’m with you, this doesn’t feel right.”

“According to ITM Parker, Ms. Harper didn’t pass the polygraph last week.” The lanky accountant looked at Sanborn, his gaze stern.

Every muscle in Gideon’s body tightened. Willow was the worst at deception. When he’d asked about the cut on her face, she’d gotten choked up, but she hadn’t lied.

“The first was inconclusive.” Sanborn leaned back in his chair. “Harper has a condition the examiner didn’t understand. Nothing that prevents her from doing her job, but it skewed the results. She passed the second polygraph without any doubt.”

The information Gideon had read last night on ASD substantiated the fact that Willow might have difficulty passing a high-stress examination administered by a stranger. For someone with her extraordinary talent and verifiable condition, a covert agency such as theirs would allow accommodations. They’d given her multiple opportunities to pass, but it also made her the perfect choice to take the fall for someone else. During an interrogation under pressure, her answers could be read as evasive, sealing her supposed guilt.

“Are you okay?” Maddox whispered to Gideon.

He met her gaze, raking his mind over what had given away his concern. “I ate something bad last night.” He grimaced and held his stomach. “Probably the sushi.”

Nodding, Maddox refocused on the main discussion.

Willow was no mole. Gideon would stake his career on it. But things might get even worse. More falsified evidence incriminating her could surface. And if she was held in custody while they tried to prove her innocence, the real traitor would find a way to get to her like they had gotten to Novak. Whoever was setting her up must be confident that either the evidence would crucify her, or they could kill her.

“You should pull her clearance. Begin interrogation,” the guy in the brown suit said. “Even ITM Parker agrees with that course of action.”

Gideon repeated the offshore account number in his mind, memorizing it. “The last person to enter our holding cell was murdered.”

“I presume you have a safe house somewhere in the city. You could hold her there,” the black suit suggested.

Sure, they had a safe house but wouldn’t disclose the location. Not to the suits or even the director of national intelligence.

“We have to entertain the possibility,” Castle said, “that someone could reach out and touch her there. We don’t know how deep this problem goes.”

The traitor worked for a mysterious information broker. They knew that much. Novak, the psychopath who had been murdered under their noses, insisted the broker had spies all over the damn place, from government agencies to high-value corporations.

“We should turn her over to a different agency,” Gideon said deadpan, feigning ignorance that he’d just pulled the pin from a live grenade with the suggestion.

Sanborn’s jaw tightened, a vein in his temple bulging. The brown suit nodded, bright-eyed with enthusiasm. The black suit launched into a list of pros and cons.

The idea would never leave the room. The Gray Box couldn’t call attention to itself. Besides, no agency wanted to admit they had an in-house problem they couldn’t handle. Not to mention that red tape required time. And Parker had the authority to take this over Sanborn’s head to the DNI and all the way up to the president if Willow wasn’t detained today.

Protocol dictated that Sanborn interrogate her and hold her in custody. She had an inconclusive polygraph and supposedly one million dollars sitting in a bank on Grand Cayman Island. Sanborn wasn’t in a position to refuse.

Gideon stood, holding his stomach. “Excuse me. Bad sushi last night. I’m going to see if Doc has anything to help.”

Sanborn waved at him to leave as if relieved to be rid of him, but Maddox stared at Gideon with her hawk-eyed gaze. He strolled out of the room and headed to his cubicle, a rough plan full of holes forming in his mind.