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“I’m so glad Dr. Ford called the authorities.” Schlitz ran his long fingers over spiky blond hair that was almost as light as her mother’s platinum dye job. “You’ve probably handled a few cases like this before, but I’m happy to explain everything over a cup of coffee.”
Probably handled a few cases? Explain over coffee? Did he think women went to a remedial FBI academy? She squelched an eye roll.
Cannon pressed his hand into her back. “I didn’t call the authorities. Agent Zenner was just leaving.”
Rosalie didn’t try to stop her eye roll this time. “No, I wasn’t.” She turned her attention back to the CIO. “Mr. Schlitz?—”
He held up his hand. “Please call me Karl.”
She took a deep breath. Even though she wasn’t officially on the case—yet—professional boundaries needed to be established from the get-go. His cultured voice didn’t hint at any regional accents, but it sounded too smooth for her liking.
“Mr. Schlitz, tell me about the attack.”
He narrowed his eyes and smiled as if to say they’d have a conversation about getting friendlier another time. “It was DoS and sweeper.”
“Not surprising.” The typical two-pronged strategy that denied service and deleted data from a system was powerful enough to bring an organization to its knees. “Did the attackers leave any clues about who or what organization is responsible? Perhaps a calling card in the ransom email?”
“No.”
She let out the breath she’d been holding. The one-two punch was typical of Malgor, but then again, it was a common choice of infiltration for most cyberattackers. No calling card meant no Malgor, yet unease still jittered in her belly.
Schlitz snickered. “But the attacker left hundreds of calling cards in the form of devices we can’t access any information from.”
Cannon looked up at the glass-and-chrome building. “The hospital made a huge investment in technology upgrades before I took over three months ago. No more paper. No carbon footprint. We’re a green organization. We don’t even printimaging films anymore. All CT scans, MRIs, and X-rays are read on devices.”
Rosalie turned to Schlitz. “How much data do you have backed up?”
“All of it, of course, but as you know, the recovery process will take months.”
The wind sucked up Cannon’s growl. “We don’t have months.”
Schlitz looked at his watch. “I need to prepare for the meeting with my software vendor. I’d like you both to be there.” He smiled at Rosalie. “I look forward to working with you, Agent Zenner.”
FIVE
“You are not coming with me to Karl’s office.” Cannon grabbed Rosalie’s hand and led her toward the ER entrance. “Did you sign your discharge papers yet?”
“No. You need to let me look at your network and call my team.”
“I said that isn’t happening.” He stopped near the automatic glass doors. The weight on his shoulders compressed until his back and knees ached. He whipped his gaze to the only place he could breathe, but his eyes didn’t settle on the mountain. They settled on the snow angel. “I appreciate the offer to help. But I can’t wait months for this place to be functional.”
“But my colleagues and I might be able to get you back online in weeks.”
Weeks didn’t cut it either, not for his patientsand not for Julia. If their network didn’t come online soon, the drug trial organizers would choose another hospital. His sister would have to travel to another city, maybe even halfway across the country, to participate. Julia needed to be here so he could monitor her treatment, read results quickly, and troubleshoot any problems. He’d learned the hard way that nobody cared for her like he did.
The automatic doors opened. Rosalie blocked his entrance. “Please, Cannon. Things aren’t adding up. The ransom demand isn’t typical for an attack like this. Don’t pay it.”
Something about the way she pleaded pierced a tiny hole in his resolve. He quickly plugged it. “I can pay it, and I will.”
With a huff, she turned and strode inside. He followed, but the antiseptic scent he’d been smelling his entire life rooted him inside the foyer. A memory he’d gotten good at ignoring transported him back to when he’d rushed through these doors, his little hand in his mother’s.
If he cried, so would she.
This wasn’t like the time when they’d gone to the hospital after his father had cut his hand fixing his squad car. This was different.
He’d overheard the woman on the phone say his dad wasn’t breathing. Yesterday, his mom had said the same thing about the fuzzy caterpillar he’d kept as a pet. They’d buried it in the backyard, and Cannon had gone in search of another. He’d been proud of himself for not crying over his caterpillar, but he couldn’t stop a tear from falling down his cheek as he followed his mother into the ER.
He couldn’t go into the woods to get another daddy.
